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yungistiny · 2 days ago

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masterpiece

[ S. Mingi + J. Yunho ]

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summary: in which your boyfriend wants to make video to get him through your and his best friend ends up watching it

warning: dom mingi, dom yunho, switch reader, possessive all three, voyeurism, creampie, sex tape, unprotected sex, overstimulation, edging, oral, choking, squirting, face riding, deep throating, cum play, this shit just filthy yall!!!

genre: smut

pairing: yungi x afab reader

word count: 13.4k

note: this was requested to do a one shot based on Masterpiece by @lonely--september

masterlist:

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The apartment was quieter than usual, lit only by the low amber glow of the bedside lamp. Mingi had his head on your stomach, his arm lazily draped across your waist, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. He always got like this before leaving, clingy, quiet, thoughtful in a way he’d never admit to the others.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging softly at the roots, and he let out a little groan, turning his face to press a kiss just beneath your ribs. “Baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “I wanna ask you something… and you can say no.”

Your fingers paused in his hair. “Okay…” He looked up at you, a little sheepish and a whole lot horny. “I wanna make a video. Of us. Just for me. For tour.”

Your eyebrows lifted, but you weren’t surprised. You had caught him jerking off to a photo of you just last week and whining your name under his breath. “Like… a full video?” you teased. “Production quality? Soundtrack and credits?”

Mingi grinned, all teeth and dimples, before biting his bottom lip. “I want something to fuck my fist to when I miss you,” he added, not bothering to play innocent. “Wanna see the way you look when I’m inside you. The way you moan my name. I want to remember everything.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “Okay,” you breathed, a little stunned by your own immediate reaction. “Let’s do it.” He sat up slowly, eyes darkening, his hands already reaching for the nightstand drawer where he kept his GoPro and tripod, because of course he was that prepared. “I’ll set it up,” he murmured, climbing off the bed, “but I want you in something sexy. Something mine.”

You rolled out of bed on shaky legs, heart pounding, heat pooling low. As you walked toward your dresser, Mingi’s voice followed, “Oh, and babe?” You turned, halfway into his old oversized tee. “Don’t wear panties.”

The soft whirr of the camera adjusting its focus filled the room. Mingi crouched beside the bed, bare chested in sweats that hung low on his hips, forehead furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the tripod angle. The little preview screen glowed beside him, reflecting the warm lighting he’d dimmed just right.

He was focused. Lined it up perfectly so the bed would be center frame, your pillows fluffed, the sheets slightly rumpled, just enough to hint at what was coming.

But then he looked up. And saw you. Standing with bare legs, messy hair, and that black Alexander McQueen shirt, his favorite one. The one with the subtle embroidered skull on the back, soft as sin and just short enough to be dangerous. He stopped breathing. “Fuck,” he said it like a prayer, dragging his eyes down your legs, then back up to where the shirt hung loose over your chest. “You’re tryna kill me.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You said something of yours.”

“Didn’t mean my favorite,” he mumbled, standing up slowly like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to worship you or bend you over immediately. You walked in slow, deliberate, every step a tease. He watched the sway of the shirt, how it lifted just a little with each movement. No bra. No panties. Just you, in his shirt, and that look in your eyes. “Camera ready?” you asked, stopping at the edge of the bed.

He licked his lips. Nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s rolling.” You raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

“I wanna get everything,” he said, stepping closer, hands hovering at your hips. “From the second you walk in. From the second I lose my fucking mind.” He leaned in, nosing at your neck, breathing you in.

The camera kept recording, its little red light blinking quietly. It caught the way Mingi’s hands finally touched you, sliding over the hem of the shirt to cup your bare ass. It caught the way he groaned when he realized exactly how naked you were underneath.

“Turn around for me,” he whispered, voice husky and low in your ear. You did. And the camera caught that too, the slow spin, the little smirk over your shoulder, the glimpse of underboob where the shirt gaped when you moved.

Mingi stepped back to admire you through the viewfinder. “Jesus, baby. You look like sin in 4K.” You turned your head, lips curling. “Then come get your masterpiece.”

He didn’t even hit pause. Didn’t touch you right away. He just sat on the edge of the bed, long legs spread, letting his eyes drag up your body like a slow caress. You stood between his knees, breathing shallow, the hem of his shirt barely skimming your upper thighs. His eyes lingered on the bare skin underneath. The twitch of your muscles when he didn’t make a move. The way your nipples visibly hardened through the soft black fabric.

He reached out finally, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, fingers spreading across the curve of your ass as he pulled you closer. “This shirt…” he murmured, nosing against your stomach, lips brushing the fabric like a benediction, “You don’t know what it does to me.” He looked up, eyes dark and heavy lidded. “Or maybe you do.”

You smirked, but it melted the second his mouth opened against your hip, kissing a line to the crease of your thigh. He kissed you like he had time. Like this wasn’t the night before he had to leave. Like he didn’t plan to burn every second of this into his memory.

The camera caught his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slightly, thumbs stroking the soft skin where your legs met. His fingers dipped under the hem of the shirt but didn’t go higher. Not yet. Instead, he leaned back just a little and murmured, “Sit on me.”

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling his thick thighs. The moment your bare heat made contact with the soft cotton of his sweats, you shivered. He felt it and grinned, lazy and cocky, grinding up just a little so you rubbed right along his length, half hard but growing with every second.

“Camera’s got the best seat in the house,” he said, glancing over your shoulder at the preview screen. One hand slid down your back, cupping your ass, while the other came up to rest on your waist. “Let’s give it something worth remembering.” His mouth found your throat next, open mouthed kisses against your skin as you started rocking slow, subtle, grinding down on him. The drag of cotton against your clit was just enough to tease. Just enough to make you gasp when he shifted his hips up to meet yours.

The shirt slid up higher with every motion, your ass on full display in the camera now, back arched, breath catching. “Feel good, baby?” he rasped, lips grazing your ear. “Mhm,” you nodded, already dazed, “but I need more.”

He chuckled low, one of those deep, breathy sounds that sent heat straight through you. “I know you do.” Still, he didn’t rush. His hand moved from your waist to your throat, not tight, just holding. His fingers traced your pulse, thumb dragging up under your jaw to tilt your face toward him. “I want the camera to see your face when you fall apart.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours. He tasted like mint and something darker, like want. And when you moaned into his mouth, he gripped your hips tighter, thrusting up once, hard enough to make you jolt.

“Mingi..”

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to speak against your lips. “You’ll get it. But not yet.” His hand slipped between your bodies, under the hem of the shirt at last. His fingertips slid through your folds, already wet, already aching. He groaned when he felt it. “Fuck. That wet already? You really wore this for me just to get ruined in it, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding, rocking into his hand shamelessly. His finger circled your clit slowly as you reached into his sweats to stroke him. “Good girl.” The shirt was bunched up now, riding high on your waist, baring your body to the camera. And still, he didn’t take it off. Didn’t let you lose that last piece of him.

Because that was the point, wasn’t it? To keep it intimate. To make it his. To take a piece of you with him, in his shirt, on his video, falling apart on his dick.

Mingi leaned back against the headboard, arms spread, sweatpants already pushed down just enough to free his dick, hard now, thick and flushed, curved slightly toward his stomach. You didn’t even realize when he’d taken them off, but the sight of him like that, shirtless, legs spread wide, panting just from a few strokes of your hand, was enough to have you ready to beg.

You slid down his body slowly, knees sinking into the mattress between his thighs. The camera caught your every move, the glint in your eye, the way you bit your lip as your fingers wrapped around him. He was hot in your palm, twitching slightly, precum already gathering at the tip.

“You always get this hard for me?” You murmured, stroking him slowly, twisting at the head just enough to make him grunt. Mingi tilted his head back, biting his lip, letting out a long groan as your thumb brushed over his tip again. “Always.” His voice was low, breathless.

You leaned in, tongue flicking over the head, tasting the salt of him. He twitched again in your grip, his hips jerking upward instinctively. “Shit… fuck, baby…”

You smiled against him, kissing down the shaft before licking your way back up. You teased the underside with your tongue, then sank down slowly, inch by inch, while your hand kept working what you couldn’t take yet. Mingi’s hand slid into your hair, not to control, just to feel you. To ground himself. “God, you’re so good at that,” he muttered, watching the way your lips wrapped around him. “Just like that, baby… fuck, that tongue…. you’re perfect.”

