lixiesfreckless - Tumblr blog

[lixiesfreckless]

warning: mildly suggestive.

[02:05] park jisung is a friend of a friend. you aren’t entirely unfamiliar with him, but everything you know about him stretches no further than the surface. he’s a gentleman, a beast at dancing, and rather popular with the ladies.

he’s also a great kisser.

perhaps it was because of the club. perhaps it was because of the alcohol. perhaps it was because of how good he looked in a plain t-shirt. many perhaps, many mayhaps, but one thing is for sure—you’re about to get drunk on his kisses.

jisung holds you by the waist, one hand resting on your hip, the other sliding up your side. your arms lay on his shoulders, locking around his neck as he slips his tongue into your mouth. you reciprocate, losing yourself in the taste of your friend’s friend.

you pull away first, overwhelmed by the heat. “you’re good, jisung.”

his lips quirk into a grin. “am i? i think i need to improve my technique. mind helping me out a bit more, y/n?”

there’s no need for words when your actions speak louder. in no time, your lips are meshing with his again, his hand on your hip slipping underneath your top. your breath hitches at the skin-to-skin contact, his fingertips warm against your body.

“i was thinking,” jisung whispers against your lips, “we take this somewhere else? my car’s parked outside.”

you release a shaky breath. “i’d love to.”

[lixiesfreckless]

THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME AND I HOPE IT NEVER WILL SKDBWJDHSJ

sometimes I'll start reading the most toe curling Jisung smut then suddenly something doesn't feel right and I go to the tags and it's han not park and I just laugh because then it feels like I came home and all the lights were off so I climbed into bed and had sex with someone that I thought was my husband but it was actually the guy who lives next door.

right neighborhood, wrong man.

[lixiesfreckless]

the demon in me wants to say something SO DEVIOUS but imma keep my mouth shut and say: when I see intak in real life they're gonna need the jaws of life to remove my lips from his cheeks :)

he's so full of love it's sickening. is he on amazon

bf! intak who falls asleep on your shoulder during car rides and plane rides instead of the other way around. probably drools a little too, but you don’t have it in you to wake him up because his eyes are half opened and his cheek is completely smooshed. so endearing, it would be a crime to disturb him :(

bf! intak who blushes furiously when you kiss his cheek. kisses on the lips are phenomenal, and they are his absolute favorite—but there’s something so sweet about you giving him a kiss on the cheek, especially when you have to stand on your tippy toes and rest your hands on his chest.

proceeds to hold your hands where they rest, looking down to hide the flustered, dorky smile that takes over his features.

proceeds to hold your hands where they rest, looking down to hide the flustered, dorky smile that takes over his features.

“one more” he’ll ask, giving you the softest, pleading eyes. “please?”

bf! intak who blows raspberries on your tummy, and kisses it after. who also has a habit of playing with your fingers, or your rings if you’re wearing any. who has to be touching you at all times, whether it’s a hand on your hip, or your knee, or the small of your back. has to be touching you, and if he isn’t because you’re not nearby, he’ll perk his head up, and look around until he spots you. jogs over and fits his hand into yours with a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling “i was wondering where you went :(“ “but it’s okay!” he beams “cause i found you!”

bf! intak who wakes you up by accident every morning when his lips press into your shoulder or your neck or your jaw. the funny thing is: he’s still asleep. he’s kissing you and nuzzling into you in his sleep with his warm cheek pressing against yours and his hair tickling your face. his arm pulls you tighter to him when you stir, and finally, he wakes up when you stretch, in fear that you actually meant to get up.

“don’t get up yet… please, you’re s’warm..”

“intak, baby, i was just stretching.”

“come closer >:(“

scowls but with his eyes closed until you’re completely wrapped around him and under the mountain of blankets again.

bf! intak who always insists on showering with you. 9/10 times, he’s in there with you, and 6/10 times, it isn’t even sexual. he’s making a mohawk out of your hair with shampoo, and molding his own hair to match with a silly grin on his face. he’s scrubbing your face wash lovingly onto your cheeks and kissing your nose as you smile up at him (then proceeds to wash his face like a MAN all rough and crazy, which earns him a bit of a scolding from you). he holds you under the water and steals little pecks as the water bill gets higher and higher (at this point, you would’ve saved more water taking separate showers).

if you guys are playing music he’s singing loudly between giggles and designating parts so that you guys can put on a little concert. If there’s no music then he’s bickering with you about how you’re hogging the hot water, so he pushes you out of the way. only stays there for a few seconds though, cause the thought of you being cold makes his heart break a little. switches sides with you again with a little feigned annoyance, but even when you insist you aren’t cold he convinces you to stay under the hot stream.

bf! intak who tries his best to cook for you, following recipes of foods you’ve liked to the very last detail. refuses to let you help, but will allow you to sit on the counter as his personal cheerleader so he can steal a kiss or two or ten as he works.

is so careful to measure everything right, letting you try it along the way (only after he’s approved of the taste himself). watches for your reaction so so eagerly and smiles SO big if you say it’s good.

bf! intak who loves being praised by you. sometimes even fishes for compliments because any kind of approval from makes his heart so full and makes him feel so loved! “don’t i look handsome today?” or “did i do a good job?”

whether you compliment his outfit or his looks, or you simply tell him thank you for something, he’s over the moon

bf! intak who is has such a huge heart and gives it over to you completely. it’s yours! so don’t break it. falls first and falls harder, from the very first moment he sees you is so whipped. willing to give you absolutely everything and anything you want.

is so gentle, so considerate, so caring, so intak.

truly your best friend & lover all in one.

[lixiesfreckless]

SUNWOO in Paris ♡

[lixiesfreckless]

people I'd like to know better

thanks for the tag @sunnyhonie , this is cute🥰

LAST SONG: UNKNOWN- nct dream

FAVORITE COLOR: turquoise!

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Seventeen's In The Soop(with @ashonheavenscloud ) and The Cosby Show

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY: savory all the way

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single by choice. the men where I live are uhhhhh...💀

CURRENT OBSESSION: p1harmony's album making video, jisung's hands, super mario sluggers, kim sunwoo, i.m's new album(specifically MMI)

no-pressure tags: @catboyieejenoo @nctsworld @sluttywonwoo @sluttywoozi @ashonheavenscloud @matryosika @p4p1l0nn @sxcret-garden @shuaflix

nine people i'd like to know better

thank you so much for the tag, mana! @hanjsquokka

LAST SONG : Trigger - Hayley Williams

FAVORITE COLOR : any shade of green but particularly mint and a hunter/olive

CURRENTLY WATCHING : Physical 100 with my partner lol and Apartment 404

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY : Sweet AND Savory. Loooove that combo ehehe but im trying to cut down on the salt in take... i wish i were better with spicy foods :((

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : taken

CURRENT OBSESSION : stray kids except that's a forever obsession :P I've been getting into p1harmony lately and i've been playing a lot of final fantasy vii remake.

no pressure tags : @weareapackofstrays @ashxxgyu @sunnyhonie @greyyeti @primoppang @jiminskies; if you see this, feel free to tag me in it so that i can see it

[lixiesfreckless]

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING LOVE❤️❤️🥰

Early | l. m.

➸ synopsis: God, you want him so bad it's almost pathetic.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: acquaintance!minho, reader is horrendously down bad, insane amounts of pining, like- this entire fic is just the reader pining for him lmao

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: I'd like to thank @ashonheavenscloud for the ending idea. sorry for the readers I'm about to blueball

♫ early- junny, soulbysel(THIS IS LITERALLY THE INSPO FOR THE FIC)

“Yeah, I can take her home.”

Ryujin claps a little too loudly, courtesy of the several drinks she had shotgunned an hour before.

“Thank you bestest older brother in the universe,” she slurs, wrapping her arms around the older man, who was furrowing his eyebrows in mild discomfort. You stand there awkwardly, already feeling like you were inconveniencing him as well.

As bad as you felt about it though, you couldn't help the nervousness creeping through your veins at the thought of being alone with Minho.

It's not as if you've never been alone with him. You have; just in transitional spaces. Waiting for the rest of the friend group to show up. Waiting for different trains at the metro station. Waiting for the closer mutual friend to come back from the restroom. Hell, him dropping you off wasn’t really any different.

You really don't talk to him much at all, which makes it all the more ridiculous that you even have a crush on him.

And yet, you just let it fester, held back by the classic best-friend’s-older-brother unofficial rulebook. But you think even if he wasn't related to Ryujin, you still wouldn't make a move, simply too shy to find out what was under his impenetrable blank stare and trademark doc martens.

After snatching up your purse, you quickly say goodbye to your friends before catching Minho at the door.

“Sorry about all this again–”

“I was already on my way out, don't sweat it.”

Minho holds the door to the club open for you, and you step out into the crisp coolness of night, trying to appear as collected as the man walking beside you.

“My car is just around the corner, I'm just gonna grab some water for you from the store, okay?”

You find yourself nodding, although you're barely paying attention; you are focusing on averting your gaze from his face, careful as to not give yourself any more daydreaming material.

His car has one of those proximity keys, so there's no cheerful chirp letting the block know that he's about to open the passenger side door for you. Which is how it should be, because that is not a monumental occasion.

Except oh my god, Lee Minho just opened the door for you to get into his car, you might as well be married at this point.

You watch as he disappears into the little corner convenience store, and returns in record time, barely giving you any time to rehearse any cool sounding conversation starters. Then again, it's not like there would be a long line at well past three in the morning.

Shit. You're in Lee Minho’s car going to your house at three in the morning.

Your thoughts are cut off by Minho jumping into the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car and dropping two bottles of water into the cupholders.

“You live right in front of the memorial park right?”

You settle on a hum, not trusting your voice to sound calm in the slightest as his hand reaches for the gear shift. Coincidentally, that's the same time you choose to take your bottle of water from the center console.

And this is how you learn that Minho’s hands are softer than they look.

You don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of thoughts that flood your mind immediately after the accidental contact, your mind suddenly reeling with images of his hands cradling your face, sliding behind your neck, around your waist, through your hair–

“Sorry,” you squeak out, immediately seizing the bottle and twisting it open, desperate for something to lower your rising body temperature. He actually chuckles in response, and the sound has you focusing on the cool leather seat against your bare back in an attempt to round up your remaining brain cells.

He pulls the car away from the curb, beginning what will probably be the longest ten minutes of your life.

There are some things you pick up on immediately.

For one, Minho predominantly drives with one hand.

You honestly don't get how he looks so relaxed doing it either, side profile completely at ease as his right hand absentmindedly taps on the gear shift. If you were in the driver's seat, both hands would be at 10 and 2 o’ clock, just like your driving instructor taught you. Which is exactly why you take the metro; you feel like a stressed suburban mom when you drive, but don't have the time to rewire your brain to make your hands sit at 8 and 4 o’ clock like everyone else.

But he looks like he's shooting a Hyundai commercial, hand resting comfortably on the top of the wheel as the soft orange glow of the dash illuminates his perfect nose bridge and perfect eyelashes–

“Are you cold?” 

“No, I’m good,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the questioning tone out of your voice.

“Sorry- thought I saw you shiver just now,” he chuckles, glancing at you and letting his eyes drop to your legs for a split second.

Honestly, you probably did shiver; just not from the cold.

Also, why on earth did you decide to wear this dress of all dresses tonight?

Backless and short with a halter neckline, one could call this a revenge dress if you had an ex. Except it’s starting to feel like revenge on yourself, because as fleeting as Minho’s glances towards you are, they never go unnoticed, and each one makes the hem feel an inch shorter.

Granted, the slope of the seat makes the skirt ride up anyways, so it was inevitable, but you can't pull it down—he would immediately think you lied to him about being cold. Or get the idea that you didn't want him to look at your legs. Which would be ridiculous; he's practically the whole reason you wore this dress in the first place. 

You're stretching your legs out before you can give it a second thought, and you don't miss the way Minho’s jaw sets, or how his finger stops drumming against the gear shift.

Now that made you more than a little curious.

The second thing you notice is Minho’s excellent taste in music.

You assume his phone automatically connected to the car once he turned it on, because no radio station you can list off the top of your head has beats this smooth. You've never considered what kind of music he would listen to, mostly because you were worried about what he would think of your music taste. 

But this? 

These are exactly the kinds of songs you would play if you wanted to set the mood. They sound like what the world looks like after the last hues of purple leave the horizon. Indigo. Whatever that means.

You can't help but wonder if he was trying to set the mood.

Oh god, you're almost to your apartment and you haven't said anything interesting since you left the club.

You steal a glance at his side profile, once again reminded that Minho can rock any hair color he chooses as the street lights reflect blue off of his jet black hair. It gives him a darker aura, one that stops most lingering gazes on him from ever getting closer. Sure, it's not much different from the color he had before, which was dark brown, but the change makes a difference. To you at least. 

You saw its effects in action, watching all night as girls at the club try to approach him to only end up shooting their shot with his companion, who was always eager to down tequila shots with bright eyes and cheeky smiles.

“The new hair looks good.”

“Didn't catch that,” he quickly says, turning down the volume of the music with his steering wheel and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“I like what you did with your hair.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“The girls at the club sure did,” you half-laugh, and he turns to look at you in bewilderment.

“You think so?”

“You could have filled a swimming pool with how much they were drooling.”

Minho laughs. He actually laughs at something you said. The sound makes you so dizzy you think someone slipped something into your drink.

The feeling of the car sliding in next to the curb pulls you back down to reality in an instant.

He puts the car into park and you slump into your seat, not at all trying to hide how disappointed you are at your performance tonight.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper, not daring  to look him in the eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Anytime,” he says so casually, and maybe a bolder you would take him up on that offer.

Instead you nod and smile, and reach for the door handle.

“Y/n.”

You hum and look back at him, trying your best to ignore the turmoil in your stomach once your eyes meet.

“I…this might sound a bit odd, but can I use your bathroom?” He smiles crookedly. “My place is still a ways away–”

“Sure,” you say without thinking, and he nods and jumps out of the car. You definitely can't read into that. Maybe he really can't wait until he gets home. Maybe he doesn't want an excuse to be in your apartment past midnight.

Still, your hands tremble as you twist your keys in the doorknob.

You kick your heels off upon entering, and Minho follows suit, ditching his combat boots by the door as he awaits your instruction.

Looking up, you catch him watching you expectantly, and you indulge the attention before realization dawns on you.

“Oh– the bathroom, yes. Last door on the left, sorry,” you hastily choke out, shaking your head in embarrassment. He chuckles out thanks before sliding past you and disappearing around the corner.

Water. You need water.

The coolness of the marble counter feels good against your bare back as you lean against it, trying to get a grip as cold water rushes down your throat. Maybe you should just attempt to make a move on a different night, when you have a little more liquid courage running through your veins and he’s as hazy as he is handsome. Your mind wanders back to that blissful moment in the car, when he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. That felt so natural, so easy. Why couldn’t you make him do that all the time?

Well, maybe you could, but that requires talking to him regularly, which is something you only do in your daydreams.

Minho suddenly steps out of the bathroom and you fight the urge to choke on your water, setting the glass down on the counter as he approaches you.

“I take it you like jasmine?

“The flower?” The random trivia throws you off guard. “Yeah, it’s my favorite flower…how did you–”

“Everything in your bathroom is jasmine scented,” Minho chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Ah, well…I found it helps to match everything to your perfume so it seems to last longer.”

“So you’re saying my car should smell like jasmine when I go back?”

“Only one way to find out,” you say with a smile, internally crying over how you just created a seamless segue for him to leave.

He turns to go find his combat boots, and you punch the air, frantically looking for an excuse for him to stay. But he’s standing by the door too soon, running a hand through his silky black hair before giving you a wave goodbye.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Get home safe, Minho.”

The door opens, then closes, and you exhale a sigh of relief, or frustration. Most likely equal parts both.

Perhaps baby steps would be the way to go. You haven’t even texted him, and you want him to make a move? Maybe he thinks you aren’t interested because you haven’t exactly been forward.

Sighing, you move towards your kitchen table, and then you freeze. The universe has never given you a second chance so pointedly before. 

Minho left his keys.

You reach for your phone, deciding that calling him would be faster than chasing after him, but stop halfway through your contacts once you hear him knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

He steps inside to see you twirling the key ring around your index finger, and you hold it out for him to take as you walk up to the door.

“I didn’t take you as the forgetful type,” you giggle.

“Let’s just say I was distracted.” He slides the metal ring off your finger, and you know the dip his eyes make isn't a trick of the light.

He turns to leave, even opening the door, but when he takes a step out and turns to look back at you, something shifts in his eyes. Like a cat that’s seen something move in its periphery.

And in your mind, it all happens so unbearably slowly. 

He would step back in without a word, moving slowly and soundlessly as he’d break eye contact just to watch the door click shut. You’d find yourself backing into the wall next to him, hands pressed flat by your sides as you’d try to make sense of his approaching silhouette under the dim lighting. 

It would feel all too real, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressing into yours, his breath fanning across your face. Your breath would catch in your throat, and the first touch of his lips would be cautious, before diving in with unrestrained desire.

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Minho a million times, and with your ever-descriptive reveries, it almost feels real as you ponder the different ways he could pin you against this wall, mouth hard against yours, or light and teasing with feathery brushes of his lips.

God, you want him so bad it’s almost pathetic.

So bad, in fact, that once he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile and turns to leave for the night, it takes everything in you not to throw caution to the wind, and spin him back around. Find out what Lee Minho tastes like for yourself.

But you don’t.

You watch him walk down your hall until he leaves your sight, and even after you’re gone, you spend at least another minute replaying the few moments you had with him tonight.

Next time, you think, chewing your bottom lip as images of kissing Minho resurface against your will. 

I’ll do something about him next time.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[lixiesfreckless]

mmhm mmhm mmhm this is exactly as devastating as I remember it being when you posted it all those years ago. just- UGH, the pining, the PINING, the internal wars, who gave you cctv into my synapses dammit-

overthinking || h. hyunjin

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ contents: hwang hyunjin x fem!reader, friends to lovers, fluff with tension tension tension, mutual obsession!! reader makes hyunjin very very nervous

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ word count: 1.7K

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ warnings: none

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ a/n: short lil hyunjin repost!! this was well loved before, so hopefully it’s still up to par <3 enjoyyy~

now playing - overthinking - offonoff

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hyunjin knew he was overthinking it.

Your hand gently gripped his own, fitting there perfectly like a glove. Your eyes were glued to the screen in front of you, a tender moment from your latest favourite K-drama distracting you from the very thing that Hyunjin couldn’t for the life of him stop thinking about. 

Your hand was so much smaller than his. Your nails were freshly painted lilac, and he couldn’t stop staring at the small details of your hand as the drama continued on. You’d suddenly clutched his hand when the girl on screen had started to cry, the male lead attempting to comfort her in the most gentle manner. Hyunjin wasn’t sure what had happened next; as soon as you’d grabbed his hand, the words muffled and his eyes shifted and his very skin felt on fire, sparks shooting through him from where you touched. He couldn’t stop staring at you, the way you looked in the dim light, eyes filled with the screen’s reflection, mouth slightly parted as you watched with extreme focus.

He’d waited for you to let go. Surely once the initial shock of the scene wore off, you would realize and pull away. But as the minutes stretched on, and more scenes unfolded on the TV, your hand remained firmly in his. 

He loved how your hand felt in his.

Still, he almost wished you would pull away. His heart was hammering with dangerous volume, and he could feel the heat crawling over the back of his neck as his eyes continued to drink you in. His palms were growing sweaty, and he swore that soon the rest of him would be unbearably hot. He kicked off the blanket around him, praying it would help. Cool air greeted him, and so did your puzzled eyes, glancing away from the screen momentarily to look at Hyunjin.

“You okay?”

No. I want to pin you to this very couch and kiss you senseless. “Yeah, fine. Just hot.” He managed, desperately hoping that you would finally release his hand before he snapped. Instead, your eyes trailed to your fingers twisted together, and looked back to the screen.

And Hyunjin was back to looking at your hands moulded together, wondering why you hadn’t pulled away.

Surely he was overthinking. It was just your hand, after all. You’d been friends for years, and your love of skinship had always been obviously shown. So why did today feel different? Why did this simple touch send him spiraling, mind racing to figure out what the hell you wanted with him??

He’d tried for months to understand your feelings for him. Scrutinizing every little thing-shoulder taps and smiles, light conversation and sparkling eyes-to figure it out. Did you also find yourself distracted by his smile, the way he suddenly forgot what he was going to say when you smiled at him? Did you also get lost in his eyes, the way he was content to swim in yours for endless hours, day and night? And did you also wish you had the courage to say something about it, just like Hyunjin did when he looked up from your hands intertwined to find your eyes focused on him?

And words were gone. Just scattered fragments of worry and panic and desire and hope. He knew what he wanted. And he was hanging on a thread, a thread that was fraying and ready to snap at any moment. At any moment.

The soulful music of the drama flitted from the screen, slow and soft but Hyunjin could hardly hear it as you lifted your joined hands to where both of you could see them. Hyunjin felt his heart leap, as your eyes trailed back to him. You allowed both of your hands to drop down again, and whispered something that set every part of Hyunjin to flame.

“Just kiss me or something.”

Silence for a beat as the words processed, Hyunjin’s heart jolting into hummingbird mode. And then he was slowly pulling you to him, lips capturing yours roughly. You tasted faintly of the sweet chocolate you’d been eating together a minute ago, and Hyunjin couldn’t help himself from slowly biting your bottom lip, pulling gently as you gripped his shirt tightly in fists, bringing him closer to your warmth. The TV drama faded away, the music growing dim as Hyunjin’s mind flew into a frenzy, thoughts and worries bombarding his mind as he kissed you. You had hundreds of butterflies gathering in the pit of his stomach, and his heart pounding like a drum beat, setting a rhythm, a tempo for how he moved his mouth over yours, tongue slipping into your mouth to further taste you, you, you.

A voice was screaming in the back of his head: am I doing this right? Are you enjoying this as much as me? What if I’m not good enough? What if you’re uncomfortable, or-

You were moving closer and he wished he knew what to do with his hands, and his legs folded on the couch. Your hand had dropped his own at some point, fingers pressing over his jawline. The other hand gripped his shoulder, as you moved even closer-practically on his lap, and Hyunjin wished he knew what to do about that too.

