Kpop imagines and scenarios @firetextskpop - Tumblr Blog

Sep 22, 2025

deep dive

[ J. Yunho + S. Mingi ]

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summary: in which mingi wants nothing more than for his girlfriend and best friend to get along together and what better way than a trip to hawaii?

warning: dom/possessive/jealous yunho, soft dom mingi, sub reader, unprotected sex, oral, throat fucking, fingering, tongue fucking, overstimulation, squirting, voyeurism, spanking, edging, anal fingering, masturbation, threesome, anal, double penetration, creampie

pairing: mingi x afab reader x yunho

genre: smut, romance

word count: 20k

masterlist

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The soft buzz of summer had already started to creep into Seoul, windows cracked open just enough to let in the air, fans oscillating lazily, shirts sticking slightly to the skin. Yunho had just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung around his waist, damp hair curling at the ends as he padded barefoot across the hardwood floors of the apartment he shared with Mingi.

He was halfway through toweling his hair when he heard it. “We’re going to Hawaii.” Mingi’s voice carried from the kitchen, casual and bright, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the middle of Yunho’s post shower calm making him blink confused. “We?”

“Yeah.” A cabinet door thudded closed. The pop of a soda can followed. “Me, you, and Y/N.” The last word landed sharp. The name. Like a dropped match. Yunho didn’t respond right away. Just kept drying his hair, slower now, the towel stilled in his hands as he stared blankly at the bedroom wall. The faint sound of a song played from Mingi’s phone speaker, something beachy and upbeat, completely at odds with the sudden tightness in Yunho’s chest.

He wrapped the towel around his neck, heading toward the kitchen. Mingi was standing at the counter shirtless, sun catching little highlights in his dark hair as he took a long sip from a can. His phone was next to him, already displaying flights. Tropical islands. Oceanfront villas. He looked relaxed. At ease. Yunho felt anything but. “She knows?” he asked finally.

Mingi glanced over. “About the trip? Yeah. I already told her.” Yunho leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Why am I just hearing about it now?” Mingi shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you’d say yes.” Yunho scoffed under his breath, looking away. “You could’ve just asked.”

“No,” Mingi said, smiling now, too calm, too knowing. “You would’ve said no.” Yunho met his eyes. “What makes you think that?” Mingi’s smile widened. “Because you’ve practically been avoiding her since we started dating.” There it was. That casual Mingi way of saying something that sounded like a joke but hit a little too close to the truth. Yunho’s jaw ticked. “We don’t exactly get along.”

“Exactly,” Mingi said, pushing off the counter to grab his phone. “That’s why this trip’s perfect. Beach, booze, warm water. You can stop pretending to hate each other. Or at least swim while doing it.” Yunho’s stomach knotted. He didn’t hate you. He couldn’t hate you. Not when he still remembered the first night Mingi brought you around. Not when he still woke up sometimes with the taste of your name in his mouth like a sin he hadn’t confessed. Not when he still wanted to throw things every time he saw you kiss his best friend and not him.

And Mingi? Mingi didn’t know. Couldn’t know. He’d been clueless from the start. Just like you. Yunho swallowed hard. “You sure she wants me there?” Mingi’s eyes flashed something, mischief? challenge? Before he grinned and tapped purchase on his phone screen. “Yunho,” he said, voice light as the ocean breeze he’d just booked. “She wants you exactly where I want you. Right next to me.”

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You were already regretting everything. The second Mingi pulled up to the curb at Incheon after picking you up, grinning behind the wheel like this was the start of a dream vacation and not a potential murder between you and his best friend, you knew, deep in your soul, that something was going to go horribly wrong. That something was currently standing behind you, dragging his sleek black carry on like it personally offended him, eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses and a hoodie that only made him look more smug.

Yunho. Why the hell did Mingi have to invite Yunho? “Do you even know how to walk in a straight line?” you snapped as his suitcase bumped into the back of your ankle for the third time in the check in line. “I’m sorry,” Yunho said flatly. “Didn’t realize I had to file for permission to exist in your personal space.” You turned to glare at him. “It’s a ten foot airport line, not a war zone. You don’t need to stand so close.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“No, you’re hovering,” you shot back. “Breathing down my neck like some creepy TSA agent.” Yunho leaned forward just a little, enough that you could feel his breath against your ear when he murmured, “You’d know if I was breathing down your neck.” Your entire body froze. Mingi, of course, chose that exact moment to come jogging back from the kiosk, blissfully unaware, holding up three boarding passes in one hand and coffee in the other. “Got our seats upgraded!” he beamed. “Extra legroom, aisle and window, oh, and baby, you’re in the middle between me and Yunho.”

Of course you were. You forced a smile as you took your ticket. “Perfect.” Yunho smiled too, one of those fake, polite ones that didn’t reach his eyes, his dimple barely dipping into place. “Can’t wait to be this close to each other for ten straight hours,” he said smoothly, bumping your shoulder as he passed making you narrow your eyes. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Then stop making it so easy.” Yunho snapped back as you turned to Mingi. “If he dies on this trip, it’s your fault.” Mingi just grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist and handing you your coffee. “You two are gonna get along great by the end of this.” Yunho coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “delusional.” And just like that, you were being herded through security with one hand in Mingi’s and Yunho’s voice in your ear like a mosquito you couldn’t slap away.

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You were going to kill him. Not in a hypothetical, exaggerated kind of way. No, this was a fully premeditated, absolutely justified, internationally defensible act of murder. You were going to strangle Jeong Yunho with your complimentary airline blanket and no jury would convict you. Because it had only been an hour. One hour into the flight and he had already managed to piss you off beyond measure. “Could you not elbow me every five seconds?” you hissed under your breath, shifting closer to Mingi, who was dead asleep and drooling softly on your shoulder.

Yunho didn’t even look up from his ipad where he was watching something. “Could you not sit like you’re trying to defend a throne?” You blinked. “I’m sitting normally.” You hissed at him. “You’re sitting like you paid for two seats and one of them was mine.” Yunho retorted, glaring at you. You looked down. One leg tucked, one arm firmly planted between you and Mingi, spine stiff against the headrest. “I’m in the middle,” you snapped. “The middle gets both armrests. That’s the rule.”

Yunho turned to you slowly. Finally looking at you. “That’s not a rule. That’s a social contract created by people who don’t have elbows this size.” You stared at him. Then at his ridiculously broad shoulders. The way his knees splayed into your space like he owned the damn row. His thigh was brushing against yours and he wasn’t even pretending to pull away. “Do you need a measuring tape? Or just a lesson in basic human decency?”

He grinned, and oh god, it was the smug one. The one that made you want to throw your complimentary peanuts at his face and would never admit out loud made you want to clench your thighs. “You offering to teach me?” You opened your mouth, but the words stuck. Because somewhere in the background, Mingi made a soft, snuffling sound and burrowed closer into your other shoulder like a golden retriever with no idea that the other two members of his travel party were one argument away from a full on in flight brawl or hate sex. Probably both. Definitely both.

You inhaled deeply. “This is going to be the longest ten hours of my life.” Yunho casually reached down, grabbed the inflight blanket from his bag, and tossed it into your lap. “Then go to sleep.” You did not let your eyes drop to his hands.

Or the way the edge of his shirt had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of toned skin. Or the fact that your thighs were still touching. You definitely didn’t wonder what else he was planning to start.

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Yunho hadn’t slept. Not the night before. Not on the plane.

He was too busy spiraling. He’d told himself it would be fine. That he could handle one trip. One villa. One week of polite conversation and avoidance and secretly cataloging every single outfit you packed while pretending not to look. He was so fucking delusional. Because you were right there. Wedged between him and Mingi, fuming, sighing, practically vibrating with the same sharp energy you always brought to the room, like your presence alone upset the gravitational pull of everything around you. Yunho hadn’t even touched his in flight snacks. You’d eaten yours with annoyed little crunches, like every chip was revenge. And somehow that was hot. Everything you did pissed him off and turned him on in equal measure.

Your perfume still lingered in the air. Something floral and soft and sweet and utterly unfair. Every breath dragged it deeper into his lungs, into the part of his brain that still whispered, you could’ve had her. Because he could have.

Once. For about six hours. Before Mingi came back from the damn convenience store after that party and lit up like a firecracker at the sight of you.

And Yunho? He’d smiled. Laughed even. Slapped Mingi’s back and said, go for it, bro. Then went home and tried to forget the way your laugh had slid under his skin. Now, months later, here you were, arms crossed, sharp tongue, everything he couldn’t touch. Looking at him like he was the problem. Like he was the one who always started it. You shifted slightly in your seat, and Yunho stiffened as your thigh brushed his. Again. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Mingi, dead asleep to your left, had your head resting lightly against his shoulder. You looked like something out of a goddamn dream. Eyes closed. Mouth soft. Neck tilted just enough to expose the edge of your collarbone. Yunho hated that he noticed that. He hated that he noticed how you breathed. How your leg warmed his through layers of denim. How you always smelled like forbidden sweetness and soap and everything that was not his.

He turned his face to the window. Closed his eyes. Tried to breathe. It didn’t work. His fingers twitched against the armrest. The same one you’d fought him over. The one you were now dominating completely, your elbow casually grazing his like you hadn’t declared war over it twenty minutes ago. You made him feel like a live wire. Like a fool. Like a man on the edge of something irreversible as his thoughts screamed, I was going to ask you out that night. He’d almost said it. Twice.

Once during Mingi’s birthday dinner, when you wore that blue dress and called Mingi “baby” and Yunho had to excuse himself just to breathe. Once again last month, after drinks when you argued with him over nothing and left him so hard and frustrated that he’d had to jerk off in the shower with your voice still echoing in his head. But he hadn’t said it. And now you were here. Trapped beside him in a metal tube flying over the Pacific. And God help him, he didn’t know if he’d survive the week.

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The second Yunho stepped out of the airport, the humidity hit him like a slap. Thick, fragrant, alive. Palm trees lined the pickup zone. A couple in matching leis kissed obnoxiously next to a taxi. A group of frat boys were already cracking open beers out of their luggage. And then you walked out behind Mingi and Yunho forgot how to breathe. You’d changed on the plane, somewhere between turbulence and that moment you finally fell asleep and curled unconsciously into Yunho’s side. Now, you were in denim shorts so short they barely counted as legal, a white tank top knotted at the waist, sunglasses perched on your head, and your hair pulled, messy, that looked like it had been made specifically to ruin his self control kind of way.

He stared for a second too long and you caught it. “Take a picture, Jeong,” you said, dragging your suitcase with one hand. “It’ll last longer.” Mingi didn’t catch the edge in your voice. He was too busy squinting at his phone. “We’ve got a shuttle coming,” he said brightly. “Gonna take us to the rental place about ten minutes out. I got us something fun.” Yunho didn’t like the way he said fun. Fifteen minutes later, the three of you were crammed into the back of a shuttle van with plastic seats, no AC, and a driver who insisted on giving full historical facts about Maui while taking the longest route imaginable.

You were in the middle again. Of course. Mingi’s thigh pressed to your right, casual, comfortable. Familiar. Yunho’s thigh pressed to your left, tense, rigid, simmering. He didn’t say anything when your leg brushed his. You didn’t apologize either. He clenched his jaw and looked out the window like the ocean wasn’t mocking him as finally they pulled into the rental lot. It was mostly bland sedans and minivans… until Mingi stopped in front of a candy apple red Jeep Wrangler with the roof off. “Tell me that’s not ours,” Yunho muttered.

Mingi grinned, throwing his arms out. “Surprise!” You lit up. “No way. That’s actually kind of hot.” Yunho watched as Mingi opened the door for you. You tossed your bag in the back and climbed into the passenger seat without a second thought. Your legs stretched out, knees bare in the sun, head tilted back as the breeze caught your hair. Yunho gritted his teeth and walked around to the back, tossing his bag in harder than necessary. Mingi was already behind the wheel, sunglasses on, one hand on the steering wheel like he was posing for a photo shoot. “Come on, Yunho,” he called. “You’re riding in the back with the bags!”

Yunho gave him a withering look and Mingi just smiled. “Unless you wanna sit in her lap?” You threw your head back with a groan. “I will literally throw myself into traffic.” Yunho slid into the back with a grunt, knees knocking against beach towels and a cooler, face tilted toward the sky that came with the ride as the Jeep peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward the coastline.

You glanced back at Yunho once. He caught it. Didn’t say a word. But he saw your mouth twitch. Almost a smirk and Yunho closed his eyes with a sigh, mind telling at him in anticipation and annoyance, this week is going to kill me.

