Jeonghan + 2am + Cute

jeonghan + 2am + cute🥰

[2:00]

“i don’t think this is a good idea.”

the night that blankets hwaseong is buttery and lush, moon hanging over the sleeping city like a ripe apple.

"have i ever had good ones?" jeonghan answers plainly, and he waits for your nose to scrunch up in annoyance before he smiles.

it's a habit, much like the way he matches your stride, the way it feels right to walk beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

it reminds you of when you were children, walking with pinkies linked through the wildflowers, except now he's at least two heads taller than you and a lot funnier.

"what if someone sees us together?”

jeonghan chuckles, deep and intimate, and takes his baseball cap off to plop it on top of your head, pushing the brim down to your eyes.

he has a big ass head now too, you think, but you keep that one to yourself.

"better?"

"you know that's not what i mean."

“who would say anything? we know everyone here.”

and that shuts you up because he’s right.

you wore the city like your second skin. borne into you, the laugh of the ahjumma who owned the jjampong place, the glitter of july-ripened strawberries, the titters of old folks feeding the gulls.

you never thought jeonghan would leave all that behind until the tuesday six whole years ago he said was going to seoul to become an idol.

“did you miss me?” he asks.

like crazy. like i’d never missed anything more, you want to say. instead you swallow down the lump of crazy chewed up words and think of something more normal to say.

it’s not like you hadn’t talked since he left.

have you eaten? he would text you. other times, like my last instagram post or you’re a fake fan.

only once: how big is the moon in hwaseong? are you looking at it too?

there was a time you couldn’t imagine hwaseong without your best friend. for a moment, it was like a ghost town, haunted by the boy who picked up bugs on the ground and always let you have the last bungeoppang, even if it was filled with red bean (his favorite).

but it seems he’s outgrown his shadow. he stands tall and expensive, and even the hat on your head seems like it costs more than your car.

and yet, you hear his old man groan claw its way out of his chest, and you feel as though nothing at all has changed.

“ya, are you actually ignoring me? did i fly a thousand something miles out here to get ignored?”

it’s another habit, what jeonghan does next, but you can swear the stars drop out of the sky—he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, made strong and lean by time.

it jerks you into a moment seven summers ago, when you’re you and jeonghan is just the gangly boy next door throwing rocks at your window, and you forget for a moment how woefully plain you feel next to your best friend turned celebrity.

“sorry,” you laugh, gathering your bearings. “of course i missed you. i even got weverse or whatever.”

he rolls his eyes in a way so dramatic, you would almost delete the app off your phone if it wasn’t for that smile, a traitor to the cool front he always has.

“i missed you too.” he says it easily, simply, as if all of this was just foreplay.

“it must be a lot quieter here than in seoul, huh? and the food is—”

“no, i missed you.”

he stops in his tracks, elvish features almost offensively attractive in the fluorescent streetlight, to look at you.

to look at all of you, not just the you who bandaged his knee when he was learning to skateboard for the first time, but the you who answers his anxious late-night calls, the you who greeted him at the airport with that dizzyingly warm smile, the you who stands before him now.

and it’s you who he takes into his arms, hesitantly, then all at once, as if he’s dreamed about this for ages (he has).

he takes off the too big hat, holds the face he knows so well in his hands, and kisses you under the hwaseong moon, finally not so far away.

(“you think the paparazzi got their pictures?” he jokes between kisses, knowing full well your audience consists of a raccoon and maybe the weird guy who owns the liquor store across the street.

“we can give ‘em another one.”

he’s never one to argue with a good idea.)

if jeonghan got kinda big again i think i’d just kill myself. like i’ve seen the images of him w like… big arms… and no. i cant. like i think i could MAYBE handle vernon getting buff even tho he’s 10000% my bias but no i couldn’t handle jeonghan i can’t explain it

congrats on 12k <3

minghao with the prompt “you look good with my hand around your throat” 🫢

minghao grins as the bottle slows to a stop, its neck pointing right at him.

“alright, hao, truth or dare?” soonyoung asks.

everyone in the circle turns their attention toward the man in question in anticipation of his decision.

it was the second time the bottle hand landed on minghao tonight and the first time he had chosen truth.

“what’s your biggest kink?” chan had asked him.

“um, probably choking,” was minghao’s answer.

there were a couple of whistles and inappropriate comments but no one seemed fazed by his admission. no one except for you, that is.

heat rushed to your cheeks as soon as the words left his mouth and you suddenly felt very sweaty all over. thankfully, the others didn’t seem to notice your reaction, aside from minghao who had locked eyes with you from across the circle the second after he said it.

he’s looking at you again as he weighs the options in his mind, making you wonder if there’s some sort of game he’s playing that you’re not in on. was he zeroing in on you because his answer from the last round had made you a little bit flustered?