The sound of him filled the room. Heavy breaths, soft curses, the wet glide of your mouth and hand. You bobbed your head, sucking a little harder as you stroked the base, your other hand resting on his thigh for balance. Every time you pulled off, you spit into your palm and stroked him again, lips shining, then dove back in deeper. “Shit, look at you,” Mingi panted, eyes locked on you and the red light blinking just behind. “My girl… making me come undone with her fucking mouth.”

Your hand pumped faster, your lips slick, throat working as you pushed yourself further, eyes locked on his. “Camera’s getting the best view,” he choked out. “Fuck…. my pretty baby with my dick down her throat.” You moaned around him and that, that sound, was what did it.

His thighs tensed. His grip in your hair tightened. “I’m gonna come…. fuck, baby, I’m gonna…”

You didn’t stop. You held him there. Let him spill hot and fast down your throat, moaning low and wrecked as you swallowed all of it. Your fingers never stopped moving, milking him through every last drop. You licked your lips as you pulled off, eyes half lidded, hair wild, cheeks flushed. He was still panting when you looked up at him, tongue flicking out to gather the last taste from your lip.

Then, with a wicked little smirk, you turned to the camera. Opened your mouth just a bit. And stuck out your tongue, clean. “Fuuuuuck,” Mingi groaned, full body shuddering. “You’re gonna kill me.” He was still panting when you crawled back into his lap, smug and satisfied.

But not for long. Because the second your hands slid up his chest, still sticky with sweat, he grabbed your hips and flipped you under him in one smooth move, the camera capturing your surprised little gasp as your back hit the sheets. “Thought you were done?” you teased, still breathless, a little cocky.

Mingi leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Never done with you.” Then he sat back, grabbed the backs of your thighs, and pulled you toward the edge of the bed with purpose, placing you exactly where he wanted you. Where the camera could see everything.

He tugged the hem of his shirt up over your waist again, baring your glistening folds, your thighs already sticky and trembling. “Take it off?” you asked, fingers grazing the buttons of the shirt.

He shook his head, lips curved in a devilish smile. “No. Keep it on.” Then he lowered himself between your legs, big hands pushing your thighs apart, kissing up the inside like he had all the time in the world. You were already wet, already aching, but he still took his time. Licking the inside of your thighs. Nipping just close enough to your pussy to make you squirm. Then, finally, his tongue flattened against your slit.

You choked on a gasp, hands flying into his hair as he licked a slow, deep stripe from your entrance to your clit. “Shit, Mingi…”

“Sit on my face,” he growled, voice wrecked and low. “Now.”You didn’t hesitate. You climbed over him, thighs trembling as you settled on his mouth, his hands gripping your ass and holding you exactly where he wanted you, firm and needy. The moment you lowered your hips, his mouth opened, tongue sliding between your folds with filthy enthusiasm.

It was instant. His tongue was hot and relentless, circling your clit with pressure that made your legs shake. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and when your hips jerked forward, trying to grind, he just growled and held you tighter. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your pussy, mouth slick. “Ride it. Use me.”

You did. You rocked your hips, chasing the pressure, thighs tensing as he devoured you. His tongue fucked into you deep, then moved up to flick your clit again, switching between sucking and licking until your moans filled the room, raw and wrecked. Your hands tangled in his hair, using him for leverage. The shirt stuck to your back, sweat gathering between your shoulder blades, your hips moving faster, needier. “Mingi…. fuck, I’m gonna… I can’t…”

He slapped your ass hard, a sting that sent you forward, only for him to drag you back onto his tongue again. “Come for me,” he rasped, mouth wet, nose buried against your clit. “Give it to me. Wanna taste it. Wanna feel it all over my fucking face.”

The pressure broke.

You screamed, thighs locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, sudden and blinding. Your hips jerked once, twice and then it hit. You squirted all over his face, his chin, your thighs soaking with it, your body shaking like you’d lost control of every muscle. Mingi groaned like he was the one coming, holding you down, licking you through it, drinking you in like it was the only thing that could keep him alive. The camera caught everything. The way your body trembled. The shirt bunched around your waist. Mingi’s face soaked, glistening, absolutely destroyed beneath you.

You finally collapsed forward, panting, thighs still twitching and Mingi pulled back just a little, just enough to look up at you from beneath wet lashes, mouth and chin covered in your release and he grinned. “Baby,” he said, voice husky, wrecked, “we’re only halfway through the video.”

Your thighs were still trembling. You’d barely rolled off of Mingi’s face, panting like you’d run a marathon, when he sat up, eyes glazed, face drenched, dick rock hard again. His tongue flicked out across his bottom lip like he could still taste you.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped, voice hoarse from groaning against your pussy. “And now I need to fuck you.” He flipped you again, manhandling you like you. The camera adjusted focus as he dragged you into his lap, this time with purpose. His arms wrapped around your waist, the sticky black shirt still bunched around your ribs, your chest rising and falling fast.

“You riding me now, baby,” he growled against your neck. “Wanna see how good you take me in this fucking shirt.” You guided him in slowly, both of you groaning when the head of his dick slid through your folds and pushed inside. He filled you so deep, and the stretch made you whimper, made your hips stutter before settling.

Mingi leaned back slightly, one arm behind him for support, the other gripping your hip as you began to ride, slow at first, adjusting to the feel, to how big he was, to the way your overstimulated pussy still fluttered around him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, watching you bounce on him. “You look so good like this. Camera’s loving it. I’m loving it. This is going on repeat all tour.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your thighs already aching from how hard he made you come before, but he wouldn’t let you slow down. Not yet. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing your clit just right. “Don’t stop now, baby,” he groaned. “You’re taking me so good… fuck, you were made for me.”

You cried out, hips stuttering again, your orgasm threatening to snap again way too soon. You were a mess, slick, panting, sweat clinging to the collar of his shirt. And Mingi was watching everything. He cupped your face. Kissed you hard. His other hand slapped your ass, just once, before he suddenly stilled. “Turn around for me,” he said, voice wrecked.

You blinked, dazed. “W…. what?” He pulled out slowly, then flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips before you could even register what was happening. “I wanna fuck you like you’re mine.” Because you were. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled your hips back, pressed the tip of his dick to your entrance again, and slammed into you deep.

You cried out, hands gripping the sheets, back arching. But what made you scream? Was when Mingi grabbed the back of the shirt, his shirt, and used it to yank you back into his thrusts. Every slam of his hips made your ass bounce, the sound obscene, skin slapping against skin as he used the shirt like a handle, dragging you into him over and over.

“Look at this,” he growled, eyes flicking to the camera. “My girl… in my shirt… taking me like a fucking champ.” The fabric tugged tighter against your chest with every thrust. You were moaning helplessly, drooling into the pillow, thighs trembling again. “Say it,” he grunted, still pounding into you, still gripping that shirt like reins. “Tell the camera who owns this pussy.”

“You, Mingi…. fuck, you!”

“That’s right,” he snarled, leaning forward to press his chest to your back. “All mine.” You shattered again, the orgasm ripping through you before you could even brace for it. You clenched hard around him, screaming into the mattress, thighs giving out. But Mingi wasn’t done. He sat back on his knees, dragging you up by the shirt, your ass against his thighs, his hand now wrapping around your throat from behind as he kept thrusting, slower now, deeper.

You were a mess beneath him, skin flushed, body trembling, pussy dripping around his dick. And still, still, Mingi hadn’t come. He was holding on by a thread, breath ragged, jaw clenched as he slowed his thrusts down to a grind, hips rolling deep while your body spasmed from the orgasm he just wrung out of you.

“Still with me, baby?” he murmured against your spine, voice thick, taunting. You whimpered a half sob, half laugh. “I… I think so…”

Mingi chuckled, low, cocky, possessive, and sat back on his heels, hands gripping your hips as he slowly pulled out of you. Your slick clung to him in glistening strings. The camera caught all of it. The ruin. The twitch of your thighs. The way your body begged for more even when you couldn’t form the words. “Take this off,” he rasped, tugging at the hem of the shirt still bunched around your ribs.