The Jeep smelled like sunscreen and leather and the ghost of restraint Yunho used to have as wind whipped through the open windows, rustling your hair across the back of your seat, and the sun had started dipping higher in the afternoon sky, turning the coastline bright as Mingi hummed along to the Bluetooth playlist, sliding his hand onto your thigh. Not discreetly. Not quickly. No.

He did it with casual ease, palm spreading over bare skin like he’d done it a thousand times. Like you were his. Like no one else in the car existed.

Yunho felt his stomach twist. You didn’t even flinch. You just smirked like you were proud of it. Like you wanted him to see as Mingi leaned in closer, sunglasses pushed into his hair now, that relaxed island energy pouring off him in waves. “You smell like coconut,” he murmured, loud enough for Yunho to hear over the wind. Your laugh was low, breathy. “That’s your fault. You packed my lotion.” Mingi’s hand inched slightly higher, thumb brushing over the hem of your shorts, and Yunho had to glance away, eyes locking on the horizon like the ocean might save him from saying or doing something he couldn’t take back.

“You guys wanna stop for drinks before the villa?” Mingi asked suddenly, glancing at the rearview like Yunho hadn’t been forced to watch soft porn from the backseat. “No,” Yunho said tightly. “I want to get to the house.” You turned in your seat, sunglasses pushed down just enough to meet his eyes. “Aw. Are you tired, sunshine?” He didn’t answer. But God, he hated how your voice wrapped around that word as Mingi squeezed your thigh.

Yunho’s hand curled into a fist against his knee. “I think he’s cranky,” you told Mingi, turning back around with a smile in your voice. “Should’ve let him nap on the plane.” You teased making Yunho glare at you. “Could’ve napped on your shoulder,” Mingi said. “Worked great for me.” And Yunho knew Mingi didn’t mean anything by it. He was just like that. Affectionate. Unbothered. Shameless.

But there was something in the way he said it. In the way he touched you. In the way he smiled when Yunho didn’t respond. Like he knew. Like this wasn’t just a trip. Like it was a setup. A test against every emotion and feeling and urge Yunho had when it came to you as the jeep rolled to a stop at the villa.

It was all white walls, pale wood, and sunlight, wide open to the ocean breeze, every door a sliding panel, every window a frame for something breathtaking. Yunho hated how perfect it was. “You’re kidding,” you said as you stepped into the main living area, eyes widening. “This is… insane.” Mingi tossed the keys on the counter and threw his arms out dramatically. “Only the best for us, baby.” Yunho followed a step behind, dragging his suitcase and trying not to look at the way your tank top rode up when you stretched to peek out the glass doors. The view spilled out over the cliffs, ocean glinting blue and endless. A hammock swayed gently near the edge of the deck, and a low pool curved around the side of the house like it had been poured there by hand. “I call the room with the view,” you called over your shoulder.

Yunho didn’t bother going to look for a room. Not immediately. He stared at the door you disappeared behind and counted to five. Then followed. The hallway split into two doors. One on the right. One on the left. And between them, a shared bathroom, the door already cracked open. “Baby!” you called out. “This one has a bathtub. And one of those rain shower things.”

“Dibs,” Mingi said immediately, squeezing past Yunho with his suitcase in tow. Yunho hovered, glancing between the rooms. Both had massive windows. Breezy decor. Crisp white sheets and mosquito nets draped artfully over the beds. Hardwood floors that echoed under bare feet. But only one room had an open suitcase with a bikini already tossed on the bed. Yours and Mingi’s. And that bathroom door? Wide open between you.

You stepped out of the bathroom with a grin, towel slung around your neck already. Yunho stared. He couldn’t help it. Your shorts. Your smile. The way your skin glowed in the golden light. “Guess we’re neighbors,” you said breezily, brushing past him to grab something from your bag making Yunho’s brain not register the words until after the breeze of your perfume hit his nose. Neighbor. Bathroom. One wall away. Kill me, he thought.

Mingi flopped on the bed. “You cool with this room, bro?” Yunho nodded tightly, already dragging his bag into the opposite side of the hallway. “Yeah,” he said, eyes still on the connecting door. “It’s perfect.”

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The sun was low enough now that the walls of the villa glowed amber, shadows stretching long across the hardwood floors. Somewhere outside, waves crashed in slow rhythm, and the air smelled like salt and something citrusy from your perfume that kept bleeding into Yunho’s bloodstream every time you passed by. He was in the bathroom, barely buttoning his shirt, when Mingi called from the hallway. “Let’s go, come on. Reservations in twenty!”

Yunho grunted a response, tugging his sleeves up to his elbows. He didn’t know why he was even trying. Dinner wasn’t going to fix the ache in his chest, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to stop the way he’d been seeing you all day. In that tank top earlier. Those tiny shorts. The bikini folded on yours and his best friend’s bed. He splashed cold water on his face. It didn’t help. He stepped out into the hallway and when he saw you, everything stopped. You were standing just outside yours and Mingi’s room, one hand adjusting the thin crisscrossed straps around your neck, the other smoothing the fabric of your dress. If it could even be called that. It was sky blue and barely there, the material clinging to your skin like it didn’t want to let go. The front was knotted, open just enough to reveal a teasing strip of your stomach, and the hem swayed flirtatiously high above your knees.

Yunho’s lungs forgot how to operate. His gaze dropped to your legs, slowly dragging back up across your bare skin, your waist, your….. You caught him staring and smirked. And then, fucking hell, you did a little spin. Just to show the open back. “Too much?” you asked, turning your head over your shoulder. Yunho opened his mouth but nothing came out as Mingi walked up behind you, sunglasses perched on his head, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest like a vacation model. “Nah,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “You look hot.”

Yunho looked away so fast it made his neck ache. His heart was pounding. Fists clenched. Shirt sticking to the back of his neck even though the breeze rolled in from the balcony. You were giggling now, adjusting Mingi’s collar for him, totally unaware, or maybe completely aware, of the chokehold you had on his best friend as Yunho turned back toward the bathroom under the pretense of grabbing something. He shut the door behind him and braced both hands against the sink.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The dress. Your skin. Your fucking smile when you saw him looking. He closed his eyes and took a breath. One week. Just one fucking week. You can get through this. Just pretend she doesn’t exist. He repeated those words to himself three times before Mingi’s voice echoed from the hallway again. “Yunho! You ready?” Yunho opened the door, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s eat.”

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The restaurant was stunning. Open air, candlelit, the sound of waves just beyond the wooden deck. Tiki torches flickered gently against the fading sky, casting everyone in that golden glow that made even tourists look like influencers. You should’ve been relaxed. You should’ve been enjoying it. But then Yunho opened his mouth. And of course, you weren’t. “I’m just saying,” he said, elbow on the table, fork lazily spinning, “it’s not technically a volcano if it hasn’t erupted in, like, hundreds of years.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes as Mingi glanced up from his poke bowl like he was sensing a shift in barometric pressure. “It’s literally called a dormant volcano,” you said, calmly. “That’s still a volcano.” You were seriously on the verge of strangling him. “Is it, though?” Yunho asked, already smirking. “Feels like a fraud. It’s just a fancy mountain at that point.” You glared at him. “It’s a volcano. It has lava.”

“Had,” he corrected, lifting his drink. “Past tense. Can’t prove it still does.” You clenched your jaw. “Do you want to go hike into one and find out?” He shrugged. “I just think it’s unfair to the active ones. Don’t steal credit if you’re not putting in work.” Mingi made a soft, dying noise as you turned your full body toward Yunho. “So what, by that logic, if you stopped running your mouth for more than five minutes, should we all assume you’re no longer annoying?” Yunho raised a brow. “So you admit I’m usually on fire.” You scoffed. “I admit you’re exhausting.” He smiled like he’d won. “Better than being wrong about volcanos.”

“I’m not wrong,” you bit back. “You just don’t understand basic science.” You were almost yelling now as Yunho grinned. “Oh, I understand it just fine. I just enjoy watching you twitch when I challenge you.” Mingi set his chopsticks down. “You two…” he said slowly, like a man teetering on the edge of spiritual surrender. “Are arguing. About geology.”

“He started it,” you muttered as Yunho rolled his eyes. “She’s the one who made it personal,” Mingi rubbed his temples. “I just wanted poke and a peaceful sunset.” You didn’t respond. You were too busy glaring at the way Yunho was sipping his drink like this was fun for him. Because it was. You knew it was. Every time you opened your mouth, he lit a match and waited to see how long it would take you to burn. And you hated how much you enjoyed striking back.

Ten minutes later and you were trying to stab your poke bowl without looking like you were trying to stab your poke bowl. Yunho was doing his usual routine, annoying, smug, and somehow still managing to look good while being completely insufferable. He was halfway through arguing about whether the ocean was more “lake or soup energy” when the waitress returned. “Hi again!” she chirped, all bright smiles and long tan legs. “Just checking in. Do we need anything? More drinks? Dessert menus?”

Before anyone could answer, she turned directly to Yunho. “And you,” she smiled, letting it linger. “let me guess…. You’re a mai tai guy?” Yunho blinked. Then, of course, he smiled. That slow, low effort, weaponized smile that showed his dimple and made people do stupid things. “Depends,” he said, setting his water down. “Do you recommend it?” Her laugh was high and flirty. “Oh, I can definitely recommend something.”

Mingi made a sound that suspiciously resembled a cough snort making you kick him under the table. Hard. He bit his lip and said nothing as the waitress tucked her hair behind one ear, now fully locked in on Yunho. “If you like something sweet, I can bring out my favorite. It’s not on the menu yet.” You reached for your drink and you were sure your eyes had never rolled so hard before in your life. You weren’t jealous. Obviously. This was just… a classic case of restaurant flirtation. Yunho was hot, in a rude, tall, smug jackass sort of way. Of course people flirted with him.

It meant nothing. Except Mingi was watching you now. That small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Like he knew exactly what was happening behind your eyes as you stabbed a cucumber slice with way more force than necessary. “Maybe we’re good on drinks,” you said lightly, not even looking at her. “Unless someone needs another ego boost.” Yunho tilted his head, eyes cutting to you. “Wow. Didn’t realize I was already drunk on validation.” You smiled sarcastically at him. “Yeah, well, you’re a lightweight.”

“I’m 6’2 and 180 pounds and I’m drinking water….”

“And yet one smile from a waitress and you’re giggling like a teenage girl in a Kdrama.” You snapped and the waitress blinked, clearly unsure what she’d walked into. “I’ll… just give you guys a few minutes,” she said, quickly retreating. You kept your eyes on your plate as Mingi sipped his drink like it was tea and Yunho exhaled slowly. “You always this territorial or just when it’s about me?”

Your fork stopped mid air. “I’m not territorial,” you said. “I just have a low tolerance for fake flirtation and shared brain cells that give me a migraine when I’m trying to enjoy myself.” Yunho leaned forward, elbows on the table, smirk back in place. “Sure. That’s why your eyes rolled into the back of your head when she touched my arm.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Mingi beat you to it. “Should I get the dessert menu or just sit here quietly while my girlfriend murders my best friend with her eyeballs?” You shoved a spoonful of rice into your mouth to avoid answering as Yunho just leaned back in his chair and smiled like he’d just won a silent game you hadn’t even realized you were playing.

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The villa was quiet. Too quiet. Dinner had ended with a weird hum between you and Yunho, one part tension, one part leftover sarcasm, and two parts that thing neither of you would name. Mingi, oblivious or pretending to be, had paid the bill with a kiss to your cheek and an arm slung casually around your shoulders and Yunho hadn’t said much the entire ride back. And now, standing barefoot in the hallway with a glass of water in one hand and his phone untouched in the other, he watched it happen.

You grabbed Mingi’s hand. Pulled him down the hall. Laughed, soft, breathy. You didn’t look back as the bedroom door opened with a quiet creak, and Yunho’s entire body locked up when Mingi paused, half turned to call over his shoulder. “Night, man!” Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He just stood there, heart kicking against his ribs like a warning bell. The door clicked shut. The hall light flickered above him once. Twice. And then he was alone. Glass still in his hand. Knuckles white around the stem.

He swallowed hard. The water tasted like nothing as your laugh echoed faintly through the wall behind him, and Yunho almost flinched. Not from the sound itself, but from how familiar it was. How he could picture exactly what you looked like when you laughed like that. Head tilted back. Eyes scrunched. Lips parted. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was none of his business. It was never going to be his business.

You were with Mingi. And Mingi was the one who got there first. The one who didn’t even know he’d beat Yunho to you. The one who trusted him. Who had no idea that Yunho still sometimes dreamed about what it would’ve been like if he’d just spoken up that night. Yunho exhaled through his nose then turned, slowly, walking back to his own room. The bathroom door between your rooms was closed. But he stood in front of it for a beat too long.

