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leriexoxo · 29 days ago

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Lipstick Stains & Sharp Tongues

Idol! Seungmin x Makeup Artist! Reader

Tags: Smut, Fluff, angst, profanity, possessive behavior, jealousy, dirty talk, semi-public kiss, emotional vulnerability, soft aftercare, secret relationship dynamics,

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: You’re new to the industry. Fresh-faced, professional, and careful to do everything right. But none of that seems to matter to Kim Seungmin—who takes one look at you and decides he hates you. He makes your life hell. Snide comments. Eye rolls. Cold stares. Until one day, you snap back. And he kisses you. Hard. What starts with stolen glances and angry tension spirals into quiet texts after midnight, secret phone calls, and makeouts no one can know about. But the deeper you both fall, the harder it becomes to hide what’s real.

A/N: This fic was requested by @innieandsungielover , sorry it took a while babes but here you go! So guys, I’m still taking requests in my DM’s but keep it cute, no weird stuff, also i don’t take requests from anons i’m sorry 🥹

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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You weren’t sure what you did to make Seungmin hate you.

From the second you stepped into the dressing room—your arms full of makeup palettes, your credentials barely out of your mouth—he was cold. Passive aggressive comments, eye rolls, the whole nine yards. And when he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he escalated. Shifting your tools when you weren’t looking, wiping off foundation with a rough hand the moment you finished, loudly sighing when your touch lingered too long on someone else.

But he watched you. Like he was waiting to catch you slip. Like you were a threat.

At first, you thought it was some hazing ritual. But the others—Hyunjin, Felix, even Minho—welcomed you with grins and jokes, letting you fix their smudged eyeliner and straighten their collars with no complaints.

It only got worse when they started requesting you.

“Where’s she?” Hyunjin would ask. “She gets my under-eye bags better than anyone.”

Seungmin would scoff in the corner, arms crossed. “It’s not that hard.”

One day, Felix called you “his favorite.” And Seungmin left the room.

But things changed the night of the award show.

You found him in the hallway, shirt half-buttoned, fuming about a stylist mix-up. You offered to help. For once, he didn’t bite back.

And when your fingers brushed his jaw while fixing his collar, he didn’t move. Just stared. So still. So tense.

“You always touch everyone else like that?” he asked suddenly, voice low.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer, just stepped closer. Close enough that your wrist grazed his chest.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll make me think you like me.”

You laughed—nervously. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?”

He tilted his head. “Would I?”

—

After the award show, something shifted.

Seungmin didn’t stop being an asshole, but he got selective about it. He no longer rolled his eyes when you powdered Hyunjin’s nose. No more biting sarcasm when you helped Felix with his earrings. He still never asked for your help—but now, he didn’t flinch when you offered it, either.

Sometimes he’d just… watch.

Sitting in the stylist’s chair while you fixed someone else’s hair, his eyes tracking every flick of your wrist, every soft instruction that left your lips. Once, he caught you looking back—and instead of looking away like he usually did, he held your gaze. Steady. Challenging.

You pretended not to feel your stomach tighten.

Then came the fanmeet in Busan.

The boys were crowded around the mirror, getting last-minute touchups. You were fixing a snag in Chan’s shirt collar when a voice behind you cut in, cold and sharp:

“You done?”

You turned. Seungmin. Arms folded, brows lifted in impatient mockery.

“Almost,” you replied calmly. “Unless you’re volunteering to help me undress him.”

A few of the guys chuckled. Chan looked slightly scandalized.

But Seungmin didn’t laugh. He just looked at you like he wanted to bite down on his tongue—and maybe yours too.

Later that day, he cornered you backstage. Not physically. But close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, his breath ghosting against your temple.

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” he murmured.

You looked up, confused. “Enjoying what?”

He tilted his head, smirking without warmth. “All the attention. The compliments. Like you belong here.”

You bristled. “I do belong here.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. Something dark passed through them.

“Guess we’ll see.”

—

You didn’t speak to him for two days after that.

It wasn’t out of spite. You were just too busy.

There was a back-to-back filming schedule, and Hyunjin needed extra touch-ups for a dance scene. Felix had a breakout that needed careful concealing, and Minho was letting you experiment with a softer blush palette. You didn’t have time to waste on Seungmin’s weird jealousy or confusing half-threats.

