Fuck That Was So Hot

Fuck that was so hot 🥵

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

stars above | han jisung

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, sentimental as fuck, slight angst because both of them are dumb in love your honor

warning(s): some swearing

word count: 1.3K

…

“I’m telling you Jisung. I can’t fucking sleep for shit.”

The young man you call your best friend giggles through the phone. “Hey hey hey. You were the one who wanted brown sugar milk tea boba with 100% sweetness.”

“Yet you were the one enabling me.”

“Aweee. It can’t be that bad. We can like go stargazing and contemplate our mortal existence.” You swear this man will be the death of you with all his teasing.

You respond, “Don’t you ever get tired of stargazing Sung?” You know of his little habit of staying up late on some nights to watch the twinkling constellations and the enigmatic moon. He has a telescope in his room that he would take when he would escape into the wonders of the night to admire the beauty of the dark, moon-lit, star-lit sky.

He smiles to himself. “Never.” Because the stars remind me of you. He held those words back, knowing they would scare you away and friendship over.

Unbeknownst to you, he secretly held feelings for you. He never gets tired of stargazing because all of the stars above remind him all of you. People say how the moon is in love with the sun although Jisung thinks the contrary. You were the stars. His stars. He was the moon. You were the stars surrounding the moon. The moon feels not just the Earth’s proximity but all of the stars in the galaxy whether they are close or millions of light years away. Your presence can always be felt wherever he goes which is why everything reminds him of you. From breezy summer winds to late night hot chocolates to dumb Valentine meme cards to unwise money spending on boba, it all goes back to you.

Though he has all these feelings inside of him, he would rather not spill a speck of what he feels about you.

“Jisung? You there? Are we still stargazing?” He snaps back to reality.

He clears his throat, trying to get his thoughts together. “Uhh yeah. I’ll pick you up in five.”

True to his word, he arrived punctually. You bundled yourself in one of your many blankets as you waddled to his car. He thought you looked cute doing so. Once you opened the door, you saw him dressed in his favorite black hoodie and quokka beanie. Heh, cute you thought. His hair has gotten longer and some of it was perfectly framing his pretty face.

“You good?” His voice brings you back from the very spell he has entranced you in.

“Huh? Yeah I’m good.” You try your best to mask the nervousness in your voice.

“You know. With the look you were giving to me, I would have thought you were in love with me,” he jokes.

This man is so aggravating. Your eyes roll and you playfully punch him on the shoulder, making him hiss in pain. “OW!!! You do know violence is not the answer.”

“Oh hush you. Now let’s go. Wouldn’t want Cassiopeia waiting.”

“Just an FYI, Orion is my favorite constellation,” he huffs and sticks out his tongue. Of course you knew Orion was his favorite. You just wanted to annoy him like he annoys you.

The ride to his favorite open field was quiet aside from the songs playing from his night drive playlist. God it was hard keeping your eyes away from him as he drives. Of course this was not the first time he drove you. It’s just that… he’s just… AUGH. Fuck. You can’t even say shit to him.

Unbeknownst to him, you secretly held feelings for him too. No matter how much you annoy him or “complain” about him dragging you to stargazing, you know damn well just how much you deeply love him inside and out. Every single time he would take you stargazing, your feelings would exponentially go deeper than it was before. You didn’t know how that was even possible. He shows a side to you where you get to intimately know him fully. Every single day is a gift being with someone like him. Which is why you would rather be selfish with your feelings than losing him forever when the cat is out of the bag. At least that was what you thought.

The open field with freshly cut grass fills your senses with the Earthy scent of grass and the cold, gentle breeze of the night. Jisung takes his telescope from the trunk and follows you to the middle of the field.

“Looks like it’s a great night tonight. No clouds can be seen so far,” he says as he sets up the telescope.

“It does feel like a great night,” you blurted while admiring the crescent moon.

Both of you silently observe the starry sky with the lone moon. No words can describe what you both feel at this very moment. It’s such an indescribable feeling. You both share the feeling of awe when appreciating the jewels of the galaxy. That shared sentiment alone makes the moment so intimate even without uttering a single word. Even without hands touching each other.

After minutes of silence between you two, you both observe something moving in the sky. More and more of them started to move too.