You tried to lift your arms, weak and shaking so he helped. Dragged it over your head slow as molasses, like it was the last barrier between you and complete surrender. He tossed it aside, eyes drinking you in like he hadn’t just had your pussy in his mouth and his dick inside you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, rubbing a hand down your back, cupping your ass with reverence. “My fucking masterpiece.” He flipped you over gently causing you to gasp as your back hit the sheets, still warm and damp with sweat. Mingi settled between your legs again, one hand stroking your thigh, the other gripping the base of his dick, hard, glistening, aching.

And then he started the pattern. First, he pressed his tip to your clit, just the head, slow, teasing little circles, using your own slick to glide over that sensitive bundle of nerves. You arched, hips twitching, breath caught. “Mingi…” He grinned. “Shh, baby. Just feel.” Then he slid inside, hard, deep, and you cried out, toes curling.

Just when the rhythm started to build, when your legs began to wrap around him, he pulled out. And dove down. His mouth found your pussy instantly, licking up everything he just gave you. His tongue flattened against your clit, sucking it in just once before he growled into you like a man possessed.

Your moan ripped through the room like a sin. Then he was back up, spit and slick smeared across his lips, gripping your thighs and sliding back inside in one swift thrust. Your body bucked. He did it again. Deep thrusts. Pull out. Eat you like a meal. Again. And again.

Your thighs were trembling uncontrollably. Your voice was gone from screaming his name. Your pussy was soaked, overstimulated, clenching for him. The camera caught every second, the obscene slick sounds, the way your body arched when he’d fuck into you, then the contrast of him between your legs, mouth worshipping your cunt like he was starved.

“You like this, baby?” he rasped, voice hoarse as he came up for air, face soaked. “Like me fucking you and tasting you?”

“Y… yes… Mingi, please…”

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, sliding back inside so deep you cried out. “Can’t decide if I wanna come in your pussy or eat it off your thighs.” You were wrecked. Sweat and tears. Hands clawing at the sheets. But Mingi wasn’t done. He leaned in close, body pressed to yours, still rocking into you slow and hard.

“Camera’s still watching,” he whispered against your lips. “Show it what it looks like when you fall apart for me again.”

You didn’t even realize you were begging. Somewhere between the relentless thrusts and the way Mingi’s tongue lapped at your clit like salvation, your voice had given out, reduced to whimpers, gasps, desperate sobs of his name.

He came up from between your thighs, jaw dripping, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. “Come here,” he rasped, voice cracked and full of need. He grabbed you, one hand under your back, the other gripping the back of your thigh, and pulled you upright, holding you against him. His dick nudged your entrance again, and you barely had time to brace before he slid inside.

You choked on your own moan, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively as he stood there, stood there, and started fucking up into you. Hard. Hot. Desperate. “Fuck, baby…. this pussy,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “So fucking tight, still. You gonna come again? Huh? Gonna give it to me while I fuck you like this?”

You could barely nod. He grabbed your ass, bouncing you on his dick like a ragdoll, hips slamming up as your back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream. You came again, clenching hard, crying out as your whole body seized around him.

“That’s it,” he panted, still thrusting through it, even as you writhed in his arms. “That’s my girl. Fuck, you feel so good when you come… squeezing me like you never wanna let go… shit!” Then slowly, gently, he laid you down.

You hit the sheets, boneless. Ruined. But Mingi still wasn’t done. He grabbed your legs, both, and lifted them over his shoulders, folding you in half beneath him. “Ready?” he whispered, kissing the inside of your knee. You nodded, dazed and he slammed back into you. You screamed, overstimulated, ruined, but wanting more.

Your hands flew to the sheets, to the pillow, to your own hair as he fucked you, relentless, animalistic, but still so fucking good. His grip on your thighs tightened. The slap of skin on skin echoed through the room. The camera caught it all, his muscles flexing, your tits bouncing, your face wrecked as you cried out his name over and over again.

“I’m gonna come,” he growled, the edge cracking in his voice. “Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna fuck you so full it leaks out on camera.”

“Do it… please, Mingi… do it”

“Fuck, fuck… baby…I’m coming…” And he did with a growl that turned into a low moan, hips stuttering, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard, twitching inside you, ropes of hot release spilling into your already aching core. You were shaking and so was he as he collapsed over you, still inside, your legs sliding off his shoulders to wrap around his waist, arms locking him in as both of you gasped for air.

The room was silent now, except for the heavy sound of breathing, the soft hum of the camera still rolling, and Mingi’s voice, barely a whisper against your throat. “Best fucking masterpiece I’ve ever made.”

You were sprawled beneath him, sweat drenched, blissed out, legs still twitching from the sheer wreckage of your last orgasm. His cum was already starting to slip out of you in slow, creamy drips. And Mingi, chest still heaving, hadn’t even left you yet.

He stayed there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in. One hand cradled your face, the other stroked your thigh lazily. Your whole body pulsed with aftershocks, and he kissed you once, soft and lingering, before slowly pulling out. You whimpered at the loss. And that’s when you saw it. That look in his eyes. Hungry. Intent. Possessive.

Without a word, Mingi reached to the nightstand and grabbed the camera. Still recording. Still hot with everything you’d just given him. He brought it close, tilting the lens between your legs, your ruined, soaked, still spread body on full display. His cum, warm and thick, was leaking from your swollen pussy in long, slow drips, sliding down your ass and inner thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispered behind the lens, voice ragged. “Look at that. So full of me…” The angle caught it perfectly. Intimate. Raw. Claimed. Then you gasped. Because Mingi set the camera down just beside you, aimed directly at the mess between your thighs, and dipped two fingers into the mix of slick and cum seeping out of you.

You twitched at the contact as he pushed it back in. Slowly. Gently. Intentionally. “You’re mine,” he murmured, watching the way you clenched around his fingers. “Gotta keep it inside. Keep me with you even when I’m gone.”

You moaned, arching, your body exhausted but still so sensitive. He pulled his fingers out once more, slick and glistening, then reached for your face, cupping your cheek with his clean hand. And kissed you. Not rushed. Not filthy. Tender. The kind of kiss that said, this isn’t just about the video. This is you. Me. Always.

He pulled back just an inch, eyes locked on yours. “I’m never deleting this.”

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The Atlanta hotel room was standard, clean, modern, and just cramped enough to make sharing it annoying. Yunho dropped his bag onto the bed closest to the window with a grunt. “Why do we always end up rooming together on the loud stops?” he muttered, pulling his hoodie off. Mingi yawned as he kicked off his sneakers. “Because I snore and you’re the only one who won’t suffocate me with a pillow.”

“Yet.”

Mingi chuckled, already walking toward the bathroom. “Gonna shower. You can use my charger if you want, outlet’s by the desk.” Yunho nodded and waited until he heard the water start running before digging through his backpack, fishing out his laptop and groaning. Dead. Of course.

He turned to Mingi’s laptop, still open and glowing faintly on the desk. Charger already plugged in. Lucky bastard probably forgot to close out some anime or half finished beat. The screen blinked to life. No desktop. No YouTube tab. No lyrics doc. Just full screen video. Paused.

Mingi’s voice filled the speakers immediately, breathy, low, almost wrecked. “Tell the camera who owns this pussy.”

Yunho froze. Eyes wide. Mouse unmoving after accidentally fast forwarding some on the video. He saw you first, laid out across rumpled sheets, drenched in sweat, legs spread wide, your lips parted in a moan. Then Mingi. On his knees behind the camera, voice shaking as he zoomed in on your pussy, where his cum was dripping out of you in real time.

Yunho’s jaw dropped, his stomach doing a slow, guilty somersault. He knew who you were. Knew you were Mingi’s girl. His best friend’s girlfriend. But nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for that image. For the sound of your moan when Mingi pushed his fingers back inside you and you gasped like it hit your soul.

Yunho’s mouth went dry. He didn’t even mean to press play again. It just… happened. The motion restarted. Your hips shifted on screen. Mingi’s voice got closer to the mic. “Gonna miss this pussy on tour… good thing I’ve got you saved, huh?” The sheets rustled. You whispered something Yunho couldn’t quite catch, and then you moaned again. A choked, desperate sound.