Except… he started showing up more.

Always in the room. Always near the mirror. Watching.

One afternoon, you were crouched next to Jeongin, fixing the fold of his jacket, when a new PA walked in. A guy—barely older than Jeongin—leaned against the wall, eyeing you like you were part of the scenery.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, “you freelance? Or are you exclusive to them?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “I’m under contract with JYPE.”

“Pity.” He smiled. “You’re good with your hands.”

Jeongin snorted. “Dude.”

But before you could roll your eyes or brush it off, another voice cut through—low, sharp, and furious:

“Back off.”

You all turned. Seungmin. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No harm done.”

But Seungmin didn’t look at him. He was staring at you.

And for the first time, his eyes didn’t look angry. They looked furious and frightened—like he didn’t know why he cared that much, only that he did.

Later that night, you caught him in the stairwell outside the building, hood up, phone in hand.

“You planning to glare every guy who speaks to me into an early grave?” you asked, arms crossed.

He didn’t look up.

“I didn’t like what he was saying to you,” he said.

You scoffed. “You don’t like the way anyone interacts with me.”

Seungmin shoved his phone into his pocket and finally met your gaze. “Maybe I don’t.”

The silence stretched, thick and tight. You took a step closer, the heat of frustration mingling with something deeper—something dangerous.

“Then what do you want from me, Seungmin?”

He didn’t answer. He just stepped forward—too close, chest brushing yours. His hand came up like he meant to touch your face, hesitated midair… and then dropped back to his side.

“You don’t want me to answer that,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Try me.”

His mouth twitched. His eyes dropped to your lips.

And then—just when you thought he’d close the gap—he stepped back like he’d been burned.

“This is a mistake,” he muttered.

And walked away. Leaving you breathless. And furious. And aching.

—-

You didn’t mean to flirt.

You really didn’t.

The new PA—his name was Minjae—just had a way of hovering close, always conveniently needing something near your station. And you were polite. Friendly. Maybe you laughed a little too loud when he complimented your outfit, but it wasn’t like you touched him first.

It wasn’t until you felt eyes burning into the back of your skull that you realized Seungmin was watching.

Not just glancing. Watching. Leaning against the wall like he had nowhere else to be, arms folded tight, jaw set hard enough to cut steel.

And when you reached past Minjae for a lip brush and he touched your waist to move aside, you didn’t even get to react before Seungmin snapped:

“Y/N.”

His voice cut like a blade—low, sharp, full of venom he didn’t bother hiding.

You straightened. “What?”

He didn’t look at Minjae. Didn’t even glance his way. Just narrowed his eyes at you like you were the problem.

“You’re not getting paid to flirt.”

The whole room stilled.

Your cheeks burned, heart pounding with equal parts embarrassment and rage.

Later that evening—after your shift ended and the others left—you found him in the parking lot, unlocking his car like nothing happened.

“Hey.”

He didn’t turn around.

“Hey.”

He sighed and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

You stalked toward him, fury bubbling in your chest.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you demanded. “You don’t talk to me like that in front of people—like I’m some stupid girl begging for attention.”

His expression didn’t change. But his grip on his keys tightened.

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” you cut in. “You humiliate me, and now you won’t even look at me? Say what you said again, Seungmin. I dare you.”

He turned then, full body facing you now, his eyes burning.

You took another step. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to act like—like a fucking asshat every time i try to mind my business and do my job.”

He didn’t speak.

Just looked at you.

And then—He dropped his keys on his hood. Grabbed your wrist. And kissed you.

Hard.

Like he was angry. Like he’d been starving and you were the last bite.

You gasped against his mouth, stunned, but his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him—and the sound that left him was almost a growl.

You pushed at his chest—not to stop him. Just to breathe.

“Seungmin—”

“You drive me insane,” he said, forehead against yours, breath ragged. “You make me crazy, and I hate how much I want you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

And he kissed you again.

Softer this time. Like an apology.

You broke the kiss first.

Stumbling back, chest heaving, lips tingling. Your fingers brushed your mouth, still wet with him.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Seungmin’s breath came fast. His eyes, usually guarded, looked blown open with something raw. “What?”

