no lube, no protection, all night, all day, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, against the window, against the door, till my throat memorizes every vein. till the doctors think they changed my red blood cells white. till we create the next ocean. till they changes my dna to theirs. till my holes speak to them in morse code. till the doctors question how much liquid a body can hold. till all holes are leaking gushing and screaming. till my throat memorizes their exact shade
Tags: smut, first kiss, first time, unprotected sex (i cant help it), lots of kissing, seduction, feelings realization, bestfriends to lovers
Word Count: 7.2k
Summary: It was supposed to be a kissing lesson , just a friend helping his best friend out. What you didn’t know was that no one else’s kisses could be like seungmins, and that automatically switched everything up…
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
You sat on the floor, legs crossed, back pressed against the side of your bed as you stared at him—Kim Seungmin, resident menace, relationship cynic, and unfortunately, your best friend.
He was sprawled across your mattress, long legs hanging off the edge, hoodie half-rumpled from how many times he’d rolled his eyes and flopped around like you were torturing him with this whole conversation.
“You really want me to teach you how to kiss,” he said flatly, his voice dipped in disbelief. “Like, actually kiss. Lips. Tongue. That whole deal.”
“Yes.” You hesitated. “I just… I don’t wanna screw it up. He’s cute, and I’m nervous, and if I freeze or, I dunno, bite his nose or something—”
Seungmin snorted. “Bite his nose?”
“I panic!”
He sighed, sitting up, arms resting over his knees. For a moment, he just looked at you—long enough that you started to regret even asking. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “This is so weird.”
“I know,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “You don’t have to—”
“—But I will,” he cut in.
You blinked. “Wait, really?”
“I mean, yeah. I’m not gonna let you bomb your first kiss on some random guy who probably wears too much cologne and says ‘vibe check’ unironically.”
A soft laugh escaped you, but your chest was tight. This was Seungmin. Your ride or die. And now you were asking him to kiss you like you were… anyone else.
“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
Seungmin shifted, sliding off the bed to sit in front of you. It was quiet—too quiet—until he cleared his throat and gave you the most serious look you’d ever seen on his face.
“I’m not gonna make this a thing,” he said, like a warning. “We’re not making it weird, alright?”
“Right. Not weird. Totally educational.”
He raised a brow. “Kissing 101 with Professor Kim.”
You laughed nervously, and he didn’t. He was watching you again, eyes flicking down to your mouth for just a second—barely long enough to catch.
“Okay, first—breathe.” His voice had dropped an octave. “You’re tense.”
“I’m literally about to kiss you, of course I’m tense!”
“Fair,” he murmured. Then he leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So I’m gonna go in—just a little. You don’t have to do anything yet. Just follow my lead.”
Your heart was in your throat as he tilted his head, his hand coming up to cup your jaw gently. His touch was careful. Measured. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so soft you barely heard it.
And then… his lips brushed yours.
It wasn’t a kiss—not fully. Just a featherlight press. Testing. Patient.
He pulled back the tiniest bit, eyes scanning your face.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded, breath shaky.
This time, he closed the distance fully. His mouth met yours, firmer now, and you felt his fingers flex slightly at your jaw. The kiss was slow, almost too slow—each second stretched like he was making sure you absorbed every movement, every shift of his lips against yours.
When your mouth parted slightly, unsure, he made a soft sound in his throat and tilted your face a little more.
“Good,” he whispered against you. “Relax your lips—don’t overthink. Just feel it.”
You mirrored him instinctively, letting your lips follow the rhythm he set—soft, exploratory, unhurried.
Your hands had somehow found their way to his hoodie, clutching it lightly. You didn’t even realize until he broke the kiss, just a few centimeters away, his breath brushing your lips.
“That,” he said, voice husky and quiet, “was your first real kiss.”
You blinked, dazed, still holding onto him.
He let his hand fall away and cleared his throat like he was resetting his entire soul.
“Next lesson’s gonna be about tongue,” he added, glancing away like he wasn’t dying inside. “If you don’t chicken out.”
But neither of you moved.
Neither of you said the part out loud—that something had shifted, cracked open just a little.
But it hung there.
Between you.
Heavy and undeniable.
⸻
You didn’t talk about it.
Not that night, not the next morning, not even after he left your place with a dumb excuse like “I have to go reorganize my playlists.” You both pretended it hadn’t happened—even though it definitely had. Even though your lips still tingled, and every time you touched your face, you could feel the ghost of Seungmin’s mouth there.
It was just a kiss.
Just a favor.
Just a lesson.
Totally normal best friend behavior.
Right?
The next few days were… weird.