“Oh my god shooting stars! Make a wish Ji! Make a wish!” you squeal in delight.

And so both of you closed your eyes and wished under the shooting stars. Jisung opens one of his eyes to steal a little glance of you before continuing his wish.

Unsurprisingly, both of you wished for the same thing; the courage to confess to each other without ruining your friendship.

Moments later, you opened your eyes. “So what did you wish for Ji?”

“Nuh uh it’s a secret,” he asserts, trying his best not to appear worried.

“You can tell meee. I’m your best friend, remember.”

“No.” He sticks out his tongue.

You prepare your pleading eyes to make him more pliant. “Pleaseeee.”

“No.”

Jisung finally gives up and sighs, “Okay fine. Fine. But don’t freak out okay.”

“But why would I freak out?” Did he wish to be together with someone? Is he gonna confess that he likes another person?? Fuck.

“Remember when I told you about how the moon is in love with the stars rather than the sun?”

You nod and chuckle, “But isn’t the sun also a star?”

“I know I know but listen. Listen carefully because I don’t want to repeat my words again.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands. “I’m the moon Y/N and you’re the stars. My stars. I’m completely, deeply in love with you.”

And that’s when your eyes widen to a confession you would have never expected yet something you’ve been wishing for to the universe. Your eyes sparkle, resembling that of a shining star. “So how does your confession tie to your wish?”

“I-uh well I wished to have the courage to confess to you.” He was getting red like a tomato. “I guess it came true.”

“You know what’s funny Han Jisung?” He looks at you like he was a deer in the headlights. You usually only use his full name on a serious occasion. Is she mad? Did I upset her? Does this mean she will reject me? Will we stay—

“I wished for the same thing as you did. It’s just that you beat me to it.” He looks at you with complete shock.

“Are you bullshiting me?”

“No Ji I’m not. I’ve loved you for a while now.” You let out a mirthful laugh. Your thumb rubs on his skin to reassure him. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“May I kiss you?”

He smiles so endearingly at you that you could explode like a supernova. “Of course you can.”

And so you got on your tippy toes to capture his lips with yours. It was a kiss you have been anticipating for months now. It was a kiss under the stars. A kiss under the waning crescent. You wouldn’t mind getting lost in his kiss every night.

…

A/N: This has been in the drafts for just a bit. I got some time to finalize it. Hopefully you enjoy the read!

Fanfuckingtastic writing advice!!

Beating yourself up about your writing DOES NOT HELP YOU WRITE! Cut that shit out, be nicer to yourself, take breaks, and remember it's a marathon not a sprint and also nobody likes running ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

seungmin: skz 2024 conference

"best friend" | kim seungmin

genre: arranged marriage au, angst + a dash of fluff, hurt/comfort

warning(s): mention of death, grief

word count: 698

...

Something about the downpour further deepens the grief you’ve been holding in your heart. After your nana passed away, the grief kept on growing and growing like a vicious avalanche with each passing day.The casket had been lowered and it was your turn to drop a white rose on it. It was her favorite. You remember all those times she would trim away the thorns and pluck out the pointy leaves just so she can tuck it in behind your ear. Oh how cruel it is how beautiful times disappear. 

Your legs felt heavy, almost as if they were hesitating for you to say a one last goodbye to your grandmother. But you had to stay strong. You have to do it for nana to honor her.

It was brief yet such a small moment seemed so long. Your white rose drops on top of the other white roses. As you were observing it, it seemed like it was falling in slow motion. Others went back to the crowd but you were stunned at your place. You can’t help but start crying in the rain. Tears were commingling along with rain droplets on your face. Your black dress was starting to soak. The wail you let out was just heartbreaking. Everyone knew how you were very close to your grandmother.

The rain somehow stopped pouring on you. A familiar presence next to you holds an umbrella, protecting both of you from the downpour. You looked to see who it was and it was your husband.

Seungmin’s heart broke, seeing how devastated you looked. He took out a handkerchief in his pocket and he gently wiped away your tears and the rain off your face. He takes your hand, and guides you away from the people.

He lets you wail. He lets you cry on his shoulders. He lets you let out the pain and heartache you’ve been feeling. Being your husband and close confidant, he never judges you for whatever it is that you feel. That’s something you were always grateful for from him.