Yunho shifted in his seat, blinking fast, not breathing. The shower was still running.

Steam fogged the mirror just behind him. But the room was sweltering now. He reached for the keyboard, either to pause it or rewind it, even he didn’t know when the bathroom door clicked open. And Mingi stepped out, towel low on his hips, steam billowing behind him. He froze. So did Yunho. Their eyes met. Mingi’s narrowed. Yunho blinked. “I was just…”

“You’re watching my girl?” Mingi’s voice was low. Dangerous. Almost unreadable. Yunho swallowed. “No… I mean, yes… I mean… I didn’t know…. you left it open!” Mingi stepped closer, water still dripping from his hair, arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing. “And you didn’t pause it?”

“I… couldn’t,” Yunho said, voice hoarse. “She looked…. you both… it was like… fuck.” Mingi tilted his head. “You liked it?” Yunho didn’t answer right away. He looked back at the screen. Then nodded. Once. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I did.”

Mingi’s eyes darkened. He took another step forward. “Want me to send it to you?”Yunho’s brows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t act shy now,” Mingi said, smirking, voice low and gravelly. “You liked watching her, didn’t you?” Yunho’s throat worked just barely. “She looked unreal.”

“She is,” Mingi said, stepping closer, leaning one hand on the desk beside the laptop. “But you only saw the ending. You didn’t even get to the part where she rode my face. Or when I fucked her so deep she couldn’t talk for a full minute.”Yunho’s breathing got shakier. And Mingi, smiling now, playful but still dangerous, let out a soft laugh. “Guess we’re watching it together now.”

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There were worse things he could’ve done. Stealing someone’s charger? Normal. Watching a sex tape he accidentally opened? Gray area. Coming to it five times in three cities? Yeah. That was a problem. And now they were back in Seoul.

Back in the humid summer air. Back to their regular beds, their regular routines and you.

Back to you. Yunho dropped his bag on the hardwood floor of his apartment he shared with Yeosang and let out a slow exhale, bracing his hands on the counter like it could ground him. But it didn’t help.

Because all he could see, all he could fucking see, was the way your body looked in that video. Mingi’s shirt. His cum. Your thighs trembling. That fucked out smile at the end. He’d told Mingi he watched it by accident. That was true. Once. But the second time? The fifth? That was all on him.

He’d copied the file. Password protected it. Learned the lighting cues. Knew the minute mark where you choked out Mingi’s name and said her pussy was his. And worse? He started wondering what it would sound like if you said his name instead.

He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as the shower in the bathroom started, Yeosang running in the second they got there, Yunho trying to shake the image of your mouth wrapping around Mingi’s dick, how eager you looked. Like you loved it. Like you wanted to be filmed doing it.

And Yunho had jerked off more than once to the thought of what you’d look like on his dick instead of. He wasn’t proud of it. But he was obsessed. You hadn’t even changed the way you treated him. Still friendly. Still teasing. Still giving him those lazy smiles that sent his thoughts spiraling. You’d hugged him when they got back. Told him you missed his stupid dance challenges in the green room. Looked up at him with that same warm gaze like you didn’t know.

Like you didn’t know what he’d seen. What he’d done with it. What he wanted. And that’s what scared him most. Because Yunho wasn’t just jerking off to a fantasy anymore. He wanted the real thing. Your breath in his ear. Your nails in his back. Your voice breaking on his name as he split you open.

He wanted to see how different you’d sound moaning for him instead of Mingi. If you’d ride him the same. If you’d let him taste you until you cried. If you’d wear his shirt and beg to keep it on. And worst of all? He knew Mingi wouldn’t stop him. Because Mingi had seen the way Yunho looked at you when he thought no one was watching.

Had smirked when Yunho stammered through a goodbye the last night of tour, cheeks flushed, eyes lingering too long on your picture in Mingi’s lock screen. “Wanna touch her?” he’d said in that low, casual voice. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”

And now, back home, Yunho was wondering if you wanted him to.

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The bass vibrated through the floor. Yunho moved on autopilot, counting beats, syncing steps, keeping pace even when his brain was somewhere else entirely. His shirt stuck to his chest, his hair dark with sweat, and he still couldn’t focus. Not fully. Not since Mingi leaned over mid routine to whisper, “She’s bringing lunch, by the way.”

Yunho had nodded. Pretended it didn’t affect him. Pretended he hadn’t been thinking about you all morning. But his stomach had tightened. His body knew before his brain could catch up. He was going to see you. And that meant one very real, very important problem. Yunho couldn’t unsee it.

Couldn’t unhear your moans. Couldn’t forget the way Mingi held your hips as you begged for more. Couldn’t stop remembering the exact moment you came while still wearing that black shirt, legs shaking, cunt dripping. And now you were just… casually showing up. With food. Like you hadn’t wrecked his whole damn sense of control.

“Five minute break,” their choreographer called. Yunho wiped his face with a towel and turned to grab his water bottle and then he heard the door. His whole body tensed. The guys were already calling your name in chorus, excited and loud. Mingi broke from the group first, practically jogging toward the entrance with that dumb happy grin he only ever gave you.

You stepped in, white tank top, denim shorts. Tote bag slung over your shoulder. Food bags in hand. Laughter in your voice as Mingi kissed your cheek and tried to take all the weight from you.

Yunho froze. Just stood there. Staring. This was only the second time he’d seen you since getting back. The first was brief and he avoided eye contact. You looked exactly the same. But he wasn’t. Because now he’d seen you. Now he’d heard you. Now every movement of your body sent heat curling low in his gut.

You glanced up and locked eyes with him. A moment. A flash. Your smile didn’t falter, but your gaze did linger. You gave him that soft, familiar smirk. “Yunho, you seem to be surviving practice.” His throat bobbed. “Y… yeah. Barely.”

You stepped further into the room, and everything about your presence, your scent, your voice, the way the neckline of your tank dipped just made it worse. He turned away fast, pretending to grab his phone, willing his heart rate to slow down. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. And yet, he felt seen. Naked. Exposed.

Mingi plopped down next to him on the floor, handing him a sandwich. “Told you she’d show. She spoils us.” Yunho kept his eyes on the wrapper. “Yeah. She’s great.” Mingi leaned in closer, voice low. Too low. “You watched it again, didn’t you?”

Yunho flinched. Mingi smirked. “I could tell. You looked like you were about to bust the second she walked in.” Yunho clenched his jaw. “Shut up.”

“I’m not judging,” Mingi murmured, unbothered. “Just saying… You might wanna be careful. You keep looking at her like that, she’s gonna notice.”

Yunho didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because just a few feet away, you were laughing with San, unwrapping drinks, your skin glowing from the heat outside, your thighs crossed as you leaned back and looked completely at ease. And Yunho was hard. In the middle of a dance studio.

In front of his friends. Because you’d walked in holding iced coffee.

He barely managed a sip of water, pulse still thumping in his ears when he glanced over and caught your gaze again, this time, tilted slightly, almost curious. And in that moment? Yunho knew. He was fucked.

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Yunho hadn’t meant to come by alone.

But Mingi had texted him in all caps, STUCK IN STUDIO. BRINGING CHAOS. NEED U TO GRAB LAPTOP.

And being the helpful, totally normal friend that he was, Yunho grabbed his keys, his hoodie, and did not rehearse anything in the mirror before heading over. He didn’t expect you to be there. Which is exactly why his breath caught when you opened the door.

You were in a matching set, just a thin gray crop tank and soft cotton shorts that clung to your thighs in a way that felt deliberate. Your hair was messy, lips glossy, skin bare and glowing like you hadn’t even tried. “Yunho,” you said, voice light and sweet. “Mingi said you were coming.” He almost choked. Almost turned around.

But you stepped aside, holding the door open, and he had no choice but to walk into the place he’d been dreaming about for weeks. The couch. The hallway. The bedroom door slightly ajar. All of it. Burned into his brain from the video he swore he wouldn’t watch again but absolutely had. Many times. That morning in fact.

You gestured to the kitchen counter. “Laptop’s right there. Want something to drink?”

“Uh… no. I’m good. I’ll just… grab it and go.”