Seungmin was still Seungmin—still teasing you, still stealing your fries, still sending you TikToks at 3AM. But there was something different now. Like something was sitting between you, invisible but very present. A pause too long. A glance that lingered. A laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
And maybe you were overthinking it.
Or maybe he was doing the exact same thing.
But neither of you brought it up.
You tried. Once. Sort of.
You’d both been hanging out in your room again, him scrolling through his phone while you fidgeted with the edge of your hoodie. You opened your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—and then he looked at you and said, “You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when you’re about to overthink yourself into an aneurysm.”
So you shut your mouth.
And the moment passed.
But it didn’t go away.
It settled—simmering quietly under the surface, waiting.
And then—a few days later—you snapped.
It was late. Too late to be texting anyone but Seungmin. You stared at your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a solid minute before you typed:
you up
His response was instant.
Always. What’s up, panic princess?
You chewed your lip. Then:
I want lesson two
You sent it before you could back out.
The typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again.
And then—
You’re joking
You rolled your eyes.
Dead serious
This time, the dots stayed.
…be at your place in 10
Your heart plummeted. Spiked. Did a triple backflip. You suddenly regretted everything.
You barely had time to throw on something semi-decent before your doorbell buzzed.
And when you opened the door, Seungmin just stood there, hoodie up, face unreadable.
“You really wanna do this?” he asked, voice low.
You swallowed. Nodded.
His jaw tightened—just for a split second.
“Alright,” he said, stepping inside. “Lesson Two. Let’s make it count.”
And for the first time since you’d known him, he sounded nervous.
“Sit.”
Seungmin’s voice was steady, but his hands were shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t trust what they’d do if he let them hang free.
You sat down on your bed, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You tucked your legs under you, back straight, trying to look composed even though your stomach was doing somersaults.
Seungmin stayed standing for a second too long. Like he was deciding whether to bolt or go through with it. And then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to sit in front of you again—closer this time. Too close.
He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for a test. “Okay. So, Lesson Two.”
You nodded, unsure if you were breathing right.
“We’re covering tongue today,” he said flatly, like he was announcing the weather. “Pacing. Pressure. How to read the other person. And, y’know… not slobber all over them.”
You let out a nervous laugh. “Great. Just what I needed. Anti-slobber tactics.”
But he didn’t laugh this time.
His eyes met yours, and something in his expression flickered—like he was feeling it, too, whether he wanted to or not.
“You sure you’re good?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Because once we do this… it’s gonna be hard to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”
You paused. Swallowed. “I trust you.”
That got him. You saw it in the way he blinked—once, slow. Like your words knocked the wind out of him.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Then, slowly—so slowly—he leaned in again.
You expected it to be like last time. Soft. Easy.
It wasn’t.
This kiss was different the second it started. Still gentle—but deeper. More sure. His mouth moved against yours with that same maddening control, but this time, there was a thread of tension under it. Strained. Taut. Like he was holding back something.
You felt it when his hand came up again, cupping your cheek with a featherlight touch. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he shifted closer, chest almost brushing yours.
“Open your mouth a little,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me lead, yeah?”
You did as he said, nerves buzzing like live wires.
And then you felt it—his tongue, tentative at first, just a soft flick against yours. Testing. Inviting. He pulled back slightly, giving you space to follow, and when you did, he let out the quietest sound—half a hum, half a sigh—like he hadn’t expected you to match him so easily.
“Good,” he breathed. “You’re a fast learner.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue gliding slowly against yours—exploring, guiding, teaching. You weren’t just kissing—you were listening to him through every movement, mirroring the way he tilted his head, the way he used just the barest hint of pressure, never too much, never too fast.
It was intoxicating.
He broke the kiss gently, but didn’t move away. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little harder now.
“That’s how you kiss with tongue,” he said, voice husky, still close enough to taste his breath. “Controlled. Intentional. Not messy. You listen to the other person.”
You nodded slowly, dazed. “Got it.”
You were still breathless when he pulled away.
Seungmin’s hand lingered against your jaw for just a second longer than necessary, before he finally dropped it like it burned him. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted back a bit—not far, just enough to pretend like there was still space between you.
“That’s, uh…” His voice cracked slightly. He tried again. “That’s pretty much it for Lesson Two.”
You could feel your heart pounding. Your lips were still tingling. And somewhere deep in your stomach, something uncoiled. Something bold.
You stared at him for a beat, and he avoided your gaze, blinking down at the floor like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.
And then, softly:
“Can I try?”
He looked up fast.
“What?”
You wet your lips. “Can I try it again? Initiate this time. I want to see if I learned anything. I mean… if that’s okay.”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes—panic? surprise? hope? He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.
“I—uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly thrown off his axis. “Yeah. I mean. Sure. Yeah. That’s—you can. It’s just a lesson. It’s fine.”