You looked around in a panic. “Someone could’ve seen.”

It hit you like a slap. Security cameras. Staff still inside. The risk. Your job.

“Shit—Seungmin, we—” You barely got the words out before he grabbed your hand.

“Get in the car.”

“What—”

“Now.”

You didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

He yanked open the passenger door, nudged you in with a hand on your lower back, then slammed it shut. Seconds later, he slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and pulled out of the JYPE parking lot like he’d done it a hundred times with you beside him.

But you’d never ridden in his car before.

Not like this.

Not with your lips still buzzing from his mouth.

Not with your heart threatening to jump out of your throat.

The silence was suffocating.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of late-night gold. Inside, your thoughts screamed.

What did you just do?

Why did it feel like more than a kiss?

And why—God, why—did part of you want to do it again?

You traced your fingers over your lips unconsciously, barely noticing the way Seungmin’s jaw twitched when he glanced over and caught you doing it.

He didn’t say anything. Just tapped the steering wheel, eyes locked on the road, shoulders tight with whatever war was happening behind his eyes.

You could feel him stealing glances. Quick, sharp ones. Like he needed to make sure you were still real.

Like he couldn’t believe what he’d done either.

The tension wrapped around you both like a rubber band stretched too far.

You finally broke the silence.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

You turned to him. “Seriously?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “I just had to get you away from there.”

The words hit you harder than you expected.

Not get away. Not run. He’d said get you away. As in: he was thinking about you. Protecting you.

You swallowed.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, voice low.

He gripped the wheel tighter. “No.”

Then, quieter: “Do you?”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t have one.

But because the truth—God, no. I’d let you ruin me—felt too dangerous to speak out loud.

He parked the car near the Han River, killing the engine but not the tension. The silence lingered even as the city buzzed gently around you—streetlamps flickering, water glinting under the moonlight.

You didn’t speak right away.

Neither did he.

Eventually, you got out of the car and leaned against the railing. The breeze lifted your hair, cooled your cheeks, but did nothing for the heat still blooming under your skin.

Seungmin joined you a few moments later, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes fixed on the dark water.

You glanced at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you kiss me?”

He didn’t look at you. “You were yelling.”

“Seriously.”

“I am serious.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You were yelling and—God, I don’t know, I couldn’t think. You looked at me like you hated me…”

You frowned. “So you kissed me to shut me up?”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “But also because I’ve been wanting to for a long time.”

That quiet admission knocked the breath from your lungs.

You stared at him. “Then why were you always such an ass to me?”

That made him flinch. He dragged a hand down his face, finally turning to look at you.

“Because I didn’t know how else to deal with it,” he said. “You show up and you’re good—like, really good—and suddenly everyone likes you and you’re touching them, laughing with them, and I just—”

His voice cracked a little. “I didn’t know how to want something like this. Not like that. Not… like you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “So you were mean to push me away?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I was mean because it felt easier than admitting I liked you the moment you smiled at me.”

The confession hung between you like fog—heavy, slow to clear.

You turned to face him fully, chest rising and falling, eyes locked with his.

Then, without warning, without planning, you asked, “Would you kiss me again?”

His breath hitched.

“What?”

You took a step closer. “You said you’ve wanted to. So I’m asking. Would you do it again?”

His eyes searched yours, dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he should say yes or just do it—

And then he did.

No hesitation this time. No fury.

Just a hand at your cheek, soft and steady, as he kissed you again under the twilight. Slower. Warmer. Certain.

It wasn’t a kiss to shut you up.

It was a kiss that said I see you now.

And I want you anyway.

—

Things didn’t go back to normal after the kiss.

But they didn’t fall apart either.

In the days that followed, you and Seungmin moved like magnets—careful in public, chaotic in private. Nothing was defined, but everything had changed.

It started with the texts.

Late-night check-ins that turned into full-blown conversations. Sarcastic jabs, TikTok links, “are you still awake?” messages that always came just a little too late to be innocent.

Then the calls.

Never scheduled. Always impulsive. His voice through the receiver—deeper than usual, softer—became your new favorite lullaby.

One night, he stayed on the line until you fell asleep.

You only found out the next morning when you woke to a photo of Daengmo, his stuffed puppy—with the caption:

“this one’s cuter than you but less annoying.”