The light under the crack flickered faintly. He heard your voice, low, close. A laugh. A sigh. Then a moan. He pressed his forehead gently against the wood, eyes still closed. And stayed there. Just for a moment. Long enough to feel the ache spread down his spine and into his chest like something he wouldn’t name before finally turning away.

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The villa was still. Birds sang outside. Light breeze pushing white curtains in gentle sways. The scent of ocean salt mixed with fresh linen and the faintest trace of Mingi’s shampoo on your skin. It was early, stupidly early, but your body had refused to stay asleep. You slipped out of bed quietly, leaving Mingi snoring lightly in the tangled sheets, and padded down the hallway in one of his oversized tshirts. The air was cooler than expected, soft against your skin. The kitchen was flooded with that perfect island morning light, cool shadows and slanted rays stretching across the wood floors.

You made it halfway to the fridge before you froze. Because outside, through the wide glass doors leading to the deck, someone was in the pool. Yunho. Your bare feet stopped mid step. He hadn’t seen you yet. He was swimming laps, slow, steady, each movement clean and fluid, like he’d done it a thousand times. The water shimmered around him. His hair was slicked back, face relaxed, eyes closed as he surfaced at the far end and gripped the edge of the pool. And he was shirtless. Your heart kicked once. You’d never seen him shirtless before. Not really. Maybe glimpses. A towel wrapped low after a beach day. A tank top. But this was different.

The sharp cut of his shoulders. The way his back curved as he exhaled. The muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he pulled himself halfway up onto the ledge to sit. Water dripped down his chest in long, lazy rivulets. You stared. Like an idiot. Mouth slightly open. And for just a second, you forgot all the things you were supposed to feel. The irritation. The anger. The loyalty to the man still asleep in your bed. Because all you could feel right now was heat. Low in your stomach. Buzzing behind your ribs as Yunho pushed his hands through his hair. Then glanced up. Your breath caught as he saw you and didn’t look away.

He stood up and your breath caught. The second he made eye contact through the glass door, there was a shift in the air, like he’d made a decision and you were just going to have to deal with it. And then he walked inside. No towel. No shirt. Just dripping wet, black swim trunks clinging to him like second skin. You turned so fast you nearly whacked your hip on the fridge.

The sound of the sliding glass door closing behind him was too loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. The drip drip drip of water hitting the hardwood echoed like a goddamn metronome as you tried focusing on the counter. The fruit bowl. The nothing in your hand. Anything except him. “Morning,” he said casually, voice still rough from sleep and saltwater. You cleared your throat. “You’re… uh. You’re dripping. Everywhere.”

He laughed once, low and unbothered. “Didn’t feel like grabbing a towel.” You risked a glance. Mistake. The swim shorts, black, low slung, soaked, left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The material clung to every curve, every outline, water still sliding down the V of his hips, over his abs, down his thighs. And there. God help you. Even soft, he was… Okay. Okay. You swallowed and forced your eyes back to the sink like it held answers to life’s biggest questions. “Pretty sure Mingi would kill you if you warped the floors considering he’s paying…” you muttered, playing it off, grabbing a mug you absolutely didn’t need just to keep your hands busy.

Yunho didn’t respond right away as he moved further into the kitchen, and you could feel it. The heat of him. The way the air shifted as he got closer, the pause he took like he was deciding if he should actually retort back or not. “Pretty sure Mingi wouldn’t care,” he said quietly. “Especially if he knew you were too distracted to notice.”

Your spine stiffened and you turned slowly, mug in hand. “Excuse me?” He was closer than he had any right to be. Just a few steps away, arms crossed now, droplets of water trailing from his hair down his collarbones. His eyes locked on yours, calm and unreadable. “Just saying,” he said, voice low, like he wasn’t actively trying to destroy you before 8:00 am. “You’re acting real annoyed for someone who won’t stop looking.”

Your fingers clenched around the handle of the mug as you met his gaze head on, even as your pulse did a whole damn drum solo under your skin. “I’ve seen better.” It was only a half lie because Mingi was just as big, had you just as spiraling as you are now when you first saw him too.

Yunho smiled. That slow, devastating kind of smile that made you want to both slap him and climb him like a tree. “Sure you have.” And then he walked past you, dripping water across the floor like it was a challenge.

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Yunho thought nothing else today could throw him off balance. He’d survived waking up too early. He’d survived seeing you in the kitchen with bed hair, wearing Mingi’s shirt and nothing else. He’d survived walking into the villa sopping wet, only to be met with your wide eyed, not so subtle stare down his body. But then you walked out in those shorts and he nearly blacked out. They weren’t even full shorts. They were…. what even were they? Denim laced up your hips like a damn corset. Ribbons tied into delicate little bows on your thighs, framing the bare skin he shouldn’t have been looking at but was. The fabric clung like it had been stitched onto you. And when you bent slightly to grab your phone from the couch?

Yunho felt everything inside him snap like a guitar string stretched too tight. You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did. You just turned to Mingi, grinning like this was any other sunny day on vacation, and said, “Ready?” Mingi chuckled, flipping his keys in one hand. “With you in that outfit? I’m ready for anything.” Yunho rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

The drive into town was brutal. You were in the passenger seat again, one leg curled up on the dashboard, the shorts riding up criminally. Mingi’s hand rested lazily on your bare thigh like he owned it. Like he wasn’t flaunting it. Like Yunho wasn’t sitting behind you, sunglasses on, staring at his hand on your thigh, fists clenched, practically chewing the inside of his cheek in raw jealousy.

The worst part? Mingi kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Not with judgment. Not even with suspicion. But with something knowing. Something that said, I see you. Yunho looked out the window, jaw clenched, pretending the ocean breeze was enough to cool the fire licking up his spine. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t…. Your arm shifted. The bow on your hip bounced. He looked again. Fuck.

You laughed at something Mingi said. Tossed your head back. That sound, Yunho wanted to hate it. But it just made his chest ache as Mingi’s thumb brushed up and down your thigh once. Twice. Yunho closed his eyes. Ten more minutes into town. Then maybe he could breathe again.

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It was supposed to be a quick stop. Some overpriced sunglasses. A couple souvenir shops. Maybe a snack before heading back to the villa. But then you crossed the street. You hadn’t even said anything before skipping, literally skipping across the crosswalk in those fucking shorts. Yunho watched your laces bounce as you moved. Mingi was too busy trying on some ridiculous neon green sunglasses to notice as Yunho set his jaw and followed.

The heat clung to his skin. The back of his neck felt tight. He didn’t need shaved ice. He didn’t even like shaved ice. But you were standing in line for it. And someone else was standing too close in front of you. Tourist. Tall. Blonde. Loud enough that Yunho heard every word before he was even close. “You’re not from around here, are you?” You glanced up at him, surprised but smiling. “Is it that obvious?” The guy chuckled. “You look like an Instagram reel. In a good way.”

Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides as you laughed politely. “That line ever work for you before?” The guy grinned down at you. “First time, but I’d say it’s going okay.” Yunho stepped into the line behind you silently. Close enough to hear everything. Close enough that you felt the heat coming off his chest. Close enough that the guy looked past you and clocked him instantly and his smile flickered. Yunho didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. He just stared, arms crossed, eyes dark behind his sunglasses. Letting the silence hang heavy in the air between you all. Letting the tension settle like fog.

The guy turned back to you, trying to recover. “So, what flavor are you getting?” You shrugged. “I don’t know yet,” you said, suddenly less amused. “Might take a while to decide.” Yunho’s voice retorted flatly from behind you. “Might want to take that to go then.” You looked over your shoulder at him. He was too close. Too warm. Too calm in that Yunho about to snap kind of way. “Why are you here?” you asked, raising a brow and he shrugged. “Guess I got a craving.” Your eyes narrowed. “For shaved ice?” His mouth curved, just barely. “For silence.”

The guy in front of you awkwardly cleared his throat, stepped up to the counter, and placed his order, quickly, quietly, and without another word. You waited a beat, then turned back around. “You know,” you muttered under your breath, “I can fight my own battles.” Yunho leaned down just enough to be heard over the breeze. Voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not fighting for you. I’m warning him.” You didn’t respond. But Yunho saw the way your fingers gripped the hem of your shorts just a little tighter as the guy scurried off with his neon colored snow cone and bruised ego, leaving just the two of you at the stand.

You stepped up next. “Lilikoi and mango,” you said casually, like your pulse wasn’t still racing from the last two minutes. Yunho ordered without looking at you. “Lychee. No syrup.” The vendor handed yours over first, and you took a slow bite, spoon in your mouth, tongue curling around the flavor like you were trying to give him a brain injury. Then you turned, walking a few steps toward the edge of the sidewalk before turning back toward him, arms crossed over your chest, plastic cup balanced in one hand. “You know,” you said, head tilting, voice deceptively calm, “it’s not really your place to scare off other guys, is it?”

Yunho blinked. His grip on the cup tightened, knuckles whitening around the plastic. The condensation slick against his fingers was nothing compared to the heat bubbling up inside him. “Unless something changed while I was asleep last night…” You smiled sweetly.

“that’s Mingi’s job. Not yours.” He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. The glare he sent you was enough to freeze the next spoonful of shaved ice before it reached your lips. His jaw tensed. His sunglasses reflected your smirk back at you, but his body betrayed him, tense, hot, vibrating with restraint he didn’t even try to hide.

“Baby!” Mingi’s voice cut through the tension like a knife as he jogged across the street, grinning, stupidly proud of the new aviators on his face. “Check these out! They were on sale.” Yunho straightened immediately, stepping back like he hadn’t just been a breath away from saying something that could’ve split the Earth in half as you turned toward Mingi, flashing him a smile like nothing had happened. “They look hot.” Mingi grinned wider, slipping an arm around your waist and leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. And Yunho? He just stood there. Shaved ice forgotten in his hand. Watching the girl he couldn’t have melt into the arms of his best friend ho had no idea what was really happening three feet away.

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Mingi watched the whole thing from across the street. He’d just finished trying on another pair of sunglasses, ridiculous, wraparound, objectively hideous, when he turned his head and saw the tension playing out between you and Yunho like a scene on a screen he didn’t need sound for. He saw the way that tourist leaned too close to you. Saw how Yunho stepped up behind you like a shadow claiming space. Didn’t hear what was said. Didn’t need to. Because the way that guy stepped back a few inches, scratched the back of his neck, and lost all his swagger? Yeah. Yunho had said something.

Mingi took off the sunglasses and sighed, lips twitching around the rim of his plastic cup of pineapple juice. “Damn, he really might not do it…” That was the thought that stuck as he watched you smirk, spoon in your mouth, and Yunho just standing there behind you with tension in his shoulders and frustration in his fists. He was loyal. Of course he was. He always had been. Mingi had known Yunho wanted you months ago. He hadn’t said it, not directly, but Mingi didn’t need words. He saw it in the way Yunho looked at you the night you met. That one second delay when Mingi introduced you. The way Yunho barely blinked, then smiled a little too wide and nodded a little too fast like he was covering something up.

Mingi knew. And still, he asked you out first. Because he wanted you too. And because he wanted to see. What Yunho would do. How far he’d go. If he’d step in. If he’d break. But Yunho never did. Not even once. Always a little distant. Always a little annoyed. Always pretending it was just dislike, just friction. But Mingi knew better. And now, watching you tease Yunho, seeing how hard Yunho tried not to react, Mingi could feel it, the frustration simmering under the surface of his best friend’s carefully controlled face.

And still… Yunho hadn’t made a move. Not even now. “Maybe he really won’t.” Mingi exhaled slowly and walked toward you after buying a new pair of sunglasses. His hand slipped around your waist with practiced ease, lips brushing your temple. You smiled, leaning into him, unaware of the silent war happening just behind you. Yunho was standing perfectly still, frozen like he wasn’t even breathing. Mingi looked at him. Not long. Just enough.

And Yunho looked back. That was all it took. A single glance. A flicker of something sharp in Yunho’s eyes. And Mingi smiled. He might have to push harder. Because if Yunho was still clinging to his loyalty, Mingi was going to have to make it unbearable. No more subtle setups. No more “accidental” room arrangements or strategic timing. He was going to make Yunho crack. Because he didn’t want him to stay loyal. He wanted him to want you enough to break the rules. And maybe? Maybe he wanted to watch it happen.