He was overthinking, he knew. Every touch of yours, the firm pressure of your digits tracing his skin, the feel of your warm lips moving against his-moving with his. He let it all happen, even while hardly knowing what he was doing. He swore he had been set on fire, his very nerves roaring ablaze with energy and a hunger that was almost overwhelming. Still he couldn’t stop thinking.

He pulled back, immediately hating the inches of space between your lips while simultaneously wishing to move farther from you and the temptation it was to dive back in.

He was terrified.

“Hyunjin…” you sounded slightly breathless, and confused. Your eyes opened and found his, searching the dark pools for some hint of a problem. “What’s wrong?”

He wanted to tell you everything running through his head, but with your eyes watching his now, his mouth refused to open. A hollow pit formed in his stomach of deep disappointment in himself. What was the matter with him? Why didn’t he just let go and take this step? He’d wanted this for ages-the opportunity to feel your body against his, held in his arms, mouths locked together in a heated embrace. And he’d loved the feeling just now; so what was the problem?

You were watching him, concerns filling your wide eyes. Despite his running thoughts, he found himself admiring you just like he always did. Your sweetness, your care for him. It was so endearing to see you worry, to feel your hand squeeze his in an attempt to keep him grounded and remind him of your presence. Suddenly he knew why he couldn’t stop worrying.

“I just want to love you right.” He confessed softly, gaze finally focusing on your eyes. He found warmth there, and even more as you slowly smiled, and he could see the adoration in your eyes. His heart leaped, treasuring the fact that you were looking at him like that. He hurried on, “I want you to be comfortable. I want-” he took a breath in, as you patiently waited for him to finish. “I want to do this right, you know?”

This was unmarked territory for him-for you too, he knew. He wondered if you felt the same kind of nerves, too.

“I know.” You confirmed, a small smile gracing your face, as you lifted your fingers to touch his cheek gently. “Me too.”

Adoration shone in your eyes so clearly in that moment that it left Hyunjin slightly breathless. The soft crinkles by the corners of your eyes caught his gaze and he felt some tension release from his body. You were nervous too-and somehow that made him feel less so.

“I’ve liked you forever.” Hyunjin blurted, feeling himself blush as the words left his mouth, and your smile widened. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Your smile was so pretty. He loved how he could immediately tell how genuine that smile was. You meant every word when you said, “I know you won’t. Just take it slow. It’ll be okay.”

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart still raced. But if you believed in him-in both of you-surely he could believe in the two of you as well.

He squeezed your hand, dipping his head to lightly kiss your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “Okay.” He whispered.

He loved the dazed gaze of your eyes, loved the fact that he had that effect on you. 

“Okay?” You murmured back. 

His only response was to kiss you again, harder this time, mind a flurry of thoughts and emotions that grew hazy when you kissed him back. It was just as addicting as before, despite the worries coming back. Your fingers traced the skin of his collarbone, automatically making him shiver, and he wondered what he should do now.

And here the answer was so painfully clear in that moment that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it before. Don’t think, Hyunjin. Just feel.

He breathed in your scent as he pulled back to look at your face-every beautiful detail he’d memorized with his eyes-before setting to work memorizing them with his mouth, lips pressing against the soft skin of your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids that flickered at his gentle touch. Slowly he let go of the worries, banishing them as he took your face in his hands and pulled you right to him, connecting your lips again. A muffled sigh of content escaped the corners of your mouth, roiling inside Hyunjin with an insane kind of pleasure. He grew slowly more confident, letting his tongue slide into your mouth again and pressing your back to the couch, just like he’d wanted. He felt your hands grip his shirt, press to his chest; he felt your body beneath his own, its warmth under his skin. He felt your mouth move with his, felt your smooth hair with his fingers, felt every inch of you without any more thoughts to intrude.

He let desire flood his body and take over his senses as he took his time loving you; slowly, surely, sweetly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

stray kids masterlist

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[lixiesfreckless]

reading your fics on insta and then coming here and reading them here is making me feel some kind of way🥹💖

ps. been here since gravity

oh my gosh you've been with me since 2020😭you're such a loyal reader pls people like you make me want to write forever💔I hope life has been treating you well, please take care you lovely person🥹❤️

[lixiesfreckless]

"favourite author" don't mind me if anyone needs me I'll be field testing kleenex's new tissues as I can't seem to stop crying

thank you so much gosh <333

Early | l. m.

➸ synopsis: God, you want him so bad it's almost pathetic.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: acquaintance!minho, reader is horrendously down bad, insane amounts of pining, like- this entire fic is just the reader pining for him lmao

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: I'd like to thank @ashonheavenscloud for the ending idea. sorry for the readers I'm about to blueball

♫ early- junny, soulbysel(THIS IS LITERALLY THE INSPO FOR THE FIC)

“Yeah, I can take her home.”

Ryujin claps a little too loudly, courtesy of the several drinks she had shotgunned an hour before.

“Thank you bestest older brother in the universe,” she slurs, wrapping her arms around the older man, who was furrowing his eyebrows in mild discomfort. You stand there awkwardly, already feeling like you were inconveniencing him as well.

As bad as you felt about it though, you couldn't help the nervousness creeping through your veins at the thought of being alone with Minho.

It's not as if you've never been alone with him. You have; just in transitional spaces. Waiting for the rest of the friend group to show up. Waiting for different trains at the metro station. Waiting for the closer mutual friend to come back from the restroom. Hell, him dropping you off wasn’t really any different.

You really don't talk to him much at all, which makes it all the more ridiculous that you even have a crush on him.

And yet, you just let it fester, held back by the classic best-friend’s-older-brother unofficial rulebook. But you think even if he wasn't related to Ryujin, you still wouldn't make a move, simply too shy to find out what was under his impenetrable blank stare and trademark doc martens.

After snatching up your purse, you quickly say goodbye to your friends before catching Minho at the door.

“Sorry about all this again–”

“I was already on my way out, don't sweat it.”

Minho holds the door to the club open for you, and you step out into the crisp coolness of night, trying to appear as collected as the man walking beside you.

“My car is just around the corner, I'm just gonna grab some water for you from the store, okay?”

You find yourself nodding, although you're barely paying attention; you are focusing on averting your gaze from his face, careful as to not give yourself any more daydreaming material.

His car has one of those proximity keys, so there's no cheerful chirp letting the block know that he's about to open the passenger side door for you. Which is how it should be, because that is not a monumental occasion.

Except oh my god, Lee Minho just opened the door for you to get into his car, you might as well be married at this point.

You watch as he disappears into the little corner convenience store, and returns in record time, barely giving you any time to rehearse any cool sounding conversation starters. Then again, it's not like there would be a long line at well past three in the morning.

Shit. You're in Lee Minho’s car going to your house at three in the morning.

Your thoughts are cut off by Minho jumping into the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car and dropping two bottles of water into the cupholders.

“You live right in front of the memorial park right?”

You settle on a hum, not trusting your voice to sound calm in the slightest as his hand reaches for the gear shift. Coincidentally, that's the same time you choose to take your bottle of water from the center console.

And this is how you learn that Minho’s hands are softer than they look.

You don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of thoughts that flood your mind immediately after the accidental contact, your mind suddenly reeling with images of his hands cradling your face, sliding behind your neck, around your waist, through your hair–

“Sorry,” you squeak out, immediately seizing the bottle and twisting it open, desperate for something to lower your rising body temperature. He actually chuckles in response, and the sound has you focusing on the cool leather seat against your bare back in an attempt to round up your remaining brain cells.

He pulls the car away from the curb, beginning what will probably be the longest ten minutes of your life.

There are some things you pick up on immediately.

For one, Minho predominantly drives with one hand.

You honestly don't get how he looks so relaxed doing it either, side profile completely at ease as his right hand absentmindedly taps on the gear shift. If you were in the driver's seat, both hands would be at 10 and 2 o’ clock, just like your driving instructor taught you. Which is exactly why you take the metro; you feel like a stressed suburban mom when you drive, but don't have the time to rewire your brain to make your hands sit at 8 and 4 o’ clock like everyone else.

But he looks like he's shooting a Hyundai commercial, hand resting comfortably on the top of the wheel as the soft orange glow of the dash illuminates his perfect nose bridge and perfect eyelashes–

“Are you cold?” 

“No, I’m good,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the questioning tone out of your voice.

“Sorry- thought I saw you shiver just now,” he chuckles, glancing at you and letting his eyes drop to your legs for a split second.

Honestly, you probably did shiver; just not from the cold.

Also, why on earth did you decide to wear this dress of all dresses tonight?

Backless and short with a halter neckline, one could call this a revenge dress if you had an ex. Except it’s starting to feel like revenge on yourself, because as fleeting as Minho’s glances towards you are, they never go unnoticed, and each one makes the hem feel an inch shorter.

Granted, the slope of the seat makes the skirt ride up anyways, so it was inevitable, but you can't pull it down—he would immediately think you lied to him about being cold. Or get the idea that you didn't want him to look at your legs. Which would be ridiculous; he's practically the whole reason you wore this dress in the first place. 

You're stretching your legs out before you can give it a second thought, and you don't miss the way Minho’s jaw sets, or how his finger stops drumming against the gear shift.

Now that made you more than a little curious.

The second thing you notice is Minho’s excellent taste in music.

You assume his phone automatically connected to the car once he turned it on, because no radio station you can list off the top of your head has beats this smooth. You've never considered what kind of music he would listen to, mostly because you were worried about what he would think of your music taste. 

But this? 

These are exactly the kinds of songs you would play if you wanted to set the mood. They sound like what the world looks like after the last hues of purple leave the horizon. Indigo. Whatever that means.

You can't help but wonder if he was trying to set the mood.

Oh god, you're almost to your apartment and you haven't said anything interesting since you left the club.

You steal a glance at his side profile, once again reminded that Minho can rock any hair color he chooses as the street lights reflect blue off of his jet black hair. It gives him a darker aura, one that stops most lingering gazes on him from ever getting closer. Sure, it's not much different from the color he had before, which was dark brown, but the change makes a difference. To you at least. 

You saw its effects in action, watching all night as girls at the club try to approach him to only end up shooting their shot with his companion, who was always eager to down tequila shots with bright eyes and cheeky smiles.

“The new hair looks good.”

“Didn't catch that,” he quickly says, turning down the volume of the music with his steering wheel and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“I like what you did with your hair.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“The girls at the club sure did,” you half-laugh, and he turns to look at you in bewilderment.

“You think so?”

“You could have filled a swimming pool with how much they were drooling.”

Minho laughs. He actually laughs at something you said. The sound makes you so dizzy you think someone slipped something into your drink.

The feeling of the car sliding in next to the curb pulls you back down to reality in an instant.

He puts the car into park and you slump into your seat, not at all trying to hide how disappointed you are at your performance tonight.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper, not daring  to look him in the eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Anytime,” he says so casually, and maybe a bolder you would take him up on that offer.

Instead you nod and smile, and reach for the door handle.

“Y/n.”

You hum and look back at him, trying your best to ignore the turmoil in your stomach once your eyes meet.

“I…this might sound a bit odd, but can I use your bathroom?” He smiles crookedly. “My place is still a ways away–”

“Sure,” you say without thinking, and he nods and jumps out of the car. You definitely can't read into that. Maybe he really can't wait until he gets home. Maybe he doesn't want an excuse to be in your apartment past midnight.

Still, your hands tremble as you twist your keys in the doorknob.

You kick your heels off upon entering, and Minho follows suit, ditching his combat boots by the door as he awaits your instruction.

Looking up, you catch him watching you expectantly, and you indulge the attention before realization dawns on you.

“Oh– the bathroom, yes. Last door on the left, sorry,” you hastily choke out, shaking your head in embarrassment. He chuckles out thanks before sliding past you and disappearing around the corner.

Water. You need water.

The coolness of the marble counter feels good against your bare back as you lean against it, trying to get a grip as cold water rushes down your throat. Maybe you should just attempt to make a move on a different night, when you have a little more liquid courage running through your veins and he’s as hazy as he is handsome. Your mind wanders back to that blissful moment in the car, when he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. That felt so natural, so easy. Why couldn’t you make him do that all the time?

Well, maybe you could, but that requires talking to him regularly, which is something you only do in your daydreams.

Minho suddenly steps out of the bathroom and you fight the urge to choke on your water, setting the glass down on the counter as he approaches you.

“I take it you like jasmine?

“The flower?” The random trivia throws you off guard. “Yeah, it’s my favorite flower…how did you–”

“Everything in your bathroom is jasmine scented,” Minho chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Ah, well…I found it helps to match everything to your perfume so it seems to last longer.”

“So you’re saying my car should smell like jasmine when I go back?”

“Only one way to find out,” you say with a smile, internally crying over how you just created a seamless segue for him to leave.

He turns to go find his combat boots, and you punch the air, frantically looking for an excuse for him to stay. But he’s standing by the door too soon, running a hand through his silky black hair before giving you a wave goodbye.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Get home safe, Minho.”

The door opens, then closes, and you exhale a sigh of relief, or frustration. Most likely equal parts both.

Perhaps baby steps would be the way to go. You haven’t even texted him, and you want him to make a move? Maybe he thinks you aren’t interested because you haven’t exactly been forward.

Sighing, you move towards your kitchen table, and then you freeze. The universe has never given you a second chance so pointedly before. 

Minho left his keys.

You reach for your phone, deciding that calling him would be faster than chasing after him, but stop halfway through your contacts once you hear him knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

He steps inside to see you twirling the key ring around your index finger, and you hold it out for him to take as you walk up to the door.

“I didn’t take you as the forgetful type,” you giggle.

“Let’s just say I was distracted.” He slides the metal ring off your finger, and you know the dip his eyes make isn't a trick of the light.

He turns to leave, even opening the door, but when he takes a step out and turns to look back at you, something shifts in his eyes. Like a cat that’s seen something move in its periphery.

And in your mind, it all happens so unbearably slowly. 

He would step back in without a word, moving slowly and soundlessly as he’d break eye contact just to watch the door click shut. You’d find yourself backing into the wall next to him, hands pressed flat by your sides as you’d try to make sense of his approaching silhouette under the dim lighting. 

It would feel all too real, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressing into yours, his breath fanning across your face. Your breath would catch in your throat, and the first touch of his lips would be cautious, before diving in with unrestrained desire.

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Minho a million times, and with your ever-descriptive reveries, it almost feels real as you ponder the different ways he could pin you against this wall, mouth hard against yours, or light and teasing with feathery brushes of his lips.

God, you want him so bad it’s almost pathetic.

So bad, in fact, that once he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile and turns to leave for the night, it takes everything in you not to throw caution to the wind, and spin him back around. Find out what Lee Minho tastes like for yourself.

But you don’t.

You watch him walk down your hall until he leaves your sight, and even after you’re gone, you spend at least another minute replaying the few moments you had with him tonight.

Next time, you think, chewing your bottom lip as images of kissing Minho resurface against your will. 

I’ll do something about him next time.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[lixiesfreckless]

10:30 pm

Hwang Hyunjin

minors dni!

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆

“...please,” he just barely whispered, running his fingertips along the back seam of your shirt. It was a gentle sigh, one that was meant for your reddening ears only, but you didn’t quite catch it between the small pants that escaped your mouth, desperate for equal parts oxygen and the feeling of his lips on yours again. You gave him a questioning hum, fingertips ever-so-softly sliding between his ebony locks.

Unfortunately for Hyunjin, his bashful side took over, unable to repeat his small request as he instead pulled you back in for another devastatingly deep kiss, shuddering at the way you held onto his hair tighter- and deep down, he genuinely had no idea how you hadn’t gotten the memo yet. Aside from his embarrassment at the thought of telling you about his weakness for hair pulling, he was sure that the silent gasps that escaped once you threaded your fingers into his strands was enough of a hint; that or the way he weakly moaned whenever you pulled on them just a bit more than usual.

He’d considered the possibility that you thought you might hurt him, but embarrassingly enough he almost wanted you to. Feeling your fingers tangled in his hair and yet never pulling hard enough to earn more than a strangled gasp was more frustrating than the way you slowly rocked your hips against him, somehow unconsciously seeking friction between your thighs.

His tongue slid along the seam of your mouth and you happily obliged, opening your mouth a little wider so he could press against them further with his plush lips, exploring your taste like he’d done many times before. Your hands suddenly fisted in his hair, the sensation of his hot tongue in your mouth proving to be too pleasurable once again and you whined, desperate to have him in and around you.

But that wasn’t before a lustful moan cracked the semi-silence between you two, Hyunjin’s tongue delving deeper into the cavern of your mouth as his resolve weathered at the seams.

Half curious and half aroused by his melodic sound and the undulations of your hips, you repositioned your fingers in his locks and tugged again, and were thrilled at how you were rewarded with his teeth grazing your bottom lip as a low groan rumbled from his throat. He mumbled something into your lips but you didn’t catch it, too enamored by his newfound weakness to focus on anything other than his hands, who were bunching up your shirt fabric at your hips.

You didn’t stop your attack on his scalp however, now trying to gather as much of his soft hair into slippery fists just so you could hear his vocal desperation again and again. He had grown to full size under you now, and you wondered if your rough head massage had anything to do with how fast he had gotten so rigid in his sweatpants.

His mouth left yours to taste the skin of your neck with his tongue, instantly sucking on the spot that made your hips freeze their movements. Your hands instinctively pulled hard on his hair as a needy whine escaped you, and a breath hitched in his throat. But instead of a cry of pain like you expected, he whispered, almost moaning a plea against the column of your throat; and it was impossible to miss what he said along the sensitive skin.

“Harder.”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆

[lixiesfreckless]

Early | l. m.

➸ synopsis: God, you want him so bad it's almost pathetic.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: acquaintance!minho, reader is horrendously down bad, insane amounts of pining, like- this entire fic is just the reader pining for him lmao

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: I'd like to thank @ashonheavenscloud for the ending idea. sorry for the readers I'm about to blueball

♫ early- junny, soulbysel(THIS IS LITERALLY THE INSPO FOR THE FIC)

“Yeah, I can take her home.”

Ryujin claps a little too loudly, courtesy of the several drinks she had shotgunned an hour before.

“Thank you bestest older brother in the universe,” she slurs, wrapping her arms around the older man, who was furrowing his eyebrows in mild discomfort. You stand there awkwardly, already feeling like you were inconveniencing him as well.

As bad as you felt about it though, you couldn't help the nervousness creeping through your veins at the thought of being alone with Minho.

It's not as if you've never been alone with him. You have; just in transitional spaces. Waiting for the rest of the friend group to show up. Waiting for different trains at the metro station. Waiting for the closer mutual friend to come back from the restroom. Hell, him dropping you off wasn’t really any different.

You really don't talk to him much at all, which makes it all the more ridiculous that you even have a crush on him.

And yet, you just let it fester, held back by the classic best-friend’s-older-brother unofficial rulebook. But you think even if he wasn't related to Ryujin, you still wouldn't make a move, simply too shy to find out what was under his impenetrable blank stare and trademark doc martens.

After snatching up your purse, you quickly say goodbye to your friends before catching Minho at the door.

“Sorry about all this again–”

“I was already on my way out, don't sweat it.”

Minho holds the door to the club open for you, and you step out into the crisp coolness of night, trying to appear as collected as the man walking beside you.

“My car is just around the corner, I'm just gonna grab some water for you from the store, okay?”

You find yourself nodding, although you're barely paying attention; you are focusing on averting your gaze from his face, careful as to not give yourself any more daydreaming material.

His car has one of those proximity keys, so there's no cheerful chirp letting the block know that he's about to open the passenger side door for you. Which is how it should be, because that is not a monumental occasion.

Except oh my god, Lee Minho just opened the door for you to get into his car, you might as well be married at this point.

You watch as he disappears into the little corner convenience store, and returns in record time, barely giving you any time to rehearse any cool sounding conversation starters. Then again, it's not like there would be a long line at well past three in the morning.

Shit. You're in Lee Minho’s car going to your house at three in the morning.

Your thoughts are cut off by Minho jumping into the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car and dropping two bottles of water into the cupholders.

“You live right in front of the memorial park right?”

You settle on a hum, not trusting your voice to sound calm in the slightest as his hand reaches for the gear shift. Coincidentally, that's the same time you choose to take your bottle of water from the center console.

And this is how you learn that Minho’s hands are softer than they look.

You don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of thoughts that flood your mind immediately after the accidental contact, your mind suddenly reeling with images of his hands cradling your face, sliding behind your neck, around your waist, through your hair–

“Sorry,” you squeak out, immediately seizing the bottle and twisting it open, desperate for something to lower your rising body temperature. He actually chuckles in response, and the sound has you focusing on the cool leather seat against your bare back in an attempt to round up your remaining brain cells.

He pulls the car away from the curb, beginning what will probably be the longest ten minutes of your life.

There are some things you pick up on immediately.

For one, Minho predominantly drives with one hand.

You honestly don't get how he looks so relaxed doing it either, side profile completely at ease as his right hand absentmindedly taps on the gear shift. If you were in the driver's seat, both hands would be at 10 and 2 o’ clock, just like your driving instructor taught you. Which is exactly why you take the metro; you feel like a stressed suburban mom when you drive, but don't have the time to rewire your brain to make your hands sit at 8 and 4 o’ clock like everyone else.

But he looks like he's shooting a Hyundai commercial, hand resting comfortably on the top of the wheel as the soft orange glow of the dash illuminates his perfect nose bridge and perfect eyelashes–

“Are you cold?” 

“No, I’m good,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the questioning tone out of your voice.

“Sorry- thought I saw you shiver just now,” he chuckles, glancing at you and letting his eyes drop to your legs for a split second.

Honestly, you probably did shiver; just not from the cold.

Also, why on earth did you decide to wear this dress of all dresses tonight?

Backless and short with a halter neckline, one could call this a revenge dress if you had an ex. Except it’s starting to feel like revenge on yourself, because as fleeting as Minho’s glances towards you are, they never go unnoticed, and each one makes the hem feel an inch shorter.

Granted, the slope of the seat makes the skirt ride up anyways, so it was inevitable, but you can't pull it down—he would immediately think you lied to him about being cold. Or get the idea that you didn't want him to look at your legs. Which would be ridiculous; he's practically the whole reason you wore this dress in the first place. 

You're stretching your legs out before you can give it a second thought, and you don't miss the way Minho’s jaw sets, or how his finger stops drumming against the gear shift.