But he didn’t sound fine.
His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced with something unsure, guarded. You could tell—Seungmin was fighting a war in his own head. Trying to stay still. Neutral. Unaffected.
You leaned in slowly, giving him the same caution he’d given you. Testing.
His eyes flickered down to your lips—and this time, they stayed there.
When your mouth brushed his, he inhaled sharply, his body going rigid. But he didn’t stop you.
You kissed him—soft, slow, learning the curve of his mouth, the way he responded when you tilted your head a little, when you brushed your tongue lightly against his.
You felt it—him—tense under your touch. Like he was holding back everything in him not to grab your waist, not to pull you in closer, not to deepen it like he wanted to.
Because this was a lesson, right?
Not a real kiss.
Except it felt real.
Too real.
And when you pulled back, just a little—just enough to breathe—his eyes were still closed, lips parted like he didn’t want it to end.
You whispered, “How’d I do?”
He exhaled shakily. “Dangerously well.”
Your heart skipped.
And then, he opened his eyes, looking right at you.
“This was a mistake,” he said, barely above a whisper.
But he didn’t move away.
Neither did you.
Because even if he said it was a mistake—he wasn’t stopping it.
⸻
You stared at yourself in the mirror.
Lips glossed. Heart pounding. Breath shaky—but this time, not from nerves.
You were thinking about him.
Not your date.
Not the guy waiting for you in the living room with his too-white sneakers and perfectly tousled hair.
You were thinking about Seungmin.
Again.
You shoved the thought away.
This isn’t about him. This is about me. About confidence. About finally doing this.
So you walked out, smile practiced, and let yourself fall into the rhythm of the evening—small talk, laughter, the occasional graze of a hand that should’ve made your stomach flip but… didn’t.
You kept waiting for the click. That moment where your heart would stutter, where your skin would buzz like it had in Seungmin’s room. But it never came.
Still, when the night started winding down, he leaned in, eyes warm and expectant.
And you didn’t pull back.
You let him kiss you.
His lips were soft. His hand found your waist. He moved like he knew what he was doing.
But the second his tongue brushed yours—
Nothing.
No butterflies. No sparks. No breath stolen from your lungs.
Just… static.
You tried to match him. Tried to remember what Seungmin taught you. The rhythm. The pressure. The way he’d murmured “Good. Relax your lips.”
You tried to feel anything.
But it felt like going through the motions of a dance you didn’t want to be performing.
The guy pulled back, smiling. “You’re a really good kisser.”
You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”
You smiled too, because you were supposed to. Because this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it?
But inside, your brain was in freefall.
Why didn’t it feel the same?
Why did it feel like I was kissing a stranger when I was trying to recreate something that came from someone I’ve known forever?
You excused yourself shortly after.
And the moment the door shut behind you, you leaned back against it, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.
Because now you knew the truth.
You’d kissed someone else.
But all you could think about was Seungmin.
The way he’d held your face.
The way his breath hitched when you kissed him back.
The way your name had sounded on his lips when he whispered, “Dangerously well.”
And worst of all?
You realized it wasn’t just a lesson.
Not for you.
⸻
You were curled up on the couch, pretending to scroll on your phone while Seungmin half-watched something on TV. Just like old times. Normal. Comfortable.
Except it wasn’t.
Because every time your eyes flicked to his profile, every time you caught a glimpse of his fingers drumming against the couch cushion or the way his lips parted slightly in thought, your chest tightened.
You were trying to be chill. So chill.
But your brain was still stuck on that kiss from two nights ago—and the complete lack of anything it made you feel.
And the one that still haunted you every time you closed your eyes.
Seungmin glanced over suddenly, like he’d caught you staring.
“So,” he said casually, “how’d the date go?”
You stiffened.
He smirked. “You’re making that face again.”
You tried to shrug it off. “It was… fine.”
“Fine?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not very convincing. You kissed him, right?”
You looked away, heat rushing up your neck. “Yeah.”
“And?”
You didn’t mean to say it.
But it came out before you could stop yourself.
“It wasn’t the same.”
The smirk disappeared. His face stilled. “What?”
You swallowed. “I mean—it was fine, technically. Good, even. But it felt… off. Like I was doing everything right and still nothing clicked. Like I was kissing him but thinking about—”
You cut yourself off.
Shit.
Silence.
Seungmin just stared at you. Eyes unreadable. Chest rising and falling with something you couldn’t name.
You panicked. Backpedaled. “Can I—can I show you?”
His brows furrowed. “Show me what?”
“How I kissed him. I just—I want to compare, I guess. See if I’m crazy or if it really was that different.”
His whole body went still. You could feel the tension suddenly pulsing off him like heat.
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
And then—quietly—“Okay.”