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The water was warm, quiet. Night had settled over the island like silk, soft and humid. The pool lights glowed faint blue under the surface, casting waves of color across your skin as you floated lazily, arms out, staring up at the stars. You didn’t hear him approach. But you felt it the second Mingi slipped into the pool behind you. His hands found your waist easily, pulling you back against him with practiced ease. You let your head fall back on his shoulder, humming softly as his lips brushed your temple. “Couldn’t sleep?” you murmured.

“Didn’t want to,” he whispered making you smile, eyes still closed. “Of course you didn’t.” He didn’t answer. Just let his hands roam, down your hips, over the tops of your thighs where your swimsuit dipped low. His mouth found your neck, warm and open, mouthed, kissing beneath your ear before trailing lower. Your breath caught when his teeth grazed your skin. “Mingi,” you warned, barely above a whisper. “Really? Here?” He didn’t reply. Just grinned against your neck and you didn’t plan on stopping him.

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The towel slung around Yunho’s hips was damp. His hair was dripping, skin still flushed from the steam of the shower as he walked barefoot across the villa’s cool tile. He meant to grab a bottle of water. Meant to crash in bed and forget the way you’d looked all day in those ridiculous shorts. The way you’d smirked. The way Mingi had touched you like it meant nothing and everything at the same time. Yunho rubbed a hand through his hair, turned the corner and froze. Because the living room opened into the kitchen. And the kitchen opened to the wide, glass doors facing the pool.

And the pool? The pool held you. Your back arched slightly, arms wrapped behind Mingi’s neck as his hands held you tight under the surface. Your head tilted back, lips parted, throat exposed as his mouth kissed along your collarbone. Yunho didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because then Mingi shifted. And Yunho saw it, saw everything. The way your body jerked forward. The way your thighs curled tighter around Mingi’s waist. The ripple of the water around you as his hips thrust forward, slow, controlled. Fucking you in the pool.

And then Mingi looked up. Right at him. Like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. And he grinned. Not wicked. Not cruel.

Just… knowing. Like he was saying, See it, Yunho.

Feel it. Watch what you’ve always wanted, mine. Yunho didn’t realize his hand had gripped the back of the couch until his knuckles turned white. Didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you moaned, soft, broken, and Mingi buried his face against your neck, still staring straight at him. And Yunho? He couldn’t look away.

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The room was dim, lit only by the low lamp on the nightstand. Mingi was half beneath the sheets, head resting on his arm, one hand still trailing over your bare thigh like he couldn’t stop touching you, even now. Your skin was still damp from the pool. Your body was warm, pulsing, sated. And yet… you couldn’t sleep. Something in the way Mingi was watching you told you he couldn’t either. You looked down at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

His fingers paused for a moment. Then resumed. “I need to tell you something,” he said softly. “And you have to promise not to freak out.” You sat up slightly. “That’s never a great way to start a sentence.” He smiled, tired and genuine. “Yeah. I know.” You waited as he shifted onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a long second before speaking. “I know you want Yunho.” The words hit the air like a ripple. You blinked, mouth parting, heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. “I… what?” you whispered, trying to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “The way you fight with him. The way you watch him when you think no one’s looking?”You opened your mouth again, but he cut you off gently. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not mad.” Your stomach flipped. “I know he was going to ask you out,” he continued, voice quiet, steady. “That night. The party where we met? He was going to do it. I know him. But I got to you first.” You stared at him. “He never said anything.”

“He wouldn’t,” Mingi said. “He’s loyal. Too loyal, maybe.” The silence settled between you. Heavy. “You…” you swallowed. “You’re seriously not mad?” Mingi sat up slowly, resting his hand over your knee. “No,” he said. “Because I see it. I see the way he looks at you. Like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could feed him.” Your breath caught at his words, heart pounding. “And I see the way you try not to look back,” he added. “The way you pretend you don’t want more.” Your heart was in your throat now. “Mingi, what are you saying?”

He took your hand in his. “I’m saying…” He paused. Inhaled. Exhaled. “I want you to have both of us. If that’s what you want.” Your entire world tilted. “I don’t want you to lie to yourself just to protect me,” he continued. “Not when I’d rather give you everything.” You searched his face for a crack. A catch. Something that told you this was a joke. But it wasn’t. Mingi was serious. Open. Offering you both of them, him and Yunho, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your voice trembled. “You’d be okay with that?” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “If it’s him?” He smiled. “Yeah. I’d rather share you than lose you. Especially to the one person I’d trust with you.”

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Yunho hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d laid there, stiff in bed, shirtless, eyes on the ceiling, listening to every sound from the other side of that damn wall. Every breath. Every laugh. Every echo of your voice too soft to make out and too sharp to ignore. And even worse than the sound… The image. Burned behind his eyelids like a cruel gift. Your body arched against Mingi’s.

Water lapping around you.

Your mouth open, head tilted back. Mingi’s hands on your waist. His eyes on Yunho.

That fucking grin. Yunho had stood there long after it ended, still soaked from the shower, still hard, still reeling. He’d stared through the glass like if he looked long enough, he could forget what he’d seen.

He didn’t. And now it was morning. And you were in the kitchen. Wearing a black bikini top that hugged your chest so tightly he was convinced breathing around you was a test of willpower. The straps were thin. Barely there. And your shorts, shorter than yesterday, somehow, hugged your hips with lazy confidence as you bent over the counter, grabbing a banana from the bowl, and Yunho swore under his breath and turned to face the fridge just so he wouldn’t accidentally say something that would end this entire vacation.

Mingi walked in behind you, beach towel slung over his shoulder, sunglasses already on like the morning sun didn’t stand a chance against him. “Ready for the beach?” he asked, slapping Yunho’s back like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t stared him down while fucking you. Yunho nodded stiffly. “Sure.” He didn’t look at you. Didn’t let himself as you turned to Mingi, all easy smiles and bare skin, and reached for his hand like it was just another day and Yunho clenched his jaw.

If last night meant anything… If you knew he’d seen… If Mingi told you….. But no. You were laughing. You were touching. You were fine. He followed behind both of you as you walked out to the Jeep, quiet, hands shoved in his pockets, letting the sunlight blind him just to avoid looking at your bare back and the way your bikini ties bounced against your skin as he climbed into the back seat again. The third wheel. The passenger in his own punishment. And as the Jeep pulled out onto the coast road, wind in your hair and Mingi’s hand resting on your thigh again, Yunho did the one thing he swore he wouldn’t… He remembered the way you moaned. And then he wondered what you’d do if it was his hands on you instead.

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The sun was already high by the time they parked near the beach. It was a quiet stretch, just a few other cars nearby, the scent of sea salt carried on the wind, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. Palms swayed above, casting thin slivers of shade that did absolutely nothing to cool the burn already creeping up the back of Yunho’s neck. Mingi was the first out of the Jeep. He tossed the keys into the center console, stretched, arms overhead, shirt rising up just enough to flash skin and then grabbed the hem and pulled the shirt clean off. Yunho didn’t react. He was used to Mingi being effortlessly good looking, tan and broad, built like the kind of guy who always looked like he belonged in vacation photos. And now? Shirtless. Grinning. Sunglasses on. Towel slung over one shoulder.

Yunho hated how casual it all looked. Then you climbed out of the Jeep. And Yunho forgot how to breathe. Again. You didn’t say anything. Just walked to the back, opened the hatch, grabbed your bag, and then, without fanfare, hooked your thumbs into the sides of your shorts and slid them down your legs. Yunho blinked. Hard. The black bikini bottom was high cut, thin on the sides, hugging your hips in a way that should’ve been illegal. The ties at your waist matched the top, delicate little bows, like an afterthought. Like decoration. Like something someone else was meant to pull loose.

You didn’t look at him. You just balled up your shorts, turned, and tossed them back into the Jeep with a lazy flick of your wrist as Mingi whistled low behind you. “Jesus. Trying to get us kicked off the beach?” You smirked over your shoulder. “If I was trying, you’d know.” Yunho didn’t move. Couldn’t. He stood there, towel clutched in one hand, heart hammering in his chest like you’d reached in and grabbed it yourself. Because he remembered how your hips moved in the pool.

He remembered the sound of your moans. He remembered how Mingi looked him in the eyes while he fucked you.

And now you were just… here. Glowing. Barely dressed. Tossing your clothes around like his self control wasn’t hanging by a thread. He turned away, pretending to mess with the bag in the back of the Jeep. Breathe. Don’t look. Don’t think. But your laugh floated through the air again, sweet and sharp, and Yunho knew this beach day was going to be torture.

The walk down to the sand was maybe fifty yards. Yunho felt every inch of it. Mingi was ahead, already kicking off his sandals and muttering something about the water being warm enough to body surf. The sun bounced off his skin like it belonged there. You walked just behind him, your hips swinging with every step. Yunho couldn’t even pretend not to look. The bikini, God, the bikini was worse in motion. Tiny black strings tied at your hips, the triangle top shifting just enough with every step to make him feel unholy. Your legs looked longer and soft. And when you turned back to glance at him, tossing your hair out of your eyes, he nearly tripped over his own sandals.

He forced his eyes away. Focused on the beach spot Mingi had picked, halfway between the trees and the waterline. He threw the beach bag down and started setting up the umbrella like it was some kind of military grade device. “Need help?” you asked behind him, voice easy. “No,” he said a little too fast, stabbing the pole into the sand. Cool. Calm. Totally unbothered. The umbrella snapped open with a loud whump and nearly caught the wind. Yunho wrestled it into place like it owed him money.

Mingi had already taken off running toward the water, diving in with a whoop that echoed down the beach. Yunho straightened up just as you stepped under the shade beside him. You were close.

Closer than necessary. Your skin was flushed from the sun already, a fine sheen of sweat catching the light across your chest and collarbones. You licked a drop of moisture off your lower lip, totally unaware that Yunho’s brain had fully stopped functioning. “Not going in?” you asked, tilting your head. He shook his head. “I don’t feel like swimming.”

You looked out toward Mingi, bobbing in the waves. “Mingi dives in like a maniac,” you said softly, smiling. “Like the ocean owes him something.” Yunho’s throat worked. “He’s never afraid to get what he wants.” Your eyes flicked to his and the air shifted. Just a little. Your lashes lowered. “That why you’re staying on the sand?” He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the heat radiating off you was real. And the implication behind your words? Realer. And yet… You didn’t move away. You just sat down slowly on your towel, legs folding beneath you, the bikini hugging every curve like it knew he was watching.

And he was watching. Furious with himself for it. But watching. Trying to focus on the sound of the waves. Trying not to look at the way your body stretched out on your towel like an offering.

Trying not to imagine the way your skin would taste with salt and sunscreen and the faint sweetness of coconut oil that had been driving him insane since you stepped out of your room this morning. And he was almost succeeding. Until you looked up at him and said, all soft and casual. “Hey… can you do my back?”

His stomach dropped as you held out the bottle of sunscreen, arm stretched toward him like this was normal. Like this was fine. Like you weren’t deliberately setting him on fire with a smile on your face. He blinked. “I… what?” You pushed yourself up onto your knees, your back arched just slightly as you turned your head to look at him over your shoulder. “I don’t want to burn,” you said, like that explained everything. “I would get Mingi to do it but he’s still out there, pretending he’s in an Olympics ad.” You laughed. Yunho didn’t.

Because his brain had fully short circuited. You were holding your hair up. Your bikini strings hung loose against the slope of your back. There was nowhere for him to look that didn’t feel like sin. He took the bottle slowly, like it might explode. You settled in front of him on the towel, legs folded beneath you, spine straight as he squeezed the lotion into his palm and immediately regretted everything. Because the moment his hands met your skin? He knew he was fucked. Your back was warm, soft. His palms spread it over your shoulders, gliding in wide, even strokes like this was just routine. It wasn’t. Not for him. Not when you shivered slightly at his touch. Not when you let out a soft sigh and tilted your head just enough to the side.

His hands stalled. “You good?” you asked, voice light but teasing. He swallowed. “Yeah. Just… making sure I don’t miss a spot.” You turned your head enough to catch his eyes. And smiled. Innocent. Sweet. Lethal. He kept rubbing the sunscreen in. Down your spine. Over your lower back. His fingers brushed the waistband of your bikini bottom and he swore he felt you lean into it just a fraction. Yunho’s mind was white noise. Salt. Heat. Skin. You. Right here. And Mingi… Mingi was still in the water. But he could feel his gaze anyway. Feel the way it burned into him as his best friend started walking towards them and Yunho quickly finished with the sunscreen and turned away from you.