Now that made you more than a little curious.

The second thing you notice is Minho’s excellent taste in music.

You assume his phone automatically connected to the car once he turned it on, because no radio station you can list off the top of your head has beats this smooth. You've never considered what kind of music he would listen to, mostly because you were worried about what he would think of your music taste. 

But this? 

These are exactly the kinds of songs you would play if you wanted to set the mood. They sound like what the world looks like after the last hues of purple leave the horizon. Indigo. Whatever that means.

You can't help but wonder if he was trying to set the mood.

Oh god, you're almost to your apartment and you haven't said anything interesting since you left the club.

You steal a glance at his side profile, once again reminded that Minho can rock any hair color he chooses as the street lights reflect blue off of his jet black hair. It gives him a darker aura, one that stops most lingering gazes on him from ever getting closer. Sure, it's not much different from the color he had before, which was dark brown, but the change makes a difference. To you at least. 

You saw its effects in action, watching all night as girls at the club try to approach him to only end up shooting their shot with his companion, who was always eager to down tequila shots with bright eyes and cheeky smiles.

“The new hair looks good.”

“Didn't catch that,” he quickly says, turning down the volume of the music with his steering wheel and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“I like what you did with your hair.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“The girls at the club sure did,” you half-laugh, and he turns to look at you in bewilderment.

“You think so?”

“You could have filled a swimming pool with how much they were drooling.”

Minho laughs. He actually laughs at something you said. The sound makes you so dizzy you think someone slipped something into your drink.

The feeling of the car sliding in next to the curb pulls you back down to reality in an instant.

He puts the car into park and you slump into your seat, not at all trying to hide how disappointed you are at your performance tonight.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper, not daring  to look him in the eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Anytime,” he says so casually, and maybe a bolder you would take him up on that offer.

Instead you nod and smile, and reach for the door handle.

“Y/n.”

You hum and look back at him, trying your best to ignore the turmoil in your stomach once your eyes meet.

“I…this might sound a bit odd, but can I use your bathroom?” He smiles crookedly. “My place is still a ways away–”

“Sure,” you say without thinking, and he nods and jumps out of the car. You definitely can't read into that. Maybe he really can't wait until he gets home. Maybe he doesn't want an excuse to be in your apartment past midnight.

Still, your hands tremble as you twist your keys in the doorknob.

You kick your heels off upon entering, and Minho follows suit, ditching his combat boots by the door as he awaits your instruction.

Looking up, you catch him watching you expectantly, and you indulge the attention before realization dawns on you.

“Oh– the bathroom, yes. Last door on the left, sorry,” you hastily choke out, shaking your head in embarrassment. He chuckles out thanks before sliding past you and disappearing around the corner.

Water. You need water.

The coolness of the marble counter feels good against your bare back as you lean against it, trying to get a grip as cold water rushes down your throat. Maybe you should just attempt to make a move on a different night, when you have a little more liquid courage running through your veins and he’s as hazy as he is handsome. Your mind wanders back to that blissful moment in the car, when he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. That felt so natural, so easy. Why couldn’t you make him do that all the time?

Well, maybe you could, but that requires talking to him regularly, which is something you only do in your daydreams.

Minho suddenly steps out of the bathroom and you fight the urge to choke on your water, setting the glass down on the counter as he approaches you.

“I take it you like jasmine?

“The flower?” The random trivia throws you off guard. “Yeah, it’s my favorite flower…how did you–”

“Everything in your bathroom is jasmine scented,” Minho chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Ah, well…I found it helps to match everything to your perfume so it seems to last longer.”

“So you’re saying my car should smell like jasmine when I go back?”

“Only one way to find out,” you say with a smile, internally crying over how you just created a seamless segue for him to leave.

He turns to go find his combat boots, and you punch the air, frantically looking for an excuse for him to stay. But he’s standing by the door too soon, running a hand through his silky black hair before giving you a wave goodbye.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Get home safe, Minho.”

The door opens, then closes, and you exhale a sigh of relief, or frustration. Most likely equal parts both.

Perhaps baby steps would be the way to go. You haven’t even texted him, and you want him to make a move? Maybe he thinks you aren’t interested because you haven’t exactly been forward.

Sighing, you move towards your kitchen table, and then you freeze. The universe has never given you a second chance so pointedly before. 

Minho left his keys.

You reach for your phone, deciding that calling him would be faster than chasing after him, but stop halfway through your contacts once you hear him knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

He steps inside to see you twirling the key ring around your index finger, and you hold it out for him to take as you walk up to the door.

“I didn’t take you as the forgetful type,” you giggle.

“Let’s just say I was distracted.” He slides the metal ring off your finger, and you know the dip his eyes make isn't a trick of the light.

He turns to leave, even opening the door, but when he takes a step out and turns to look back at you, something shifts in his eyes. Like a cat that’s seen something move in its periphery.

And in your mind, it all happens so unbearably slowly. 

He would step back in without a word, moving slowly and soundlessly as he’d break eye contact just to watch the door click shut. You’d find yourself backing into the wall next to him, hands pressed flat by your sides as you’d try to make sense of his approaching silhouette under the dim lighting. 

It would feel all too real, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressing into yours, his breath fanning across your face. Your breath would catch in your throat, and the first touch of his lips would be cautious, before diving in with unrestrained desire.

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Minho a million times, and with your ever-descriptive reveries, it almost feels real as you ponder the different ways he could pin you against this wall, mouth hard against yours, or light and teasing with feathery brushes of his lips.

God, you want him so bad it’s almost pathetic.

So bad, in fact, that once he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile and turns to leave for the night, it takes everything in you not to throw caution to the wind, and spin him back around. Find out what Lee Minho tastes like for yourself.

But you don’t.

You watch him walk down your hall until he leaves your sight, and even after you’re gone, you spend at least another minute replaying the few moments you had with him tonight.

Next time, you think, chewing your bottom lip as images of kissing Minho resurface against your will. 

I’ll do something about him next time.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[lixiesfreckless]

sorry to all minho stans I literally do not ever shut up about that man

[lixiesfreckless]

ahhhh thank you so much😭those two Chans are my favorite Chans ever too❤️❤️thanks for reading love🥰

Into It | b. c.

➸ synopsis: the california sunset looks pretty damn good when you're on the hood of Chan's car.

➸ starring: bang chan x female reader

➸ word count: 3k

➸ general content: best friend!chan, car sex, drunk sex, chan is lowkey obsessed with you, mutual pining, dirty talk

➸ warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, alcohol consumption, mentions of california(LMAO east coast on top)

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: another oldie but goodie! also I don't even bias chan but I literally went insane writing this so what does that mean-

♫ into it- chase atlantic

Far away.

You feel like your mind is so far away.

The engine roars in your ears as you and Chan zip around the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, convertible top down to let the wind whip through the vehicle. 

Your hand dangles outside the car door, lazily twirling a half empty bottle of beer in your fingertips as you fully sink into the car seat. Your thoughts are fuzzy, his music is loud, and the breeze is enough to keep you from getting too hot. 

This is as close as you can get to bliss.

Palm trees lining the road, orange and magenta in the sky, hell— if heaven didn’t look like this, did you even want to go?

The car slows down enough for Chan to make a right turn, angling the two of you to a desert close to where they host raves and concerts every summer. By the time the current song stops playing, Chan is pulling the convertible off the road, driving over hardened clay and rocks until he’s about 50 yards away from the asphalt.

“Pass me one of those,” he says, putting the car in park and slumping into the seat. You reach down to the six pack of beer near your feet and pass one to him, bringing your own bottle up to your lips as he takes it.

The guy sticks the cap between his teeth, cracking it open with a sharp twist of his arm, and flicks the cap into the cup holder.

“That’s one way to crack open a cold one,” you chuckle, taking another swig.

“Too bad I’m not with the boys…” he sighs, narrowly dodging a swat from your hand as he laughs.

“Hush, I’m better than the boys.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, letting the troubles of the week dissolve under the tangy taste of the alcohol and the bass from the speakers.

You can’t remember exactly when you started spending your Friday nights like this, driving to random places in the passenger seat of Chan’s car. Usually you’d prefer to spend your nights indoors, but with him, it was never overwhelming. He was your weekly dose of adventure, and you became addicted easily.

But how could you not when he was so…Chan?

He always knew what songs to play, what you felt like talking about, what kind of view would cheer you up— he became someone that knew you better than your best friend, even.

And there was something so disarming about his vintage band tees, beat up converse, blond curls and dimples— especially his dimples. They were a weapon and he used them.

And they reappear right as you notice you’re staring at him. Serves you right for zoning out in his general direction.

“Something on your mind?” He chuckles, and you pop the passenger door open, shaking your head.

“Nope. Just need to stretch.”

You walk around to the front of the car, and the shell dips slightly once you perch on the hood.

This beer is defective, you decide. Alcohol is supposed to blur your thoughts, not sharpen them.

And yet all you can think about is the man moving to lean against the front of the car, standing just a foot away from you.

Your mind pretends not to notice the way Chan’s gaze lingers on your lips, almost glazing over every time you take a swig from the bottle in your hand. Your body however, burns. Reacts like water on hot oil. It feels like every cell is dancing in the remnants of the sunset when he looks at you. 

It might just be the alcohol though.

You lean back and lie on the hood of the car, using your hands as a makeshift pillow behind your head as you watch the sky turn an even deeper shade of pink. Chan takes one glance at you and takes a long sip of beer as he quickly looks away, pushing the sight of your shirt riding up your torso far back into his mind. The…things he could do there-

“Shit, how many of those have we gone through,” you mumble, lazily shifting your eyes up to the sky.

“Uh, four?” Chan glances back at you, mentally cursing at the way your face matches the sky above, dusted with pink. He doesn’t know it’s from you staring at his arm veins. “We have water in the back if you want some-”

“No, no I’m good.” Your voice sounds like honey to him; maybe he should pass the bottle back to you, just so you’ll stay quiet. “Just feeling more than a little buzzed.” 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and the huskiness in his voice practically pokes you in the side. “Now would be the best time to do something crazy then.”

“Something crazy?” You laugh out loud, then sit up slightly on the hood, leaning back on your elbows. “There’s nothing but desert for miles. What are we supposed to do-”

Your sentence stops dead in its tracks as your eyes meet with Chan’s, the heat rushing to your gut all at once as the wind blows his blond curls into his eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate this time; his eyes wander lower and lower on your face until they land on your bottom lip, trapped between your teeth. 

“God, why do you always do that…” he whispers, shifting his gaze back to the road.

…What? 

The wind whistles in your ears as you feel them growing hotter, unsure what to make of his sudden statement.

“Do…do what?” He looks back at you with tortured eyes, as if you’re the only water in the California desert.

“Bite your lip like that; it makes me think-” he stops and drains the rest of the bottle in his hand, then leaves it on the hood and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna turn the music up.”

Your eyes follow him as he trails along the side of the car, and you feel a certain window of opportunity beginning to close. Summoning most of your courage, you jump off the hood and walk up behind Chan, waiting for him to finish messing with the stereo before tapping him on the back.

“Yeah?” He turns around and barely has any time to think before you’re pressing on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly as you crash your lips onto his. He immediately catches your waist, letting out a surprised muffle that dissolves into a sigh as he pulls you against him.

You break apart after a moment, lips still tingly and buzzing with excitement, but you wonder if you’ve made the right decision as you look up at Chan, who still has his eyes closed.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, finally looking down at you with a flushed face.

“Not drunk enough.” You twist the shoulder seams of his shirt between your fingers in consideration. “I’m sober enough to know that look. And if you don’t do something about it, then I-”

“You want me to do something about it?” He pulls your hips tight against his, and now that you’re leaning on him, you can feel the bass from the car reverberating through both of you. That combined with the buzz of the alcohol and his hands on your bare midriff nearly sends you over the edge, but you keep your composure.

And by that you mean you pounce on him— you love his voice, but you’re tired of talking about something you could be doing.

If you both were a little less tipsy, the kisses would probably be less frantic. But neither of you seem to care, hands grabbing at each other desperately as you search for better ways to pull each other closer.

“You have no idea,” he pants between kisses, “you have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” You shudder into his lips, raking through his blond locks and tugging at the ends as Chan’s grip tightens on your hips. He takes a sharp inhale before picking you up, waiting for you to latch your legs around his torso before he slides his arms under your legs. As he walks around the car, you both never separate; you’re actually surprised when you feel the cool metal of the hood come into contact with the backs of your thighs.

He nestles himself between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs and tracing the distressed hem of your denim skirt as the bass of the song picks up. You’re lucky you’re on the hood and not the trunk; the subwoofers vibrating against you would have been too much for sure. 

He pulls away from your lips, dipping his head to catch his breath as he pants into the crook of your neck. To him, this is insane. He has you on the hood of his car. He has you on the hood of his car.

How is a man supposed to think straight in this situation? 

Meanwhile, his hot breath on your neck is driving you to the brink of insanity. Just a raise of your shoulder and he’d be kissing it. Shoot, he could make you crazy with his fingers just an inch higher too.

“Chan,” you whisper, not realizing how close your breathy voice was to his ear, and the last of his resolve practically evaporates off of him.

“Y/n…” his nose follows the curve of your neck as he makes his way up to your face, “tell me if I need to stop, I just…”

He hooks his hands around your knees and pulls, effectively pinning your hips together in a casual display of strength, and you gasp before he seizes your bottom lip between his, sucking and biting until a soft moan slips from your lips.

“Fuck, make that sound again,” he groans, hands sliding back up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. You relent, no longer keeping your sighs and sounds of pleasure to yourself as his hands slide under your crop top, around to your back.

He makes quick work of your bra, releasing the tension around your ribcage before sliding his thumbs along the underside of your breasts. Just thinking about all of the things he could do to you has both of you buzzing with anticipation, panting against each other’s mouths.

His thumb just barely grazes your nipple and you swear you see the world begin to tilt.

You don’t know what it is; normally a gesture that small wouldn’t elicit such a reaction out of you, but the alcohol in your veins and the bass under your thighs seem to bring every motion of his straight to your core. And usually you’d be embarrassed at how loud you are, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he continues just like that, both thumbs barely putting any pressure on the peaks under your shirt.

Your head lolls back slightly, and Chan wastes no time in licking a thin stripe up the column of your neck, stopping right at the shell of your ear.

“Ideally, I’d want to take my time with you, but right now…” his voice is thick with lust as he flicks both of your nipples, and you jolt forward. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

“Chan, please,” you gasp out, wanting to press your thighs together, “get on with it already.”

He obliges you, hands sliding down to your skirt and then back up under it, looking for the edge of your panties. Once he has them, he pulls them down and over your Nike blazers, tossing them into the convertible onto the passenger seat.

He then reaches behind you, pushing two empty bottles off the car as he presses you flat against the hood. The sound of the bottles breaking against the rocky terrain is barely registered by you though, you’re more focused on Chan’s free hand snaking back up your skirt.

Curses slip out of his mouth once his thumb brushes across your clit; he’s more than shocked to feel just how soaked you are, but you shake your head vigorously, catching his attention.

“Skip it,” you say breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. He understands instantly, coffee colored eyes practically turning coal black seeing your desperation.

The sky seems to swirl different shades of purple and pink as the wind feathers over your body, and just past the contrails in the sky, you can see the stars beginning to poke their faces into the rosy backdrop.

There is a very real possibility that you are dreaming all of this.

But the sound of his zipper being pulled down snaps your senses into focus, and the possibility of Chan fucking you under a sky like this seems more urgent.

The next minute flies by, and before you know it Chan is lining himself up at your entrance, checking that the condom is on properly before lifting your skirt to your hips.

His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and you nod before relaxing fully, letting your head rest against the hood as he holds onto your hips tightly.

And then you instantly tense up once he starts pushing into you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for him to slide in without really touching you, but the hiss he draws between his teeth tells you he’s not really focusing on that.

You’re focusing on how you didn’t catch a glimpse of him before he put it in, and now your entire lower abdomen is tingling in excitement over just how much of him there is. Silly how you were trying to sober up for this moment, only for you to feel high all over again with him fully inside you.

“I- shit, okay wow,” he hisses, dragging himself out and back in slowly. “You’re so warm, god-”

You can’t even respond, you’re so occupied by the feeling of his ridges along your walls that your fingers are already looking for something to grab onto.

Somehow in the haze of it all, you still want to urge him deeper, so you wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed mid-thrust.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, picking up the pace and holding your hips tighter as you whine, feeling him finally start to brush one of your sensitive spots.

Chan cannot process the scene playing out in front of him. You’re draped over the hood of his car, taking what he’s giving you so easily, face flushed and hair falling over your face from the wind. Your shirt is halfway up your torso, but your skirt is up six inches too high, high enough to see where he's sheathing himself inside of you. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.

The pressure building inside of you jumps to the next level once his hand slides up your shirt again, gently rubbing circles over your nipple as opposed to the faster thrusts down below. Your back arches into his hand as you gasp, squeezing your thighs around him tighter as you do so.

“Chan,” you whine, scratching your nails against the car, and a few more curses tumble out of his mouth as he stares down at you. 

“You’re so good y/n,” he pants, snapping his hips against you now, “better than I- ah, I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about this before?” You’re cut off by another moan; it’s a miracle how you can even speak.

Chan doesn’t reply; instead, he hooks his hands under your knees and drops them on his shoulders, then scoops his hands back under your hips and pulls them to his with a quick snap.

“I’ve thought about this before,” he says with a wicked grin, hitting you at just the right angle to pull a sharp gasp out from your lips.

“Oh my god, there-” you moan breathlessly, pressing your hands flat onto the hood of the car as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The sky is spinning. Your heart is pounding. You wish you could focus on something, anything other than the spongy part of you that Chan is hitting to the beat of the song under you, just so you could last a little bit longer. 

But the sight of him with your legs around his neck, eyes closed with strands of gold wisping across his face, the look of pure ecstasy painted across his cheeks, ensures that you have close to three seconds before the knot in your stomach unravels.

“Shit, don’t stop,” you say as you feel yourself coming undone, back arching into your release which only makes Chan pound deeper, heightening the intensity tenfold.

He cries out once you clamp down around him, spitting out random strings of curses until he’s emptying his restraint into the condom, slowing down his thrusts as he finally opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you.

He looks nothing short of ethereal with the now purple backdrop of the sky, framing his blond locks with lilac clouds as he slowly pulls out of you, doing his best not to overstimulate you. You almost tell him not to; being that full was nice, something you’d probably never admit unless you were actually drunk.

“Wow,” you breathe out, watching him lower your legs down to the hood. “That was…”

“Crazy, I know,” he laughs, still trying to calm his breathing as he looks at you. “But you were amazing, holy shit-”

“…better than the boys?” You tease, smirking up at him. 

He gives you a knowing look, picking up on the funny way you worded the question. But instead of getting flustered, he leans over the hood, caging you against it with his arms.

“Hmm…I don’t know. I think I’d have to try this a couple of times before I can give you a definite answer.”

[lixiesfreckless]

EEEEK IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED hopefully you didn't have too bad of a hangover! thank you so much for reading🫣❤️❤️

Into It | b. c.

➸ synopsis: the california sunset looks pretty damn good when you're on the hood of Chan's car.

➸ starring: bang chan x female reader

➸ word count: 3k

➸ general content: best friend!chan, car sex, drunk sex, chan is lowkey obsessed with you, mutual pining, dirty talk

➸ warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, alcohol consumption, mentions of california(LMAO east coast on top)

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: another oldie but goodie! also I don't even bias chan but I literally went insane writing this so what does that mean-

♫ into it- chase atlantic

Far away.

You feel like your mind is so far away.

The engine roars in your ears as you and Chan zip around the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, convertible top down to let the wind whip through the vehicle. 

Your hand dangles outside the car door, lazily twirling a half empty bottle of beer in your fingertips as you fully sink into the car seat. Your thoughts are fuzzy, his music is loud, and the breeze is enough to keep you from getting too hot. 

This is as close as you can get to bliss.

Palm trees lining the road, orange and magenta in the sky, hell— if heaven didn’t look like this, did you even want to go?

The car slows down enough for Chan to make a right turn, angling the two of you to a desert close to where they host raves and concerts every summer. By the time the current song stops playing, Chan is pulling the convertible off the road, driving over hardened clay and rocks until he’s about 50 yards away from the asphalt.

“Pass me one of those,” he says, putting the car in park and slumping into the seat. You reach down to the six pack of beer near your feet and pass one to him, bringing your own bottle up to your lips as he takes it.

The guy sticks the cap between his teeth, cracking it open with a sharp twist of his arm, and flicks the cap into the cup holder.

“That’s one way to crack open a cold one,” you chuckle, taking another swig.

“Too bad I’m not with the boys…” he sighs, narrowly dodging a swat from your hand as he laughs.

“Hush, I’m better than the boys.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, letting the troubles of the week dissolve under the tangy taste of the alcohol and the bass from the speakers.

You can’t remember exactly when you started spending your Friday nights like this, driving to random places in the passenger seat of Chan’s car. Usually you’d prefer to spend your nights indoors, but with him, it was never overwhelming. He was your weekly dose of adventure, and you became addicted easily.

But how could you not when he was so…Chan?

He always knew what songs to play, what you felt like talking about, what kind of view would cheer you up— he became someone that knew you better than your best friend, even.

And there was something so disarming about his vintage band tees, beat up converse, blond curls and dimples— especially his dimples. They were a weapon and he used them.

And they reappear right as you notice you’re staring at him. Serves you right for zoning out in his general direction.

“Something on your mind?” He chuckles, and you pop the passenger door open, shaking your head.

“Nope. Just need to stretch.”

You walk around to the front of the car, and the shell dips slightly once you perch on the hood.

This beer is defective, you decide. Alcohol is supposed to blur your thoughts, not sharpen them.

And yet all you can think about is the man moving to lean against the front of the car, standing just a foot away from you.

Your mind pretends not to notice the way Chan’s gaze lingers on your lips, almost glazing over every time you take a swig from the bottle in your hand. Your body however, burns. Reacts like water on hot oil. It feels like every cell is dancing in the remnants of the sunset when he looks at you. 

It might just be the alcohol though.

You lean back and lie on the hood of the car, using your hands as a makeshift pillow behind your head as you watch the sky turn an even deeper shade of pink. Chan takes one glance at you and takes a long sip of beer as he quickly looks away, pushing the sight of your shirt riding up your torso far back into his mind. The…things he could do there-

“Shit, how many of those have we gone through,” you mumble, lazily shifting your eyes up to the sky.

