Chan groaned from the kitchen. “Can we not have a bloodbath tonight?”

“Too late,” Felix muttered, giggling as he made himself at home on the floor, feet tucked under a blanket. “It’s the sexual tension for me.”

You turned your head slowly. “I will smother you with that blanket.”

But the worst part? The part you’d never admit out loud?

Seungmin’s smirk lingered a second too long. His eyes dropped to your lips before he rolled them and looked away. Barely. But you caught it.

And your stomach did that traitorous flip.

Because maybe you hated him. Maybe he got under your skin like no one else. Maybe every interaction felt like a battle you were determined to win.

But somewhere deep in the back of your mind, a horrifying, devastating thought was beginning to form:

You didn’t hate him at all.

You just really, really wanted to kiss him.

-

It all started in the group chat.

Which, in hindsight, made perfect sense—because the group chat was cursed.

Chan had dropped a message at 2:16 AM, which meant either he couldn’t sleep or was in the middle of one of his hyperfixation spirals. Probably both.

CHAN: okay but what if we all took a weekend off?? like an actual trip?

CHAN: no work. no practice. just chill.

FELIX: YES. cabin in the snow. hot cocoa. matching sweaters.

JISUNG: i want to sled into oncoming traffic (affectionately)

HYUNJIN: i’ll bring a fur coat and a single dramatic tear

SEUNGMIN: don’t invite y/n then

YOU: literally no one asked you, ratman

SEUNGMIN: yet here you are. typing back. like a fan.

CHAN: i swear to god

You should’ve exited the chat then and there.

But no. Somehow, in your never-ending quest to not be the person who ruins everyone’s plans, you agreed. And then it snowballed—rental links, carpool groups, a Google Doc, and of course, room pairings.

“I’m not sharing with Hyunjin again,” Jeongin had announced during lunch one day, shoveling spicy tteokbokki into his mouth. “He sleep-talks in five languages.”

“I do not,” Hyunjin gasped.

“You tried to summon a demon using a NutriBullet manual.”

“…Okay but it worked.”

Eventually, Chan declared himself room-assigner, Felix offered to help (which was suspicious), and you found yourself sitting on a beanbag in Changbin’s living room as the final list got passed around.

“Oh,” Jeongin said, eyes scanning it. “Y/N and Seungmin, huh?”

Your head snapped up. “I’m sorry—what?”

Seungmin, from the other side of the room, didn’t even look up from his phone. “Should’ve known I was being punished for something.”

“You’re being punished?” you echoed, scandalized. “I’m the one getting stuck with a grumpy possum.”

Felix was grinning like he’d just lit the match on a bonfire. “You two bicker like you’re married anyway. Might as well lean into it.”

“You just want drama,” you muttered.

“I live for it.”

Chan clapped his hands. “Too late now. The bookings are locked. It’s decided.”

You locked eyes with Seungmin then—silent challenge. He gave you a slow blink. And a smirk.

“Try not to cry when I steal all the blankets.”

“Try not to whine when I kick you in your sleep.”

He turned back to his phone. “Better bring a mouthguard.”

Your eye twitched.

And just like that, the countdown to doom began.

-

You knew the second Chan handed out room keys that something evil was afoot, with the way they all sniggered.

“Wait,” you said,.“Are you really making me do this?”

“It’s just one weekend,” Chan said innocently, like he hadn’t clearly rigged this entire shared cabin setup to cause emotional damage.

“I really don’t wanna share a room with him.”

Seungmin stood beside you, arms crossed, looking equally offended. “As if I’d want to sleep near your snoring. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Chan,” you hissed. “Please. I’ll sleep on the porch.”

“No you won’t,” Seungmin muttered. “The wolves deserve peace.”

“Seungmin.”

“Y/N.”

Chan, being the absolute menace he is, was already walking away, tossing you both a peace sign without looking back. “Enjoy the bonding, lovebirds.”

And that’s how you found yourself in Room 3 of a very cozy ski lodge, standing stiffly on opposite sides of a queen-sized bed while everyone else cracked beers and turned the living room into chaos central.

You and Seungmin just stared.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said eventually, dumping his bag by the dresser.

“Relax. I’m pretty sure your resting bitch face works as birth control.”

He scoffed. “Maybe I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Be my guest. I hope your back never recovers.”

But when night hit and the temperature dropped hard, the passive-aggression gave way to something worse—shivering silence.

You lay stiffly under the blanket, facing away from him, clutching the edge of your side like it was a lifeline. You could hear his breathing. Slow. Even. Too aware.

“Still awake?” you asked, voice low.

A beat.

“Unfortunately.”

“Why are you always such a dick to me?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Why do you always let me get to you?”

You turned to face him. Moonlight poured in through the gap in the curtain, painting sharp lines over his features—sharp jaw, soft lips, eyes that burned like frost.

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he said simply. “Every time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another dagger, but his next words shut you up.

“You’re the only one who talks to me like that. Like you don’t give a shit.”