Mingi flopped down onto the edge of the towel like he hadn’t just let Yunho flounder in a personal hell of sun warmed skin and coconut scented temptation. “I’m starving,” he groaned dramatically, brushing sand off his chest. “But I don’t wanna leave yet. This breeze is so good.” Yunho didn’t even look at him. He was too busy pretending he hadn’t just carved a map of your back into his memory with his hands.

“I’ll go,” Yunho muttered, already standing up and brushing sand off his shorts. “I’ll take the jeep and grab food.” Anything. Anything to get some air. Get his head right. “I’ll come too.” Your voice. Sweet. Casual. Fucking devastating. Yunho blinked down at you. “Why?” You shrugged, reaching for your shorts. “You’ll forget napkins or something stupid. Besides, you don’t know where the good poke bowls are and I already have them marked on my phone.”

Mingi made a noise that was dangerously close to a laugh. “Take my card,” he said, tossing it toward Yunho without looking. “And get me something sweet and some beer.” Yunho caught the card mid air. Barely. His reflexes weren’t at their best when his blood was no longer functioning in his brain. You slipped your shorts on, tied your sarong around your waist, and padded after him like this was all so normal. Like you hadn’t just let him touch you. Like you weren’t slowly dismantling him with your soft little smirks and fake indifference.

He gripped the keys tighter as you climbed into the passenger seat. Mingi leaned back in the sun, sunglasses reflecting the waves, arms folded behind his head like he was watching a plan unfold. Yunho didn’t say anything as he started the jeep. Didn’t say anything as you propped your bare feet up on the dash. Didn’t say anything when you reached into the center console and pulled out his sunglasses, sliding them on with a grin like you knew he was watching you from the corner of his eye. And he was. Because he couldn’t not.

The wind rushed through the open windows, but it didn’t help. Not really. The air was too hot. Your thighs were too bare. Your fucking scent was still on his hands. Yunho gripped the steering wheel harder, watching the road, not because he was focused, but because looking anywhere else was worse. You shifted beside him, your knee brushing his as you got more comfortable. “You okay over there?” you asked, a little teasing edge to your voice. “You’re gripping the wheel like it owes you money.” He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t trust himself to. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Just driving,” he finally said, flat and voice much deeper than usual.

“Mmm. You’re weird today.”

He cut a look toward you. Big mistake. The way you were leaned back in the seat, hair blown wild, lips glossy, one strap of your top peeking from beneath the knotted sarong like it was trying to slip free…. It was all so intentional. And even if it wasn’t? His brain didn’t care. He looked back at the road. “Do you always flirt with your boyfriend’s best friend?” he asked before he could stop himself and your head turned. “What?”

“Nothing.” Yunho clenched his jaw as you scoffed, a smirk playing at your lips. “No, say it again.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. “You’re acting different. That’s all.” You scoffed again and he felt your stare even with his eyes glued to the road. “Maybe you’re acting different.” He didn’t respond. Because you weren’t wrong. And when you didn’t get a rise out of him, you pushed harder, because of course you did. “You were real quick to scare that guy off yesterday, and you never did answer when I said it wasn’t your place.”

“You’re with Mingi.” Yunho’s grip on the wheel tightened again. “Yeah. So why are you the one acting jealous?” He hit the brakes just a little too hard at the red light. The silence thickened. You leaned in, voice lower now. “You gonna answer that?” Yunho was sure if he clenched his jaw any tighter, he’d break it. “No,” he said. But it didn’t come out like no. It came out like a warning. The light turned green. He accelerated. But your voice followed him like a hook in his ribs.

“I don’t think Mingi would care if you were,” you said casually. “In fact… I think he’d like it.” Yunho looked at you so fast he almost swerved into a palm tree. You just smiled, legs crossed at the knee, his sunglasses sliding slightly down your nose as you looked back at him over the rim. “Eyes on the road, Yunho.”

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The food shack was small, tucked between a surf rental booth and a local jewelry stand. The line was short, the breeze warm, the air thick with the smell of grilled fish and salt. Yunho stared at the menu, pretending he couldn’t feel your body practically hovering beside his. You weren’t touching him. But you may as well have been. Your fingers brushed the counter next to his, close enough that if he flexed his pinky, it’d graze yours. But he didn’t. God help him, he didn’t. “Two poke bowls,” he told the guy at the register, barely recognizing his own voice. “One with spicy ahi, one with shrimp. Extra rice. Bottle of water. And a….” He glanced at you.

You blinked up at him, like you hadn’t just spent the whole drive melting him from the inside out. “What do you want?” He asked as you leaned in, brushing against his arm as you reached to point at the menu. “Tuna, pineapple, furikake. And a Thai tea.” You didn’t move back. He could feel your skin against his. The bare part of your side where the bikini top didn’t reach. Yunho swallowed. “You heard her,” he muttered to the cashier, handing over Mingi’s card and willing his heart to slow the hell down.

As the guy rang them up, you leaned in closer. And your voice dropped, soft, almost innocent. “You know… when you’re not being annoying…. you’re hot.” He turned his body away slightly, trying to hide the fact that the swim trunks he was wearing were clinging to him in ways he didn’t want you to see again. Not yet. “You’re impossible,” he muttered. You hummed, glancing out toward the ocean where Mingi was probably still laid out like a sun drenched menace without a care in the world. “Mingi likes impossible.”

“Mingi’s not the one who feels like he’s being tested,” Yunho bit out before he could stop himself. You turned slowly. “No?” you asked. “Then who is?” The cashier called out the order number. Yunho snatched the bags and walked away like they were going to save his life as you followed him like you were still hungry.

Yunho balanced the bags in one hand, letting the condensation from the Thai tea drip down his forearm. His shirt clung to his back, either from sweat or stress, he couldn’t tell anymore. You glanced back at him as you opened the passenger door of the Jeep. “We should grab beer,” you said casually. “And something sweet. Mingi said he was craving it. There’s a store down the block,” you replied, not even giving him time to answer before you were walking, no, strutting, away, your sandals clacking against the sunbaked pavement.

Yunho exhaled through his nose. Right. Beer. Something sweet. For Mingi. This was normal. This was fine. This was definitely not you dragging him through a tropical town in a black bikini top and tiny shorts while his blood pressure reached dangerous levels. This wasn’t him noticing the way your hair stuck to your shoulders from the heat, or how the faintest glimps of dimples at the base of your spine peeked out when you bent slightly to check a store sign. He was not staring. He was absolutely not adjusting himself when you weren’t looking.

“What kind of beer?” he asked, catching up to you outside the shop. You pushed open the door, cool air washing over both of you. “You’re the one who drinks with him,” you shrugged. “Something local. Cold. And I want mochi.” He followed you past the small produce section and down the narrow rows of snacks and alcohol, eyes on everything except the shelves. You reached up on tiptoes to grab a box of strawberry mochi from the freezer. He tried not to look. He really did. But your top shifted, and the swell of your side peeked out again. That little stretch of soft skin he hadn’t stopped thinking about since rubbing sunscreen into your back. “You okay?” you asked, turning suddenly.

He looked away. Fast. “Yeah. Just….. trying to remember what kind he likes.” You tilted your head. “Mingi?” you asked, smirking. “Or you?” Yunho blinked. “What?” You smiled, turning to examine the beer cooler, clearly not expecting a real answer. He hated how you played it off like you weren’t doing it on purpose. Like you didn’t know exactly how close you stood when you passed him the mochi. Like you didn’t lean just enough to let your arm graze his chest. Like you didn’t glance down when he bent to grab a six pack, eyes flickering right to the waistband of his shorts before darting away like you hadn’t just looked.

You didn’t say a word the whole walk back to the Jeep. Neither did he. But when he handed you the six pack to buckle in the backseat next to the poke bowls and your thighs brushed again, he heard you sigh… Soft. Barely there. But it wasn’t nothing. And now he was stuck sitting next to you on the drive back to the beach, muscles tense, brain fried, and one single thought looping like a broken cassette. Mingi doesn’t deserve this kind of friendship. Because Yunho might actually burn the whole villa down before the trip is over.

The wind whipped through the open windows of the Jeep, but it did nothing to cool Yunho down. He gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, eyes fixed on the winding road back to the beach. Beside him, you sat like the living embodiment of smug serenity, legs stretched out, hair blowing wildly, lips still sticky from the strawberry mochi you devoured without a single care in the world. The six pack clinked against the styrofoam bowls in the backseat. He was calculating how many seconds it would take to drop the food off and walk straight into the ocean when you turned to him. Casual. Lazy. Like you were just thinking out loud. “Why didn’t you ask me out?”

Yunho blinked. Grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What?” You didn’t repeat yourself. You just let the words hang in the space between you, carried by salt air and rising heat. And then you smiled. That smile. The one that said you knew he heard you. The one that said you knew exactly what you were doing. “Waiting until after Mingi beat you to it… That must of driven you crazy.” He inhaled through his nose. Counted. One… two… three…. “Explains your attitude.” The tires screeched as he jerked the wheel and pulled the Jeep off to the side of the road. Dust clouded around you both as he threw it in park. “What the hell are you doing?” you asked, startled, eyes wide as you looked over.

He turned to you slowly. Yunho’s jaw clenched, the sun catching the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He didn’t look angry. He looked done. “You really wanna do this here?” he asked, voice low. You tilted your head. “Do what?” He glared at you. “Push me.” He leaned back slightly, resting one hand on the wheel, the other dropping to his thigh, fingers drumming slowly like he was keeping time. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, more to himself than to you. “How hard it’s been not to say something. Not to touch you. From the second we got here.” Your mouth parted, but he didn’t let you interrupt.

“You think I’m mad because Mingi got there first?” he scoffed. “You think I’m jealous?” He looked away, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek before turning back. “I’m mad because you know. You know what you’re doing. And you keep doing it anyway.” The car was silent except for the ticking of the engine cooling. “So yeah. Maybe I didn’t ask you out. But don’t pretend like you didn’t feel it too.” His eyes dropped, lingering on the way your hand had curled against your bare thigh. “Still do.”

Your breath hitched and he noticed. And it made everything worse. Because now there was no pretending. No deflection. No smug grin or fake shrug. You were looking at him like you’d been waiting for him to finally catch up. The Jeep suddenly felt too small. Too hot. “Then do something about it.” Your voice was smooth. Soft. But the words landed like a punch to the chest. Yunho’s first instinct was to laugh. Because of course you’d say that. Of course you’d push him exactly where he didn’t want to go. No safety net. No room to backtrack. Just straight into the fire. He gritted his teeth and looked away, hand tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles went pale. Maybe if he didn’t look at you, he could hold it together.

But then his gaze flicked back and you were looking at him like you wanted him to. Not teasing. Not mocking. Open. Waiting. Like you already knew he’d cave. His brain screamed don’t. His body said fuck you. He snapped. In one motion, Yunho reached over and grabbed your jaw, pulling you in across the console so fast your breath caught. And then he kissed you. No hesitation. No testing the waters. He kissed you like he meant it, like the words had burned a hole straight through his restraint and the only thing that could put out the fire was you. You gasped against him, lips parting, and he groaned when you kissed him back just as hard, just as hungry. Your hand fisted the front of his shirt like you were anchoring yourself, and he angled closer, chasing the sound of your breath.

His thumb brushed your cheek as his other hand dropped to your waist, gripping tight, like he could press you into his skin and finally stop pretending. The Jeep was hot. His head was spinning. And your mouth tasted like strawberry and sin. When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, pupils blown, chest rising and falling like he’d just come up for air after drowning. He stared at you. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered, voice hoarse. You licked your bottom lip, eyes locked on his. “Then maybe you should stop kissing me like it’s not.” Yunho’s jaw flexed. He didn’t have a comeback. Because you were right. You were always right.

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The second the Jeep rolled to a stop, Mingi popped up from the blanket like a kid spotting the ice cream truck. Shirtless, sandy, a big dumb grin on his face as he jogged toward you. “Took you long enough,” he called, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Yunho didn’t respond. He was too focused on the way your hand lingered on the door handle after you climbed out. Too focused on how the back of your leg brushed his arm as you reached in to grab the poke bowls. Too focused on not looking like a man who had kissed his best friend’s girlfriend in the middle of the goddamn roadside.

You were humming again, just like in the store. Casual. Carefree. Acting like his mouth hadn’t just been on yours. Like he hadn’t nearly pulled your body over the gear shift and ruined both your lives. He followed behind you with the bag of drinks, trying to school his expression into something normal. Mingi was already unboxing his food on the towel. “You got extra spicy?” he asked, lifting the lid and letting out a pleased hum. “Damn, I love you.” Mingi cracked open his beer, leaned back on his elbows, and glanced between the two of you. One eyebrow cocked. “You two good?”