But you didn’t let it be that simple, did you? You leaned back against the counter, sipping from a glass of water, watching him with lazy curiosity as he reached for the laptop. “Hot out today, huh?” you asked, running your fingers along the condensation on your glass.

Yunho didn’t answer immediately. His hands were already shaking. You had to know. And you did. Because Mingi told you. Told you Yunho had seen the video. That he’d watched it. That he’d jerked off to it. Not that Yunho was fully aware of that fact just yet. And now you were watching him unravel under nothing but your smile and the ghost of memory. “You okay?”

Yunho blinked. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

You pushed off the counter, slow and casual, walking over to him until you were standing too close. You smelled like vanilla and body heat and temptation. “You look flushed.” He didn’t respond. Just swallowed hard, eyes dropping, not even meaning to, and landing directly on the slope of your chest, the hem of your crop top lifting slightly as you tilted toward him.

He grabbed the laptop. Tried to hold it to his chest like a shield. “Thanks… I’ll uh…. return this tomorrow.” You stepped closer. “You sure you don’t want a drink?” you asked again, voice soft now. Syrupy. “I could give you… something cold. Or warm, if you prefer that…”

He dropped the laptop. Caught it midair with a flailing, gasped curse and clutched it tighter. Your eyes sparkled. “I…. I gotta go,” he stammered, already backing toward the door. “I’ve got practice, and…. uh…. stuff.”

You just smiled. “Of course,” you said sweetly. “Say hi to Mingi for me.” And just as he turned the knob, hand trembling, hoodie sticking to the back of his neck from the sweat gathering? You added, casual as anything, “Oh, and Yunho?”

He turned, barely keeping his eyes on your face. Your smirk was lethal. “Next time you watch our video…” You licked the condensation off your glass rim, slow, deliberate. “Try not to bite your lip so hard. You might draw blood.”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

He was going to kill Mingi!

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The studio door slammed open so hard it bounced off the stopper. Mingi didn’t even flinch. He was leaning back in the chair, socked feet propped on the edge of the desk, slowly chewing a piece of gum as Yunho stormed in, practically seething.

The laptop slammed onto the desk with enough force to make the water bottle next to it jump. “You told her.” Mingi blinked. “Told who what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yunho snapped, voice low, shaky with everything he was trying not to say. “You told her I watched the video. That I…. fucking came to it, didn’t you?” Mingi stared at him for a long second, then smirked wide. “And did she tease you?” he asked, voice calm, like this was the weather report. “Did she make you squirm a little, maybe show some skin, look at you like she didn’t know, but she did?”

Yunho looked like he might combust. “That’s not the point!”

“It’s exactly the point.” Mingi dropped his feet and stood, circling the desk slowly, looking at his best friend like he was studying a particularly interesting animal on the verge of snapping.

“You know what the best part is?” Mingi said, voice going low, amused. “She didn’t even have to try that hard, did she? Just smiled. Stood too close. Said your name like she was thinking about it. And now you’re in here, losing your goddamn mind.”

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw clenched. His hands fisted at his sides. “You think I didn’t notice?” Mingi went on, stepping closer. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her when she’s laughing? When she leans over in those little tops and you pretend to look away too fast?”

Yunho’s throat worked. “Mingi, I would never…”

“I know,” Mingi interrupted. “That’s the thing. You’d never make a move. You’d never say a word. But you want her.” Silence. Yunho’s fingers twitched. Mingi leaned in. “Do you want to fuck her?”

Yunho’s breath hitched, barely audible as Mingi stepped even closer. “Because you can. But I want to hear you say it.” Yunho looked up, eyes burning, guilt and lust and need all cracking through the calm he’d tried to hold on to.

“You think I don’t hate myself for it?” he said finally, voice quiet, tight. “You think I haven’t tried to stop? I’m your best friend, Mingi.”

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Mingi’s tone was unreadable. “But I’m also not blind. And I’m definitely not threatened.” That stunned Yunho into silence as Mingi leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed now, gaze steady. “She noticed it too, by the way,” he added. “Before I ever said anything. Said you look at her like you’re trying not to fall apart.”

Yunho ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “This is fucked up.”

“Is it?” Mingi asked, smirking again. “Or is it just honest?” A pause of silence and Mingi pushed off the desk and walked up to him, slow, deliberate, until they were chest to chest. “You want to fuck her?” he repeated, voice low and dead serious now. “Then ask yourself the better question…”

Yunho’s breath caught as Mingi’s eyes sharpened. “Do you want to fuck her more than you want to pretend you don’t?”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was quiet when Mingi slipped in, keys jingling low, door clicking shut behind him. It was past midnight. Exhaustion hung from his shoulders like a heavy coat, but beneath it, under the sweat damp shirt and low buzz of leftover adrenaline, was something darker. Something sharper. Desire.

He toed off his sneakers, the soft scuff of rubber against wood the only sound in the apartment until he saw you. You were standing in the living room , barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel. Hair damp, lips still tinted from the heat of your shower, steam trailing from the bathroom behind you like a fog of temptation.

And you smiled. Lazy. Soft. Unknowing. “Hey,” you murmured, voice like velvet. “You’re late.” Mingi didn’t answer right away. He walked toward you slowly, shedding his hoodie, eyes drinking in every inch of your towel covered frame. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip as he reached you. “I saw Yunho today,” he said, voice low. You blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

“He stormed into the studio. Shoved the laptop at me. Asked if I told you he watched the video.” You raised an eyebrow, towel clutched just a little tighter at your chest. “And did you?” Mingi smirked. “Of course I did.” You tried to look innocent. You failed. He reached out, brushed a drop of water from your collarbone, let his fingers linger there.

“He’s losing his mind over you,” Mingi murmured, stepping closer. “You know that, right?” You bit your lip, just barely. “He didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t have to,” Mingi whispered, voice dropping even lower. “He looked at me like he was ashamed… for wanting what’s mine.” Your breath caught. “But he’s not the only one who’s been hiding shit,” Mingi went on, hand slipping to the knot at your towel. “I know you’ve thought about him.”

Your eyes widened as he tugged the knot loose, slow and purposeful. “I see the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching. The way you smile a little different. Hold hugs a second too long.” The towel dropped. Soft. Soundless. Leaving you standing there bare before him, flushed and quiet, heart hammering in your chest.

Mingi’s eyes were molten. “And you know what?” he breathed, stepping so close you could feel the heat of his body. “I don’t blame you.” His hand slid down your side, over your hip, anchoring you in place. “Yunho’s a good man. And he wants you bad. But what he doesn’t know…” He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw. “is how wet you’re already getting just thinking about it.”

You whimpered and then a knock sounded at the front door followed by three more. Both of you froze. You turned your head toward the front door. Mingi didn’t even flinch.

“That’ll be him.”

You rushed to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, towel forgotten on the floor, knees drawn up, chest bare, arms wrapped tight around yourself, but not because you were cold. No. It was because Mingi had just said something you’d only ever whispered in your own head. Saying how he knew you thought of his best friend. And he wasn’t wrong.You had. Too many times. Too late at night. Too long after a hug from Yunho lasted just a second too long. Or when he laughed at something you said like it was the funniest thing in the world. When his hands lingered on your back. When he watched you dance in the kitchen and didn’t say a word.

You felt it. That shift. But you’d ignored it. Buried it. Because you loved Mingi. And Mingi was… everything. But now he was the one who’d said it first. And not in jealousy. Not in anger. But like he understood. Like he might even want it too.

From the other side of the bedroom wall, you heard the soft pad of his bare feet on the hardwood as he walked down the hall. The faint creak of the front door opening. “Hey,” Mingi’s voice. Low. Even. Not surprised. Yunho didn’t respond right away. You held your breath. Mingi let the silence sit. Heavy. Tense. Then he stepped aside. “You gonna stand there all night or are you coming in?”

Another beat of silence followed. Then footsteps. Heavy. Controlled. Intentional. You curled your fingers into the comforter beneath you as you heard the door shut, the lock click. Mingi’s voice, again, closer now. “She probably ran to the bedroom.” Still quiet. No laughter. No sarcasm. Just weight.