“dare.”

“i dare you to choke someone right now,” soonyoung says.

your eyes widen.

“you can either pick someone yourself or we’ll spin the bottle again to pick for you,” he adds.

are you really about to be forced to watch the guy you have a (slight) crush on choke someone else? you’re not sure if you can stomach it. you look away from minghao only to hear him call your name.

joshua, who had been sitting beside you, nudges your shoulder when you don’t move. “i think you’re supposed to go over to him,” he whispers.

“she doesn’t have to if it makes her uncomfortable,” minghao murmurs, gaze still steady on you.

“oh, no um, it’s okay,” you assure him. “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“then come here.”

he leans back on his hands while you crawl your way across the circle, hyperaware of everyone’s eyes on you. the tile floor is cold and rough on your palms but it helps to ground you as you inch closer and closer to the man whose hands will be around your neck in a matter of seconds.

“you can straddle my lap, i’ll help you,” minghao says when you reach him, quiet enough for only you to hear.

once situated, minghao glances over your shoulder at the rest of your friends.

“ready?” he asks them.

more whistling. that must mean yes.

“ready?” he asks you. you nod. “i need to hear you say it.”

“i’m ready, hao.”

“remember to breathe,” he whispers. “i’ve got you, okay?”

“o-okay.”

his knuckles brush your jaw as he wraps a hand around your neck, making you flinch.

“is this alright?”

“mhm.”

your eyes flutter shut as soon as he starts to apply pressure and it takes a good amount of strength not to start grinding down on him. fuck, you didn’t think it would feel this good.

“you look hot with my hand around your throat,” he muses quietly.

you whimper in response.

“shhh, don’t want everyone else to hear, do you? that would be kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

you’re startled by his teasing. he can tell from the way your eyes fly open and your hips twitch forward in his lap. and you can tell that he can tell because his lips curl into a smirk.

“don’t worry baby, after this we can find somewhere private and you can be as loud as you want while i choke you.”

12k celebration

minghao loves you, and it comes as easily as breathing most days.

however, when he wakes up at 4:43 in the morning because you’ve stolen the duvet in your sleep, he has to remind himself of that a little bit.

everyone has flaws, and yours is duvet-hogging. leaving him practically shivering on the other side of the bed — yes, he’s being dramatic, but he’s cold, and it’s some sort of ungodly hour, and so he sighs, and tries his best to pry the ends of the duvet from you.

you barely even stir when he tugs you closer, brushing a hand over your face and kissing your forehead; it’s practically an unconscious movement, it’s so automatic for him. one arm loops around your waist, the other manoeuvres him back under the duvet, and he sighs with relief at the warmth that settles over him.

that’s when you decide to wake up, your eyes barely even opening. “hao?” you whisper sleepily, syllables running into each other. “did i steal the blanket again?”

minghao rubs a soothing hand over your back. “no,” he lies, just a little one to coax you back to sleep. he’ll complain to you in the morning, over coffee and breakfast and a little bit of nagging.

“okay,” you say hoarsely, and curl even closer to him. “i’m going back to sleep now.”

he smiles, just barely, at your sudden announcement, and brushes his lips over your forehead again. “okay,” he agrees, but you’re already gone — looking so peaceful that even when he wakes later in the morning to discover you’ve stolen the duvet a second time, he can’t be mad; because despite your blanket-hogging tendencies, loving you still comes as easy as breathing.

an / I HATE WRITINGGG (lie)

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

i’m not much of a dedicated lany listener. but i rly love home is where the hurt is and love at first fight. both versions. love at first fight (hopeless) kinda made me think of seungkwan too idk y. words? no. assigning things sounds and songs and things like that? yes.

if a lyric is just in the adlibs/backing vocals and it’s not labelled in the official lyrics, would it need to credit anyone as having been sampled? my guess is not, but it’s just interesting bc i was listening to fire and one of the lines right after vernon’s verse, during the prechorus, he says ‘say it back, say it back ditto’ (at least i think?) which is amusing because new jeans ditto, right?

amusing bc that does also give a vague idea as to the time of recording/writing of the song. but then again the whole idubilu thing too. idk now i’m curious bc the only credits i saw? on lyrics? were bumzu woozi hhu. i’ll check my copy of fml when i’m back home but idk i’m curious now