You shrugged. “Fine.” Yunho grunted something that vaguely resembled agreement, sinking into the towel beside his own bowl, fingers fumbling with the chopsticks like they were foreign objects. Mingi chuckled, taking a long pull of his beer, then passed Yunho one without breaking eye contact with you. “You look flushed,” he said, smirking. “Sun too much for you?” You smiled at him, corners of your mouth slowly turning into a smirk. “Something like that.”

Yunho stared at the ocean. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch his food. Took one sip of his beer. Didn’t even move until Mingi finally turned his attention away, stuffing a bite into his mouth and sighing dramatically about how this was the best damn poke bowl on the island. Then you leaned back on your elbows, same as Mingi. Legs stretched out in front of you. Sand clinging to your thighs. Yunho shouldn’t have looked. But he did. Right at the edge of his vision, your smile curled, like you knew.

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The lights in the villa were low. Just the golden under cabinet glow in the kitchen and one dim floor lamp humming softly in the corner. The kind of lighting that made everything feel slower. Softer. Dangerous. The bottle of wine was almost empty. Mingi held it by the neck as he slumped back into the couch cushions, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. He’d been talkative just a few minutes ago, buzzed, laughing, dragging out the same stupid inside joke from the beach, but now he was blinking slower. Voice quieter. “I’m gonna lay down,” he mumbled, voice sticky with exhaustion.

Yunho didn’t say anything. He just watched him push to his feet, wobble slightly, then grin at himself like he was charming even when tipsy. You stood too, grabbing the bottle to walk it to the kitchen, passing Mingi on your way. He caught your wrist. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” You rolled your eyes, your voice light. “So basically nothing’s off limits?” Mingi grinned and stumbled off toward the bedroom, muttering something that sounded like “You get me” as the door clicked shut behind him.

Yunho stood on one side of the room. You stood on the other. The tension was instant. Thick. He watched the way your fingers played with the rim of the bottle. How your eyes didn’t meet his. How your weight shifted from one foot to the other like you were either going to pour another drink or say something reckless. “So,” you finally said, voice too casual. “You still thinking about it?” Yunho stayed quiet. Not because he didn’t have anything to say. But because every version of a response ended with him pinning you against a wall.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossing over your chest. “What? Now you’ve got nothing to say? Going to pretend it didn’t happen?” He got up off the couch, took a step forward. Just one. Then another and another. Your eyes met his. Neither of you looked away. “You keep doing this,” he said, voice low. Controlled. “Doing what?” You played innocent, like you had no idea what he was talking about. “Pushing.”

You tilted your head in challenge. “You think I’m pushing? Or are you just scared of what happens if you push back?” The room felt smaller. The distance between you felt irrelevant. Yunho ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t even tipsy. But his blood was buzzing and his throat felt tight and the kiss you’d shared in the Jeep was still on his mouth.

“You should go to bed,” he said finally, tone flat. “I should,” you agreed. But you didn’t move. “Are you going to kiss me again if I don’t?” He blinked. Took another step forward making you smirk, like you knew he would. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered and Yunho’s jaw clenched. He could feel your stare on the side of his face, a heat more direct than the Hawaiian sun. He glanced your way. You were walking back to the couch. Not flirty, just confident. Like you knew exactly how far you were going to push him tonight.

He followed, sat back, the dim light catching on his jaw as he tracked your every move, not sitting yet, playing with the music from Mingi’s bluetooth speaker. You leaned against the edge of the couch, hands behind you on the cushion, brushing against his shoulder. “How bad you want me?” His eyes flicked to yours. Sharp. Warning. “Stop.” You bit your lip and shook your head. “No.”

Yunho’s entire frame tensed. His hands curled into fists on his thighs. “Mingi’s my best friend,” he said, voice low. Rough. “I can’t….” You cut him off, taking a step between his knees. “Can’t what? Can’t touch me?” You leaned closer, eyes searching his face. “Or can’t stop yourself?” He shook his head. “Don’t.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “You kissed me. You pulled over the Jeep just to put your mouth on mine. And now you’re pretending like that didn’t mean something?”

He opened his mouth to speak but you were already moving. Climbing onto his lap. Your thighs bracketing his. Your hands on his shoulders. Your breath brushing against his lips. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t breathe. You stared down at him, face unreadable, your weight settling slowly onto his hips like a challenge. Like a dare. “Then stop me,” you whispered. He couldn’t. He should’ve pushed you off. Should’ve said your name like it meant something. Should’ve reminded you that Mingi had every right to be the only one with you in moments like this.

But instead he shook. Just a little. Like all the tension, all the holding back, was fracturing under the pressure of you in his lap, the he stood. Lifting you with him. Not speaking. Just holding you in his arms as he stood in the center of the room, staring at the hallway like it might save him. He didn’t move. Didn’t set you down. Just stood there in silence, chest rising and falling too fast, while your arms slid around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, breath ghosting against his temple.

He squeezed his eyes shut. And let out a slow, ragged breath like it hurt just to be near you. “Do you want to stop, Yunho?” You asked it so softly he almost convinced himself he didn’t hear it. But your mouth was by his ear. And your legs were wrapped around his waist. And you were waiting. Waiting for him to stop being good. To stop being careful. To stop choosing Mingi first. And for the first time since the start of this trip, since you and Mingi first got together, he did. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs. Hard. And then he moved, dropping with you back on the couch still wrapped around him, your weight landing in his lap, your hands flying to his chest as your lips parted on instinct. But he didn’t kiss you right away. Not your mouth, at least.

His lips crashed against your neck, teeth dragging just enough to make your breath hitch. “Yunho…” A growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he kissed lower, your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere the oversized tank top had slipped too far. His fingers bunched the hem, dragging it up your waist like it offended him. He needed more skin. He needed to feel you. All of you. Your fingers tangled in his hair. And still, his mouth kept moving. Every inch of you that was bare, he kissed. Every breathless sound you made, he drank.

You rolled your hips down into his lap and he bucked up hard, his hands now under your shirt, spreading across your back, pulling you in like he couldn’t get close enough. His lips returned to your neck, kissing, sucking, teeth dragging again. “Yunho,” you gasped and he pulled back. Just barely. His forehead rested against your jaw. His voice rough. “I’m not stopping. If we do this…. I won’t stop.” You brushed your thumb along his bottom lip. “Then don’t.”

That was it. He kissed you hard. Sloppy. Needy. Like a man starved. Like he’d waited years. Your shirt was gone. He didn’t even remember taking it off. Your legs tightened around his hips and he swore under his breath when you started grinding down, dragging a desperate groan from his throat. He caught your wrists and pinned them to your sides, his breath hot against your lips as he rocked up again. Your bare chest in the dim villa light, skin soft, glowing, rising and falling with every sharp breath you took. It was like something broke loose in him, a part he’d been holding back for so long.

His mouth dropped to your breast before either of you could think. No teasing. No lead in. He moaned against you, lips latching to your skin like it was his last chance to worship it. Tongue circling your nipple, dragging a cry from your throat. He kissed lower, then higher, then switched sides, sucking, dragging, tasting. “Yunho…” His eyes flicked up to yours and he just… stared. Your lips were parted, hands in his hair, eyes blown wide with heat. “You’re perfect,” he breathed. But then, you pushed him.

He grunted, falling back onto the couch cushions, caught off guard. Your body slipped from his lap to the floor, and before he could ask what you were doing your hands were on the waistband of his shorts. Oh. Oh! “Y/N…” He lifted his hips without hesitation, short circuiting at the sight of your fingers curled into the fabric, dragging it down slow. You watched every inch of him as it was revealed, inch by thick, twitching, aching inch. And Yunho was fighting for his life.

His hand gripped the couch behind his head, knuckles white. His abs tightened as he watched you take him in, your eyes lingering, lips slightly parted before you just smirked, leaning forward. Your breath ghosted over his thigh and he dropped his head back on the couch. A guttural groan escaped his throat as he spread his legs wider for you, already panting. Chest rising, fingers twitching where they gripped the couch cushion behind his head.

And when your mouth brushed the tip of him? “Fuck….” His whole body jerked. You smiled. Your hands planted against his thighs, muscular, twitching, and you leaned forward, letting your tongue swirl slow over the head. Just a taste. A tease making Yunho’s hand shoot into your hair. “Y/N…” His voice was cracked glass, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you off or push you down. You chose for him. You sank lower. Took more. Let your lips glide down until he hit the back of your throat, and then you kept going.

“Shit…. fuck… wait…” He gasped so hard it sounded like a sob and you moaned around him. That was all it took. His hips lifted off the couch, just a little. His fingers curled tighter in your hair as he started thrusting, slow and shallow at first, as if testing what you could take. And oh, you could take it. “You feel so fucking good, baby…” he whispered, so soft it was almost a plea. Your eyes met his. His were wild. Desperate. Ruined. You kept moaning around him, letting the vibrations roll down his length. His grip tightened. The thrusts picked up. His other hand dropped to the back of your neck like he was trying to anchor himself.

“I’m not gonna last…” His voice broke again. “God, I’m not… Y/N, stop…. stop or I’m gonna…” You didn’t stop. You sucked harder. Took him deeper. Swallowed. “FUCK!” He broke. Spilled down your throat with a strangled cry, hips jerking as you held him there, breathing through your nose, tears stinging your eyes, tasting nothing but him. And when he finally let go of your hair, panting like he’d just run for miles? You pulled off slowly, licking the tip one last time, eyes never leaving his.

Yunho looked like he’d seen a ghost. A sex god ghost that just rearranged his entire belief system. He didn’t even mean to grab you that fast. But the second you pulled off him, licking your lips like that?

Looking up at him like you knew what you just did? His hands were already under your arms, flipping you back onto the couch cushions like instinct, like survival, like if he didn’t get inside you somehow, some way, he was going to fucking combust. “Take these off,” he rasped, tugging at your shorts.

You lifted your hips for him, letting him drag the fabric down your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere over the armrest. He didn’t stop. His fingers curled under the waistband of your panties next, slow but eager, watching as the soaked cotton clung to you for just a second longer than it should’ve. “Fuck,” he whispered, his mouth practically watering.

“Look at you…” They hit the floor. And then his hands, large and warm and trembling just a little, spread your thighs apart, eyes locked on your core, breath catching in his throat. His voice was hoarse. “You’re dripping.” He dropped his head, kissing along your inner thigh, tongue catching every drop he could. But when he kissed your mouth again, hot, open, his tongue tangling with yours, he groaned. “You taste like me…” That wrecked him. His fingers were between your legs before he could stop himself, one sliding through your folds, then two, slow and deep, curling up, coaxing out every soaked, needy sound he could. “So wet for me already?” he whispered against your lips, voice cracking with wonder. “You’re perfect.”

He moved down your body, trailing kisses across your chest, your stomach, between your hips, lips ghosting over your skin like he didn’t know where to worship first. His fingers kept moving. Deep. Slow. Pressing right where he knew you’d feel it most. “Just like that, yeah? You feel so good on my fingers… Bet you’ll feel even better when I finally….” You clenched around him, and Yunho groaned, burying his face against your thigh. “Please, baby,” he breathed, desperate now. “Please let me taste you.”

You moaned, practically begging. “Please…” The second it left your lips, Yunho snapped. No hesitation, no preamble, no sweet words this time, he dropped to his knees like a man possessed, hands spreading you open, shoulders wedging between your thighs as his mouth devoured you. His tongue plunged in immediately, hot and wet and filthy, dragging a sharp moan from your throat as his fingers didn’t let up for a second, still fucking into you, still curling, still dragging over that spot like he knew exactly how to break you apart. “Fucking hell…” you gasped, hips jerking.

But he loved that. Grunted into you. Shoved his face deeper. His nose nudging your clit, the bridge of it dragging just right as he buried his tongue as far as it could go. He was lost in it, starving, fucking you with his fingers and tongue like he’d waited years for this. Every moan you gave him was a reward. Every roll of your hips, a victory. His free hand reached up, splayed across your stomach, holding you down like he needed to feel you squirm. His hips rocked down against the couch, grinding into nothing, he was that fucking hard again. That desperate.

“Taste so good,” he groaned between strokes of his tongue, “so fucking sweet…. Gonna make you come like this, you hear me? wanna feel you soak my face.” Another cry. Another sharp buck of your hips. You grabbed his hair, tugged, but Yunho didn’t let up. If anything, he growled. And it vibrated through you. Sloppy, messy, open mouthed kisses against your clit now. His fingers thrusting faster. His tongue fucking up against your sweet spot. Your thighs started to tremble. And Yunho knew. Felt it. “That’s it, baby…” he whispered, breath hot against your soaked cunt. “Come for me. I need it. Wanna feel you lose it.”