“Uh, four?” Chan glances back at you, mentally cursing at the way your face matches the sky above, dusted with pink. He doesn’t know it’s from you staring at his arm veins. “We have water in the back if you want some-”

“No, no I’m good.” Your voice sounds like honey to him; maybe he should pass the bottle back to you, just so you’ll stay quiet. “Just feeling more than a little buzzed.” 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and the huskiness in his voice practically pokes you in the side. “Now would be the best time to do something crazy then.”

“Something crazy?” You laugh out loud, then sit up slightly on the hood, leaning back on your elbows. “There’s nothing but desert for miles. What are we supposed to do-”

Your sentence stops dead in its tracks as your eyes meet with Chan’s, the heat rushing to your gut all at once as the wind blows his blond curls into his eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate this time; his eyes wander lower and lower on your face until they land on your bottom lip, trapped between your teeth. 

“God, why do you always do that…” he whispers, shifting his gaze back to the road.

…What? 

The wind whistles in your ears as you feel them growing hotter, unsure what to make of his sudden statement.

“Do…do what?” He looks back at you with tortured eyes, as if you’re the only water in the California desert.

“Bite your lip like that; it makes me think-” he stops and drains the rest of the bottle in his hand, then leaves it on the hood and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna turn the music up.”

Your eyes follow him as he trails along the side of the car, and you feel a certain window of opportunity beginning to close. Summoning most of your courage, you jump off the hood and walk up behind Chan, waiting for him to finish messing with the stereo before tapping him on the back.

“Yeah?” He turns around and barely has any time to think before you’re pressing on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly as you crash your lips onto his. He immediately catches your waist, letting out a surprised muffle that dissolves into a sigh as he pulls you against him.

You break apart after a moment, lips still tingly and buzzing with excitement, but you wonder if you’ve made the right decision as you look up at Chan, who still has his eyes closed.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, finally looking down at you with a flushed face.

“Not drunk enough.” You twist the shoulder seams of his shirt between your fingers in consideration. “I’m sober enough to know that look. And if you don’t do something about it, then I-”

“You want me to do something about it?” He pulls your hips tight against his, and now that you’re leaning on him, you can feel the bass from the car reverberating through both of you. That combined with the buzz of the alcohol and his hands on your bare midriff nearly sends you over the edge, but you keep your composure.

And by that you mean you pounce on him— you love his voice, but you’re tired of talking about something you could be doing.

If you both were a little less tipsy, the kisses would probably be less frantic. But neither of you seem to care, hands grabbing at each other desperately as you search for better ways to pull each other closer.

“You have no idea,” he pants between kisses, “you have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” You shudder into his lips, raking through his blond locks and tugging at the ends as Chan’s grip tightens on your hips. He takes a sharp inhale before picking you up, waiting for you to latch your legs around his torso before he slides his arms under your legs. As he walks around the car, you both never separate; you’re actually surprised when you feel the cool metal of the hood come into contact with the backs of your thighs.

He nestles himself between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs and tracing the distressed hem of your denim skirt as the bass of the song picks up. You’re lucky you’re on the hood and not the trunk; the subwoofers vibrating against you would have been too much for sure. 

He pulls away from your lips, dipping his head to catch his breath as he pants into the crook of your neck. To him, this is insane. He has you on the hood of his car. He has you on the hood of his car.

How is a man supposed to think straight in this situation? 

Meanwhile, his hot breath on your neck is driving you to the brink of insanity. Just a raise of your shoulder and he’d be kissing it. Shoot, he could make you crazy with his fingers just an inch higher too.

“Chan,” you whisper, not realizing how close your breathy voice was to his ear, and the last of his resolve practically evaporates off of him.

“Y/n…” his nose follows the curve of your neck as he makes his way up to your face, “tell me if I need to stop, I just…”

He hooks his hands around your knees and pulls, effectively pinning your hips together in a casual display of strength, and you gasp before he seizes your bottom lip between his, sucking and biting until a soft moan slips from your lips.

“Fuck, make that sound again,” he groans, hands sliding back up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. You relent, no longer keeping your sighs and sounds of pleasure to yourself as his hands slide under your crop top, around to your back.

He makes quick work of your bra, releasing the tension around your ribcage before sliding his thumbs along the underside of your breasts. Just thinking about all of the things he could do to you has both of you buzzing with anticipation, panting against each other’s mouths.

His thumb just barely grazes your nipple and you swear you see the world begin to tilt.

You don’t know what it is; normally a gesture that small wouldn’t elicit such a reaction out of you, but the alcohol in your veins and the bass under your thighs seem to bring every motion of his straight to your core. And usually you’d be embarrassed at how loud you are, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he continues just like that, both thumbs barely putting any pressure on the peaks under your shirt.

Your head lolls back slightly, and Chan wastes no time in licking a thin stripe up the column of your neck, stopping right at the shell of your ear.

“Ideally, I’d want to take my time with you, but right now…” his voice is thick with lust as he flicks both of your nipples, and you jolt forward. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

“Chan, please,” you gasp out, wanting to press your thighs together, “get on with it already.”

He obliges you, hands sliding down to your skirt and then back up under it, looking for the edge of your panties. Once he has them, he pulls them down and over your Nike blazers, tossing them into the convertible onto the passenger seat.

He then reaches behind you, pushing two empty bottles off the car as he presses you flat against the hood. The sound of the bottles breaking against the rocky terrain is barely registered by you though, you’re more focused on Chan’s free hand snaking back up your skirt.

Curses slip out of his mouth once his thumb brushes across your clit; he’s more than shocked to feel just how soaked you are, but you shake your head vigorously, catching his attention.

“Skip it,” you say breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. He understands instantly, coffee colored eyes practically turning coal black seeing your desperation.

The sky seems to swirl different shades of purple and pink as the wind feathers over your body, and just past the contrails in the sky, you can see the stars beginning to poke their faces into the rosy backdrop.

There is a very real possibility that you are dreaming all of this.

But the sound of his zipper being pulled down snaps your senses into focus, and the possibility of Chan fucking you under a sky like this seems more urgent.

The next minute flies by, and before you know it Chan is lining himself up at your entrance, checking that the condom is on properly before lifting your skirt to your hips.

His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and you nod before relaxing fully, letting your head rest against the hood as he holds onto your hips tightly.

And then you instantly tense up once he starts pushing into you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for him to slide in without really touching you, but the hiss he draws between his teeth tells you he’s not really focusing on that.

You’re focusing on how you didn’t catch a glimpse of him before he put it in, and now your entire lower abdomen is tingling in excitement over just how much of him there is. Silly how you were trying to sober up for this moment, only for you to feel high all over again with him fully inside you.

“I- shit, okay wow,” he hisses, dragging himself out and back in slowly. “You’re so warm, god-”

You can’t even respond, you’re so occupied by the feeling of his ridges along your walls that your fingers are already looking for something to grab onto.

Somehow in the haze of it all, you still want to urge him deeper, so you wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed mid-thrust.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, picking up the pace and holding your hips tighter as you whine, feeling him finally start to brush one of your sensitive spots.

Chan cannot process the scene playing out in front of him. You’re draped over the hood of his car, taking what he’s giving you so easily, face flushed and hair falling over your face from the wind. Your shirt is halfway up your torso, but your skirt is up six inches too high, high enough to see where he's sheathing himself inside of you. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.

The pressure building inside of you jumps to the next level once his hand slides up your shirt again, gently rubbing circles over your nipple as opposed to the faster thrusts down below. Your back arches into his hand as you gasp, squeezing your thighs around him tighter as you do so.

“Chan,” you whine, scratching your nails against the car, and a few more curses tumble out of his mouth as he stares down at you. 

“You’re so good y/n,” he pants, snapping his hips against you now, “better than I- ah, I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about this before?” You’re cut off by another moan; it’s a miracle how you can even speak.

Chan doesn’t reply; instead, he hooks his hands under your knees and drops them on his shoulders, then scoops his hands back under your hips and pulls them to his with a quick snap.

“I’ve thought about this before,” he says with a wicked grin, hitting you at just the right angle to pull a sharp gasp out from your lips.

“Oh my god, there-” you moan breathlessly, pressing your hands flat onto the hood of the car as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The sky is spinning. Your heart is pounding. You wish you could focus on something, anything other than the spongy part of you that Chan is hitting to the beat of the song under you, just so you could last a little bit longer. 

But the sight of him with your legs around his neck, eyes closed with strands of gold wisping across his face, the look of pure ecstasy painted across his cheeks, ensures that you have close to three seconds before the knot in your stomach unravels.

“Shit, don’t stop,” you say as you feel yourself coming undone, back arching into your release which only makes Chan pound deeper, heightening the intensity tenfold.

He cries out once you clamp down around him, spitting out random strings of curses until he’s emptying his restraint into the condom, slowing down his thrusts as he finally opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you.

He looks nothing short of ethereal with the now purple backdrop of the sky, framing his blond locks with lilac clouds as he slowly pulls out of you, doing his best not to overstimulate you. You almost tell him not to; being that full was nice, something you’d probably never admit unless you were actually drunk.

“Wow,” you breathe out, watching him lower your legs down to the hood. “That was…”

“Crazy, I know,” he laughs, still trying to calm his breathing as he looks at you. “But you were amazing, holy shit-”

“…better than the boys?” You tease, smirking up at him. 

He gives you a knowing look, picking up on the funny way you worded the question. But instead of getting flustered, he leans over the hood, caging you against it with his arms.

“Hmm…I don’t know. I think I’d have to try this a couple of times before I can give you a definite answer.”

[lixiesfreckless]

Hello🫣🫣 may I request p1harmony reaction to you wearing something short/revealing when going out clubbing? Thank youuu☺️☺️

p1harmony reacting to you wearing revealing clothes

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

warnings: suggestive

tags: established relationships, clingy piwon, the boys are.. boys, clubbing, drinking (aged up for seobsoul), non idol au

a/n: it’s funny bc i was JUST reading an exact post like this a few minutes ago so anon if u were the same person who sent @ntoniac a request for the same thing i hope i can do it justice bc hers had me giggling and kicking my feet .. ANYWAYS! once again i apologize for slow updates i unfortunately am a student amidst a depressive episode soooooo it takes me a bit longer to write :( i hope u all can understand

𖧷 keeho

is honestly so cheesed. the type to insist to take pictures of you on his phone before you two actually make your way out, already mentally planning out which photo he’s gonna use in his next photo dump. is always super grabby with his hands, but its somehow amplified tonight. constantly has his arm lazily perched on your shoulder, and he often whispers cute little compliments into your ear every now and then. doesn’t really mind when people approach you to talk to you, doesn’t even necessarily care when said people make quick glances at your cleavage and the short length of your skirt. you two have an immense level of trust in your relationship, so he’s not one to feel insecure when people admire his girl. i can see kyo as the type to drag you onto the dance floor too, just so he can spin you around and feel your ass rub against the frontside of his jeans. eventually does end up posting those photos he took of you earlier on instagram, but not without captioning it something like “that’s all me”

𖧷 theo

doesn’t care about how short and tight your mini dress is, just wants it off of you by the end of the night. when you first skipped into the living room, beaming as you showed off your outfit of choice to him, theo had to hold himself back from kissing you silly. just like keeho, the simple concept of his girlfriend wearing a revealing outfit doesn’t make him super possessive, but he does make himself known to onlookers as your boyfriend in other ways, whether that be holding your drink and purse for you without you even asking him to, or sneaking up behind you to pepper kisses along your neck when your in the middle of conversation with someone. he makes his presence known but also wants to ensure that you have a carefree, enjoyable night without feeling like you have to tend to your boyfriend the entire time. taeyang definitely does admire your cleavage when he gets the chance too though, shamelessly stares at your chest and just giggles in reply when you scold him for doing so… loves to flirt with you even more than he usually does tbh

𖧷 jiung

is the overly possessive boyfriend that will whine and beg you to change. in reality, he doesn’t actually expect you to change your outfit, but lets you know (whilst pouting) that although you look hot and he wants to devour you, he also is very nervous about the unwanted attention you might get. it’s not a bad thing really! jiung just wants to be the only man that gets to see you in such a tiny top. although he might complain at first, you don’t miss the obvious blush on his face, silently signaling to you that he secretly loves when you dress this way. he’s not a very touchy person, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t interlock your fingers the entire night, even giving your hand gentle squeezes when you give someone else a little too much attention for his liking. glares at anyone who might whistle at you or even just look in your general vicinity for a bit too long. quickly shuts down offers himself from other guys that have the balls to ask you to dance. yeah, your not being let out of his sight looking that good. he’s just obsessed with you and wants you all to himself, sorry!

𖧷 intak

actually is the one who helps you pick out your outfit! tak himself wants to spend the night out showing off his beautiful girlfriend so he purposely convinces you to wear the shortest denim skirt you own, paired with an equally revealing spaghetti strap crop top. comes up behind you when your adjusting your outfit in the mirror to wrap his arms around your waist and perch his chin on your right shoulder, shooting down any concerns you might have about your outfit being kind of “whorish” (your words, not his!). is your personal hype man. you look good and he’s gonna make you feel good. loves to watch you on the dance floor from a nearby barstool, having the time of your life with your friends. after you’ve tired yourself out, you walk towards him to join him at the bar and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to eye your entire body from top to bottom and let out an obnoxious whistle. he’s sooooo sweet frat boy coded… definitely asks if he can take a body shot off of you whilst winking and you just roll your eyes in response. when he ends up drunk out of his mind and you have to drag him inside your shared cab, he’s mumbling the sweetest praises to you before he falls asleep against your shoulder

𖧷 soul

doesn’t really have much to say, but his body language speaks for itself. like most of piwon, his possessiveness is at a minimum, and like intak, he loves when you feel confident enough to dress this way. maybe it’s the introvert in him, but he lives vicariously through your bold outfit choices. loves to give you kisses on your exposed collarbone as he smoothens out a crease on your silk skirt. he also loves the way your stomach peeks out of your cropped top, and he holds onto your waist when kissing you to circle his thumbs on the area. stares at you lovingly the entire night, and doesn’t falter when your eyes meet every now and then. he comes up to you towards the end of the night and whispers into your ear about how he thinks you look so pretty and that he loves this outfit. you definitely end up seeing a more vocal side of him when the alcohol kicks in, and you swoon at how lovey dovey his words are. he just wants you to feel pretty and confident and he ends up succeeding in proving that to you! makes really bad attempts at flirting which ends up in the pair of you laughing your asses off. overall shota makes you feel beautiful and you make mental notes to bring him out wearing revealing clothes more often

𖧷 jongseob

djsjdkajdjsj i have to write my boyfriend as clingy as possible. he’s definitely the type of boyfriend to sit on the end of your bed, aimlessly scrolling on his phone and taking little peeks at you every now and then while your doing your makeup on your vanity. when you finish your makeup and go to your closet to change into the tiny little dress you’ve chosen for the evening, you’re honestly a bit nervous as to how your boyfriend will react to how bodycon and short the attire is, but you look and feel hot and that encourages you to step out in front of him. he notices your presence right away and looks up at your face, then chest, then thighs, and then turns off and tucks his phone into his back pocket and grabs at you to sit on his lap. gives you the sweetest kiss imaginable and pulls away to look at you with disbelief. asks you something along the lines of “how did i get so lucky?” and his hands run all over the material of your dress. his boldness is new but very welcome and he spends a good while complimenting you, asking you where you bought this dress, and playing with your hair with a smug grin on his face. gets soooo excited to take you out and wastes no time in calling an uber so he can show you off to the world. feels like he’s on cloud 9!

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @theyluvsosa @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror

© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

𖧷 ₊ ° .

[lixiesfreckless]

just putting this at the top of the feed. why? no particular reason.

Sugar Across The Hall | j. h.

➸ synopsis: Despite being relatively new to your building, you still haven't met anyone from your floor. But that's expected; it's New York for crying out loud. This city isn't known for it's friendly inhabitants.

Suddenly, your doorbell rings, and unbeknownst to you, the stranger on the other side knows just how to turn your somewhat normal life just a little bit sweeter.

➸ starring: joshua hong x female reader(ft. all members from svt and idols from smtown)

➸ word count: 17k (fitting, I know)

➸ general content: baker!joshua, late 2000s au, slow burn, way too much romantic tension, non-specific Grey’s Anatomy references, obnoxious use of flip phones, mutual pining, Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrated

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, very light swearing, kissing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: so basically I saw a clip of hit era joshua wearing a beaded necklace, blacked out, and woke up five days later with this fic sitting in my docs. don’t ask me how it got there, I’m just as confused as you :D(also this is my first original post to tumblr! I did not expect it to be about this man, but I’m not complaining)

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! you don’t need to listen to it while reading(especially if the lyrics will bother you), but I found it made the experience more like watching a movie. let’s just say I cried.

yes, it’s meant to be listened to in that order. shuffling it will result in me pouring a yogurt shake down your shirt.

♫- MIA, Sunshine

I.

You expected a lot of different things after deciding to live alone in Manhattan.

Suspicious sounds late at night from your neighbors? Sure.

Only being able to buy as many groceries as you can carry? A given.

Even the borderline ridiculous rent didn’t surprise you.

The shirtless man that stands in front of your apartment door however? Not on your bingo card.

You gape at him, nail file dangling from your fingertips as you curse the architect that gave this entire building doors without peepholes. It was a Thursday night, so you were doing your self care ritual(painting nails, Grey’s Anatomy, pad thai from across the street), which usually includes a dress code of your gray bathrobe and whatever flannel pants were clean at the moment. No one ever sees you like this, save a couple friends on urgent facetime calls.

And now could not have been a worse time to be caught.

Because the man in front of you just happens to be the poster boy for rom-com meet cutes. Light brown hair that’s been darkened from what you can only assume was a shower from his toned bare chest, warm brown eyes that are wide for reasons that you hope have nothing to do with your messy hair, and plush pink lips that were being pulled into a smile until just a second ago.

You glance past him, taking note of the wide open apartment door behind him and the blue light spilling out from inside.

So this is how you meet your number neighbor.

“Oh my god- I’m so sorry,” he suddenly says and the tension finally breaks, no thanks to you and your tendencies to get hopelessly distracted by shirtless men with towels around their necks. “I swear I thought I saw a guy move in here-”

“My brother,” you blurt out and then immediately regret cutting him off. His voice was soft, and you don’t think his face could have suited it any better. “You probably saw my brother; he was helping me move the furniture.”

“Ah,” he nods his head in understanding, and for a second, you disregard the fact that you still don’t know why this gorgeous man is on your doorstep.

“Right, so-” he clears his throat awkwardly; thank god the feeling is mutual. “I just got back from traveling like an hour ago, and I just realized that I left my only toothbrush in LA.”

The blunt delivery and the sheer absurdity of his statement makes you slap a freshly manicured hand over your mouth, not wanting to laugh in his face.

“And so I was wondering, since I’m tired and it’s pouring outside,” he says, half laughing to shake off the embarrassment, “if my neighbor would be willing to spare me one of hers. Please.”

He’s smiling at you now and god, the way his eyes start to disappear once he reveals his perfect set of teeth nearly has you swooning. Your brother told you to be wary of creeps on your floor but surely, he wasn’t talking about this man. Creeps don’t wear thin beaded necklaces.

“Sure, I’ll go grab it for-”

Dammit.

Your extra toothbrushes are kept in a drawer in your bathroom vanity, which normally, wouldn’t be a problem, if you were still living with your parents. You left the organizers that separated all of the miscellaneous items in that drawer with said parents, because you wanted to buy the cute clear ones that were plaguing the department store shelves.

Unfortunately, because you use an electric toothbrush now, that drawer is out of sight, and the containers have not crossed your mind since unpacking. Which means it’s exactly the kind of mess that would ruin the manicure you spent the last two episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on.

This stranger is cute, but you’d never risk that for someone you just met.

“Actually, follow me.” You turn on your heels before you lose the nerve to and he reluctantly follows, leaving his slippers at the door. Immediately you view your apartment like a stranger would. A few dishes left in the sink, a lone pringles can on the counter, a box or two in the hallway. You silently thank your past self for keeping the place relatively clean.

“Oh wow, what season are you on?” The man behind you pipes up, and you nearly drop your nail file.

“You watch Grey’s Anatomy?”

“I watched four seasons with my mom,” he says sheepishly as you duck into your bathroom.

“I’m on season three. And no spoilers- this is my first run-through.” You pull open the drawer to reveal a mess of travel-sized floss containers, mini toothpaste bottles, and assorted cords and toothbrushes.

“These are drying, so…” you wiggle your nails and he understands quickly, pulling out an orange toothbrush and closing the drawer.

“Thank you again,” he says once you both reach the door, and while you assure him it’s not a big deal, he insists on returning the favor. A small giggle escapes you at his persistence.

“This isn’t how I imagined my first neighbor interaction would go.”

“First? You haven’t met anyone yet?” Something strange flashes across his expression as you shake your head, and he steps into the hallway. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“Welcome to floor seven, Y/n.” He smiles one last time and you try your hardest to burn it into your retinas. “It was nice meeting you!”

You give him a wave goodbye before he disappears behind door 717, and it takes a solid minute for you to realize that you never caught his name.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“I’m pretty sure I’ve watched this exact scene in a hallmark movie.”

You shake your head as if the person on the other end of the line can see you, before closing your mascara tube and assessing your appearance in the mirror.

An upgraded version of the girl from last week looks back at you, ready for bottomless mimosas with your friends. For a moment you wonder if you might run into your neighbor before leaving the building, before your friend’s voice cuts through the air of your apartment.

“I’m in the lobby- why aren’t you down here yet~”

“Quit your whining Haechan, I’m literally in the elevator,” you lie, grabbing your keys and bag and swinging your front door open.

You nearly trip over yourself trying not to step on the tupperware container in front of your door.

On the floor of the hallway, you warily crouch down to retrieve the suspicious package, quickly deducing that it is in fact chocolate chip cookies before reading the sticky note on top.

I’ll wear a shirt next time, sorry XD

- Joshua Hong

♫- Dance, Sherlock

II.

What. The. Hell.

You examine the cookie in your hand slowly. Turn it around. Flip it upside down. Try to find anything that could give away how mind-numbingly good that first bite of the cookie was. You even do a sweep of the room, just in case there’s any hidden cameras.