You moved closer. Slowly. Carefully.
Your heart was thudding so hard it hurt.
You leaned in—soft, hesitant—and kissed him. The way you had the guy on the date.
No passion. Just technical. Controlled.
And still—even like this—your body betrayed you.
Because the second your lips met Seungmin’s again, everything tilted.
Your fingers twitched. Your breath hitched. Your lips parted without thinking, already chasing more, instinct pulling you in like gravity.
Seungmin didn’t move at first. But then—he kissed you back.
Just a little.
Just enough to shatter your nerves.
Because the moment your mouths slid together, it was everything.
Warmth.
Electricity.
The pressure you didn’t know you were holding finally releasing.
You gasped against his mouth, overwhelmed by how different it was. How real. How right.
And that’s when it hit you.
The problem hadn’t been the guy.
It was the connection.
And the only one you wanted it with…
Was him.
You pulled back, breathless, lips parted, eyes wide.
Seungmin stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
Because now you both knew.
This wasn’t about lessons anymore.
And maybe it never was.
⸻
The silence was deafening.
You were still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, the ghost of the kiss hanging between you like a spark that refused to go out. And Seungmin?
He wasn’t moving.
His jaw was clenched so tight, you could see the tension rippling under his skin. His eyes were locked on yours, dark, stormy, confused as hell. Like he was trying to convince himself this hadn’t just happened. That this wasn’t real.
But it was.
And every second you sat there, not saying a word, the weight of it got heavier.
You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against his knee. In the way his lips stayed parted like he was still tasting you. In the way his chest rose and fell—too fast, too uneven.
Your breath caught.
You could practically see the war happening behind his eyes.
And then—
He lost.
Without a word, without warning, he reached for you.
His hand slid around the back of your neck and he pulled you in—hard, needy, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore.
His mouth crashed into yours, nothing like the slow, calculated kisses from before.
This one was different.
Feverish. Starved. Real.
His lips were hot and rough against yours, his tongue sweeping in deep, hungry, taking what he wanted without hesitation. He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to. Like he’d thought about this—wanted this—dreamed of this every second since Lesson Two.
His hands weren’t teaching anymore.
They were claiming.
One curled at the base of your neck, the other gripping your waist, dragging you closer, like distance itself was offensive. Your body melted against him without question, instinct kicking in, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as your mouths moved together, in sync, like your bodies had always known each other better than your minds did.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.
It was because he had to.
His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.
You could feel his heart pounding through his chest.
And when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough, wrecked.
“That—” he rasped, eyes still closed, “—was not a lesson.”
You nodded, unable to speak. Still dazed. Still burning.
“No more pretending,” he said.
You didn’t even argue.
Because you didn’t want to pretend anymore, either.
⸻
You didn’t talk about it.
Not the kiss.
Not the way Seungmin kissed you like he was on the edge of burning alive.
Not the way you kissed him back like you wanted to be the one to set him on fire.
The next morning, he was already in his kitchen when you came down, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t dragged you into him and kissed you senseless on the couch just hours earlier.
“Want toast?” he asked, like his hands hadn’t been on your waist. On your neck. Like his tongue hadn’t been in your mouth.
You blinked. “Sure.”
He nodded. “Cool.”
And that was it.
He didn’t look at you. Not really. Not for longer than a half-second at a time. But his jaw kept clenching. His fingers were tapping the counter like a metronome ticking faster than the silence could fill.
You pretended you didn’t notice.
You pretended the toast was the most interesting thing in the room.
But you could feel it—his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Heavy. Hot. Confused.
Days passed like that. Tiptoeing. Dancing around the moment like it wasn’t still echoing in every glance, every brush of your arms when you walked too close.
And then—finally—he cracked.
You came over after he texted you and found him in his room, pacing.
“Can we talk?” he asked, voice tight.
You nodded. Heart pounding.
He didn’t meet your eyes.
“That kiss… it shouldn’t have happened.”
Your throat tightened. “Oh.”
“It just—it got out of hand. That was my bad. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “We’re best friends. You’re—you’re not supposed to be…”
His eyes finally lifted to yours.
And froze.
You’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed, shorts too short, one of his hoodies swallowing your frame. It should’ve been harmless. Should’ve.
But it wasn’t.
Not to him.
You weren’t doing anything. Just breathing. Just being.
But in that moment, Seungmin saw you differently. Felt you differently.
And something inside him snapped.
He stepped closer.
“You’re not supposed to be…” he repeated, voice lower now. Tighter. “So fucking hot.”
Your breath caught.
His eyes dropped to your lips.
He clenched his fists like he was holding himself back with everything he had. “You’re my best friend. You’re not supposed to look at me like that.”
“Like what?” you whispered.