And when you did, he moaned into it. Tongue lapping up everything you gave him like it was the only thing he’d ever eat again. Your thighs were clenched tight around his head. Your hands, god, your hands, buried in his hair, tugging, holding him in place like you were afraid he’d stop. But he had no intention of stopping. Not when you were dripping around his fingers like this. Not when your clit was so sensitive, twitching beneath every flick of his tongue. Not when you tasted like heaven and sin combined.

He didn’t even hear the footsteps. Didn’t care. Because at that moment, Yunho was watching your eyes roll back, his mouth locked around your clit, three fingers now pumping into your slick heat, and you were right there on the edge again. “Well…” the deep voice of his best friend made him freeze. “Appears I’m interrupting.” No. No way. Slowly, like surfacing from a dream, Yunho turned his head over your thigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, breathless, pupils blown.

Mingi stood in the hallway. Shirtless. Hair a mess. Rubbing his eyes and smirking. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood,” Yunho’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Your chest was still rising and falling fast. You were still wet. Still flushed. Still needy. “Mingi… I….” Yunho’s voice cracked like a snapped wire. “I didn’t mean to…” He looked like a sinner at the altar. Kneeling. Caught. Fucked. He hadn’t even pulled his fingers from you yet. And now his best friend stood over him, shirtless, tousled, calm as hell.

Yunho braced for it, fists, yelling, the kind of betrayal that couldn’t be taken back. But then Mingi… sat. Right on the edge of the coffee table across from the couch. Elbows on his knees. A slow grin spreading. “Why’d you stop?” Yunho blinked. “What?” He said it again, lower. More amused. “Why’d you stop?” Mingi tilted his head. “You were doing so good.” It didn’t compute. Yunho’s blood felt like it had left his brain. Like he was glitching. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Mingi laughed. Soft and knowing and just smug enough to make Yunho seethe with confusion. “Told her last night,” Mingi said, like it was nothing. “Everything.” Yunho’s hand on your thigh tightened instinctively. “Told her how I knew you wanted her first. Told her you didn’t say shit because of me. Told her I’d share, if that’s what she wanted.” He looked at you then. You didn’t look ashamed. You looked… satisfied. Still needy, but no longer guilty. “And then we made a plan,” Mingi said. “To break you.”

Yunho sat there. Between your legs. Staring up at his best friend like he’d just rewritten the rules of the universe. And then he laughed. Not loud. Not bright. A low, dark, breathless sound that almost didn’t sound like him. He dragged his hand down his face, mouth curling into something wild. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Neither of you answered. You just blinked at him, mouth parted. Mingi? Still grinning. Arms folded across his broad chest.

Yunho looked back down at you. Still flushed. Still wet. “So the sunscreen… the ride… all of it…” You nodded slowly. “All of it.” Another disbelieving chuckle left him. But it was darker now. Rough. “You two set me up,” he said quietly. “Like prey.” Yunho’s breath came sharp through his nose as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, slick, warm, twitching around nothing now. You gasped at the loss, your hips lifting instinctively like you were chasing him. “Turn over.” His voice was cold. Commanding. No hesitation. No apology. You blinked up at him, lips parted.

“Now.” Even you stilled at the edge in his tone. It wasn’t the flirty teasing from earlier. It wasn’t the wide eyed panic of thirty seconds ago. This was something else. Something darker. You moved slowly, still breathless, flipping over onto your stomach on the couch cushions. One arm folded under your head, the other trembling beside you. Your ass arched just enough that your wetness kissed the air. Yunho sat back on his heels. Silent. Watching.

“There he is,” Mingi muttered and Yunho ignored him. His eyes were locked on your body, bare, flushed, vulnerable but not afraid. “You two thought it would be fun to push me,” Yunho said, reaching to slide his shorts completely off, his dick springing free, flushed and dripping. “Thought you’d break me.” You whimpered. Just the sound of his voice, sharp and calm now, made your thighs press together only to be pulled back apart as he grabbed your hips, dragging you back until your knees hit the edge of the couch.

Your breath stuttered against the pillow, spine arched, skin prickling under Yunho’s touch as his hand ghosted down your back. But he didn’t thrust into you. Didn’t even move. Instead, he pulled his hand back, wet fingers glistening in the low light, still shiny with you. And then, slowly, Yunho turned. Met Mingi’s eyes. Didn’t say a word. Just held his fingers out. Mingi didn’t even blink as he leaned forward, mouth open, and sucked them in. One by one. Yunho watched him. Watched his best friend taste his own girlfriend off his skin.

Watched Mingi’s mouth close around the digits he’d just buried in you, watched his tongue swirl, watched his eyes flicker with something dark and possessive. “Good?” Yunho asked lowly. Mingi smirked, releasing Yunho’s fingers with a pop. “She always is.” And the whimper that left you? It made Yunho groan. “Fuck,” he muttered, turning back to you, his voice thicker now. “Look at you.” You were panting now, face turned to the side, cheeks flushed, pupils blown as you tried to rock your hips back against him.

“So greedy,” he whispered, dragging the head of his dick slowly through your slick folds without pushing in. “You want him to watch me ruin you?” You nodded, desperate. And Mingi? He just leaned back, arms crossed, and watched as you whimpered again, arching back, trying to tilt your hips just enough to take him in, but Yunho’s hands gripped your waist, holding you still. “You begged with your mouth already,” he muttered behind you, voice low and dark and goddamn dangerous. “But let’s see if that was just for show.”

He dragged the thick head of his dick down, catching on your soaked folds. Then up, brushing your clit just enough to make your hips jolt. Again. And again. Until your thighs were trembling, arms shaking as you tried to hold yourself up, whining his name like a prayer. “Yunho, please,” you gasped, broken. He leaned forward, chest against your back, mouth against your ear. “What was that?” You choked on a moan as he did it again, slow stroke of his tip through your folds, no pressure, no entry, just torment. “Say it.” he growled.

“Please,” you begged, shameless now. “Please, just…. just fuck me already.” Beside you, you could hear footsteps, rustling and the soft crack of Mingi opening a beer, his voice low and amused. “Damn. Didn’t know you had this much patience, man.” Yunho chuckled darkly. Then finally, he thrust forward. Slow. Thick. Deep. A guttural moan ripped out of his chest as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls clenching around him like you’d never let him go again. “Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched, hands flexing on your hips. “So goddamn tight. You see that, Mingi?”

“I see it,” Mingi muttered, his gaze locked on the spot where you and Yunho were connected. “Shit.” Yunho paused, buried to the hilt inside you, letting you feel every throb, every twitch. Then leaned forward again, nipping at your shoulder, fingers sliding from your soaked heat with a wet sound that echoed in the room, the space charged with something feral. His hips rolled slow at first, grinding into you, letting you feel every drag, every ridge, every deliberate push. His right hand slid along your spine, then lower, his thumb teasing the curve of your other hole, pressing lightly, just enough to make your body jolt and your breath catch.

“Yunho…” you choked out, but he was already moving faster now, his thrusts sharper, deeper, his thumb still circling, pushing a little more. You were already a mess, eyes shut, moaning into the cushions, back arching with each pass of his dick, each press of his thumb. Your body didn’t know where to focus, didn’t know what to chase. And Mingi was still watching. His jaw was tight, his pupils blown wide, his legs spread as he sat on the table, his hands curled into fists on either side of him. He looked like he was about to break. But he didn’t move yet.

Yunho grunted behind you, his thrusts sharp now, punishing, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the villa like the drumbeat of something inevitable. You were gasping, open mouthed, fingers clawed into the couch, legs trembling, but you didn’t dare beg him to stop. You didn’t want him to. And he knew it. His hand slid up your back again, gripping the nape of your neck this time, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you upright, your back flush to his chest. His other hand wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you in place. You cried out at the shift, your body stretched, dick still buried deep inside you, the new angle making you feel everything.

Every. Fucking. Inch. “Look at him,” Yunho growled in your ear, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a second before landing on him. Mingi. Your boyfriend. Still seated on the edge of the table, still fully clothed, thighs spread wide. One hand was gripping the edge of the table, the other now lazily palming himself over his briefs, eyes locked on you. He looked ruined and he hadn’t even been touched yet. “Yunho….” you whimpered, but he just thrust up into you harder, making you cry out, your hands flying to his thighs for balance. “I said look at him.”

His hand grabbed your jaw, forcing your head to stay turned. Mingi’s lips parted as he watched you bounce on his best friend’s dick, your breasts moving with every brutal thrust, your moans slipping out broken and breathless. “She’s beautiful like this, huh?” Yunho murmured darkly, his mouth dragging along your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Fucking desperate. Ruined.” Mingi let out a strained breath, his fingers now sliding into his sweats, the fabric moving as he started stroking himself slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You were overwhelmed, caught between the intensity of Yunho’s possessive grip and the heat in Mingi’s gaze. Your walls clenched down around Yunho, your breath hitching as the pleasure mounted fast, dangerously fast. His hips snapped up, again and again, his dick dragging perfectly inside you, his thumb sneaking down between your thighs again to circle your clit. “You gonna come with your boyfriend watching?” he whispered darkly against your ear, voice thick with pride and desire. “Come on, baby. Show him what you look like when I fuck you right.”

And you did. You broke. Head thrown back, thighs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream as you shattered around him, clenching tight, soaking his dick as you came undone. And Yunho didn’t stop. Not yet. Not while Mingi was still watching. Not while you were still moaning his name like it was a prayer. Your body convulsed, giving out beneath you as your orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave. You fell forward onto your elbows with a whimper, face pressed into the couch cushions, panting, twitching, dripping down Yunho’s thighs, still trembling from the force of it.

Yunho didn’t follow you down. He stayed where he was, buried deep inside you, chest heaving, watching the way your back rose and fell with every gasping breath. His hands were still on your hips, thumbs digging in, fighting the urge to lose himself in the aftershocks. Sweat beaded along his brow, his jaw tight, but he didn’t move. Not yet. And neither did Mingi. Not at first. Because both of them were watching you. You, flushed skin, naked and fucked out, eyes half lidded, your lips still parted in a silent moan. Yunho’s voice came out low, reverent, like a prayer meant only for you. “fuck, look at you.”

But it wasn’t just him. Because Mingi stood. He’d been still for too long, too quiet. But now? Now the air shifted. He didn’t say a word as he approached, slow, deliberate steps across the tile, every inch of him radiating heat and hunger as Yunho finally looked up, their eyes locking over your body. Mingi just tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face, like the wolf who’d been invited to dinner and just realized he was the main course. “I’ve watched long enough,” he said, voice deep, gravelly from holding himself back. “My turn.”

He came to the side of the couch, crouching next to where your head lay turned, your cheek against the cushion, eyes barely open. You blinked up at him, a dreamy smile tugging at your lips, and that was all the invitation he needed. Mingi reached out, his hand ghosting over your cheek before he leaned in, kissing you deeply, owning your mouth while Yunho was still buried inside you. The moan that left you was helpless. Yunho’s dick throbbed. And still… he didn’t pull out. Didn’t back down as Mingi kissed you like he’d starved for it. His hand cupped the back of your neck, his tongue slow and filthy against yours, taking his time, tasting the ruin Yunho had left behind.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red, eyes wild. “You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair out of your face. You nodded, breathless. “Please,” was all you said. And that was it. Mingi stood and peeled his shirt off, revealing that tight stomach, that chest you loved. His sweats hit the floor next. He stroked himself once, twice, and then looked at Yunho. “You gonna let me have her mouth now, or you still feeling selfish?” Yunho’s expression shifted, somewhere between territorial and turned the fuck on. But when he looked down at you, saw the way your lips parted, your eyes wide and ready… He smirked.

Their hands were all over you. Mingi’s grip firm on your waist as he helped turn you over, your body pliant beneath them, every muscle trembling from being pushed to the edge again and again. Yunho’s hands were just as steady, gentler in contrast but no less commanding as he shifted you onto your back, your skin sticking slightly to the leather of the couch, knees falling apart without hesitation. You were wrecked. “Look at her,” Mingi muttered, eyes roaming over your flushed skin, the glistening mess between your thighs. “Fuck, Yunho…” Yunho didn’t answer. His mouth was already on its way down again.

You gasped when you felt the first drag of his tongue up your folds, slow and indulgent, like he had all the time in the world to taste you properly now. His breath was hot against your skin, groaning low as he pressed his tongue flat, then licked you with purpose, tongue curling right over your clit, making your whole body jolt. Mingi was already climbing over the armrest. You blinked up at him through heavy lashes as he straddled the couch just above your head, dick already thick and flushed in his hand, your lips parting without a second thought.