You could almost feel Yunho hesitating on the other side of the wall, just feet from the doorway. Like he was trying to catch his breath. Trying to hold onto the last shred of control he had left. You turned, slowly, breath stuck somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

The bedroom door creaked open and Yunho stood in the doorway, backlit by the soft hallway light. Black hoodie. Joggers. Jaw tight. His eyes swept over you in an instant, bare, flushed, wrecked from the conversation before and everything about him shifted. His breath caught. Your name barely made it past his lips. “Fuck.”

You didn’t cover yourself. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. And Yunho? He just stood there. Eyes full of something wild. Something raw. Something that said, I can’t pretend anymore.

Yunho had imagined this moment a hundred times. No, fantasized. Late at night, in silence, in showers, in the back corner of the dance studio while his mind wandered and guilt crawled down his spine. He’d imagined your face twisted in pleasure, your lips wrapped around his dick, your body writhing beneath his touch, but none of it came close to this. Nothing came close to the real thing.

Because now? You were right there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, backlit by the bedside lamp, skin flushed and damp from a recent shower. Naked. Unbothered. Looking at him like you knew every single dirty thought he’d ever had. And you weren’t afraid of it. You welcomed it.

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Mingi walked in behind him, moving like he had all the time in the world. Yunho tensed instinctively, but Mingi only smirked as he walked past, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing Yunho’s arm as he stepped further into the room.

“I was right,” Mingi said, voice low, calm. “You want each other.”

Yunho swallowed hard, but didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Mingi turned to face them both now, standing at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on Yunho first, then you. And his voice softened just slightly. “And that’s okay.” His eyes glittered with something possessive. But not jealous. Not threatened. Just… aware. Deeply, intimately aware.

“You’re my best friend,” he said to Yunho. Then to you, softer, “You’re my girlfriend.” And then, back to both of you. “In a way… you’re both mine.”

Yunho’s breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. Something electric hung in the air, thick and humming. “But tonight?” Mingi continued, walking to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer. Grabbed the GoPro. The same GoPro. The one that changed everything. “I don’t want to be in it.” He turned it over in his hands, checked the battery, powered it on. The red light blinked once, bright and ready. “I want to watch.”

Yunho’s eyes widened. His stomach dropped, then flipped. His dick twitched in his pants. Not just watch. Film. Mingi looked at him, completely serious now, voice lower. “I want to see what you do to her when you finally stop pretending.”

He turned the camera on and set it on the dresser across from the bed, tilting the angle, just like before. The red light blinked again. Recording. Then he backed away, sat in the chair in the corner of the room, legs spread, one arm slung across the back, the other resting lazily on his thigh.

“You want her, Yunho?” he asked, eyes dark. “Then show me.”

Yunho couldn’t move at first. Not when the camera started recording. Not when Mingi sat down, legs wide, the perfect calm storm in the corner. And definitely not when you stood up, completely bare, back straight, eyes locked on him. Your steps were slow. Deliberate. And you didn’t look away.

You didn’t cover yourself. Didn’t ask for reassurance. You just approached, like you were meant to. Like this was always going to happen. And Yunho….. he stopped breathing. Every nerve in his body lit up the moment you reached him. Your hands slid up his chest, fingertips dragging over the fabric of his hoodie, soft and slow, like you were mapping him out for the first time. Or like you’d been imagining it just as long as he had.

“Still with me?” you whispered, voice warm, barely heard over the pounding in his ears. Yunho nodded, but it felt like a lie. Because he wasn’t with you, he was losing his damn mind because of you. Already unraveling and you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

Your hands moved to his waist. Tugged gently at his hoodie. “Off.” He obeyed. Pulled it over his head, hands trembling slightly, the air feeling too cold against his overheated skin. You tossed it aside and pressed your palms flat to his stomach, dragging them up slowly, across the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, around the back of his neck.

And then You kissed him. Soft at first. Gentle. And that’s what broke him. Because he’d imagined this so many times. Had dreamt of what your mouth would feel like, of how you’d taste, how you’d sigh into him and the real thing was infinitely worse. Because now he knew. Knew your lips were warm and sweet. Knew you kissed like you were hungry but patient. Knew your body was pressed against his and Mingi was watching just a few feet away, and you still didn’t stop.

Your fingers found his jaw, your mouth parted slightly, and Yunho let out a quiet, desperate sound. You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Come with me.” Then you took his hand, guiding him toward the bed. Not yanking, not rushing. Leading and Yunho followed. Couldn’t do anything else.

He felt like a man being walked off the edge of a cliff and all he could think was finally. You sat on the edge of the mattress first, legs spreading slightly as you pulled him between them. One hand resting lightly on his chest. The other already tugging at the waistband of his pants.

Yunho was shaking. And behind him, the camera was rolling, Mingi voice was cool and low from the corner. “That’s it. Let me see what you’ve been holding back.”Yunho’s eyes dropped to yours. And you looked up like you were about to ruin him.

You tugged him closer between your legs, fingers playing at the waistband of his joggers, and Yunho could barely stand it. Your touch was gentle, but his skin ached. He was so hard it hurt. Throbbing under the cotton, already leaking, already desperate.

You hooked your thumbs under the waistband and slowly pulled them down. His dick sprang free, heavy, flushed, thick and your breath hitched. Yunho watched your eyes go wide for just a second, the way your lips parted. “Shit,” you whispered. “You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. Yunho heard it loud and clear.

Bigger than Mingi.

And something about that short little silence, about the way your eyes stayed glued to his dick. like you were already imagining it between your lips, between your legs, stretching you open, broke him. The shame was gone. The guilt burned away. All that was left was need.

When you leaned forward, tongue flicking out to taste the tip, slow, teasing, letting his precum sit on your tongue like candy, Yunho’s fingers shot to the back of your head. He groaned, low, dark. “No teasing.” You looked up at him, startled. Then wrecked. Because he was already pushing forward, slow but firm, guiding his dick between your lips with a grip in your hair that had you melting.

“Open,” he growled, voice rasped and barely human. “Wider. You can take it.” Your lips stretched. Jaw aching. But you took it. You fucking took it. Yunho’s head dropped back as he slid into your mouth, the warmth of you swallowing him making his whole body seize. Your tongue flattened, your throat tightened, and when you moaned around him? He snapped.

“Fuck, just like that…” he hissed, then looked down at you, eyes wild, mouth parted. “You want to choke on it? Huh? You want me to ruin your throat while he watches?” You whimpered. His hips rolled forward. Once. Twice. Then he started fucking your face. Not slow. Not shy. Messy. Hungry. Filthy.

His hand was tangled tight in your hair, the other on your jaw, guiding you, holding you open as he thrust deeper, harder into your throat. Spit pooled on your chin. Drooled down your chest. His balls slapped against your fingers when you reached to cup them, and Yunho lost any last shred of hesitation.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned, breath ragged. “On your knees, on camera, drooling for my dick like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life.” Your eyes watered. Your thighs pressed together. You moaned around him again and Yunho almost came right there, but forced himself to stop. He pulled out with a wet pop, a thick string of spit and precum still connecting your mouth to his tip.

And when you gasped for air, mascara smudged, chest heaving? Yunho leaned down and grabbed your face with both hands. “You’re mine tonight. And I’m not stopping until you forget how anyone else ever fucked you.”

From the corner of the room, the soft whir of the camera kept rolling. And Mingi’s voice, low, rough, sounding wrecked, cut in, “Fuck. This is gonna be even better than our video.”

You were trembling when he laid you back. Yunho’s hands were gentle, controlled, but his mind was anything but. His dick was still soaked from your throat, heavy and aching, but all he could focus on now was the way your thighs spread for him without hesitation. Like you already belonged there.

And fuck, maybe you did.

Your chest was rising fast, skin flushed, lips red and wet. You looked up at him like you didn’t know where Yunho had gone, but you liked who was here now. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooked his arms under your thighs and dragged you to the edge until your hips were barely balanced on the mattress.

Yunho exhaled once. Then dove in.

It wasn’t just the shock of Yunho eating you out, it was how he did it. There was no warm up. No testing the waters. Just tongue and lips and purpose. He licked through your folds like a man trying to commit your taste to memory. Groaned into your pussy like it was the first real breath he’d taken all night. When he sucked your clit into his mouth with a slow, obscene pop, your whole body arched.

