𐀶 ՙ 🎸 · 𝐬𝐤𝐳 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

⋆ 🦢 fwb ; l.mh

Smut
—
You thought being his fuck buddy was enough but he didn't want just that.

⭒ֺ𓏲 🌷 ִֶָ⭒

You and Minho were supposed to be simple—strictly friends with benefits, nothing more. At least, that was the deal you had both agreed on. It started out that way too. No strings attached, just sex when you needed it. It was fun, it was easy, and you were comfortable with him. The best part? There was no drama. You could enjoy the best parts of each other without the emotional complications that came with relationships.

But lately, things were starting to feel different. Or maybe it was you who was changing.

It wasn't that Minho had suddenly started acting possessive overnight. It had been gradual—so subtle that you almost didn't notice at first. He still kept his distance when you hung out with your other friends. He wasn't overbearing or in-your-face about anything. But there were small shifts in his behavior that were becoming harder to ignore.

It started when he began brushing off other girls. You'd notice it at parties or even just when you were out with friends. Girls would flirt with him, try to get his attention, but he'd barely give them a glance. Instead, his attention was almost always on you—his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table, his fingers brushing against your arm as he leaned in closer than necessary to talk to you. It was as if no one else existed in the room when you were around, and it left you with a strange mix of confusion and something deeper, something you didn't want to acknowledge.

Then there was the way he touched you. It had always been hot between you two, but lately, there was a possessiveness to it that hadn't been there before. His hands would linger on your hips longer than usual, his grip tightening as if to remind you that you were his, even if just for the moment. He'd pull you closer to him when you kissed, his lips soft but insistent, like he wanted to claim every inch of you. And when you were together in bed, it wasn't just lust that drove him anymore—there was something more intense in the way he moved inside you, something almost...protective.

You found yourself falling for him—slowly, and against your better judgment. You knew you weren't supposed to feel this way. You were supposed to keep things light and easy, just like he did. But with every stolen glance, every lingering touch, you could feel yourself slipping further into something you weren't sure you were ready for.

It was starting to affect you, too. Whenever he  wasn't around, you'd catch yourself thinking about him—about the way his lips felt against your skin, the sound of his voice in your ear, the way he'd look at you sometimes, like you were the only thing that mattered. You tried to distract yourself, telling yourself it was just the sex, just the chemistry. But deep down, you knew it wasn't.

The tipping point came one night when you were at his apartment. You had been there a million times before, but tonight felt different. You couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in your mind, and they only grew louder with every look he gave you, every touch that seemed to carry more weight than it should.

You were sitting on his couch, a movie playing on the TV, but neither of you was paying much attention to it. Minho was beside you, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his fingers grazing the back of your neck in that way that always sent shivers down your spine. He was close—too close, almost—as if he couldn't stand the idea of not touching you.

You glanced over at him, studying his profile in the dim light of the TV. He looked so relaxed, so at ease, but there was something in the way his fingers kept brushing against your skin that told you he wasn't as unaffected as he seemed. You couldn't keep the question from bubbling up anymore. It had been festering inside you for too long.