You couldn’t stop smiling for hours.

At work, you acted normal. Professional. Barely.

But behind closed doors—when the hallway was empty or the makeup room was locked—you stole moments.

His hand would find your waist in the shadows.

Your fingers would slip into his hoodie pocket when no one was watching.

Once, after he snuck in early for a schedule, you kissed him behind the wardrobe racks. Five minutes, tops. But it left you wrecked for the rest of the day. Lip gloss smudged, pulse racing, his breath still caught between your teeth.

Neither of you said what this was. You didn’t ask. He didn’t offer.

But then came the night he called while you were folding laundry on your day off.

You picked up without thinking. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. “Nothing. Just bored.”

You tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear, half-smiling. “You called me because you were bored?”

“No,” he muttered. “I called you because I wanted to hear your voice. Don’t make it weird.”

Your heart stuttered.

He continued before you could speak. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing. Why?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“I want to see you.”

You bit your lip. “You’re not supposed to want that, remember? Not unless it’s behind a curtain.”

“I know.” His voice dropped. “But I still do.”

That was it.

That’s how you found yourself texting him your address an hour later.

[you]: if you show up late i’m never cooking for you again

[seungmin]: 7pm sharp

[seungmin]: wait. you’re cooking??

[you]: kimchijjigae

[seungmin]: marry me

You laughed harder than you should’ve.

And maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe it was reckless. But when he showed up at your door the next night—sweats, cider, soft eyes—you already knew.

You were in trouble.

—

Your apartment smelled like garlic, sesame oil, and something sweeter—nerves, maybe.

You stirred the pot on the stove, stealing glances at the clock every few seconds. Seungmin said he’d be there at seven. He showed up at 6:54.

When you opened the door, he stood there in a hoodie and sweats, hair still damp from a recent shower, and a plastic bag in hand.

“I brought cider,” he said simply, holding it up. “Because I’m thoughtful.”

You grinned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a liar. You said you couldn’t cook.”

You stepped aside and let him in. “I never said I couldn’t. I said I didn’t cook for people. Big difference.”

“Is it?” he muttered, kicking his shoes off and following you into the kitchen. “Feels like a privilege either way.”

He didn’t say it to be smooth. But it landed like a punch to your chest all the same.

The pot simmered on low heat while you handed him a pair of chopsticks to taste.

He tried a spoonful, paused, then looked at you with wide eyes. “Wait—this is actually insane. You made this?”

You raised a brow. “I said I would.”

He chewed slowly, and the expression on his face made you want to melt into the floor.

“This is better than my mom’s.”

You gasped. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he said around a mouthful. “Don’t let it go to your head though. You’re still annoying.”

You laughed, a little too loud, a little too giddy—and when you caught the way his eyes lingered on your mouth afterward, everything slowed.

That familiar, delicious tension crept in like smoke under a door.

The room got quieter. Smaller.

He moved to rinse his spoon. You stepped behind him to grab bowls from the shelf. Your chest brushed his back, and he stiffened—just slightly. You stayed there for a second longer than necessary.

When you moved away, he turned to look at you—and neither of you said a word.

Because you didn’t have to.

The air already said everything.

The dinner was quiet, interrupted by the occasional laugh or soft tease. But underneath the calm surface, it buzzed—everything buzzed.

You kept noticing little things.

The way he licked broth from his bottom lip too slowly.

The way his knees kept brushing yours under the table.

The way his eyes dipped to your mouth every time you smiled.

By the time you set the dishes in the sink, your hands were trembling—not from exhaustion, but from restraint.

You felt him come up behind you.

Not touching. Not yet.

Just there.

So close you could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint soap still clinging to his skin.

“You didn’t have to cook for me,” he said quietly.

You turned to face him, hands still wet.

“I wanted to.”

His eyes dropped to your lips again. “You always make it worse when you say things like that.”

“Worse how?”

His throat bobbed.

“Worse like… I don’t know how long I can be good.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

But the look in his eyes did.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t have to be good.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you say that again, I’m not leaving tonight.”

Your breath hitched.

Neither of you moved.

The soft hum of your refrigerator filled the silence, absurdly loud in the charged space between you.