Lowering your eyebrows suspiciously, you take another bite, and all but melt into the counter under your elbows. The fact that a cookie can make your eyes roll back is insane.

You’re not much of a baker, but there was a richness and depth to the flavors mixing on your taste buds that you know can’t be store bought.

With your mind made up, you inhale the rest of the cookie, trying your best to savor it but ultimately giving into your cravings without a second thought. Your feet carry you to your slippers, your hand finds the doorknob, and you find your fist hovering over Joshua’s door before your senses come back to you.

Looking down at your bunny slippers and pink velour sweat set, you’d consider it an upgrade from his first impression of you. At least your hair was brushed this time.

Suddenly the door in front of you swings open, revealing a Joshua that seems about ready to bolt down the hallway.

“Oh! Y/n,” his surprised expression quickly drops to a happy one upon seeing you, and you can’t help but be a little relieved that he has a good opinion of you. He looks nice(although with his appearance, you can’t imagine him ever looking bad), wearing a plain white shirt with a denim jacket over it, and the same beaded necklace from last night. His hair is a lot silkier when dry, and you find that light brown almost suits his…personality?

“Hi, uh- is now a bad time?” You peer past his shoulder and notice an assortment of baking utensils on his kitchen counter.

“No! Not at all, I was just uh…” he scratches the back of his neck as his cheekbones turn slightly pink, and you wonder if that has anything to do with the mess behind him. “What’s up?”

“The cookies. They’re amazing- I have to know where you got them. I might actually die if I don’t.”

“Oh well we can’t have that,” he chuckles, stepping back from the door and trying to hide his grin. “I just pulled out a batch, they’re so much better fres-”

“You made them?” You step into his apartment, and the wonderful smell of chocolate and brown sugar greet you like a warm hug. You don’t know why, but this feels very on-brand for Joshua. Of course your neighbor across the hall just so happens to bake the best chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever tasted.

“You’re not gonna rob me now, are you?” He holds you a cookie fresh off of one of several baking sheets.

“I’d keep your doors locked just in case.” What is with you? Since when do you flirt with people you’d practically just met?

When you reach out to take the cookie and he pulls it back slightly though, you feel as though you’re not entirely at fault here. Especially not when he’s smiling at you like that again as he gives it to you with a chuckle.

He’s right. The cookie is still chewy and the chocolate melts in your mouth, and try as you might, you’re not hiding how good it is through your facial expression.

“Joshua, seriously,” you sigh, and his eyes seem to soften slightly at his name, “these are immaculate. Is there crack in them, by chance?”

“Actually, it’s brown butter and espresso powder,” he says excitedly, and then runs around the kitchen counter to snatch something out of a cabinet. “But something I’ve been doing a lot nowadays…” He comes back to you with a small screw-lid wooden container, and opens it, revealing paper thin white flakes. “...is adding flake salt on top.”

You lift your half eaten cookie and he dusts the top of it, as if it were some kind of sacred ritual. And it might as well have been. Because the bite you take afterwards was nothing short of divine.

The moment shatters once you realize Joshua was headed somewhere before you stopped him on his doorstep.

“Oh my god- you were about to leave the house when I showed up,” you say, mouth half-full and quickly stepping back from him.

“Oh I was just gonna run to the store,” he waves you off, leaning over the counter. “I ran out of cinnamon and didn’t realize until after my snickerdoodle batter was chilling-”

“You can just borrow mine,” you blurt out, already heading towards the door. Before he can protest, you’re already back, tossing the glass bottle between your hands before handing it to him.

“Are you sure?” He looks at you as if you just handed him the keys to your apartment, and you almost laugh.

“I haven’t even opened it yet, knock yourself out.”

You must have broken some unspoken baker’s code, or maybe he just really didn’t feel like leaving his house, because the way his shoulders relax makes you want to let him keep it.

“You can return that whenever you want,” you chuckle, swiping one more cookie off of his tray before heading towards the door. Your self-preservation instinct kicked in, and now that your reason for bothering each other has evaporated, you don’t want to stick around and find out how many stupid things you can say to a pretty man in the span of five minutes.

“Oh- uh, thank you!” He catches you at the door with that disarming smile of his. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

He holds your gaze with his own, and your feet refuse to move away until you reply with an “okay” that comes out a bit more giddy than you would have liked.

Safely on the other side of your apartment door, you let out a long and shaky breath as you slump against the surface, the slightest bit of warmth rising to your cheeks.

He made it a point to tell you that he would give back the cinnamon tomorrow. Did that mean anything? No, of course not, he's just being polite. At least he gave you a heads up, but that seems a bit unorthodox given the nature of your previous encounters.

You sober up enough to walk back to your cookie container, plucking one last treat out before finding the salt in your cabinet. It's not his fancy flake salt, but it will suffice for now.

God. You'd buy these by the dozen if you could. The little sigh that leaves your lips is well earned, and you wish you had the words to explain how magnificent they are, just so you could tell him.

He’s kinda similar to the cookies, after further pondering. His hair is the same color as brown butter, his eyes are practically warm pools of chocolate, and his summer tan reminds you of the light and fluffy batter that encases everything. Even the salt makes sense, reminding you of the way his lips curl on one side before he says something silly.

Okay. So maybe you were getting a bit carried away.

Feeling as though your thoughts were being judged by some invisible crowd, you fasten the lid on the tupperware container, not willing to be embarrassed in your own home.

♫- Airplane Mode, By My Side

III.

What about this particular shredded cheese is mexican?

You examine the store brand and the name brand’s “mexican style shreds” closely, trying to see if the name brand is worth the extra two dollars it has the audacity to charge you.

Cheese is cheese, you decide, before dropping the store brand cheese blend into your red shopping basket.

Drawing from your mental grocery list, you realize that the last thing you need to acquire is meat, quickly swiveling your head to try and find directions in the store that will lead you to ground beef.

You wander aimlessly, looking like a tourist in the middle of the store as you stroll past aisles. A part of you misses the familiarity of your home grocery store; at least they had the meat and dairy next to each other, you know, like a normal store would.

A sliver of a wall of red catches your eye, and you sigh in relief, heading towards the wall of cow products by cutting through an aisle.

But before you can think twice, his name leaves your mouth as you register the side profile standing ahead of you.

“Joshua?”

His head of sandy brown hair perks up, searching for a face to attach the voice to. It takes a second, but he recognizes you, taking in your bundled up attire.

“Hey neighbor,” he says cheerily, turning to face you with a smile that warms you from the inside. Paired with his bright demeanor is a ribbed cream sweater and light wash denim, half covered by a tan trench coat. He reminds you of the caramel frappés they sell at the corner coffee shop near your apartment.

“I didn't know you shopped here.” You survey the aisle you’re in and aren’t surprised you've found him deep in the baking section. Something close to a sigh leaves his pink lips.

“It’s the closest supermarket,” he laments, taking a jar of molasses off the shelf as your eyes widen.

“It is? But it's so far from home…” You mentally groan at the distance(which really wasn’t so bad for the average city dweller, but you’re used to your dad’s SUV in suburbia); you had been hoping that your grocery store choice was just silly little ill-informed you running to what was familiar.

“I know.” He turns to walk, waiting for you to follow him like a lost puppy before continuing down the aisle. “I usually wait until my friends in the building need to go so we can make an outing out of it but…” he trails off, gaze falling to the carton of eggs in his hand. You scoff and throw your head back, nearly losing your beanie from the movement.

“So you'll ask me for every spice under the sun, but not eggs?”

“That's different and you know it,” he laughs, poking your side with the corner of the carton.

As you stroll through the store, you know he’s right, but over the last two weeks it’s hardly felt like it. Joshua’s appeared at your doorstep four separate times, each for random ingredients for whatever he was baking at the time. Cardamom, nutmeg, clove, ground ginger. He ended up opening half of them. You’ve silently thanked your older brother for the spice assortment basket he got you as a housewarming gift; if it weren’t for him, Joshua wouldn’t have much of a reason to keep knocking on your door.

And it’s selfish, but part of you hopes he never stops.

“Ah- wait,” you stop him by tugging on his elbow, then lean over the fridge container with various types of beef. As you slide open the door to grab the ground beef, you completely miss how Joshua’s eyes resemble saucers, staring down at where you had just gripped his jacket.

“Dang, they don’t have 97% lean here?” Sighing, you settle for 80% and toss it into your basket, before looking back at the man with pink-tinged ears.

“I know, that’s such a bummer,” he quickly responds, folding his arms into his jacket with a nervous chuckle. You raise an eyebrow, and he nods towards your basket.

“Are you making tacos?”

Your mouth nearly drops open in shock from his accuracy, but you suppose the tomatoes and shredded cheese under the ground beef wouldn’t lend itself to many other answers. “I actually am, yeah.”

“Did they have any cilantro in the produce section today?”

“I wasn’t looking for any…” you quickly trail off, seeing how your confession turned his expression to a mischievous one as he beckons you to follow him back to the other end of the store.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“I can’t believe…they’re doing maintenance work…on the elevator,” you huff, pushing yourself against the door and stumbling into the hallway. He chuckles behind you, slightly out of breath but not nearly as bad as your inexperienced lungs.

“Hey, we have to stay in shape somehow.”

“Isn’t that what the gym in the lobby is for?!”

He laughs, and it feels as though you’ve been shot with a ray of sunshine. You almost forget that your lungs are about to collapse as he walks ahead of you, waiting for you by your door with your bags.

A moment later you’re both unpacking the groceries, and during the mindless task you finally have a moment to think about the man putting milk in the fridge.

Joshua, who after seeing your single bag of groceries, insisted that you buy more to make the most of your trip. Joshua, who offered to help carry them home after you expressed concern that it would be too much for you to carry alone. Joshua, who caught you during a harsh turn so you didn’t fall on the bus ride home, after you reassured him that you knew what you were doing(you didn’t, you stuck to the subways). Joshua, who took your groceries and his up seven flights of stairs without a complaint.

No, you’ve never lived alone before, but…were neighbors usually this nice?

Either way, you wish you could repay him for his kindness, even if it was free.

“Joshua,” you speak up, taking a tomato out of a plastic bag and gingerly setting it on the counter. He hums and looks up at you, shaking some of his hair out of his eyes as he waits for you to continue.

“Do you…want to stay for dinner?”

His facial expression falters for a moment, and you rush to justify your sudden invitation.

“You’ve just been such a lifesaver today, and you carried my bags up the stairs, and, I don’t know-” I don’t really want you to leave just yet?

“Yes.”

“What?” The way he deadpans never fails to catch you off guard.

“Yes,” he repeats, smiling wide at you as he closes the fridge door. “I’d love to.”

“Really?” Gosh, could you sound any more excited? “I’m making tacos!”

“So I’ve heard.”

Your own embarrassment is drowned out by the sound of his laughter, genuine and sweet, and he tells you he’ll be right back, wanting to put his own groceries away before he spends the next few hours across the hall.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“Uhhh sweet over salty, cats over dogs, and…I guess I’ve never really thought about that last one,” Joshua ponders aloud, resting his elbows on the counter as he watches you rinse off a tomato. “I think I’d rather live in a cold place than a hot one? That way I’m not sweating year-round.”

“And you could just vacation to warmer places!”

“Exactly.”

You place the tomato on your green cutting board, lining up your knife with the edge, only to have the blade slip right past the fruit. You meet Joshua’s panicked eyes, laughing nervously as you try again.

“Do you want me to cut the tomatoes?” He asks, his voice not giving away the concern on his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” you assure him, too prideful to ask for help. At the same time, your knife slips again, this time narrowly missing your current blue manicure.

“I think you want me to cut the tomatoes.” He’s out of his bar stool chair in a flash and you relent, dropping the knife to the cutting board as he joins you on your side of the counter to wash his hands.

“I think I need to get my knives sharpened…” Your excuse sounds so lame that even you don’t believe yourself.

“That and you cut things like you have a nail tech on speed dial.”

“Hey!”

You gently shove him on your way to check on the beef, and he bites back a smile as he dries off his hands.

“You just have to fold your fingers back, like this-” You notice the thin gold bracelet around his wrist, courtesy of his now pulled-up sleeves, before focusing on what he’s showing you. All of his fingernails are safely tucked inwards as he glides the knife through the tomato, resulting in a clean, even slice. “See?”

“Thank you for the wisdom Mr. Ramsey.”

“You’re very welcome.”

You can feel a stupid smile making its way onto your face as you watch him make light work of the fruit, leaving you with a pile of perfect cubes in well under a minute.

“Is there anything else? Where’s the lettuce?” He says, walking over to the fridge as if it were his own kitchen.

“It’s in the crisper. But you don’t have to do that.” You watch as he snatches a green leafy bunch from the fridge drawer. “I am very capable of shredding my own lettuce.”

“I’m sure you are,” he jests, tossing the whole head of lettuce into the sink as you giggle.

What would you be doing on a normal Wednesday night?

Channel surfing, texting Haechan, maybe even attempting overnight oats again(after your failed attempt from last week made you gag from the texture).

But tonight? Listening to Joshua give you a master class on the art of shredding lettuce, with your favorite krnb cd playing from your radio, and the smell of cumin and chili powder bubbling out from the saucepan on the stove?

After nearly lighting tortillas on fire from your gas stove with him, and debating about what is and isn’t an outrageous amount of sour cream for one taco(he’s wrong, you use a perfectly normal amount), you can’t imagine a better way to spend a rainy evening in Manhattan.

♫- Hear Me Out, Nerdy Love

IV.

“You are such a chicken, Shua,” Wonwoo jests, eyes trained on the screen as Bowser picks up the former’s green dinosaur and launches him off the battle stage. The game ends, declaring Wonwoo the winner as Joshua tosses his controller onto the couch and sighs.

“I think you’d feel the same if you were up against the best smash player on the block.”

“Don’t feed his ego like that; I haven’t humbled him yet,” Vernon chuckles, picking up the discarded controller and selecting a new character to battle the winner with.

Just then, the oven beeps, and Joshua throws himself over the back of the couch to go and tend to the oven. Did he bake triple chocolate brownies just for a hangout with the boys? Absolutely he did.

And it was worth every second, judging from the heavenly smell that fills the apartment.

“Yo- if the pizza doesn’t show up soon,” Vernon calls from the couch, half laughing, “I’m gonna make half that tray disappear, for real.”

“Along with your tastebuds, idiot.”

“Worth it.”

Joshua chuckles at the banter between the two opponents as he sets the glass dish on the stove, then discards his oven mitts on the counter. He checks the time, deducing that the pizza should be arriving shortly, and then takes his place back at the corner of the couch to spectate.

“Mother-” Wonwoo groans and slumps into the couch as Vernon hands Joshua back his controller, a smug smile on his face as the announcer broadcasts the former’s defeat.

There are few other ways Joshua likes to spend his weekends; unless Soonyoung drags him out to go for a bar crawl, he’s perfectly fine being a homebody with his friends.

Someone knocks on the door, and Vernon gets up to go get it since the other two are occupied.

“That’s the pizza; the tips are on the counter,” Joshua instructs, not taking his eyes off of the screen in fear of getting his ass handed to him by Wonwoo a third time.

“Got it.”

Swinging the door open however, Vernon finds himself holding out a wad of cash to an unsuspecting girl, wide-eyed and holding what he recognizes as Joshua’s varsity jacket.

“Oh- you’re not the pizza guy,” he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with a smile.

“No, uh- is Joshua home?” You ask, rocking on your heels. You catch a whiff of chocolate coming from inside and fight the urge to walk past him.

“Yeah, just a sec- hey Joshua,” he yells behind him. “There’s a girl here asking for you-”

You hear a gasp, a thud, and then uncoordinated footsteps before Vernon casually gets shoved to the side and replaced with your neighbor, slightly out of breath but still wearing his signature smile.

“Hey! What’s uh…what’s up?” he says, leaning against the doorframe in a casual-adjacent manner.

“You left this in my apartment last night,” you say, holding up his leather varsity jacket. Behind the door frame you hear muffled laughter, and you can’t help but look just over his shoulder out of curiosity. “I was waiting for a good time to return it but I…Wonwoo?”

The man with curly black hair suddenly stands up from the couch, adjusting his black glasses as he registers who's behind the door. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“I live here!”

“I-” Joshua steps back, looking quickly between the two of you. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah she’s only like, my best friend’s younger sister,” Wonwoo explains, walking over to the kitchen so he can see you better. “I didn’t know you lived in Shua’s building, though.”

“Sh- Shua?” You smirk and look up at Joshua as his neck begins to turn pink under his hoodie.

“I made brownies, did I mention that?” He takes his jacket and quickly runs back to his kitchen, picking up a knife to cut you a square. You stay by the door, trying and failing to psychoanalyze the man who had originally answered it.

“I’m Vernon by the way,” he suddenly speaks up, not wanting to be the only stranger.

“Y/n,” you say, holding out a hand that he meets with a firm handshake. You subsequently realize that Joshua keeps attractive company, which doesn’t surprise you as much as you feel it should.

“It’s kind of hot, but…” Joshua approaches you with probably the most mouth-watering brownie you’ve ever seen sitting atop a napkin. “...it’s triple chocolate and I might have put espresso powder in it and-”

“Say no more. I’ll tell you what I think of it in the morning.” You gladly accept the treat, saying your goodbyes to everyone before dashing off to your apartment, and leaving Joshua shaking his head and smiling to himself.

Or, not to himself, as he shuts his door and is awkwardly reminded of his friends’ presence thanks to Vernon clearing his throat.

“That’s her? That’s the girl that moved in next door?” Vernon asks incredulously, starting to laugh as he stares at Wonwoo, who has his hand over his own mouth.

“You were in her apartment last night?”

“And you left your favorite jacket?”

“Guys, whatever you’re thinking, I can assure you that’s not what happened,” Joshua tries to reason, heading back to the brownies to cut the rest of them.

“It better not be, not unless you want her brother to snap you in half,” Wonwoo half-jokes, watching Vernon follow Joshua to the kitchen.

They watch in silence as Joshua makes clean lines into the chocolate dessert, and Vernon doesn’t hesitate to steal one the second the knife is out of reach.

“So…”

“So?”

“So,” Vernon begins, halfway through his brownie, “she’s cute and your ears are pink. Am I wrong in assuming that there’s something going on here?”

Joshua grips the counter, avoiding Vernon’s gaze as he feels his temperature rise just slightly.

Yes, it’s only been a month since you’ve moved in. He only just got your number last night(you tripped a breaker blow drying your hair and were scared you blew a fuse, and he offered it up in case something actually serious happens), and he still mostly only knows trivial things about you, but he can’t lie. He wants to know more than just your opinion on his brownies.

He looks up at Wonwoo leaning against the door, who looks back at him with that all-knowing smile of his, and he knows he’d never be able to hide his true feelings from the token introvert.

“...no.”

And as if on cue, the doorbell rings.

“PIZZA!”

♫- Sunset With You, Back In Time

V.

She’s lucky to be alive, had the blow been any closer to her head…

“Come on Grey,” you whisper, pulling your robe tighter around you as you lean forward on your couch and stare at the tv. “Wake up.”

The chilling sound of the heart monitor is the only sound in the hospital room, save for the buzz of fluorescent lighting.

And just like that, the screen goes dark.

“What the…” You reach for the remote, but stop halfway once you realize that the air conditioning has also stopped whirring. A fleeting look to the kitchen tells you that the fridge is also silent, and you hear a high pitched shriek from your upstairs neighbor.

Suddenly, you're really glad you already washed your hair tonight.

A few moments later you peek your head out the apartment door, relieved to find several neighbors down your hall conversing with one another, each with whatever flashlights they had nearby.

“I wonder if it's just this building…” you wonder aloud, and in a flash the door across from you swings open, a panicked Joshua jumping out of his apartment in a blue button-down shirt and tan sweatpants. Upon seeing you, his facial features relax, glad to see you're okay.

“Do you want to save battery?” He asks, gesturing to the truck load of wax cylinders in his arms. “I have emergency candles.”

“Sure! My apartment has a lot of windows so we won't have to light them right away too.”

We? Joshua stands perplexed, watching as you turn back into your apartment, leaving the door wide open for him to follow through. He was just going to give you however many candles you wanted, but you're right; there's no point in using twice as many candles separately. Nor is he going to pass up a chance to hang out with you.

“What were you doing when the power went out?” He asks, closing your door behind him and setting his delivery on the kitchen counter.

“Watching Grey’s Anatomy,” you sigh, examining your freshly painted white nails. Joshua knew that; it was Thursday after all. “What about you?”

“I got so lucky, I just finished baking-”

“Baking what?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he jokes, tilting his head at you as he perches on a bar stool. You jut out your lower lip, creasing your eyebrow at his antics.

“But Joshieee,” you whine, clasping your hands together as you step towards him, who is already thoroughly amused. “We can't open the fridges and we'll starve to death if you don't share-”

“Do you like white chocolate macadamia nut cookies?”

“Not usually,” you pout, then tuck your hair behind your ear and bat your eyelashes at him. “But if you're the one baking them…”

He runs to his apartment just fast enough so you don't see the pink dusting his cheeks.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“Consider my mind changed,” you cheer, halfway into your third cookie as you fall back into the couch, watching Joshua light another match. One by one, he lights candles around the room, creating a cozy atmosphere that you find you quite like.

“What should we do to pass the time?”

Joshua blows out the match, pondering only for a second before turning to face you.

“How long have you lived here?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember the exact day in September that you called this apartment your new home.

“Five? No- six weeks,” you reply, holding up six fingers to him as he sits down across from you on the couch.

“And we’re friends, right?”

“Oh god, I hope so,” you whisper, and the way he smiles at you reaffirms your sentiment.

“Well then, as your friend, I’m telling you that I don’t know nearly enough about you.”

You shift on the couch, mirroring his position and resting your arm against the back cushions.

“Well…what do you want to know?”

“Do you still have that strawberry soju in your fridge?” He says suddenly, eyes sparkling in mischief.

“Yes?”

“Then I know a way we could make this more fun.” He gets up to retrieve the alcohol, coming back with two green tinted bottles and handing you one. “We’re gonna be here for a while, might as well make the most of it.”

You look between him and the drink in your hands with a confused expression, and he laughs when he looks at you and plops down on the couch, albeit a bit closer than before. Not that you were keeping track or anything.