“Oh, you’re fucking perfect,” he whispered, thumbing across your bottom lip. “Open up for me.” You opened your mouth, tongue out, and Mingi slid into it like he belonged there, the moan that tore from his throat deep as your lips wrapped around him. “Shit,” he hissed, hand tangling in your hair. “Just like that, baby.” Your mouth was full of him. Your legs were spread for Yunho. And it wasn’t lost on either of them how utterly ruined you already looked.

Yunho’s tongue kept moving, deliberate now. Licking long and slow before he dipped down, thrusting it inside you to taste everything you had to offer. His nose bumped your clit, his moans vibrating through your cunt, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you wide open for him. “God, you’re dripping,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at the mess between your legs, then right back up at you, your lips stretched around Mingi’s dick, your jaw tight as you worked him in deeper. “You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?”

You moaned around Mingi as Yunho’s mouth returned with more force, tongue greedy now, dragging against your clit while two of his fingers slid back inside without warning, curling up just right. Mingi’s thrusts into your mouth slowed, his thumb wiping drool from your chin as he looked down at you with glassy eyes. Your body tensed, the heat between your legs unbearable as Yunho devoured you, tongue and fingers relentless, his groans getting louder the more you writhed. He was chasing it, chasing the way your thighs clenched, the way your moans around Mingi sent vibrations through the air.

Your lips slid off Mingi’s dick with a soft, wet pop, your cheeks flushed, your mouth slick, chest heaving as you leaned your head back against the couch armrest. Your breath was ragged, throat sore, spit and precum glistening on your chin and breasts, Mingi’s dick twitching just inches from your face. Yunho was still between your thighs, his fingers lazily stroking you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, his mouth swollen, chin glossy with you. But he slowed, lifting his head to look at you, sensing something in the shift of your breath. In the look in your eyes.

You turned your gaze up at Mingi, then back down to Yunho. “I want both of you,” you whispered, voice raw and needy. “Right now.” The words hung in the air like thunder. Yunho froze. Mingi blinked, visibly swallowing hard as you shifted, slowly sitting up, straddling Yunho’s lap now. His dick was hard beneath you, pressed against your slick folds, throbbing and waiting, but you didn’t move to take him in yet. Instead, your hands slid over his shoulders, your chest brushing his, and you glanced over your shoulder at Mingi.

“Don’t make me beg.” Yunho’s fingers clenched on your hips. Mingi was staring at you like he was barely holding himself back. “Fuck me…” he muttered, eyes wide, and it was unclear if it was a plea or a curse. Maybe both. You rolled your hips once against Yunho, teasing yourself along his length, watching the way his jaw clenched, the absolute chaos in his gaze. Then your hand reached back, curling around Mingi’s dick again, still soaked with your spit, and you gave him a slow pump. Yunho’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You sure?” he asked, voice strained. “Because once this starts… I don’t think we’re stopping.”

You met his eyes. Leaned in until your lips brushed his, sinking down onto him. “I don’t want you to.” Mingi groaned behind you as Yunho’s hands tightened on your waist, fingertips digging into your hips as you rolled down on him again and again. His head tilted back against the couch, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to breathe through a goddamn firestorm. His grip shifts, one hand sliding up your back as he holds you still, hips grinding up into you once, hard enough to make your head fall forward on his shoulder as Mingi moves.

He kneels behind you, his body flush against yours, one hand reaching around to cup your breast while the other trails between your cheeks, slow and deliberate. You shiver as his fingers tease lower, sliding past the slick mess between your thighs, down to your hole. “Relax for me,” Mingi whispers against your neck. “Gotta stretch you, baby.” You nod, already shaking, already breathless from being so full of Yunho who’s kissing your shoulder, holding you close as Mingi’s fingers begin to circle slowly, massaging soft and patient. The first press makes you whimper, more from anticipation than discomfort, and Yunho groans as he feels your walls flutter around him.

“She’s so tight already,” he says, voice strained, his lips brushing your temple. “You sure you can handle both?” You nod again, gasping as Mingi presses one finger inside, slow and careful. “I want it,” you pant. “Want both of you inside me.” Mingi groans like he’s in pain, his hips jerking forward once out of reflex. But he keeps it slow. One finger. Then two. Gentle, scissoring motions while Yunho kisses your jaw, whispering praise into your skin like he’s trying to keep you grounded.

“That’s it,” Mingi breathes, voice getting shakier as he watches you adjust. “Taking it so well. You’re such a fucking dream.” Yunho lifts his head, locking eyes with him over your shoulder. “You good?” Yunho asks. Mingi nods once, eyes dark. “Yeah. You?” Yunho nods too. But his grip on your waist tightens. “Let’s give her what she wants.” Behind you, Mingi shifts closer, his chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’ll go slow,” he murmurs. “Wanna make you feel good.”

He removes his fingers carefully, the absence making you gasp. You’re so full already, Yunho’s dick pulsing deep inside you, but your body aches to be stretched, to feel both of them at once. Mingi aligns himself behind you, and you feel the hot, heavy press of his tip sliding between your cheeks as Yunho leans forward, foreheads touching. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

The stretch is intense. Even after being prepped, even after being so thoroughly ruined by Yunho, your body tenses around the new intrusion. Yunho groans, feeling it too, the way your walls clench tighter around him. “Fuck, she’s squeezing me,” he gasps. Mingi’s hands are steady on your hips as he keeps going, inch by inch. “You’re doing so good,” he pants. “Just a little more.” You cry out, not from pain but from overwhelm. The pressure is unreal, the way they’re both pressing into you, how you can feel every inch of them, hot and thick and pulsing inside.

They stop once they’re both fully in, letting you breathe, letting your body adjust. Yunho strokes your hair, lips against your temple. “Look at me.” You do. Barely. “You tell us when you’re ready.” And somehow, through the fog, you whisper, “Now.” They start to move. Together. Yunho pulls back a little as Mingi thrusts forward, then vice versa, finding a rhythm that has your head lolling back, your body caught between them. Their names fall from your lips like prayer, like a chant, like the only thing you know how to say anymore.

The stretch becomes pleasure, the ache becomes euphoria, and soon you’re moving with them, rocking, gasping, clawing at Yunho’s chest as Mingi’s grip bruises your hips. “Fuck, look at her,” Mingi groans, head tilted back. “She’s taking both of us like she was made for it.”

“She was,” Yunho growls, his own control slipping as your walls pulse around him. “She’s ours.” You’re shaking, orgasm tearing through you out of nowhere, like a riptide, wild, relentless, and hot. Your entire body tenses, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as your eyes squeeze shut. Yunho groans, deep and wrecked beneath you, and Mingi lets out a strangled curse, gripping your hips tighter like he’s barely holding on. But neither of them stop. In fact, the second they feel you come, feel your body pulse and clench tighter around them, they start going harder.

“Shit, shit, she’s still so tight,” Mingi pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he rocks into you slow but deep, grinding his hips with every thrust. “Ride it out,” Yunho breathes, hands gripping your waist now, guiding your movement as he thrusts up into you from below, matching Mingi’s rhythm. “Let us feel all of it.” You whimper, overstimulated and breathless, caught between them. Every nerve in your body is alight, your skin flushed and sensitive, and they’re both still inside you, thick and hard and relentless.

Yunho leans up just enough to nip at your lower lip, voice dark and husky. “Thought you could handle both of us, baby…” Mingi growls from behind, pushing in deep and making your eyes roll back. “She is. She’s taking us so well.” They fall into a rhythm again, fluid, devastating, and you swear you’ve lost track of everything but the way they feel. Every thrust from Yunho pushes you forward, only to have Mingi drag you right back. The way they alternate is enough to have you dizzy, another orgasm building way too fast.

Your moans turn to gasps. Hands scramble to hold onto something, anything, Mingi’s thigh behind you, Yunho’s shoulders beneath you, the edge of the couch, your brain foggy with pleasure. “Fuck, Yunho…. she’s shaking again,” Mingi pants, voice wrecked. “know,” Yunho grits out, trying not to lose it, his own high crawling up his spine. “You gonna come again for us, baby?” You nod, wildly, desperately, body already teetering on the edge as Mingi slaps your ass. “Use us. Come again.”

Your orgasm crashes into you, raw and powerful, your vision going white as your body goes limp between them. You scream, literally scream, as pleasure rips through you like fire, and both of them curse at the feeling of you tightening again. Yunho bites your shoulder, groaning so deep it rattles your bones. Mingi growls behind you, pulling out just long enough to thrust back in with purpose. You can feel Mingi slipping. His grip tightens on your hips, the muscles in his thighs trembling against the backs of your legs. He’s panting harshly, forehead pressed to your spine, his thrusts getting rougher, deeper, more erratic. You know that sound, that low growl in his chest, the one that always comes right before he falls apart.

“Fuck… fuck, I’m gonna….” Mingi gasps, pulling your hips back one last time before slamming into you hard, bottoming out with a deep groan. “God, I’m coming.” You feel it, feel him twitch and spill inside, warmth flooding through you, and the sound he lets out is somewhere between a curse and a moan as he presses his body flush to yours. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, chest rising and falling against your back.

Yunho is still hard beneath you. Still moving. Still watching. “Mine now,” he murmurs low against your throat, voice shredded. “You’re mine now.” And he doesn’t wait. Mingi pulls back just in time for Yunho to shift you higher in his lap, gripping your thighs, fucking up into you harder, faster, unrelenting. He’s desperate now, so deep, so thick, so fucking good, and you’re already trembling again, your body twitching from overstimulation. “You feel that?” he pants against your mouth, slamming into you again. “You feel what you do to me?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, breath hitching as your whole body goes tight, another scream caught in your throat. You barely manage to gasp, “Yunho… I’m gonna….” Yunho’s voice is commanding, hitting you like lightning. “Do it.” Your body seizes, head thrown back, eyes wide as everything snaps. You scream, hips stuttering, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels through you. This one’s different, louder, messier, more intense. You can feel it pooling under you, soaking Yunho’s lap, your own thighs dripping as he holds you through it.

“Fuck,” Mingi breathes, watching from the side, dazed as you squirt all over his best friend. Yunho groans loudly, his control finally unraveling, his grip bruising your hips as he thrusts up into you hard one last time before stilling with a growl. “Fuuuck… yes….” he hisses, eyes squeezed shut, his head falling back as he spills inside you. No one speaks. No one can. All you can hear is the sound of waves crashing outside the villa and the three of you breathing in sync, wrecked.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sun is low, golden, stretching across the water like it’s reluctant to set. The breeze smells like sea salt and fresh fruit, and the lazy buzz of a guitar plays from one of the vendor stalls nearby. Yunho’s walking slowly, sunglasses perched on his head, hands in his pockets, just a few steps behind Mingi as the two of you browse ahead of them, ducking between stalls, laughing as you hold up a ridiculous sunhat, pretending to model it. Yunho can’t stop looking at you. You’re glowing. Skin warm from the sun, hair up in a lazy bun, wearing his shirt tied in a knot at your waist over a pair of cutoff shorts that should not be legal. You look relaxed. Happy. Free.

And Yunho? Yunho feels something dangerous and perfect settle low in his chest. “You’re staring again,” Mingi murmurs beside him, voice lazy. “Not denying it,” Yunho mutters, lips quirking. Mingi chuckles, slow and smug, hands swinging casually as they walk past a stand full of knockoff designer sunglasses. “I told you, didn’t I?” he says. “Told you the two of you would get along by the end of the trip.” Yunho scoffs under his breath, but there’s no heat in it. “Get along’ wasn’t exactly how I’d describe… last night,” he mumbles, and Mingi just laughs louder.

“She’s good for us,” Mingi says, more serious now. “And we’re good together.” Yunho glances at him. “You’re not gonna get weird about it?” Mingi just shakes his head like it’s obvious. “You’re my best friend. She’s… her. What we have with her?” He grins, eyes flicking back toward where you’re now picking out bracelets from a cart. “It works. No jealousy. No competition. Just… us.”

Yunho doesn’t reply at first. He’s too busy watching you, the way you laugh with the vendor, the way your eyes flick over to catch him looking and linger, just a second too long to be innocent. And then you smile. That soft, knowing, I remember last night smile. Yeah. It works. It more than works. He’s going back home tomorrow with sand in his shoes, a sunburn on his shoulders, and two hands to hold. One calloused and warm from years of friendship. One soft and curious and so damn tempting.

And both of them?

Wrapped around him like gravity.

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