Then—like some invisible thread finally snapped—he stepped forward.

You didn’t retreat. You didn’t even blink.

His hand reached up, slow and hesitant, brushing your cheek, curling around your jaw. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, soft and reverent, like he was remembering it from the first kiss and needing to memorize it all over again.

Your hands came to rest at his sides, fingertips barely grazing his hips, not pulling—just being there. Like touching him helped you believe this was real.

“I think about you all the time,” he said quietly. “At work. At home. Every time my phone lights up, I hope it’s you.”

Your heart broke open a little at that.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you whispered.

He smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I didn’t know how to want something I couldn’t have.”

“You have me now.”

The words came out before you could stop them.

And that was it.

He kissed you.

Soft, slow, devastating.

This one wasn’t hurried. It didn’t try to prove anything. It just was—a sigh into your mouth, a promise pressed into your skin.

You leaned into him, arms slipping around his waist as his hands slid to the back of your neck, thumbs stroking your pulse.

His lips moved like he had all the time in the world.

But you didn’t.

Because you were already falling, and you didn’t know how to stop.

You didn’t remember moving from the kitchen to the couch—but suddenly you were there, pressed beneath him, back sinking into the cushions, Seungmin’s body a warm, weighty presence over yours.

His kisses grew deeper, messier—less about softness now, more about need. His mouth moved with intent, his tongue brushing yours in slow, lazy swipes that made your toes curl.

One hand cradled your face like you were fragile, the other slipped under your shirt like you weren’t.

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers splayed across your bare waist—warm palm sliding up your stomach, just under your bra. He didn’t rush. He just touched, taking his time like he wanted to remember every inch.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured against your lips, voice gone rough, almost hoarse.

“So are you,” you whispered, legs tightening around his hips.

When he kissed you again, he cupped your breast gently, thumb brushing over the fabric—and that one simple graze made your breath stutter.

You whimpered.

That sound seemed to unravel something in him.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His lips were flushed, kiss-bruised, pupils blown wide.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You shook your head, throat tight. “I can’t.”

His hand slid higher, under the wire of your bra. His thumb brushed your nipple and your whole body arched into him with a soft, aching moan.

“Seungmin…”

That was all it took.

His mouth was on yours again, more desperate now—kissing like he was falling apart and putting himself back together with every touch. His hips pressed against yours, his body grinding slow and full and maddening.

You were gasping between kisses, trembling under his hands.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you choked, fingers curling in his hoodie. “I want you. I need you to…”

He paused, panting.

“To what?”

“Make love to me,” you whispered, and your voice cracked from how badly you meant it. “Please… be bad for me.”

Something shattered behind his eyes.

A low, broken sound left his throat—and then he snapped.

He pulled you up into his lap without warning, your thighs straddling him as his hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise. His mouth crashed into yours, kiss raw and claiming, tongue sweeping deep as he groaned into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips. “You don’t know what you just did.”

You rocked into him, chasing the heat between you, and he let you—let you grind against the thick, hard length of him straining through his sweats. His hands moved everywhere—your back, your waist, up your shirt again, tugging at fabric like he needed more skin, more you.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said, voice shaking. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed, dizzy from how good he felt. “All yours.”

And you were.

You always had been.

By the time you made it to your bedroom, your limbs felt weak, like your body was barely keeping up with your heart. Seungmin shut the door behind him without looking away from you, eyes dark and wild, chest rising fast under his hoodie.

You stood there, back to the bed, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

He stepped toward you slowly—like he was giving you time to change your mind—but you didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said, reaching out to gently cup your face, thumbs sweeping over your cheeks like you were made of porcelain. “But it wasn’t just this.”

You swallowed hard. “Then what was it?”

His hands slid down to your waist, grounding you.

“You,” he said simply. “You were the problem. You made me feel everything I didn’t want to.”

A soft laugh caught in your throat. “So you were mean to me instead?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he whispered. “But not anymore.”

He leaned in, kissed you again—slow and intentional, not chasing lust this time, but baring something deeper. Your fingers gripped the hem of his hoodie, tugging it up, and he helped you strip it off, then reached for the bottom of your shirt and lifted it gently over your head.

When he saw you like that—half-naked in front of him, chest rising and falling fast—his eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, touching you like a vow.