He stared at you—eyes dark, full of conflict, full of want.
“Like you want me to ruin you.”
Your stomach flipped. Heat bloomed low in your belly.
“I don’t want to want this,” he said, each word shaking loose from his throat like it hurt to admit. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
His eyes dropped lower. “About that kiss. About your lips. About the sounds you ma—”
“Seungmin—”
He stepped closer again. “I can’t unsee it. I keep trying to look at you like before. Like just my best friend.”
His voice cracked.
“But all I see now is someone I want to devour.”
You were quiet for a moment.
Seungmin stood in front of you—shoulders tense, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with everything he didn’t want to feel but couldn’t escape.
He’d just said it. All of it.
Every word you’d been too afraid to speak out loud.
And that power? That admission?
It made something in you shift.
You reached for him—slow, deliberate—and placed your hand gently on his chest. Felt the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.
“I’m not trying to ruin us,” you said softly. “I don’t want to lose you.”
His jaw flexed. “Then don’t do this.”
“But I haven’t even done anything,” you whispered.
And you watched him break again.
His eyes shut tight like he was trying to will away the image of you sitting there, loose-limbed and unbothered, voice soft and sinful. Like you weren’t right there, fingertips now trailing slowly down the center of his chest.
“Seungmin,” you said, voice lilting, teasing. “You think I want you to ruin me?”
He opened his eyes—barely.
“Maybe I just wanted to know if it was you feeling it too.”
He swallowed hard, backing up half a step, like distance would protect him.
It wouldn’t.
You followed. Just enough.
“You kissed me first,” you reminded him. “And you kissed me like you meant it.”
“Don’t,” he warned, voice a low growl now.
“Why?” you asked, cocking your head. “Because I liked it?”
His breath hitched. You saw it.
“Because I’ve been replaying it in my head every night since?” You leaned in slightly, just enough for your breath to graze his throat. “Because the date kiss was nothing compared to you?”
“Stop,” he hissed, but his hands had curled into fists at his sides. White-knuckled.
You smiled—just the slightest twitch of your lips.
“You don’t get to say all that and expect me to sit here like it didn’t fuck me up, too.”
Then—because you couldn’t help yourself—you reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead, fingers lingering.
“I’m not going to kiss you again,” you whispered. “Not yet.”
Seungmin exhaled, a sound that was half frustration, half relief, all pain.
“But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”
You stepped back. Just one step.
Watched him chase the space you left behind with his eyes, like he hated the distance and needed it all at once.
“Go back to calling me your best friend if you want,” you said softly, voice like a promise and a threat. “But you and I both know it’s not that simple anymore.”
And with that, you turned.
Left him standing there.
⸻
Seungmin was spiraling.
He didn’t show it, of course. On the outside, he was calm, composed—maybe a little quieter than usual. But nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without losing his grip on reality.
You were ruining him, and you didn’t even seem to realize it.
Or maybe you did.
You had come to his place to stay the weekend like you usually did, nothing out of the ordinary.
You wore his hoodie again that morning. That stupid, oversized hoodie that always used to mean safe and familiar and best friend.
But now?
Now it was just soft fabric stretched over bare legs he couldn’t stop fucking looking at.
You’d bend to grab something off the floor and he’d have to look away so fast his neck cracked.
He found you in the kitchen that afternoon humming to yourself, licking a little bit of jam off your thumb.
And he had to leave the room.
Just left, no explanation.
Because his brain? His brain didn’t see his best friend anymore.
His brain saw you on your knees in that hoodie with nothing underneath, lips slick and inviting, waiting for him to cross the damn line again.
He barely spoke to you that whole day. You noticed.
That night, you cornered him.
“You’re being weird,” you said, standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed. “You won’t even look at me.”
“I’m not—” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep my distance.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re dangerous now,” he muttered, finally meeting your gaze.
And the look you gave him?
Sweet. Curious. So fucking inviting.
“I’m not trying to mess with you,” you said softly. “I just… I liked what happened. I liked what you said.”
“That’s the problem.”
Your head tilted.
He groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair like he was seconds away from combusting.
“I used to see you as this untouchable little idiot who couldn’t even flirt without blushing,” he muttered.
You smirked. “And now?”
“Now I look at you and all I can think about is pinning you down and making you forget every single lesson we practiced.”
Your breath hitched. You didn’t expect that.
“Seungmin—”
“I dreamt about you last night,” he said, voice suddenly low. Raw. “And I woke up hard as hell and so fucking pissed off because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
You stared.
He took a step toward you.
“You think it’s funny to tease me like this?” he said, eyes flashing. “Walking around in my clothes, whispering shit to my face, telling me you think about the kiss, then pulling away like you’re not doing anything wrong?”