And when you reached for his hair, Yunho didn’t flinch. He growled. “Keep your hands there,” he said, voice muffled between your thighs, “and keep your legs open for me.”

And fuck, your hips obeyed.

You tasted sweet. Sweeter than he thought. Wetter than he expected. Needy. Your thighs trembled against his shoulders as he flattened his tongue over your clit again, slow and steady, dragging the tip in tight circles. You let out a gasp, head thrown back, hair spilling over the sheets.

Good. But not enough. He pulled back just slightly, one hand slipping between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your slick folds before pressing in and your body jerked. “Still tight,” he whispered, eyes locked on the way you pulsed around him. “You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips grinding into his hand. He curled his fingers, once, twice, and your moan cracked open in the middle. Yunho sucked your clit again, timed it with every stroke of his fingers, until you were begging, nearly chanting, barely coherent. “Yunho…. please… I’m gonna…. fuck…. please!”

He pulled back, fingers still inside you. You let out a broken cry. “No,” he said firmly, licking up your slit one more time without giving you the pressure you needed. “You’re gonna wait.”

You couldn’t believe it. Yunho, sweet, funny Yunho, had you spread open, two fingers fucking into you slow and deep while he denied your orgasm like he’d done it a hundred times before. And it wasn’t just good. It was perfect. You were dripping. Twitching. The denial only making it worse.

And when you cried out again, he added a third finger. Your hands flew to the sheets, gasping like he’d punched the air from your lungs. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and filth. “Mingi’s been holding out on me.” You were ruined. And he loved it.

He fucked you slowly with three fingers now, watching the way your body tensed and fluttered around them. Your moans were broken, high and helpless. “I could make you come right now,” he whispered, dragging his lips along your inner thigh, “but I don’t want you coming on my fingers.”

He kissed your clit once, barely, and pulled his hand back completely and your whole body shook in protest. “Yunho…”

“You’re gonna come,” he said, standing now, looking down at you, dick hard and gleaming between you, “when I fuck you.” And from the chair in the corner, Mingi’s voice, low, breathless, completely wrecked already. “She’s ready.”

Yunho stood at the edge of the bed, bare now, every inch of him carved and hungry, dick standing thick and flushed between his abs and the shadow of his thighs. He was beautiful in the worst way, like a ruin you wanted to crawl into. All that soft, dimpled warmth he usually carried was gone. What remained was a man stripped down to nothing but want.

And all of it? For you. He moved in without a word, climbing onto the mattress and settling between your legs, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to your knee, your inner thigh, then your stomach. You gasped, arching into him as his hands slid up your sides, large and grounding, holding you like something he’d been aching to have in his grasp for years.

When he reached your chest, he didn’t hesitate. He licked, sucked, bit, gently, until you were breathless again, your fingers threading through his hair. But he wasn’t done. Without warning, Yunho grabbed you by the hips and flipped you with effortless strength, your body landing against the pillows, and him right behind you, back now propped against the headboard, dick glistening between them.

He pulled you into his lap, back to chest, his thick thighs caging you in, his hands everywhere. One slid up to your throat. The other spread your legs wide, leaving you completely open, completely vulnerable, and seated perfectly against the length of his dick.

Yunho’s mouth was right by your ear now, voice low and electric. “Right here,” he whispered, dragging the head of his dick between your folds, smearing your slick up and down. “This is where I want you.” And then his eyes flicked up, across the room. To Mingi. Still in the chair. Still watching.

Yunho smirked. “Pick up the camera.” Mingi didn’t move for a moment, stunned, maybe, or just aroused past speech. But then his hand twitched. He stood slowly, chest rising and falling, and walked across the room, the red light blinking steadily as he lifted the camera into both hands.

Yunho adjusted his grip on your thighs, spreading them just a little further as his dick slid through the dripping mess between your legs. “Make sure you get everything,” he said, staring straight into the lens. “She’s not yours tonight.” His voice dipped, full of power and possession and something dangerously intimate. “She’s mine.”

Yunho’s arms locked around you, one gripping your thigh, the other spread across your waist, hand splayed wide beneath your ribs. You were flushed, panting, legs spread across his lap, slick soaking his dick as he ran it through your folds again… and again… and again. Not entering. Not yet. Just teasing. Tormenting.

The head of his cock tapped your clit, made your hips twitch, made your hands grip his thighs beneath you and still, he didn’t give it to you.

From the other side of the room, Mingi shifted the camera, silent, focused, adjusting the angle to frame you both perfectly. The lens caught everything, the twitch of legs, the tension in Yunho’s arms, the heavy weight of his dick dragging between your folds, leaving trails of slick behind.

“You hear that?” Yunho murmured in your ear, voice low and feral. The slick, wet sound of your pussy against his dick was obscene. You whimpered, barely able to nod. Yunho’s hand left your waist and slid down, between your thighs, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit while his dick kept sliding just below.

You gasped, loud. And Yunho smirked. “Look at her,” he said to the camera, pressing harder, watching your body twitch. “Already coming apart. And I haven’t even fucked her yet.” Mingi groaned behind the lens as you tried to grind down, tried to take him, your hips rolling forward, chasing his dick, but Yunho grabbed your waist again and held you still. “No.”

You whimpered, growing impatient. “Yunho…”

“You come when I say,” he breathed into your ear. “Not a second before.” He tapped your clit once more, twice, fingers fast and light, sending you straight into a high pitched gasp. Your back arched. Your body trembled. He shifted his hips. Lined up. And pushed in.

Slow. So fucking slow.

“Holy fuck,” he growled as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him like he was made for you. Your hands flew to his thighs. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your mouth dropped open around a soundless moan. “Eyes open, baby,” Yunho whispered against your neck. “Look at the camera. Let him see how you look when someone else stretches you.”

Mingi cursed behind the camera, low, breathless as you did as you were told. Head turned just enough, eyes fluttering open, barely holding on as Yunho filled you to the hilt and held you there, deep, unmoving. “Ride me,” he ordered, one hand sliding up to grip your throat, not tight, just firm enough to control. “Nice and slow. Let him see every inch.”

You began to move. Rocking forward. Lifting your hips. Letting his dick drag out of you slowly, then sinking back down again. Your ass met his thighs with a wet slap, and Yunho groaned, hands gripping tight as he guided your pace. “That’s it,” he hissed. “Take it. Take every fucking inch, just like that.”

The camera zoomed closer, capturing the slick shine coating his dick and the white ring of milky cream as you rode him, capturing the tremble in your thighs, the glazed look in your eyes.

Yunho tilted his head, watching you. Watching Mingi watch you. “She’s never coming back from this.”

You were trembling, but you weren’t stopping. Your palms were planted on Yunho’s thighs, fingers digging into the hard muscle, using his body as your anchor. And Yunho, god, Yunho was gone. Jaw clenched, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met, his hands gripping your hips like he didn’t know whether to let you keep going or flip you and lose control entirely.

You were moving like you wanted to own him. Not just up and down, but left, right, forward, back. Grinding slow, rolling your hips, then sinking all the way down and rocking against his base like you needed every inch deep. Wet sounds filled the room. Your thighs were coated. His dick glistened. Every movement you made was a symphony of slick and want.

And behind the camera? Mingi’s voice broke through, low, rough, wrecked. “That’s right, baby,” he breathed, completely focused on the frame. “Take it. Let him feel all of you.” You whimpered, your head tipping back slightly, mouth open, hips stuttering from the stimulation. You heard him. You were performing for him now. But your body? Your body was riding for yourself.

“Fuck,” Yunho groaned, his voice strained. “You feel so….tight… you’re gonna make me come if you keep moving like that.” But you didn’t stop. You sped up.Yunho’s thighs tensed beneath you as you rode him harder now, fucking yourself onto his dick, ass slapping down with every thrust, hands slipping slightly on his sweat slicked skin.

“Look at that,” Mingi murmured behind the lens. “Look at the way she grinds on you like she’s been dreaming about it.” Yunho had dreamed about it. Every fucking night since he saw the video. And now you were here, real, soaked, spread wide in his lap, working him like he belonged to you.