“What? Haven’t you played truth or drink before?”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Somehow neither of you feel like keeping secrets from each other, the bottles staying relatively full as you learn random tidbits about each other.

Joshua plays guitar(you kinda figured this out after hearing singing and strumming coming from his apartment last week), you told him about your family cat that you left at home(to which you both agree that it's a shame your building doesn't allow furry pets), and you continue this pattern for a while, watching the flames of the candles burn steadily as the sky turns from blue to black.

“Your turn,” he chuckles, running a hand through his soft locks as if the very gesture didn't make you dizzier than the soju. You gaze at the man across from you in the orangey glow, and decide to stop beating around the bush and speak plainly.

“Are you seeing someone?” You finally throw out the question that's been plaguing you for weeks, watching his lips curl into a smile as he raises his bottle to his lips.

“No.” He says, and takes a swig anyways, feeling like he'd need the liquid courage fairly soon.

“Are you gay?”

“What?” He nearly chokes at your bluntness, sputtering his response and laughing.

“I don't know, good guys like you are typically always taken unless they're not into women,” you reason, busying your fingers with the bottle in your hands.

“Don't worry, I'm straight.”

“I wasn't worrying!”

“Right…” You look up at him to see a teasing glint in his eyes, and your gray bathrobe suddenly feels uncomfortably warm. You hope he can't see how red your face is under the low lighting.

You clear your throat. “Your turn.”

“I'll ask you the same, if that's okay,” he says after a moment, and it takes a moment for you to remember what you asked him.

“Oh hell no, my last ex nearly ruined men for me,” you wince and down some soju, hoping it'll wash away the memory of him.

“That bad?”

“He smashed my flip phone over a text message.”

At that he grimaces, frowning at the thought of you dating such a jerk. No one deserved that, especially not the cheerful girl he's come to know.

“I’m glad you’re not with him anymore,” he tells you quietly.

“Yeah?” Joshua meets your gaze, and you wonder if he heard how your heart stopped when his eyes locked on you.

“Yeah.”

You’ve never been the best at eye contact, let alone with guys you find attractive, but right now you can’t find it in yourself to look away. He looks at you like you’re the night sky, and he’s an astronomer who just got gifted his first telescope. Sure, you’ve met countless times before this, but this is the first time he’s really seeing you, and he can’t help but be drawn to this side of you. And you’re no better, all but falling into the warm cocoa shade of his irises, hardly even noticing that nearly half a minute has passed with no words being spoken.

He smiles, and the dark room brightens slightly. “Your turn.”

“Right,” you clear your throat, finally breaking the spell and shaking your head, as if that will shake the softness of his gaze from your memory.

“Oh!” You scoot closer to him on the couch, whispering as if you’re about to share classified information. “Why do your friends call you Shua?”

“Ah, that,” He pulls on his collar, clearly shy about your newfound knowledge of his nickname. “That was born out of a drunken freestyle rap battle during karaoke.” Your mouth drops open and you scoff, and he quickly leans forward to set his soju bottle on your wooden coffee table.

“I didn’t win,” he sighs, but you can tell he really doesn’t mind the loss, “but the name just kinda…stuck after that?”

“Should I call you that?” You joke, and you swear his whole face is a little rosy.

“You can call me whatever you want.”

“Good, because Josh comes to mind before Shua for me.”

“That’s fine.” Wow, you don’t think you’ve seen a prettier pair of brown eyes and– had he always been sitting that close? “I like Josh.”

Right now, it couldn’t be any clearer that you liked Josh too.

You can’t help it; your eyes feel a gravitational pull towards his lips, and instead of stealing a glance like you intended, your gaze lingers there for much longer before looking back up at his eyes.

However, you catch him doing the same, taking even longer than you to resume eye contact.

You’re definitely not imagining it. He was farther away a minute ago; now you could count every one of his long eyelashes if you wanted to. He could probably hear your thundering heart since the air vent had been silenced. He smells like cinnamon, and you wonder if that’s his cologne or his natural musk from using spices all the time.

“It’s your turn,” you whisper, mentally cursing yourself for remembering and acknowledging the game. He doesn’t move away though, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Ask me anything.”

The tone of your voice has Joshua looking up, not wanting to misinterpret what you said, but you think he gets the hint when you lean in slightly, eyes half-closed and not daring to meet his.

The moment his finger touches your cheek, you swear his gentle touch scorches you.

Just then, the loud hum of your fridge startles the both of you, and the apartment flickers back to life as muffled cheers are heard all across the seventh floor.

“Oh wow, that was fast,” Joshua laughs nervously, blinking hard from the sudden overhead lighting. He leans over to the coffee table and blows out the candle sitting there, and you can feel your face ignite with heat as you quickly draw your attention away from his lips.

You steal a glance at the analog clock on your kitchen counter and gasp.

“Has it really been four hours?” You spring to your feet, running around the room to help him blow out the candles. Anything to take your mind off of what happened. Or rather, what didn’t happen? What was about to happen? Crap, you’re thinking about it too much.

“No way it’s been that long,” he whispers, checking the window and is greeted with the twinkling cityscape, alive and thriving as if nothing ever happened.

“Oh crap- my ovens probably came back on,” Joshua groans, running to the kitchen and picking up the cookie sheet he brought over from his apartment.

“Don’t forget these!” You scoop up the last candle and run over to him, but he waves you off, shaking his head.

“Oh you can keep those- this happens more often than you think,” he chuckles, giving you a thumbs up as he throws on his slippers and makes his way to your door. You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from calling after him, but immediately give in once his hand is on the doorknob.

“Josh?”

“Yeah?” He turns and looks back at you, and you wish you could deny the effect his smile has on you.

“Thanks for keeping me company. I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

It was not a trick of the light this time; he clearly flushes pink under the kitchen fluorescents.

“Me too.” He pauses for a second, looking as if he’s going to say something else, then opts to just duck his head bashfully. “Goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight.”

The minute he’s on the outside of that door, your feet take you right to your couch, and you sink down to the cushions in a daze.

Your hand reaches up to the spot on your cheek that he touched, trying to remember the feeling of your skin burning under his.

After about three seconds of reminiscing, you flip up the hood of your robe and squeal, falling into the couch in a fit of giggles.

You don’t even have it in you to be mad that you won’t find out what happens to Grey until next Thursday.

♫- Walking In The Rain, Good Care, Never Leave Me, Thank You

VI.

“And?”

“And…” you survey your table of friends, waiting a second more for dramatic effect, “...the power came back on.”

“Stop playing around,” Haechan whines, hitting your shoulder repeatedly.

“Calm down; they totally kissed later,” Says Jungwoo, downing the rest of his mimosa in one shot before raising his eyebrow at your silence. “You did kiss him, right?” The girl next to him rolls her eyes.

“She would have led with that if they did,” Karina interjects, and then shoves more smoked salmon into her mouth.

“She's right, I did not kiss him,” you confirm, blushing as you poke at the raspberries on your french toast.

“Oh but you definitely thought about it,” Haechan coos, and it takes everything in you not to shove him off of his chair. Even though he was right. You did think about doing that. A lot.

In fact, nearly every time you've seen him since then you've felt your stomach drop to the floor, instantly teleported to that moment on the couch, with his fingers grazing your cheek and the candles flickering in your periphery.

“I'm just curious,” Jaehyun finally speaks up from next to you, tossing his fork onto his plate and leaning back in his chair. “It's obvious you both like each other. Why haven't you just asked him out yet?”

Everyone turns and looks at him as if he just pulled a gun out from under the table.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Does that sound like something Y/n would do?”

“Did you have too much to drink?”

“Would you all shut up,” you laugh, turning to look at Jaehyun who threw his hands up in defeat.

“Honestly, you're kind of right,” you admit, tracing the rim of your glass with your pointer finger. Not even a year ago you would have pounced on Joshua like a woman starved, asking for his number the second he showed up shirtless to your apartment. “We probably would have gone out by now if I was more forward.”

But then you think about the last few weeks, the spices you've lent him, the elevator rides you've shared, the plot points you've theorized about in your shared show, the soju, the candles. Would it be so weird to admit that you like the buzz in your fingertips whenever he smiles at you, or the thrumming in your chest when he knocks on your door?

“I don't know. I think after I rushed into my last relationship, I'm really enjoying just…getting to know him.” You can feel your face heating up again. “Like, as a person. Is that weird?”

Everyone collectively shakes their head, taking in what you said in a surprisingly thoughtful manner.

“It's definitely not weird,” Jaehyun reassures you, raising his glass towards the middle of the table. “I think it's worth celebrating, actually.”

“To the long game!” Haechan cheers, and you all follow suit and clink glasses together, downing whatever alcohol was left in them and laughing afterwards.

If there was one thing that made moving to the city the best decision ever, it was finally being closer to your old college friends. Mimosa Mondays would never get old, ever.

“I still think you should have kissed him, though. Would have made for one hell of a story to tell your future ki- OW!”

You kick Jungwoo under the table before he can spout anymore nonsense.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Coffee in hand, you strut into the lobby of your apartment building, practically beaming despite being drenched.

Why?

On the way back from the restaurant about two city blocks ago, you caught a reflection of yourself in a shop window.

Knee high brown boots, cute plaid mini skirt, white button down and a long trench coat to pull it all together. One could argue that it's a bit much for brunch with your friends, but for once, you didn't care what anyone else thought of you.

Not when your outfit looked like something Rachel Green would wear.

You had laughed at yourself suddenly, catching the attention of a few passing strangers, but you couldn't even feel their gazes on you. They bounced off of you like raindrops on a leather jacket.

Wait no, it was actually just starting to rain.

You turned your face towards the sky, flinching at the first few drops that pelted your face, but eventually welcoming them, letting them soak the top of your trench coat and dampen your hair.

Old you would have run for cover, checked the weather to see when it would stop, maybe even prayed that your Dad's SUV would materialize around the street corner.

But now, looking back at the shop window, each droplet felt like a baptism into your new self.

You grinned.

This place was finally starting to feel like home.

Maybe, just maybe, you could call yourself a New Yorker.

And you walked, no- strutted with that high the rest of the way to your building, not even wincing when you forgot to cool down your overpriced latte and burned your tongue a little.

Waving to the receptionist at the front desk(whose name you should definitely know by now), you walk past the gym and turn the corner to the elevator.

And you feel every ounce of your confidence evaporate at the sight of the man, who upon seeing you, reached out his arm to stop the elevator door from closing.

Joshua stands in the lift, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other dangling a large black water bottle from his pointer finger. Judging from the black baseball cap, matching t-shirt and shorts, and the hand towel around his neck, you can assume that he just finished working out. Which is something you already assumed he did, but seeing the proof in front of you from the way his muscles flexed to catch the door was so much worse.

Damn. There goes your twenty minute streak of not thinking about him.

You jog a little, stepping into the enclosure with a small wave and whispering thanks.

“Hey, I'll call you back later,” he says into the phone, and then subsequently snaps it shut, reaching over to press the button labeled 7 on the wall.

“Got caught without an umbrella?”

“Yeah, I'm still not used to checking the weather every day,” you laugh, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well hey, at least the rain looks good on you,” he says, and then immediately purses his lips together. You blink, almost positive your face is beet red as you stare at your streaky elevator door reflection. Thank god your neon pink bra isn't showing through your shirt like you feared. “I mean, I could never pull it off, I'd look like a wet dog.”

Actually, you'd beg to differ, brain now filling with images of him caught in the pouring rain, raindrops sliding over his perfect cheeks and his perfect nose and his perfect lips-

“Oh you're too modest,” you quickly cut off your thoughts and laugh nervously, and the elevator pings as the button for your floor flashes at you. The two of you spill into the hallway, walking in tandem before you reach your respective apartments.

“I'll see you later then?” He asks, and you try your hardest not to fumble the keys or drop your drink as you unlock your door.

“I'm sure it won't be too long.”

Your door swings open, and you look back to flash him a smile. “Bye Josh.”

He just stands there halfway into his apartment, with a dazed look on his face, and then suddenly he steps back out, awkwardly crossing his arms.

“Hey can I uh…” his voice falls to a quieter, more hushed tone, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure! Anything,” you blurt out. God, do you always sound this desperate?

“My friend Jeonghan a few floors up is hosting this ‘Friendsgiving’ party next Thursday, since me and a few friends aren't going home to see family,” he explains. “And I know you live kinda far away too, but I wasn't sure if you were gonna stay in town too…”

“I am,” you confirm, praying that this is going where you think it is. “I won't visit home until Christmas.”

His lips spread into that grin that you love so much.

“Then if you don't already have plans…would you want to-”

“Yes.” Your impatience gets the best of you, but you don't mind when it makes him grin even wider.

“Yeah?”

“I'd love to.”

“Well then I’ll come get you at 6 next week,” he says, backing up to his door as you nod. “If that's alright?”

“It's very alright.” What the hell does that even mean?

He chuckles and takes off his baseball cap, letting his locks fall into his eyes. You so desperately want to push them away from his face.

“See you Y/n.”

His apartment door clicks shut and you resist the urge to fall sideways into your own door frame, practically buzzing with equal parts excitement and terror.

A shower. You need a long, hot shower.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

The next morning you wake up feeling like you've been hit by a truck.

Your bones feel as though they've been filled with lead as you reach over to your nightstand, slamming your alarm clock into silence and fumbling for your cellphone in the darkness of your bedroom. Straining your eyes against the small screen, you find your coworker’s number in the phonebook and raise the device to your ear.

Your clock reads just past 7:30. He should be awake by now.

“You know, I typically don't talk to people before I've had my coffee,” a man says after two rings, the faint sound of water rushing in the background.

“Johnny, tell the manager I'm not coming in today,” you croak, mentally wincing at the grittiness of your voice. “I think I'm dying.”

“Awww, I'll wail loudly at your funeral,” Johnny jokes, leaning into his bathroom mirror to try and get a closer shave.

“Don't worry, I'll be back in tomorrow.”

“Hell no. Keep your ass in bed, I don't want what you've got,” he scolds, and you weakly giggle in reply. The action unfortunately sends you into a bit of a coughing fit, and you swear you can hear Johnny grimacing on the other end.

“Alright well I'm gonna go.” He rinses off his blade in the sink as he takes the cell phone off his shoulder. “Drink lemon ginger tea or something.”

“Okay mom.”

He hangs up, and you wrap yourself tight in your comforter, feeling a shudder coming on as a chill works its way through your body.

You remember your mom giving you a list of things to buy when you first moved in. You also remember skipping over the medicine part, declaring it less urgent than the shiny new electric can opener at the department store.

A lack of preparation calls for reparations, go figure.

Groaning, you try and force yourself to go back to sleep, and sleep takes your sick body happily.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Being sick never fails to remind you of how easily you take basic human functions for granted. Like breathing, for example.

Your nose is stuffed up so much it’s giving you a headache, and you wish you had some eucalyptus oil to dab on your pillowcase; the lemon ginger tea could only do so much. You don’t consider yourself a baby, but the way you long for your mother takes you back to your grade school days, where being sick just meant you got to stay home and watch cartoons all day. And your mom would make you eat chicken soup and scold you if you were out of bed for too long-

Okay, so maybe you didn’t miss your mom. You just want to be taken care of.

Another dull throb from the middle of your skull makes you get up from the couch, flipping up the hood of your sweatshirt the second cool air hits the back of your neck. Was it always this cold in your apartment?

Surely you have advil. You're a woman. You need advil every month.

“You’re lying…” you mumble a few seconds later, shoving various bottles around in the cabinet in search of the short blue one, but ultimately coming back fruitless.

Defeated, you think about retreating to the couch, your body feeling so tired and heavy from the fever you’re positive you already have.

Thankfully, your brain comes up with one last idea, dragging you outside your apartment in an attempt to see if your neighbor is home.

The door to room 717 swings open, revealing a very cozy looking Joshua, who greets you with a smile before concern tugs on the corners of his mouth.

“Y/n, what happened?”

“Guess I needed an umbrella after all,” you shrug, and he immediately gasps and puts the back of his hand to your forehead. It feels like his touch sears you again; or maybe that’s just the fever.

“Oh honey, you’re burning up,” he sighs, pulling you into his apartment so fast you don’t have time to process the term of endearment he oh-so-casually threw out. “Have you taken anything?”

“I forgot to buy medicine when I moved in,” you explain, rubbing your arms up and down your sleeves to try and fight the chill that seems to come from within. “I came to see if you had any advil?”

He looks at you as if you asked him if he had any flour, but then you visibly shudder and his gaze softens.

Quickly, he makes his way over to his couch, picking up the fluffy blue blanket that was draped over the side. “Come here.”

You don’t have much of a reason to refuse, so you trudge over to him, collapsing into the leather couch before he covers you in one smooth motion. Then he disappears into the kitchen, and returns one minute later with a bottle of water and a red pill on a napkin, scooping the tv remote up from the coffee table and leaving it in your lap.

“I’ll be in the kitchen for a bit; make yourself at home, okay?”

You want to cry. You almost do.

Instead you nod, gratefully accepting the water and pill from his hands before his brown cardigan disappears from view again.

Not too long after, you find yourself drifting off with the sounds of Ross and Rachel bickering in the background.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

You’re not sure what wakes you up this time, but the absence of your headache has you breathing a sigh of relief, happy to have one less symptom to juggle.

Across the couch from you is Joshua, picking at a stray thread on his cardigan before looking up and meeting your gaze.

“Oh good- you’re awake,” Joshua says, leaning over to the coffee table and handing you a massive steaming mug of what you assume is soup. “I was worried I was gonna have to reheat it.”

“What’s all this?”

“My mom’s sickness killer. It’ll have you feeling right as rain by the morning.”

You haven’t had much of an appetite all day, but upon catching a whiff of the steam it catches back up to you, and you don’t hesitate to take a sip of the broth. It's delicious. Because of course it is.

So your neighbor can bake, and cook, and play guitar, and works out, and likes cats. Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

“Anyways, now that you have that, I’m gonna run to the pharmacy while there’s still some daylight left,” Joshua announces, dusting off his jeans and standing up. You panic, drowning in the wave of guilt that washes over you.

“Wait but- isn’t that kinda far from here?”

He cocks his head slightly, almost like a confused puppy.

“Yeah. So?”

“You don’t have to do all that for me.”

“Right, because I’d rather sit here and watch you suffer,” he laughs, walking to the kitchen counter and grabbing his keys. “Now eat. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He takes his trench coat off of a nearby chair and exits the apartment, leaving a very flustered you behind with a mug of soup to finish.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Gently, you feel a hand on your knee shake you awake.

Fluttering your eyes open, you take in your surroundings through squinted eyes as you fight the urge to stretch.

Sunlight is filtering in through the windows, and Joshua kneels on the floor in front of you in pajamas, the sunlight hitting the edges of his messy hair and giving him somewhat of a gold halo. How fitting.

You could wake up to this every day.

Wait. You just woke up in Joshua’s living room.

Holy crap, what time was it?

“There she is,” he says smiling, and you know you could do it. You could become a morning person for this man.

“Hi.” Now that your brain feels less fogged, you’re able to think more clearly. Memories from last night flood your brain.

“They might be a bit long, but they’ll definitely be warmer than those,” he whispered, nodding towards the sleep shorts you forgot to change out of that morning. You took the sweatpants from him, sleepily apologizing for being such a bother as you stumbled back towards the couch, missing the comfort of the heavy blankets.

“Shhh. You’re not bothering me at all-”

“Yes I am! You’ve done the bothersome task of taking care of me all day…” you whined, not aware of how much the medication was making you loopy. Joshua watched in amusement as you put the sweatpants on over your shorts, then crawled back under the blankets like a burrowing mole.

“You’re only bothersome when you say nonsense like that.” He yawned and got up, about to walk past you, when your hand shot out from under the covers, fingers gripping his palm.

“Don’t leave me again,” you mumbled, and Joshua considered himself lucky that you were so out of it. Good to know that you wouldn't remember him turning pink faster than shrimp in a stir-fry.

“I’m just going to get some tea- I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he whispered, squeezing your hand slightly.

And now you’re acutely aware of his hand, still resting on your knee.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, fully taking you out of your reverie.

“A lot better, thanks to you.”

He ducks his head to try and hide his blush, but you still see the tips of his ears turning pink.

Something buzzes violently on the coffee table behind him, followed by a low fidelity rendition of Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira and Wyclef Jean.

“Right, so-” Joshua turns and grabs it for you, holding up the cell phone that you don’t remember bringing with you.

“I heard it ringing in your apartment this morning, so I went and got it since you didn’t lock your door,” he explains, nodding towards your keys on the coffee table. “I originally wasn’t going to wake you, but someone’s been trying to call you every five minutes since I got it-”

“Oh god, Haechan probably thinks I’m dead,” you groan, remembering the text you hastily sent to him to let him know your condition. Thanking him, you take the buzzing cell from him, hitting the answer button and bracing yourself for the worst.

“NEVER IN MY TWENTY THREE YEARS OF LIVING HAVE I MET A MORE SELFISH, CARELESS, INCONSIDERATE, HEARTLESS BITCH-” Haechan yells, and you hold the phone a few inches away from your ear as you bolt up from the couch.

“Relax, I’ve been away from my phone,” you reassure him, putting on your slippers and unlocking Joshua’s door.

“Doing what?! You’re sick! What could you possibly have been doing to not answer my ca-”

Haechan turns and stops mid sentence, mouth dropping open at the sight of you stepping out of your neighbor’s apartment, in sweatpants he knows aren’t yours from the length alone. You freeze in your tracks, immediately realizing how bad this looks as you end the call and slowly close his door behind you.

“I have been trying to reach you since you texted me you were sick yesterday morning, and silly me was worried and thought I should come and check on you before work,” Haechan whisper yells, talking so fast you can barely understand him. “Because you never forget to call me back, but it looks like you were perfectly fine, huh?”

“I’m sorry, I left my phone in my apartment all night,” you try to explain, but Haechan waves you off, not interested in your excuse.

“So what happened? Did Dr. Hong nurse poor little Y/n back to health?”

You bite your lip, already smiling as you recount yesterday’s events in your head. Haechan’s expression changes from one of scorn to a knowing smirk, transgressions already forgiven as he sees his best friend smitten for her neighbor. So he pulls you into one of his mind-numbing hugs, holding you tight as you giggle at his sudden change of heart.