Your lips parted.
“I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but you’re not helping.”
And then you smiled. Innocent. Sweet.
“I could help.”
That was it.
His self-control?
Gone.
Seungmin grabbed the doorframe over your head, caging you in without even touching you.
His voice was a warning and a plea all at once. “If you’re gonna keep playing with fire…”
You looked up at him, unblinking. “Then what?”
His jaw tightened.
“Then don’t blame me when I finally burn us both.”
—
Sunday night…
It was late.
Too late.
The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fridge and the patter of rain outside. You’d both been watching a movie on his laptop in his bedroom, your backs against the headboard, but Seungmin was stiff beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money.
You didn’t say anything.
Not until you shifted—just enough that your bare thigh brushed his.
You felt him freeze.
“Still trying to keep your distance?” you asked, voice low, teasing.
His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”
You turned your head, smiling, chin resting on the back of the couch. “What if I want to?”
He didn’t answer.
So you leaned in.
Slowly. Carefully. Eyes never leaving his face.
You were close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his lashes trembled when your hand ghosted over his wrist.
“Hey, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” you whispered.
“Then stop playing with me.”
“I’m not playing.”
You moved your hand again—this time over his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone through the soft cotton of his shirt.
Seungmin exhaled sharply.
Your touch dropped lower.
And that was it.
He snapped.
One second you were teasing him, and the next?
You were flat on your back, Seungmin hovering over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes wild with something dark and deep and so far from platonic it made your pulse skyrocket.
“You really want to know what happens if I stop holding back?”
Your breath caught.
He leaned in—so close your noses brushed. “Because I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.”
You stared up at him, completely still, heart hammering against your ribs.
“I do,” you whispered.
His lips twitched—something between a smirk and a snarl. “No, you don’t.”
Then he kissed you.
Hard.
Nothing gentle. Nothing careful.
This wasn’t a lesson.
This wasn’t even a mistake.
This was everything he’d been dying to do wrapped in heat and teeth and hunger. His mouth crashed into yours like it had been waiting for permission for years. And now that he had it?
He wasn’t stopping.
Your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that vibrated through you, dark and needy and possessive.
He shifted, pressing his body against yours, and fuck—he was hard. So hard. You felt it grind against your core, slow and deliberate, and you gasped, breaking the kiss for air.
But Seungmin wasn’t done.
His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he growled. “How hard it’s been trying not to touch you, not to taste you—”
You whimpered, and he groaned, rolling his hips against yours again.
“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped. “Me like this?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Seungmin—yes.”
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, thumb brushing your lower lip.
“You’re not just gonna be my best friend anymore,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be mine.”
His thumb was still pressed against your bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling.
That broke something in him.
He kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, but with the kind of hunger that made your head spin. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you like he was learning, memorizing, branding every inch.
You moaned into him, and he felt it—groaned back, like the sound lit something inside him.
His hands slid down your body, pausing at the hem of the hoodie—his hoodie, still hanging off you like a sin. He pulled it up just enough to touch your waist, thumbs skimming your bare skin.
“You wore this just to mess with me, didn’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Knew what it would do to me?”
You blinked up at him, breathless. “Maybe.”
He huffed a laugh, low and dangerous.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them with a quiet urgency. You felt the weight of his hips press between them, and your whole body arched at the contact.
“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel too good.”
His lips returned to your neck, dragging down to your collarbone, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. A claim.
You gasped, nails digging into his back, and he growled against your skin.
“I’ve been patient,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to be good.”
“But you don’t want to be good right now,” you whispered, daring.
“No,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Right now I just want to be bad.”
Then—his hand dipped under the hoodie again, sliding over your stomach, up—up—until his fingers brushed the curve of your breast.
You shivered.
“Can I?” he whispered.
You nodded, too breathless to speak.
He slipped his hand beneath your bra, groaning the moment he felt your skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, slow and deliberate, watching the way you reacted—how your hips lifted, how your lips parted.
“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “God, I barely touched you.”
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy whimper.
He smirked, then leaned down to kiss the swell of your chest, open-mouthed and filthy.
“I want to take my time,” he said, every word pressing into your skin. “Want to learn every part of you. What makes you squirm. What makes you beg.”
You were already there. Already trembling.
His hips ground into yours, slow, delicious friction making your brain go blank.
And then—his voice again. Low. Rough.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me be the one who teaches you everything.”
You nodded again, breathless, desperate, eyes wide and wild.
“Seungmin, please.”
His forehead dropped to yours, breathing heavy. “Then don’t stop me now.”
And just like that, his mouth was on you again—kissing, tasting, claiming—
Ready to show you exactly how long he’s wanted this.
Exactly how much he’d held back.
And how there was no going back now.