“Keep going, baby,” Mingi coached, voice hoarse. “He’s close. I can see it in his face.”Yunho groaned again, his hands grabbing your hips tighter. But then you looked at him, eyes wild, face flushed, hair clinging to your neck. “Tell me,” you whispered breathlessly. “Tell me whose it is”

Yunho’s head dropped to her shoulder, his voice torn from somewhere primal. “It’s yours. Fuck…. it’s always been yours!” You were close. Your body betrayed you, hips rolling, breath ragged, thighs clenching around Yunho’s waist as you bounced back on his dick, chasing another orgasm like you were made for it.

But Yunho? Yunho had other plans. He grunted, low, sharp and lifted you off him, your slick dripping down the length of his dick as he laid your back on the sheets, flipping you like a man with a mission. You gasped as your spine hit the mattress, your legs instinctively spreading for him, needy, trembling. “Yunho…”

“Shhh,” he rasped, leaning over you, guiding one of your legs around his waist, the other hoisted high over his shoulder. “Let me.” His dick still flushed, leaking, aching, pressed right against your clit. Not inside. Not yet. He began to rub. Slow. Hard. Deliberate. The thick head of his dick slid through your folds, dragging over your clit again and again, sending sparks up your spine with each pass. Your hands flew to the sheets, to his arms, to anywhere you could grab, because your body was coming undone.

“That’s it,” Yunho murmured, staring down at your wrecked expression. “That’s what I want. Come for me like this.” And you did. You cried out, your whole body jolting as your clit throbbed against his dick, heat washing through you like lightning. But Yunho didn’t stop. While you were still shaking, still gasping from the release, his hand slid between you, two fingers plunging deep into you.

“Yunho!”

He fucked into you hard, fast, curling deep, pumping you open as you writhed beneath him. Your orgasm was still happening and already he was dragging you toward another. “Look at her,” he growled toward Mingi, who was silent behind the camera now, breath unsteady. “Look at how she falls apart for me.”

He added a third finger. Curled them up into that spot that made you scream. Your back arched clean off the bed as you squirted. It hit his hand. His arm. His chest. Soaking the sheets beneath you in wave after wave as Yunho kept thrusting through it, riding out your high like a storm he didn’t want to end.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, utterly wrecked. “Give it to me, fucking soak me, baby.” He dropped his mouth to your pussy. No hesitation. Just tongue and lips and filthy desperation as he licked you clean, licked you through the mess, through your twitching thighs, through the overstimulation that made you scream and sob and grab at his hair like you couldn’t survive one more second.

But he didn’t stop. He ate you like it was his job. Like he hadn’t been fed in weeks. And when your legs finally gave out, trembling and slick, your body wrung out beneath him, Yunho sat up, glowing, glistening, panting. “You’re still not done.”

Yunho pulled himself from her soaked pussy slowly, just for a second, only to guide himself right back in. This time, he didn’t rush. He sank in deep. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, trembling as they locked behind his back, pulling him in like you never wanted him to leave. And Yunho, sweaty, panting, raw with need, bent forward and caught your wrists in his hands.

You reached up for him. And he gave them. Your fingers interlocked. Bodies locked. Breath tangled. He started moving again, deep, slow thrusts, dragging his dick against every inch inside you that made you shake.

Behind you, the camera kept rolling. And Mingi? He was right there. Framing the moment. Breathing heavily. His hands steady even as his restraint frayed. Yunho didn’t take his eyes off you. “Get that shot,” he said to Mingi, voice guttural. “She’s creaming all over me.”

And, oh, you were. Every thrust left a mess between you, slick dripping from you to the sheets, his dick glistening with it every time he pulled back only to press back in, harder, deeper. Yunho’s hand left yours and slid up your body and wrapped it around your throat. Firm. Possessive. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who had you now.

“Don’t come yet,” he growled, his hips starting to piston harder now. “Not until I do. You hold it, baby. You hold it for me.” Your whimper cracked in your throat. Your legs tightened. Your hands dug into his. He fucked into you faster, still deep, still relentless, chest pressing into yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room now. The bed shifted beneath you, the air thick with sweat and want and claiming.

“Yunho…. please…. please….” You sobbed.

“Not yet.” His thrusts stuttered. Once. Twice.

Then he buried himself deep with a groan that vibrated down your spine. “Now,” he breathed. “Come with me.”

And you shattered. Your pussy clamped down around him, pulling him in deeper as your orgasm tore through you. And Yunho, eyes shut, jaw clenched, came with you, groaning low as he emptied inside, filling you full with every last desperate pulse.

They clung to each other, bodies slick and trembling, both wrecked, both gasping.

Yunho didn’t pull out right away. He pressed his forehead to yours, hand still around your throat, still holding you in place like he couldn’t let go yet.

Until, slowly, he eased out. A flood of his cum followed. Dripping from between your thighs, down to the sheets, thick and messy. And Mingi?

Still holding the camera, breath shaky, eyes locked on the mess he’d just watched happen.

He stepped forward. With one hand still filming, he reached out with the other. Two fingers. He slid them between your folds, gathering up the creamy mixture of both your orgasm and Yunho’s seed, swiping through the mess until you twitched from overstimulation.

Then, without a word, he pushed it back into you. Deep. Just like he had done to you in the original video. You gasped. And then, he brought his fingers to your mouth. Still glistening. Still warm. “Open,” he said softly. You did. Lips parting, tongue out, your eyes fluttering shut as you took his fingers in slowly, licked them clean.

Mingi groaned. Yunho watched, barely breathing. And the camera blinked red. Still rolling. Still catching every second of the filthiest masterpiece they’d ever made.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The lights were low in the studio. Mingi sat front and center, laptop open, cables everywhere, bouncing his leg like a kid on too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Hongjoong leaned forward, one arm on the table, nodding to the beat as the track started.

The others lounged in various states of distraction. San on the floor. Wooyoung texting. Jongho half asleep with his hood up. Yeosang squinting at lyrics like they might personally insult him. Seonghwa scrolling on his phone.

And Yunho? Yunho sat there trying not to combust. Because the track Mingi queued up was titled, Masterpiece_Demo_v3.wav.

And Yunho already knew what it was about. He’d helped write it. Not with a pen. With his body. With your moans.

He swallowed hard, jaw tight, heart thudding in his chest. The beat dropped. Heavy bass. Sultry synth. R&B. That slow, low hum that sounded exactly like the pace Yunho had set while fucking you against the living room mirror.

And then came the chorus: “Paint it, paint it, left, right, up and down

Come write your name for me (Name for me)

Make it a masterpiece, yeah (Woah)”

Yunho’s face went hot. Hongjoong bobbed his head. “This is fire.”

“Oh, we know,” Mingi said, grinning. Yunho side eyed him. Mingi caught it. And winked as the outro started.

“Left to right, move it up and down (Oh)

We can take all night, move it 'round and 'round

From left to right, move it up and down (Oh)

We can take all night, move it 'round and 'round, woah”

San blinked. “Damn. This is kinda… sensual?” Wooyoung made a face. “Kind of? This is sex with a beat drop.”

“I like it,” Yeosang murmured. “It’s mature. Dark. Emotional. But also very…” He paused and Seonghwa finished for him. “Detailed.”

Yunho was trying not to move. Trying not to remember the way you had looked the night before, when Mingi had whispered, “Cream on him, baby.” And Yunho had groaned, into your throat.

They hadn’t stopped since that first night. It wasn’t a one time thing. Somehow, in the weeks that followed, Yunho had gone from guest star to permanent cast member, sleeping in your bed, taking turns eating you out while Mingi held your hands, fucking you with the camera on and off, loving you both with terrifying intensity.

And now the entire group was about to sing a song about your sex life. Their sex life. Yunho couldn’t breathe as Mingi leaned over and whispered. “Think they’ll guess it’s your moan I sampled in the second chorus?”

Yunho shot him a look so sharp, it could’ve sliced tape. Mingi just grinned wider. “Relax,” he added, tapping his foot to the beat. “You’re our best kept secret.” And the hook hit. Low. Dirty. Full of rhythm and hunger and exactly the pace Mingi had filmed that night, your body bouncing in Yunho’s.

The studio speakers thumped. Hongjoong turned to Mingi, nodding slow. “This the title track?” Mingi smiled, all teeth.

“It better be.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young

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