Silence stretched between you. Thick. Heavy.

And then, he moved.

Slowly. Barely a shift, but enough that the back of his hand brushed yours under the blanket. Not a grab. Not a hold. Just a touch. A question.

And you didn’t pull away.

His voice dropped, barely a whisper. “Still cold?”

“A little.”

Another pause. Then, quietly—genuinely: “C’mere.”

You didn’t trust your voice. So you moved instead. Closer. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the brush of his hoodie, the scent of clean detergent and Seungmin, so familiar it made your stomach flip.

His arm slipped around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times. Natural. Easy. Like enemies didn’t hold each other like this.

His lips brushed your hairline.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” he murmured.

Your voice came out softer than you wanted. “Good. I still think you’re insufferable.”

But your face was tucked against his chest now. And his hand had found the dip of your spine. And the line between hate and want had never been thinner.

-

You woke to the sound of shuffling.

Then a thud.

Then Seungmin cursing under his breath.

You peeled open one eye, groaning as your body protested the movement. Your legs were tangled with his—still. His hoodie was bunched at your hips. And the bed was warm with his heat, the scent of him still lingering in the space between your skin and the sheets.

“What are you doing?” you croaked.

“The door’s locked,” he grumbled, jiggling the knob. “Like actually locked. I think they—”

He paused. Realization hit.

“Oh, those little shits.”

You sat up, squinting. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Felix?”

“Felix.”

Seungmin dragged a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses that would’ve been funny if you weren’t currently trapped in a room with your supposed enemy, wearing his hoodie and little else, on a single bed that creaked every time one of you so much as breathed.

You rubbed your face. “They went out for the day, didn’t they.”

“Yup.” Seungmin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes trailed down—barely a glance—but it made your breath hitch. “We’re stuck until they get back. At least.”

Silence stretched again. Familiar now. Tense.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself and tried not to notice how Seungmin’s shirt clung to his chest. Or how his jaw flexed when he chewed at the inside of his cheek. Or the faint pink tint of skin at his collarbone.

The same collarbone you’d fallen asleep pressed against.

“This is awkward,” you muttered.

“Not my fault you made it weird.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I made it weird?”

“Who was the one that curled up on me like I was a body pillow?”

“You invited me over!”

He stepped forward then, slow, deliberate. The air shifted.

“And you stayed,” he said, voice lower now.

Your heartbeat spiked.

He was standing in front of you, close enough to smell the fabric softener on his shirt and the faint trace of your shampoo on his hoodie. His gaze flicked to your mouth for the second time in 24 hours.

You swallowed hard.

“Why do you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, his hand reached out—slow, cautious—and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek on the way back, lingering half a second too long.

“You piss me off,” he said softly. “But you also make me—”

He stopped.

The air between you was molten.

Then—

You surged forward.

Or maybe he did. You didn’t know who broke first. You just knew your lips crashed together in a messy, desperate kiss, all teeth and heat and finally. He groaned against your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he’d been dying to touch you, and you didn’t hold back. You yanked at his shirt, tugging him closer until you were flat on your back and he was above you, weight pressing you into the mattress, tongue sliding against yours.

It was clumsy. Perfect. Raw.

All that built-up tension—the late-night fights, the stolen glances, the too-close arguments—it spilled out with every movement. His hands roamed, mouth dragging down your jaw, across your neck, nipping at your skin until you gasped his name.

“Seungmin—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

His voice was breathless. “Still hate me?”

You pulled him back down by the collar, lips brushing his. “Ask me again when we’re done.”

His mouth crashed into yours like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

All those months of biting insults, jabs that felt more like flirtation, the way your eyes lingered when they shouldn’t—it had to go somewhere. And now it was unraveling at the seams.

Seungmin kissed you like he was mad about it. Hands greedy, mouth rough, tongue slipping between your lips as he gripped your thighs and pulled you into his lap. His hoodie rode up your legs as you straddled him, heat grinding against heat through barely-there layers.

His breath stuttered. “Fuck…”

You rolled your hips again, savoring the way his head fell back for just a second, jaw clenched.

“Still think I’m annoying?” you whispered against his throat, teeth grazing the skin there.

He grabbed your ass hard, pulling you flush against his cock. “God, yes. Most annoying girl I’ve ever wanted to fuck senseless.”

You moaned at the filth in his tone.

The shirt was the first thing to go. He tugged it over your head and tossed it without looking, eyes locked on your chest like he couldn’t decide where to start. Then his mouth was on your skin—hot, open kisses across your collarbone, down to your breasts. He sucked a bruise right under your sternum, like he wanted to leave a mark.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re pissed at me,” he mumbled against your skin.

You pushed him onto his back, climbing over him with a wicked smile. “Then you’re gonna love me right now.”

He watched as you peeled his shirt up, exposing firm lines of muscle, warm skin. Your palms skated across his chest, nails lightly dragging down until he hissed, head tipping back.

But the second his hands found your waist again, it shifted.