His lips were on your neck again, tongue dragging slow, reverent patterns while his hands mapped your body like he was memorizing it cell by cell.
You were panting now, arching into him, needing more.
“Still with me?” he murmured against your skin, voice thick and low.
You nodded—barely. “Please.”
That word. That voice.
He kissed you again—this time softer, slower, almost reverent. “Okay, baby. Let me take care of you.”
His fingers dipped beneath your panties—finally—and when he felt how wet you already were, he groaned.
“Fuck. All this for me?”
You whimpered, cheeks flushed, thighs already trembling from just his touch.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured. “So soft. So ready.”
His fingers moved gently at first—testing the waters, dragging through your folds with aching precision, just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Just feel me.”
He circled your clit with maddening patience, lips never leaving your neck, and your hips bucked instinctively.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “There you go.”
Then—a finger. Slowly easing inside you. You gasped, back arching, and he kissed your cheek.
“Just one for now,” he soothed. “Gotta get you ready.”
His voice—soothing, tender—was at complete odds with the way his hand was working you open. He curled his finger just right and you moaned, gripping his wrist.
“That feel good, sweetheart?”
You could barely speak, but you nodded, breath caught in your throat.
He added another.
And another.
Soon you were writhing, panting, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He kissed your lips—slow, deep, filthy—while his fingers fucked you open.
“I want you to remember this,” he breathed. “Every second. Every touch.”
You were soaked now, hips moving against his hand, whimpering his name over and over like a prayer.
And when he pulled his fingers out, you whined at the loss—until you saw the way he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.
“You taste so good,” he said. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have it all over my cock.”
You shivered.
He reached for his sweats, pulling them down, and your breath caught when he revealed himself.
Thick. Hard. Heavy.
Bigger than you expected.
He noticed your reaction and chuckled, a low, sinful sound.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “I’m gonna take my time.”
He lined himself up, pressing the tip against your entrance, and waited.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” you whispered. “Seungmin—please.”
And with one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into you.
Your whole world snapped.
He filled you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, and you gasped—full. So full.
He groaned, burying his face in your neck.
“You’re so tight,” he growled. “So fucking perfect.”
He stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, whispering praise into your skin.
And when you finally moved your hips—giving him the okay—he started to thrust.
Slow. Deep.
Each stroke dragging against your most sensitive spot, each one pulling little moans from your lips.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Taking me so well.”
Your hands clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked into you, slowly building a rhythm that had your toes curling.
But then—you rolled your hips.
And Seungmin snapped.
“Shit,” he cursed. “You want it harder?”
You nodded, desperate.
He grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and slammed into you.
You cried out, stars dancing in your vision as he fucked you—properly fucked you—his grip bruising, his breath ragged.
“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Me ruining you? Making sure no one else gets to touch you like this?”
“Yes,” you whimpered. “Only you—only you.”
He lost it.
His pace turned brutal, hips snapping into yours with every thrust, and all you could do was take it.
He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until your body clenched.
“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”
And you did—with a cry of his name, your whole body trembling as you shattered beneath him.
He fucked you through it, chasing his own high, moaning your name like it was salvation.
And when he came—deep inside you, hips pressed hard to yours—you felt it.
All of it.
The heat. The weight. The absolute claim.
You got it.
Let’s take it home—soft, sweet, utterly wrecked but in the best way possible. No more pretending. No more lines.
Just Seungmin and you, tangled in sheets and breath and something dangerously close to love.
⸻
The room was quiet.
The only sound was your breathing—slow, heavy, uneven. The aftershocks still rolled through you in waves, little shivers making your muscles twitch as Seungmin collapsed onto his forearms above you, chest heaving.
You stayed like that for a moment.
Still joined.
Still trembling.
Still barely believing what just happened.
And then his forehead dropped to yours.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice raw. “Did I hurt you?”
Your fingers found his hair, soft and messy and damp with sweat. “No,” you whispered back. “You were perfect.”
He sighed—relief, guilt, and something else all tangled up in one sound.
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he murmured. “Not tonight. I just—once you started touching me like that I—” He broke off, lips brushing your cheek. “I lost it.”
You smiled, turning your head to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss. “I wanted it.”
His eyes flicked open—wide, dark, and full of something he was too scared to name. “Yeah?”
You nodded, thumb brushing along his jaw. “I wanted you.”
His whole body softened.
He kissed you again—slow, warm, with none of the hunger from earlier, just something quiet and vulnerable. When he pulled out, he moved carefully, like you were something precious, something fragile.
And maybe you were.
He cleaned you up without a word, stealing one of his old shirts from the floor and tugging it over your head with the softest smile you’d ever seen on him.
Then he climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms, tucking you right under his chin like it was instinct. Like you’d always belonged there.