“I have to get to work, but I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, genuine relief dripping off his voice. Which is then juxtaposed by him shoving you off of him and making a fist. “But don’t you dare pull anything like that again, or so help me, I will-”

“Go before you’re late, you psycho.”

He grins and shakes his head, and you watch him jog down the hallway and disappear into the elevator.

When you walk back into Joshua’s apartment, he’s smiling down into his coffee in a way that suggests that Haechan wasn’t as discreet as he thought.

“I didn’t get you into trouble, did I?”

You don’t answer his question right away, instead crossing the room so that you’re standing right in front of him. And then, you do the unthinkable.

You hug him.

Joshua blinks rapidly as he tries to process the sight of you holding onto him, and then his mind shuts off and his body takes over, arms wrapping around your waist as he bends down to return your embrace. You’re warm(but not feverishly warm, thank god), and your head fits above his chest so perfectly that he feels as though he might never be able to let go. Not that he’d ever want to.

You both hope the other can’t hear your heartbeats over the loud air conditioning vents.

♫- Even Though You Said So Easily, Blue, Circle, Only

VII.

You hold up two sweaters of identical cuts, switching them back and forth in front of your chest as you scrutinize your reflection.

“Ugh, I can't decide,” you groan, stressing the last word, and a laugh emits out of your cell phone.

“What colors are they? That's important,” Karina asks, painting her nails black on the other end of the line. Normally she’d be helping you get ready for such an event in person, but she was one of the few people you knew that decided to fly back home.

“I've got yellow and red.”

“Girl, I graduated from FIT. Is the red scarlet, or burgundy? Be specific.”

“It's uhhh…” you tilt your head, not used to thinking about colors so critically. “It's like a wine red, I think?”

“No. That's too reminiscent of Christmas.”

“But that's like a month away!”

“I'd excuse it if it was a holiday party, but this is a ‘Friendsgiving?’ Is that what he called it?”

You sigh, taking the yellow sweater off its hanger and throwing the reject onto your bed. However upon putting it on, you notice a very obvious, blob shaped problem around the hem.

“Hey, yellow sweater is out,” you sigh, pulling the top off over your head. “I forgot to take it to the laundromat this week.”

“Red sweater it is!”

“What about what you just said-”

“Forget what I said. Red is bold, red is fierce, red is sexy,” she says excitedly, and you giggle at the horrible rendition of a meow coming through the receiver as you pull the winning sweater over your head.

“What if I don't feel like any of those things?” You laugh, and she scoffs, blowing off your concern.

“Please, this is all about perception. The sweater will do the dirty work for you.”

You turn back to the mirror, holding your hair back in a mock ponytail.

“Should I have my hair up or down?”

“How many shoulders are exposed?”

You slide the sweater to one side, showing off the strap of your lacy brown camisole.

“One.”

“Wear it down, but push it to the side that isn't exposed.”

You follow her instructions and assess your appearance, but can't shake the feeling that something is missing.

“Any jewelry ideas?” You ask, picking up some bangles from your mom’s jewelry box.

“Any statement necklace will do.”

You settle on a simple gold locket, clasping it around your neck right as you hear someone knock on your front door.

You whip your head around to your alarm clock. 6 pm.

“Crap, oh my god Karina he’s here,” you whisper yell, putting away any open makeup and scrambling to find your shoes. “Oh my god, I'm literally not ready-”

“Yes you are, don't be silly,” she scolds, excitement leaking out of her tone.

“What if I say something dumb in front of his friends-”

“You won't, now go, before he thinks you stood him up.”

“Okay…okay I'm going. Love you!”

She cheers and sends flying kisses through the phone before hanging up, and you quickly shove your phone into your pocket before running to the front door.

You can do this. It's not a date, it's just a Thanksgiving party.

You open the door and pray that your pupils aren't shaped like hearts when you take in his appearance.

Joshua stands in the hallway, carrying a pumpkin pie(you're not even a little bit surprised) in one hand like it's an accessory and twirling his keys in the other. He wears not one, but two thin beaded necklaces(it was a special occasion, after all), an olive crew neck sweater covered by a suede jacket, classic blue jeans and…converse?

“Look! We match,” you blurt out, kicking out a foot to show off your identical black chucks while he beams at you. How you were able to put them on so quickly, you still don't know.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, let me just grab the chai from my fridge.” You disappear from the door for a moment, carefully retrieving the large thermos full of homemade spiced black tea. You're just glad it turned out well; it was only your second time making it from scratch, and you even had to steal some cinnamon sticks from Joshua while you were making it yesterday.

“I've never had chai before,” he admitted, pulling out bags of whole spices from his cabinet. “But I have cinnamon, star anise, cardamom-”

“The cinnamon will do, thanks,” you stopped him from continuing, not wanting to hear him list spices you'd never even heard of before.

“How many sticks?”

“Two please.”

As he fumbled with the Ziploc bags, your eyes drifted over to his spice cabinet, which was practically overflowing with identical glass bottles.

Squinting, you read the label of one of the well-used ones, half-filled with brown powder. Then confusion took over.

That's impossible. Joshua didn't have any nutmeg, that's why he came over yesterday-

“...and two,” he finished, gently placing the second stick in your already open palm. “Let me know how it turns out!”

“Oh you'll be able to tell from the smell,” you told him, before dashing out of his apartment and closing the door behind you.

Surely you were not overthinking this. He had every spice you knew of and then some. Why on earth would he keep coming to you for something he clearly didn't need?

You had thought about it all night and kept coming to the same conclusion, kicking and squealing under your comforter like a teenage girl. Even now a blush begins to form on your cheeks, so you quickly shake your head and head for the door, clearing your thoughts as if your brain was an Etch-A-Sketch.

Locking it behind you, you turn towards your “not” date.

“Shall we?”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Joshua Hong keeps very attractive, but very loud company.

Okay. So maybe only two of them are loud.

The ones you learn to be Soonyoung and Seokmin appear to be the ringleaders of chaos, taking turns on an old karaoke machine and putting on a show for whoever wants to hear. Joshua tells you it would have been worse if their third friend was here; thankfully the neighbors were spared when he opted to see his cousins this year instead.

Then there was Jeonghan, the host of this soirée. Him and Joshua have been trying to find HDMI cables for the last fifteen minutes because Jeonghan “doesn't watch tv”, but you swear you heard him complaining about the love arc between Derek and Grey during dinner. After a few minutes of secretly watching him half-assedly look through junk drawers, you have a theory that he just hid them, not wanting to show off his subpar gaming skills to the rest of the gang.

You flocked to familiar faces and stuck near Vernon and Wonwoo, playing blackjack at the kitchen island while they told you the most embarrassing stories from college; all of which included Joshua.

“And that was the last time we ever did tequila shots with him,” Vernon says, reviewing his cards with a blank expression. These two have the best poker faces you've ever seen. “Hit me.”

You flip over an eight of spades in front of him and he curses under his breath. “Damn, another bust.”

You turn to Wonwoo, who was sliding his cards together in anticipation before tapping two fingers on the counter.

He gets a five of hearts. Suspiciously eyeing your king of diamonds, he tells you he’ll stay.

The moment you both reveal your cards you start squealing, taking the stack of chips in the middle as you win yet another round.

“Hey Shua, I think your girl is rigging the deck,” Vernon calls to him, and you giggle as Joshua crosses the room, folding his arms once he gets to the game.

“Are you?” He peers at your hand, inspecting the table like a police officer.

“Am I?” You bat your eyelashes and expertly slide a card between your hand and your sweater cuff, showing off the sleight of hand you learned from your dad when you were nine.

“You little cheater,” Joshua gasps and pokes your side, and you scream, running away from the kitchen with him hot on your trail. Vernon and Wonwoo exchange a knowing look, collecting the cards and resetting the table for another match.

“We’re baaaack!” The one you remember from dinner as Jun bursts into the apartment, followed by Minghao who’s balancing four stacked tubs of ice cream in one hand. Jeonghan shrieks and rushes over, taking the freezing gifts into his arms so they don't fall over.

“Great, now we can finally play BS,” Seokmin says, running over to the fridge excitedly.

“Isn't that the most boring card game-”

You watch as he pulls several bottles of soju out from the fridge.

“Not if you're playing it BSS style!”

After having it explained to you what the hell that even meant, everyone gathers around the dinner table, sitting in unofficial factions as you lean over and whisper to Joshua, “Is everything a drinking game with those two?”

Soonyoung helps his accomplice carry them to the table, bottles clinking loudly over everyone's voices.

“Yes. Their livers run on vibes and absolutely nothing else,” he laughs, shuffling the card deck in his hands. “But if you don't want to drink, don't worry, no one's gonna get butthurt over it. Well, maybe Soonyoung will, but that's just because he takes everything personally the second alcohol enters his body.”

“Okay! You all know the rules, you don't have to drink if you get caught, but if you call out someone who’s telling the truth, take a shot,” Seokmin announces, sliding bottles and shot glasses all around the table. Joshua catches the bottle for the two of you, opening it with one sharp twist of his wrist before setting it down and beginning to deal cards.

The game begins relatively tame, cards stacking up in the middle of the table and getting taken by unlucky liars with subpar poker faces.

Then all hell breaks loose when Soonyoung slaps three cards in the center, dramatically claiming that they're all aces.

“Okay but no one actually believes him, right?” Minghao laughs, taking off his pink cardigan and draping it over his chair.

“Call it! I dare you.” Soonyoung sticks his tongue out at him, holding the rest of his hand to his tiger-striped Christmas sweater.

“I don't know guys, if he's telling the truth-”

“I am! You all should be worried about miss gambler over there,” he protests, pointing his hand in your direction. Your mouth drops open, shocked at the unexpected, but understandable accusation.

“Hey! I haven't lied this whole round!” Wonwoo and Joshua squint at you, not buying any of your bull, and you cower behind your cards. “Well, I haven't gotten caught.”

“If no one will do it then I will,” Jeonghan speaks up, leaning over the table and shooting daggers with his eyes at the defendant. “BS.”

“Jun, would you pour my friend a shot please,” the taunter grins wickedly, flipping over three aces from the top of the card stack. Vernon and Seokmin lose it, rioting as Jun fills a shot glass to the brim and slides it to his senior.

The challenging doesn't slow down after that, shots being thrown back almost every two minutes as the group gets more competitive. You find yourself giving into the chaotic energy, calling out a few of the guys against your better judgment and having Joshua pour you a few shots himself. And even he slips up, calling a bluff over two kings you had put down that were in fact, kings. The table had collectively oohed as you didn't flip your cards over, instead pouring and sliding him a shot without breaking eye contact.

After a few more rounds and an impromptu intermission consisting of drunken Soonyoung and Seokmin lip syncing to Baby One More Time by Britney Spears, the doorbell rings and Jeonghan runs to get it.

“Cheol! You made it!”

“No thanks to you; I couldn't find these anywhere,” The man at the door says, holding up a small orange box as he steps in and shakes off his jacket. “Why the hell do you need limited edition pumpkin pie flavored pocky-”

“Did someone say pocky?” Seokmin perks up, clumsily launching himself from the couch and nearly tripping over Minghao. “We should play the pepero game!”

“Dear lord, how much has he had to drink?”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Somehow they had found a way to make this a drinking game too, deciding that the pair with the longest pocky stick left would have to take a shot. But, to raise the stakes, the pair with the second shortest stick would also have to take a shot, to prevent players from playing it safe.

And of course, the player holding the stick has to do so with their eyes closed, making this a game more about controlling your nerves than skill.

After watching Seokmin scream and shy away from Minghao, who was bold enough to hold his chin in place once he got close enough, two inches was the new record to beat as Jeonghan hands you and Joshua an orange coated stick.

“You got this,” he reassures you, and you mime taking a drag from the thin biscuit, balancing it between your pointer and middle fingers.

“We’ll smoke them. Piece of cake.”

It is very much not a piece of cake, or pie, or any relatively round and triangularly sliced dessert, your brain yells at you, but you barely hear it over the sound of everyone cheering. You smile at your partner and place the stick between your teeth, folding your arms and closing your eyes.

He smiles warmly at you but you can't see it, and Seungcheol counts him off.

Slowly, he bends down, confidently snapping off the end of the pocky as his friends start badly chanting a song from a rom-com soundtrack. You try your best to hold still, clearly having underestimated how difficult it is to keep your eyes shut as your brain tries to estimate how close he is to your lips.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Vernon nudges Soonyoung’s side, subtly gesturing towards Joshua's knees.

Three seconds later the whole group is screaming, whoops and hollers flying around the room as Joshua stumbles, quickly regaining his and your balance with a protective arm around your waist.

And consequently, his lips on yours.

Your eyes fly open right as he steps back, glaring daggers at the two that were overcome with laughter and crying on the floor. Wonwoo stands nearby, bright red and hiding his smile behind his hand, and Seokmin repeatedly slaps a smug looking Minghao on his shoulders.

“Well?” Seungcheol nods at you, and in a daze you drop what was left of the pocky into your hand. He measures the stick from your palm.

“1.5 inches!”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Ding!

“Your friends are really nice.”

“If by nice you mean rowdy, ridiculous, rabid-”

“I meant that you guys feel like a family,” you say, bumping against him playfully as you both exit the elevator. “You could have told me you were all brothers and I would have believed you.”

“They might as well be,” he chuckles, shaking his head to himself. But you can tell from the look in his eyes that he really cares about them, grateful to have a found family in this city of strangers.

“Hey, I'm sorry about what happened earlier,” he says after a beat of silence, turning to look at you as you both near your doors.

“What- about the pocky game?” Please, please don't say you're sorry for the kiss. If we're calling it that. You didn't even win; Jun’s boldness paired with Jeonghan’s indifference proved to be a hard duo to beat. You feel yourself getting warm again as you avoid eye contact, hugging your nearly empty thermos to your chest.

“Yeah, I totally lost my balance back there,” he reasons, not wanting to reveal that he'd been sabotaged by one of his traitor friends. “That is not how I imagined that going.”

Imagined what? The game?

“Don't worry about it,” you brush it off casually, unlocking your door with a newfound sense of urgency in an attempt to hide your flaming cheeks. “Thanks for tonight; I'll see you later Josh.”

Behind the safety of your door, you press yourself against the cool surface, trying to slow your erratic heartbeat as you twist your necklace into coils, trying to interpret what he meant.

Feeling your adrenaline catch up to you, you set your thermos on the kitchen counter and then rip your sweater off over your head, chucking it at your couch as you point an accusatory finger at it.

“Whatever happened to red is bold?” You whine, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “You were supposed to help me ask him out tonight-”

You're interrupted by the doorbell, loud and annoying at this time of night.

That's strange. Only people who don't know any better use the doorbell- all of your friends are aware of how much you hate its chime.

Glancing at the clock and deducing that it is past midnight, you're suddenly glad that you kept your hello kitty baseball bat right behind the door, just in case the lack of peep holes lead to your untimely doom.

Cautiously, you unlock the door and open it slowly.

“Oh,” you heave a sigh of relief and swing the door open upon seeing Joshua standing there, an unreadable expression on his flushed face. His apartment door is wide open, suede jacket hanging on the doorknob. “It's just you; why did you use the doorbe-”

You don't get to finish your sentence, cut off by Joshua’s warm hands cupping your face, and him subsequently bending down to meet your lips with his own.

The shock and sheer speed of how fast he pulled you in shuts your brain off, so your body takes over and you reciprocate in earnest, hands sliding upwards to wrap around his neck as he deepens the kiss. He follows suit, pulling you flush against him as his hands find the exposed skin of your back, scorching you with his touch.

His lips are soft, so soft, and you can feel the weeks of tension finally melting away at this sweet release, dizzying you from the intensity of the kiss alone. Your lungs start to ache for oxygen but your fingers have a different agenda, tangling themselves in his silky hair like you’ve wanted to do for so long, and feeling the shiver as it runs up his spine.

You're suddenly glad that you took off your sweater, relishing the feeling of his hands on your bare skin before he settles on holding your waist, holding you tighter with each passing second. When he pulls away slightly, the breath you take in is more of a shudder, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed when he leans back in, leaving one last lingering press against your lips before pulling away fully.

You stare at each other in shock, both of you panting in silence for a few seconds before he finally speaks up.

“I…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully as his brown eyes never leave your wide ones, “I had imagined something more like that.”

Before you can respond or even process what he said, he turns and retreats into his own apartment, not looking back before grabbing his jacket and clicking the door shut.

Unable to move or speak or even think about anything other than what just happened, you stand in your doorframe, a hand pressed flat against your lips as the ghost of his kiss still lingers on them.

When you finally walk back into your apartment, your red sweater seems to glare at you from across the room, mocking you for ever doubting its abilities.

“I don't wanna hear it,” you nearly squeal, raising a hand towards the discarded clothing item before running off to your bedroom, cell phone already out and dialing Karina’s number.

♫- Bittersweet, Try Again, Ready To Love

VIII.

“One more; you can do it,” the muscular man standing behind Joshua says, assisting him with his arms under the barbell as the former fights gravity. But luck is not on his side; a particular thought that's been haunting him for the last forty-eight hours flashes through his mind again, and his strength falters, making him struggle against the weight in an uneven manner.

“Okay- I've got it, you're done.” Joshua’s spotter instructs, gritting his teeth as he helps put the barbell back into its place on the bench press. The blonde man regards his partner quietly, bending down to pick something up off the ground before speaking.

“Where are you today man?” Lee Chan– his personal-trainer-turned-confidante –wonders aloud, walking around the exercise equipment. “You've been spacey all morning and you've barely broken a sweat.”

Joshua sits up from the bench, taking off his black cap and ruffling his hair with a sigh.

“I'm sorry,” he begins, feeling guilty about not putting his all into today's workout. “I’ll admit my head isn't really here at the moment.”

“Well…where is it?”

Oh, it's at apartment 716.

Friday morning, just after midnight.

Standing in your doorway.

Kissing you senseless.

“Nowhere in particular.”

Chan eyes him carefully as he takes a swig from his blue water bottle, picking up on his gym buddy’s flushed face that definitely isn't from physical exertion.

“It's about that girl, isn't it?”

“I can't believe I just kissed her out of the blue like that,” Joshua blurts out, dropping his face into his hands as Chan’s mouth drops open.

“You did not.”

“I wasn't thinking.”

“Thinking is for guys that don't get girls.”

Joshua shoots him a weird look at that, and Chan waves him off, not entirely sure what he meant by that anyway.

“I don't think I'm seeing the problem?” Chan sits down next to him on the leather bench, perplexed. “I mean, she kissed you back right?”

His ears burn bright pink.

“You could say that.”

As if he didn't replay the way the way you carded your fingers through his hair a million times since then, borderline obsessed with the way your body curved into his when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I don't know, I don't want her to feel like I'm rushing into things.”

Chan turns and looks at him thoughtfully, and then takes his hat off and smacks his friend with it, a scornful expression on his face.

“Dude, from what you're telling me, I'm pretty sure that that kiss was way overdue. I say you should go talk to her. What's the worst that could happen?”

Joshua smiles a little, unable to find fault with his reasoning.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“But you're okay though, right?”

“Of course I'm fine Gyu, it's not like it's been a week or anything.”

You sit on the couch in your pink velour sweatsuit, staring at your cell phone as if it were your older brother’s face. On the other end you hear him sigh, the distant sound of something sizzling filling up the silence between you two.

“Look, if he doesn't say anything about what happened, I'll come down from upstate and kick his ass myself.”

“No, no, you don't need to do that,” you yell, grimacing at the idea. Mingyu was a ray of sunshine, but you can't remember the last time he got mad at anybody, and you'd like to keep it that way.

“I don't know. You're a…man,” you wince, suddenly grossed out. “Is this normal? Am I reading into it too much?”

“Y/n…I don't really know much about this John-”

“Josh-”

“Semantics,” he brushes you off, and you fight down a giggle. “But when I realized I was in love with my fiancée, I was so scared. I avoided her for a week like an idiot.”

“And she still said yes?!”

“My point is,” he says, ignoring your jab, “I think he's just panicking. From what I can tell, if he really cares about you, everything happened so suddenly that he's probably just trying to figure out how to confront you about it.”

“So what?” You groan, rubbing your hands over your face as you fall back against your couch. Your brain has been replaying the kiss since it happened, torturing you with memories of his lips every moment you're alone. “I'm just supposed to sit here and wait?”

“Well I didn't say that-”

You hear three knocks on your door and your heartbeat immediately picks up, recognizing that knocking pattern like its own pulse.

A few moments later you answer the door, and despite you mentally steeling yourself, your heart betrays you and jumps into your throat.

Speak of the damned devil.

“I'll call you back,” you mumble into the phone, swiftly hanging up and slipping the device into your pocket before folding your arms, shifting your weight over to one hip.

The man of the hour leans against the doorframe, one arm holding up his weight as he gazes down at you, eyes mischievous.

“You wouldn't happen to have any cinnamon, would you?”

You roll your eyes, incredulous that after everything that happened on Thanksgiving, this is how Joshua chooses to break the metaphorical ice.

“You know there's this fascinating little invention called a supermarket!” You say with mock sincerity, clasping your hands together. “They have all sorts of things there too; not just spices.”

He tilts his head and smiles, and you're reminded of just how weak you are for him, baby blue crewneck and all.

“Never heard of it.”

“Well I'm all out,” you sigh dramatically, then act as if a light bulb went off over your head as you snap your fingers. “But I think I know where to find some.”

You duck under his arm and walk straight past him, right into his apartment. For a second he stands there frozen, unable to see what you're planning, but then his mortality catches up to him and he bolts through the door, stopping in his tracks once he sees you fishing around in one of his cabinets.

His spice cabinet.

“Aha! Here it is, cinnamon,” you exclaim, stressing each syllable before you pluck the glass bottle you lent him weeks ago off the shelf and toss it to Joshua. He catches it with ease, setting it down on the kitchen counter as he struggles to come up with a response. This isn't the worst that could've happened, but the embarrassment of being caught doesn't feel great either.

“How did you-”

“You never gave it back, and I saw it when I was here on Wednesday,” you explain, closing the cabinet and walking towards him, “and after seeing your rather impressive stash, a lot of things started to make sense, but I don't want to assume things so…”

Joshua knows he's in trouble from the way you innocently bat your eyelashes at him, pretending to not understand his feigned spice shortage.

“Why don't you just tell me why you keep stealing mine?”