Seungmin lets you take your time. You both left early and now you have reached your home.

“I think you should take a sh—”

And suddenly, you gave him the biggest hug yet. “Thank you Min. I really can’t thank you enough for today.”

He chuckles a little. “Don’t worry about it. We’re a team, remember?”

You nod, feeling warm inside. Not just because of your hidden feelings for him but just how much he cares for you. You couldn’t imagine being married to anyone else despite his heart belonging to someone else. 

“You know what, instead of a shower, I’m just gonna prepare you a hot bath instead. Would that be alright?”

“Yes of course. Thank you best friend.”

“Best friend? That’s new. I sure hope Hyunjin is not gonna kill me when he finds out you have a new best friend,” he jokes.

Seungmin noticed you haven’t had a good laugh for a while until this moment. Your tummy was aching and you were letting out tears of joy rather than tears of grief. He always finds a way to cheer you up in the simplest things. “There’s nothing wrong with having two best friends, Minnie.”

He laughs along, holding your hands to warm them up. “Okay okay. Now let me get your bath ready. I’ll be back in a bit. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“And Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m here for you okay. You’re not alone.”

Seungmin then heads upstairs to the master bathroom. You’re thankful to have such a caring husband even if he wasn’t in love with you. Even if he was already happy and in love with someone else. It’s alright.

No matter how much you push away your feelings for him, you can’t help but admit that you are deeply smitten by him. Not wanting to jeopardize your arrangement, you’d rather swallow your pride and feelings deep inside the thoughts that Seungmin won’t be able to find and explore.

It’s alright. It’s okay. What matters to you is keeping your bond with him for as long as you can. Even if it may be selfish on your part.

...

A/N: Hello! Man I wasn't able to get some stuff out over break and now it's back to school. Hopefully can still post some stories despite my busy schedule. There is a high likeliness that this drabble will be turned into a full fic :D

stars above | han jisung

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, sentimental as fuck, slight angst because both of them are dumb in love your honor

warning(s): some swearing

word count: 1.3K

…

“I’m telling you Jisung. I can’t fucking sleep for shit.”

The young man you call your best friend giggles through the phone. “Hey hey hey. You were the one who wanted brown sugar milk tea boba with 100% sweetness.”

“Yet you were the one enabling me.”

“Aweee. It can’t be that bad. We can like go stargazing and contemplate our mortal existence.” You swear this man will be the death of you with all his teasing.

You respond, “Don’t you ever get tired of stargazing Sung?” You know of his little habit of staying up late on some nights to watch the twinkling constellations and the enigmatic moon. He has a telescope in his room that he would take when he would escape into the wonders of the night to admire the beauty of the dark, moon-lit, star-lit sky.

He smiles to himself. “Never.” Because the stars remind me of you. He held those words back, knowing they would scare you away and friendship over.

Unbeknownst to you, he secretly held feelings for you. He never gets tired of stargazing because all of the stars above remind him all of you. People say how the moon is in love with the sun although Jisung thinks the contrary. You were the stars. His stars. He was the moon. You were the stars surrounding the moon. The moon feels not just the Earth’s proximity but all of the stars in the galaxy whether they are close or millions of light years away. Your presence can always be felt wherever he goes which is why everything reminds him of you. From breezy summer winds to late night hot chocolates to dumb Valentine meme cards to unwise money spending on boba, it all goes back to you.

Though he has all these feelings inside of him, he would rather not spill a speck of what he feels about you.

“Jisung? You there? Are we still stargazing?” He snaps back to reality.

He clears his throat, trying to get his thoughts together. “Uhh yeah. I’ll pick you up in five.”

True to his word, he arrived punctually. You bundled yourself in one of your many blankets as you waddled to his car. He thought you looked cute doing so. Once you opened the door, you saw him dressed in his favorite black hoodie and quokka beanie. Heh, cute you thought. His hair has gotten longer and some of it was perfectly framing his pretty face.

“You good?” His voice brings you back from the very spell he has entranced you in.

“Huh? Yeah I’m good.” You try your best to mask the nervousness in your voice.

“You know. With the look you were giving to me, I would have thought you were in love with me,” he jokes.