Your fingers traced lazy lines across his chest, your legs tangled with his under the sheets.
It was comfortable.
Safe.
But it was new, too. Raw. And real.
You could feel the way his fingers kept twitching where they rested on your hip, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like this now. Like maybe he was still scared he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
So you whispered, “Seungmin?”
“Yeah?”
You looked up at him. “We’re not pretending this didn’t happen, right?”
He stilled.
Then—slowly—his lips curved.
“No,” he said softly. “We’re not.”
“Good,” you whispered.
He pressed a kiss to your temple. “But I need you to know something.”
Your heart jumped. “What?”
“That wasn’t just sex for me,” he said. “That wasn’t just… helping a friend. That was me giving you everything I’ve been holding back.”
You swallowed hard.
“And I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” he added. “Not if you don’t.”
You didn’t even hesitate.
“I don’t.”
He exhaled—shaky, like you’d just lifted a thousand-pound weight off his chest.
“Then I guess we’re not just best friends anymore,” he said with a grin.
You smiled. “Guess not.”
He tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was on his chest, your body curled perfectly into his.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
And you did.
For the first time in forever, you fell asleep with a full heart—warm, safe, his—wrapped up in the arms of the boy who taught you how to kiss, and ended up showing you what love feels like instead.
i had to speak about this because this is genuinely eating me alive. so fucking disappointing and upsetting.
i swear, some of y’all are the most disrespectful, entitled people i’ve ever seen. what the actual fuck is wrong with you? the kids are finally on the south american leg of their world tour, their first time in brazil, and instead of giving them the love and respect they deserve, some of you are out here acting like complete clowns.
stalking their hotel? crowding outside and filming them while they’re on the goddamn balcony? are you kidding me? they can’t even step out to breathe without a fucking camera shoved in their face. that’s not admiration, that’s obsession. and not the good kind.
and then they go to the beach, probably thinking they could relax and enjoy a moment of peace.. but no. y’all are out there too, filming them like they’re fucking zoo animals. make it make sense !!!!! what part of the word 'privacy' is so hard to understand? these are real people. human beings. the level of audacity is insane. do you even realize how suffocating that must feel? they’re literally on the other side of the world from home, wanting to meet their fans, their supporters from around the world, excited but probably exhausted, and this is how you treat them? so fucking disappointing.
but no, it doesn’t stop there, because of course it doesn’t! let’s talk about the absolute vile shit that happened after the chile concert. some of you had the nerve, no, the fucking gall.. to bash chan. over what? ghosting bubble for a week? after his group was mobbed at the airport? after one of his teammates nearly fell because of fans trying to stick to them? really?
a line of enlightenment, he’s not your personal entertainment service. he’s a human with a life, responsibilities, and feelings. he needed a damn break. he deserved it. maybe he was tired. maybe he just wanted to exist without the constant pressure of pleasing millions of people. but no, that’s too much for some of you to comprehend.
and then, when he finally comes back, the first thing he does is check in on his home country. because, in case you missed it, oh wait, you didn’t, you just didn’t care— sk was dealing with wildfires. literal, destructive wildfires. but y’all wanted him to just pretend that didn’t exist? the man asked if the weather was okay in his home country, and you psychos lost your shit.
calling him slurs? cursing him out? saying he only cares about k-stays? because he dared to check on his country? some of you even said you’re selling your concert tickets like that’s some sort of punishment. quite frankly, do it, i dare you. better and sensible stays are out there who actually deserve to attend their concert. go sell your tickets. stray kids don’t need “fans” like you there.
and what makes it worse? chan probably saw all of that. every disgusting comment. y’all made him feel like shit. you really sat behind your screens and tore down the most caring, selfless man who has done everything for his team pretty much his family, those around him, his company, and the fandom. after all the sleepless nights, the constant work, the emotional labor, this is what he gets? and then he comes back to bubble. those messages. are you fucking serious? that broke me. that genuinely broke me.
chan doesn’t deserve this. none of the guys do. i’m so goddamn tired of this toxic shit. y’all claim to love them, but the second they don’t cater to your every whim, you turn on them like a pack of wolves. being a stay isn’t about getting constant attention. it’s not about thinking you own them. it’s about supporting them, respecting them, and appreciating everything they do. if you can’t do that, leave. nobody fucking wants you here.
and before anyone says, 'but i didn’t do any of that!' — good! then this isn’t about you. but if you ever catch yourself excusing this behavior, staying silent while your so-called stay-friends act like actual bitches, or brushing it off as 'just criticism,' then yeah, you’re part of the problem. and i’m done sugarcoating that shit.
protect skz. respect skz. and for the love of everything, leave chris alone. i’m fucking done.
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