His hands slid behind you to unhook your bra, and when it slipped down your arms, he kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your breast—each press of his lips slow and tender, like he was trying to memorize you.

You reached for the drawstring of his sweats, hands trembling, and he caught your wrist.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, eyes locked to his. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He kissed you again—harder this time—before stepping out of his clothes. You crawled back onto the bed, and he followed, hovering over you with careful hands, as if every inch of you mattered.

And to him—it did.

When he finally entered you, slow and steady, his forehead pressed to yours and both of you gasped, overcome by the stretch, the heat, the intensity of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily. “You feel… I can’t even think.”

You wrapped your legs around him, your hands gripping his back as he rocked into you, slow and deep. Every thrust was an ache, every slide a prayer.

“You’re so good,” you breathed, tears prickling behind your eyes from how full it all felt. “You’re everything.”

His breath caught. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I mean all of it.”

He kissed you through the burn of it—your lips, your throat, your chest—his body folding around you like he needed you closer, like he couldn’t stand the space between your skin.

“I’m yours,” he said against your ear, voice shaking. “And I don’t care what anyone says, I’m not giving this up.”

You moaned, body trembling under his, your nails digging into his back as you felt your orgasm begin to crest—too fast, too deep, too much.

“Seungmin—” you gasped.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Let go.”

You did.

You came with a cry, clinging to him like a lifeline, and he followed moments later—groaning into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, breath tangled with yours, bodies trembling.

When it was over, he didn’t move—just stayed wrapped around you, still inside you, still with you. His heart pounded hard against your chest.

You buried your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said softly. “But I want it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression raw and open.

“Then it’s yours,” he whispered. “Whatever this becomes—I’m yours.”

And he meant every word.

—

The sun was gentle through the curtains, spilling across your sheets in soft golden streaks. You stirred first, warm and heavy, limbs tangled with his. Seungmin was still asleep—face buried against your neck, one arm snug around your waist, the other resting just under your pillow like he’d been protecting you even in sleep.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to.

He looked younger like this. Softer. The sharp tongue, the sarcasm, the guarded looks—all melted into something unguarded and peaceful.

You reached up to brush his hair out of his face, fingers featherlight.

He mumbled something against your skin, breath warm and sleep-heavy.

“Hmm?”

“Your bed smells like kimchijjigae,” he said, voice gravelly and low from sleep.

You laughed. “You’re ungrateful for someone who got fed and laid.”

He cracked one eye open. “Bold of you to assume I’m not still hungry.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You want breakfast?”

He leaned in closer, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your shoulder. “Mmm. You.”

“Seungmin—”

“Too much?” he grinned into your skin.

You sighed dramatically. “You’re such a menace.”

He looked up at you then—really looked—and his smile softened into something impossibly sweet.

“But I’m your menace,” he said softly.

Your heart clenched.

You blinked at him, stunned silent for just a second. “That… was dangerously close to romantic.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you in love with me, Kim Seungmin?”

“I literally just woke up.”

“And already you’re lying to my face.”

He groaned and flopped onto his back, dragging you with him so you landed half on his chest. “You ruin everything.”

You curled closer, resting your cheek against his heart.

“You ruin everything too,” you whispered.

A beat of silence.

Then, his fingers slid into your hair, stroking slow and absent. “So what happens now?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just let yourself breathe him in—clean skin, sun-warmed sheets, the faintest scent of last night still lingering.

Eventually, you whispered, “We keep being careful. But not hiding.”

He nodded, chin brushing your forehead.

“I can do that,” he said. “As long as I still get to do this.”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you, soft and sweet and slow.

It didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like a beginning.

And as his arms tightened around you and your legs tangled even more beneath the sheets, you knew—whatever this was, wherever it went—you were in it together now.

No more pretending. No more sharp tongues without meaning.

Just you.

And him.

Finally on the same page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hi again! Remember to keep your account visible before sending a request babes, i will not be taking anon requests because i am serious about MDNI. Please bear in mind that i cannot write everything sent to me, only ones which i can relate to and produce in great quality so that being said, absolutely NO A/B/O!! Amongst other weird stuff! I love you guys! Don’t forget to reblog and comment!

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