This man is so aggravating. Your eyes roll and you playfully punch him on the shoulder, making him hiss in pain. “OW!!! You do know violence is not the answer.”

“Oh hush you. Now let’s go. Wouldn’t want Cassiopeia waiting.”

“Just an FYI, Orion is my favorite constellation,” he huffs and sticks out his tongue. Of course you knew Orion was his favorite. You just wanted to annoy him like he annoys you.

The ride to his favorite open field was quiet aside from the songs playing from his night drive playlist. God it was hard keeping your eyes away from him as he drives. Of course this was not the first time he drove you. It’s just that… he’s just… AUGH. Fuck. You can’t even say shit to him.

Unbeknownst to him, you secretly held feelings for him too. No matter how much you annoy him or “complain” about him dragging you to stargazing, you know damn well just how much you deeply love him inside and out. Every single time he would take you stargazing, your feelings would exponentially go deeper than it was before. You didn’t know how that was even possible. He shows a side to you where you get to intimately know him fully. Every single day is a gift being with someone like him. Which is why you would rather be selfish with your feelings than losing him forever when the cat is out of the bag. At least that was what you thought.

The open field with freshly cut grass fills your senses with the Earthy scent of grass and the cold, gentle breeze of the night. Jisung takes his telescope from the trunk and follows you to the middle of the field.

“Looks like it’s a great night tonight. No clouds can be seen so far,” he says as he sets up the telescope.

“It does feel like a great night,” you blurted while admiring the crescent moon.

Both of you silently observe the starry sky with the lone moon. No words can describe what you both feel at this very moment. It’s such an indescribable feeling. You both share the feeling of awe when appreciating the jewels of the galaxy. That shared sentiment alone makes the moment so intimate even without uttering a single word. Even without hands touching each other.

After minutes of silence between you two, you both observe something moving in the sky. More and more of them started to move too.

“Oh my god shooting stars! Make a wish Ji! Make a wish!” you squeal in delight.

And so both of you closed your eyes and wished under the shooting stars. Jisung opens one of his eyes to steal a little glance of you before continuing his wish.

Unsurprisingly, both of you wished for the same thing; the courage to confess to each other without ruining your friendship.

Moments later, you opened your eyes. “So what did you wish for Ji?”

“Nuh uh it’s a secret,” he asserts, trying his best not to appear worried.

“You can tell meee. I’m your best friend, remember.”

“No.” He sticks out his tongue.

You prepare your pleading eyes to make him more pliant. “Pleaseeee.”

“No.”

Jisung finally gives up and sighs, “Okay fine. Fine. But don’t freak out okay.”

“But why would I freak out?” Did he wish to be together with someone? Is he gonna confess that he likes another person?? Fuck.

“Remember when I told you about how the moon is in love with the stars rather than the sun?”

You nod and chuckle, “But isn’t the sun also a star?”

“I know I know but listen. Listen carefully because I don’t want to repeat my words again.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands. “I’m the moon Y/N and you’re the stars. My stars. I’m completely, deeply in love with you.”

And that’s when your eyes widen to a confession you would have never expected yet something you’ve been wishing for to the universe. Your eyes sparkle, resembling that of a shining star. “So how does your confession tie to your wish?”

“I-uh well I wished to have the courage to confess to you.” He was getting red like a tomato. “I guess it came true.”

“You know what’s funny Han Jisung?” He looks at you like he was a deer in the headlights. You usually only use his full name on a serious occasion. Is she mad? Did I upset her? Does this mean she will reject me? Will we stay—

“I wished for the same thing as you did. It’s just that you beat me to it.” He looks at you with complete shock.

“Are you bullshiting me?”

“No Ji I’m not. I’ve loved you for a while now.” You let out a mirthful laugh. Your thumb rubs on his skin to reassure him. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“May I kiss you?”

He smiles so endearingly at you that you could explode like a supernova. “Of course you can.”

And so you got on your tippy toes to capture his lips with yours. It was a kiss you have been anticipating for months now. It was a kiss under the stars. A kiss under the waning crescent. You wouldn’t mind getting lost in his kiss every night.

…

A/N: This has been in the drafts for just a bit. I got some time to finalize it. Hopefully you enjoy the read!