He flipped you—fast, all precision and quiet strength. Now you were beneath him, legs spread, heart hammering as he kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. Like he was starting to feel it.

His hand slipped into your panties, fingers teasing your slick folds, lazy circles that had you arching into him.

“So wet already,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “Knew you liked fighting with me. You get off on it, don’t you?”

You whimpered. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

He shoved your panties down and off, then freed himself, cock hard and heavy between you, brushing your thigh as he lined up. His mouth hovered at your ear, warm breath skating down your neck.

“This isn’t gonna be sweet,” he whispered. “You don’t want sweet from me.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Because the second he pushed into you, slow and steady, the breath left your lungs. He filled you so deep, your hands clawed at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “So tight—fuck, you feel insane.”

He set a pace that made your head spin—deep, rhythmic thrusts that sent shockwaves through your body. The bed creaked beneath you. The sound of skin on skin echoed through the tiny room. You didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when his mouth found your breast again, not when his thumb slipped between you to rub tight circles over your clit.

Your body seized up, nails digging into his shoulders. “Seungmin—don’t stop—”

“Say it again.”

Your head lolled back. “Seungmin—”

He growled. “That’s right. That’s what I fucking wanted.”

Your orgasm hit like a wave, dragging a cry from your throat as your walls fluttered around him, pulsing. He didn’t stop—he couldn’t—driving into you with desperate force until he buried himself deep and groaned, spilling into you with a raw, guttural sound that made your thighs tremble.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard, one arm slung across your waist.

A long beat of silence.

Then—

“…Still hate me?” he asked, voice rough, but there was a tiny smirk hiding in it.

You turned your head, breathless. “Hate you even more now.”

His thumb traced lazy patterns over your hip. “Good. Round two’s gonna be worse.

The aftermath hit like a fever dream.

Your chest still heaved, heartbeat finally slowing, limbs tangled with Seungmin’s under the wrinkled blankets. Your thighs were sticky, your hair a mess, and the room smelled like sex and trouble.

You blinked at the ceiling.

He was beside you, arm draped lazily over your stomach, breath warm against your shoulder. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then you spoke.

“I literally hate you.”

His voice was hoarse and smug. “Liar.”

You rolled your eyes—tried to—but the second you shifted your legs, a wave of overstimulation made you whimper instead.

Seungmin chuckled, and you smacked his chest.

But he caught your wrist mid-air, holding it in place. “Shower?” he offered, with zero innocence in his tone.

You squinted at him. “If you think I’m letting you try anything in there—”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, “You gonna stop me?”

Your stomach flipped.

⸻

The shower was supposed to be quick. Rinse and recover.

It was not.

You stood under the stream, head tilted back, when you felt it—his chest pressed to your back, hands sliding slowly around your waist. You opened your mouth to say something, but then his hand dipped between your thighs and you forgot how to breathe.

“You’re insufferable,” you gasped, grinding back into him anyway.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, lips pressing behind your ear. “But you’re still letting me fuck you in a shower.”

And god, he did.

The water was hot, but he was hotter. He lifted your leg onto the edge of the tub, slid into you again from behind—slower this time, deeper, his grip iron-tight on your hips as you moaned into the tiles. The steam made everything hazy, your bodies slick and desperate, and when his hand snaked around to your clit again, you shattered, nearly slipping if he hadn’t been holding you so close.

When he came, he bit your shoulder. Hard.

“Mine,” he whispered.

You didn’t argue.

⸻

Thirty minutes later, you were both semi-presentable, sitting on the edge of the bed trying not to look like you’d just gone three rounds and nearly flooded the lodge’s plumbing.

Then—

Click.

The door swung open.

“Finally!” Jeongin called, bounding in with two grocery bags. “Dude, you will not believe the gas station we found. They sell instant ramyeon shaped like Hyunjin’s face—wait…”

He stopped.

Chan walked in behind him, followed by Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung. One by one, they froze.

There was silence. Too much silence.

Then Hyunjin’s eyes dropped to the rumpled bed, the haphazardly tossed towels, and finally—the fresh scratch marks down Seungmin’s neck.

“Oh.”

Jeongin blinked. “So the prank worked.”

Jisung howled.

Felix clapped a hand over his mouth, giggling like a traitor, and Chan just dragged a hand down his face.

Seungmin didn’t even flinch. He reached for his water bottle, took a long sip, and threw an arm around your shoulder like he owned the place.

You, still sore and red-faced, swatted him.

He leaned over, lips brushing your ear again.

“Wanna piss them off more?” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

Then you smiled.

“Oh, absolutely.”

⸻

And that’s how it ended: with the group flailing in disbelief, Seungmin smug as hell, and you? Wrapped in his hoodie again, pretending not to already miss the feel of his hands on your skin.

To think… you hated that man.

Until you didn’t

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

Authors note: Hey guys, i’ll be posting new fucs every two days so follow me if you dont want to miss them, and feel free to request by sending me your prompts!