He sighs. You're going to make him say it.

“Because…”

“Because?” You slowly grin, mocking his reluctance to answer.

“Because why would I go to the store,” he whispers, gently taking your hand in his and pulling you close to him, “when I've got everything I want right here?”

It's so cliché it's sickening.

But you know what they say. Clichés are only cliché because they work ninety-nine percent of the time.

And Joshua Hong has been working overtime.

With your restraint reserves at an all-time low, you lean forward on your tip-toes, finally connecting your lips with his again after what felt like ages.

This time feels less urgent and frenzied, one of his hands coming up to graze your cheek as you all but melt into him, lost in the feeling of his embrace. He's warm and sweet and steady, and your heart flutters knowing that there isn't any alcohol influencing his actions.

Still plagued by teenage girl hormones, you start giggling against him, seemingly way too excited about the recent turn of events. He breaks the kiss but doesn't move away, eyes still closed as if his thoughts would tangle again at the sight of you.

“I want to take you on a date,” he says breathlessly, holding both of your hands now and tracing his thumbs over your knuckles. “And I want to bake you all kinds of things, and meet your friends, and find you under mistletoe before you leave to visit family.” You're smiling so hard it hurts. “Is that alright with you?”

“It's very alright.”

“Yeah?” He's smiling now too, opening his eyes and nudging your nose with his. “You're so cute when you're dazed, have I told you that?”

“Oh just shut up and kiss me already,” you complain, and you don't have to tell him twice, already leaning in to connect your smiles once more.

Mingyu could show up tomorrow with a stack of cardboard boxes if you wished, and you could be out of the city by sundown, safely back at your parent's house in the suburbs.

You could go back to calculating driving time and not needing umbrellas and finding the meat next to the dairy, you know, like how a normal grocery store would have it.

But you know in your heart that it wouldn't feel like home.

“Oh, you know what I do need though?” Joshua suddenly says, breaking the kiss again. You raise your eyebrows at him, brain still a little bit foggy.

“Your electric can opener. It's still in the box and I broke my manual one opening pumpkin purée the other day.”

“What? You can't have that, I paid like twenty bucks for that th-”

Joshua tears away from you, narrowly missing the kitchen counter as he breaks into a sprint. Squealing, you chase after him, yelling at him about not wanting to date a potential burglar.

“Consider it payment for the desserts!”

“I thought those were free, you thief!”

Honestly, you don't think you've ever felt more at home than you do right now, across the hall from Josh.

♫- Christmas Tree

epilogue.

You expected a lot of different things after deciding to date Joshua Hong in Manhattan.

Holding hands while strolling through Central Park? Predictable.

Cafe hopping in Soho? Guaranteed.

Even the hole-in-the-wall restaurant that he took you to that served the best carbonara you've ever tasted was magnificent, but ultimately not surprising.

Josh has done well on teaching you about the magic of New York City, showing you that there's always something to see on every street corner. And also showing you that around every street corner is an opportunity to kiss you, but that's beside the point.

You did not expect for Josh to be friends with the guy occupying the penthouse suite on the corner of West 32nd street.

“You didn't tell me you had any rich friends,” you whisper, waiting anxiously at the door while Joshua puts a reassuring arm around your waist. His fingers tap absentmindedly against a tupperware container, filled to the brim with tree-shaped cookies you helped him decorate earlier that day.

“That was simply a precaution. I can't have an upper edge when he has that wallet.”

“Josh!” You hit his shoulder playfully and he jingles, the bells on his ugly Christmas sweater thrashing around from the movement.

“Let's just say he has songwriting credits all over KISS FM.”

Suddenly the door opens, revealing a shorter man with a black Christmas sweater, various animals with Santa hats and instruments spread all over the front.

“Shua’s here!” He cheers, and a few people behind him join in the yelling. He then turns to you, eyes forming crescents as he smiles warmly.

“And you must be Y/n. I'm Jihoon, it's nice to finally meet you.”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Joshua Hong keeps very attractive, very loud, and apparently very festive company.

The one you came to know as Seungkwan greeted you with a tight hug, exuding Christmas cheer in every sense of the concept. And then you very quickly understood why the BSS trio is only allowed to gather at Jihoon’s penthouse, grateful for the lack of neighbors as they began their third obscenely loud Christmas carol in the short time you'd been there.

It was honestly a miracle that no one got cut when you all played spoons, trading out the spoons for plastic knives for the sake of upping the stakes. And Seungcheol nearly landed himself on the naughty list, dropping his cards and chasing Soonyoung out of the apartment when the younger man stole one right out of his fingertips.

You learned about just how many songs Jihoon was credited with writing during the spiked eggnog chugging competition, neither of you wanting to participate as eggnog was not your favorite drink, and he couldn't hold alcohol well anyways.

It was funny when the guys suggested that Joshua join the countless bakery owners in Manhattan, the only one rejecting the idea being Jeonghan, spoiled from the influx of free baked goods since he started dating you.

It was even funnier when Wonwoo convinced you to stand with Joshua, claiming that it was for pictures, only for you both to notice the sprig of leaves tied from the ceiling too late, courtesy of Seokmin.

You really didn't want to be the first ones to leave the party, but Joshua dragged you out of there, claiming that you had to catch a train home in the early morning(10 am was not that early). But the sight of Jun and Minghao pouting as your boyfriend carried you out the door made you smile, feeling happy that your presence would actually be missed.

The elevator dings and you both walk out of it, hand in hand.

“Do you need help packing?”

“I packed before we went to the party, remember?”

“Remind me how long you'll be gone.”

“It's only seven days, Josh.”

“What should I bake when you get back?”

You hum thoughtfully, taking his other hand in yours as you ponder the vast amount of things he's baked you while you stand in front of your door.

“The chocolate chip cookies you made when we first met,” you suggest. “I haven't stopped dreaming about them since.”

He lands a kiss on your nose and starts beaming.

“Then I'll have a fresh batch waiting for you.”

Smiling, you close your eyes as he bends down slightly, leaving a short but lingering kiss on your lips in the middle of the hallway.

You hope you never get used to this.

“Alright, since I have to catch such an early train tomorrow,” you drawl, pulling out of his embrace and taking out your keys, “I'm gonna go to bed.”

“Okay.” He leans against his own door, watching you unlock and enter your apartment, and then you turn to look back at him.

“Goodnight Josh.”

“Goodnight Y/n.”

Once you close the door, you turn and lean against it, counting roughly five seconds on your fingers before you hear him knock three times, like he always does.

You swing the door back open, not at all surprised to find Joshua cheesing at you, matching the grin on your own face.

“Are you sure you don't need help packing?”

You giggle as you grab him by the lapels of his trench coat, pulling him into the apartment and then in for a kiss, kicking the door shut behind the two of you.

As much as you love your family, you know you'll be counting the minutes until you're back home.

Fin.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Sugar Across The Hall

a lixiesfreckles_ production

cast(in order of appearance)

Joshua Hong as the love interest

Lee Haechan as the deranged best friend

Jeon Wonwoo as the game boi

Vernon as the wingman

Kim Jungwoo as the drama

Karina as the hypewoman

Jung Jaehyun as the audience

Johnny Suh as the coworker

Kwon Soonyoung as the tiger™

Lee Seokmin as the one with undiagnosed liver failure

Yoon Jeonghan as the host

Jun Hui as the daredevil

Xu Minghao as the other daredevil

Choi Seungcheol as the delivery guy

Lee Chan as the personal trainer

Kim Mingyu as the older brother

Lee Jihoon as the black card

Boo Seungkwan as the christmas card

in loving memory of Lina, who made the grave mistake of biasing Joshua, and then telling me about it. te amo mucho, sorry for killing you lol

do not copy or repost. all rights reserved.

[lixiesfreckless]

this is insane. easily the best jeno fic I've ever read and easily in the top 3 that I've seen on here. and I don't even like jeno like that I'm gonna explode you have to read this

❥summer hair = forever young (m)

↳ Only three weeks after being broken up with by your long time partner, you’re dragged along for your friends summer vacation plans despite your best attempts at staying home to do little more than feel sorry for yourself.

Day one? Dinner and a movie.

Day two? The bar down the street that smells like old socks.

Day three? Well, that’s the waterpark, and the cute, blonde lifeguard that seems to make the lazy river his mainstay is a bit of a sight for sore eyes.

lee jeno x fem!reader — summer fling, strangers to lovers, fluff, light angst, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [18,1k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, penetrative sex, oral sex (f), praise, dirty talk, body cum-shot, Lee Jeno has a Big Dick.

J♡ [22:40]: i just think with summer coming up it's probably for the best, we had fun but we both knew it wasn't a forever thing anyway

A year and a half. Just like that.

Even now, two days after the break up text from your boyfriend — the boyfriend that you were very much in love with and very much thought it to be at the very least a potential forever thing with — you find yourself coming back to it. Rereading it. Wondering what it was that brought the two of you to the here and now of it all.

Though, the pictures of him at a party that had been posted the following day sort of gave it away, you suppose.

Still, there had been talk of future plans, futures together and what that looked like. Maybe not quite a family and the white picket fence just yet — but there had been discussions over romantic dinners and between the sheets after some particularly enjoyable bedroom romps. At least, you had thought as much.

In hindsight, a break up always causes you to put every interaction leading up to it under a microscope. What could you have done differently, better, how could you have avoided the reality that you now find yourself in.

You choose not to reread over the texts you've sent him since, mostly out of humiliation of the fact. Through the crying and the begging and the reducing yourself down to someone that you don't even recognize even in the worst of times, the only thing that makes it that much worse is the lack of any such acknowledgement from a man who had once promised you so much of himself. Not granted even so much as a conversation — hell, he couldn't even be bothered to meet you in person to do it properly — the most likely case? Jaehyun met some girl at some party that in the moment he felt was worth ending the relationship for.

And in times like this, you realize it's difficult to think that you ever really know someone at all.

In the following weeks, your friends are kind, but even you can tell that they begin to get fed up with your insistence on being miserable over a guy that couldn't grace you with even an ounce of the same thoughtfulness.

Constantly turning down plans in favor of staying home on the couch with a bag of snacks and some shitty romance flick, the squad of pals that you've collected over the years only becomes more and more pushy of your getting up and out there once again — in the nicest way, of course. Comments about how he wasn't even that handsome (a lie) and wouldn't end up being all that successful anyway (also a lie) sneak themselves into conversations at any brief moment that any of them can sneak them in, as if attempting to convince you of the fact; rather, the reminder of him only serves as just that. You don't need it, because you're still at a point of pain in your chest where Jaehyun is always there. Knocking, jabbing, not allowing himself to fall off from your mind even for a second.

They mean well, but these things take time. You're thankful that with summer vacation coming up and the girls having plans to go out of town for a few weeks that you'll be granted a small amount of reprieve from the barrage of commentary, at the very least.

That is, of course, until the day comes.

"Rise and shine, darling! We're going on a mission!"

Waking to the shrill voice of one of the girls as she rips the covers off of your body — simultaneously exposing your freshly opened eyes to the offending illumination of the sunlight outside as another girl pulls open the curtains of a window just across the room — you briefly attempt to reach for the duvet before instead accepting defeat and instead slumping back into the cushion of the mattress, anticipating whatever nonsense these women have in store for you this time.

"What kind of mission?" You ask with a dry and throaty groan.

With blankets bunched in her arms, a girl with long, silver hair brings herself just next to your head while you remain lied and despondent in bed. "Today we leave for summer vacation."

One eye cracked open at the words from Winter's mouth, you groan again before answering her. "Yes, you all leave for summer vacation. I told you I wasn't going."

"Why?" Another girl chimes in from the doorway. A beautiful woman with long, silky black hair. "So you can stay here all month long and continue feeling bad for yourself? That guy was a fuckin' loser anyway."

"Karina."

"What?" She adds in retaliation. "He was."

Still standing by the window and with a white curtain in hand, Giselle rolls her eyes at her friends bluntness. Really, you know them all to believe it to be the case, but Karina is the only one willing to go to such feats to speak on it.

"What she means is that it would probably do you some good to get out and come away with us," Giselle amends, garnering a rather unbothered shrug from Karina along the way. "It's only two weeks, it certainly couldn't hurt."

Sighing at the words, you remain laid out in the comfort of your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you realize that there is still a small part of you that can't help but consider the possibility of Jaehyun calling you to tell you of the mistake that he has made, that the two of you should meet up and rekindle things, and the thought of being far away and well out of reach should that time come to pass causes an uncomfortable twisting in your gut that you're not all that ready to disclose to your friends in the room.

Partially because you know it to be so far from the realm of possibility, and partially because it's not a conversation that you're all that interested in rehashing with them now, either.

Regardless, you know there to be truth in their words. Staying home and feeling bad about where your love life has ended up thus far is not going to serve you: not in the near or the far future. Knowing as much, it then begs the question...

Is it worth throwing away an entire summer vacation for?

Inhaling slowly, your lips part to speak, but as your eyes fall upon Winter once more, you watch as her face begins to twist into that of glee before the words even begin to leave your mouth.

"Yes!" She exclaims with a jump before turning and ushering the other girls to begin packing belongings for your last minute trip.

It's only a few hours over to the next town by the beach, anyway, so if they forget anything of importance you'll easily be able to find something to make up for it upon arrival. You leave them to it over the calamity of delighted squeals as the women shove your belongings into a bag, and as you stare up at the ceiling over your head for one last time before your departure, you can't help but wonder: what are you getting yourself into this summer?

Four hours and twenty minutes in the backseat of Ningning's luxury SUV.

It's not the worst way to get somewhere, but the additional hour of travel time most certainly could have been shaved off if any of the people in the car capable enough of navigating a GPS application.

Instead, the time there offers you far too much ability to live with your own thoughts about whether or not you're in the right headspace to truly be making this trip. Granted, it's a little bit too late for that now on account of not being able to back out should you even want to — rather, you can't help but wonder if you're already regretful of having allowed yourself to be dragged along for such a thing.

Every ten minutes or so you check your phone for a message, not that you're keeping track or anything.

The concern is alleviated for a time upon finally reaching the summer beach house, at least. From the outside it's nothing fancy; perhaps appearing as nothing more than a typical, large family home at a glance — but putting together the knowledge of it being just walking distance from the sandy coast out back and the large count of at least six bedrooms inside — you know it to be far beyond just the way that it may present. Expected, of Ningning and her affluent family, and at the very least you're thankful in knowing that you'll have a bedroom for yourself that most likely has a lock on the door should you wish to take some time away from the girls at hand.

You feel somewhat guilty in thinking that, though: friends that you've known since the beginnings of high school and now well into the tail end of higher educational years, people who have been with you through thick and thin and through all of your poor decisions, messy break ups, and rash meltdowns. For whatever reason, this one feels different. The desire to be away and alone with nothing more than your feelings of sorrow, and sometimes you find yourself even lamenting the fact that you have to acknowledge anyone or anything outside of that.

It's good to feel your feelings, this much you know. It's probably better to not allow them to consume you, however uncomfortable it is, though.

Blonde hair swishing through the air as she twirls with keys jingling in hand, Ningning turns with a wide smile to the rest of you as she pushes the front door open and subsequently removes herself from the doorway to allow you all to go before her. "Home sweet home!"

Upon entering the premises, you can't help but think that 'sweet' may be an understatement: two stories and ceilings higher than you can really even fathom with more window paning serving as a perimeter than proper walling — it's most definitely a luxury home, and one that you couldn't really fathom ever owning for yourself, or even really being able to afford renting for a getaway such as this without the additional help of a well-off pal.

It's beautiful, and it makes you realize just how lucky you are to have friends willing to drag you out of your misery to force you to come along and experience it with them.

"Bedrooms are upstairs except for the largest one, which I'll be staying in on account of familial ties," the girl proudly explains as you all enter and set your bags down in the living room area. "Kitchen is to the left, as is another, smaller living area, pool, deck, and then obviously you guys can figure out how to get to the beach."

It goes without saying, because even though the sun is out upon your arrival, you can't imagine not being able to see the crashing of waves even in the nighttime from where you stand now. Looking out towards the coast, it makes your heart swell with promise and thankfulness once over.

You gotta give it to them, they might have been right.

Still, you've checked your phone twice since you've arrived.

"Should we freshen up then have dinner?" Karina asks suddenly and with evident excitement in her voice. You all nod.

"Dinner and a movie in on the first night," Winter adds, grabbing her bags once again. "But after that I expect nothing but trouble until we have to go back home."

Somehow, you don't doubt that to be the outcome, either.

Day two is simple, and much to Winter's displeasure. You, however, are a bit thankful for it on account of your inability to truly settle in. It helps after having gone to the bar just down the way and having a few drinks — that always does the trick in getting you to dreamland, but the aid of alcoholic beverages isn't one that you wish to rely on as a crutch for sleeping during your two week stay and without another plan of action, you think it best to take it easy and lie a little low for what may be the remainder of the trip for you.

When day three rolls around and Karina excitedly throws out the option of the enormous, landmark of a waterpark that the city is known for — everyone is beyond elated at the suggestion, even you.

Some sun and a little outdoors could probably do you good, and on top of that, you'll be far too exhausted from a day out not to get a good nights rest by the time your body meets the comfort of your bed.

With swimsuits on and towels in hand as the five of you enter the gates of the park, you realize that you had overlooked how busy it would be — and by quite a wide margin.

Crowds not really your thing and especially not during some of the hottest days of summer, you bite back any possible complaints you could have and instead focus on the positives: you and your friends are looking fine as hell, there's a comfortable breeze that you couldn't be happier to feel right about now, and your phone is tucked away inside of a locker — far from your sight until the day is over.

You're hopeful for any thoughts of him being just as tucked away as a result, too.

In the meantime and barely out of sight long enough for you to even notice, Giselle pops back up to your side with a bright blue slushie in one hand. "What should we do first?"

"Where did you even get that?" You can't help but question.

Turning and pointing, Giselle brings your line of vision over to a shirtless man standing at a small kiosk only a few feet away. "Hot guy selling them."

"We should definitely see if there's any more of those around here," Karina adds upon looking, and as a result, you cock your head somewhat confused. "Slushies?"

"Hot guys," she confirms sternly.

The thing about post-break up heartbreak is that often times the blinders to other people some times turn themselves on without your knowing it.

That is to say that even though you're not actively thinking about Jaehyun, and there are extremely attractive men here, you can't say that you're all that interested in the fact.

Standing back, you find joy at least in watching your friends enjoy themselves as they flirt with strange guys and playfully pat their arms and shoulders — laughing at jokes that aren't funny but for this, we can pretend — you know it all too well, and you suppose that from an outsiders point of view, it certainly is amusing, and given how long the line is up to this slide, you're thankful for the entertainment.

Nearing thirty minutes in line for one attraction in the hot, beating down summer sun is far from your idea of a good time, but you can see the end soon approaching, and while you cannot imagine that the ride down be worthy of this sort of gathering of people, the faster you can get up there, on the ride, and down, the better.

With only a small family of four ahead of your group now, you and the girls stand just near the very top of the water slide. Sweat pooling in all sorts of places that you'd really rather it not on account of the heat, you find yourself nearing the end of your willingness to enjoy this place, and more than that, you're happy that this is one of those slides that holds numerous people at once so that no one has to wait to get down from what you might consider now to be the highest mountain in the pits of Hell.

The family goes along their way, and with Karina ahead of you and the other behind you, the girl leans back to whisper towards you through the loud shouts of happy children surrounding you.

"Oh, girl—"

Granted, you don't know what this means as you continue with the last couple of steps to the top. Not until you get up there and your eyes land on precisely what it is that you know garnered that type of reaction from her.

Standing just beside the opening of the slide and preparing an inflatable tube for your party of pals, he doesn't take notice of you and yours before your lot does of him, and for that you're somewhat thankful considering the way that your eyes rake over the toned, tanned, display of arms and a bleached-blonde undercut of hair with the sides and back all too freshly shaven, at that.

With a loose tank top covering his torso, you can't help but feel a bit disappointed in the fact. A modest man working at the waterpark, you think, and it brings a bit of a grin to your lips despite the joke only being known to you.

In that moment and with it now being your turn to ride, he looks up and makes eye contact with you, in particular — a wide smile of teeth that's matched by an equally pleasant eye smile, as well — punctuated by a small freckle just at the lower corner of his right eye.

"First time riding?"

"What?"

You realize as soon as the affronted response leaves your lips that it is no ones fault but your own that you've responded to such a normal question in this way. Perhaps entirely on account of your eye-fucking the cute lifeguard before he even manages to get a word in edgewise, you watch him cock his head to the side inquisitively at your answer before snorting out a bit of a chuckle through his nose and continuing on as if you're not a complete fucking freak in public.

"Is it your first time? On this ride?"

"Oh," you answer back as normally as you can possibly muster up. "Uh, yeah, first time."

"Cool," he says, holding the raft still while your friends climb on and get into position beside you. "Hold onto the railing, don't let go, don't stick your hands out and try to touch anything along the way."

With a knowing grin, Karina leans forward to grab his attention as he pulls you and your girls towards the opening of the slide. "What happens if I lose a finger? Are you going to come down there and rescue me?"

It's flirtatious, although you can't help but think the logistics of it could potentially use some work.

But with little more than a shake of his head and a smile, the cute blonde answers the inquiry in the best way you think him to know how.

"I work at a waterpark, don't think you want me sewing anything on you back together. Have fun!"

And with that, the hot lifeguard disappears into the dark, black abyss of the waterslide.

When the day comes to a close and simultaneously, the park itself, with gentle sunburns gracing you and your friends skin and with slushies in hand, the five of you finally retrieve your belongings from the lockers near the entrance.

You check the screen of your phone to find little more than a text from your mother, asking how you're doing and if you're having a good time.

Looking forward to the day in which not finding a message from your ex won't make your throat feel like swallowed needles, as well.

"I see everyone made it out with all of their appendages."

The voice and joke are familiar in a sort of way that you can't seem to place just yet, but upon raising your sights from the depressing display at hand and towards the person in which the words have come from, it all comes rushing back to you at lightning speed. Eyes wide and taken quite aways aback, you just about drop your phone and as a result of scrambling to not let it meet the wet concrete of the floor below, nearly make a mess of the icy, blue beverage in hand, as well.

Thankfully, neither disastrous outcome make themselves to be — but still, your inability to be even a little bit normal in front of a man you've known for all of two minutes is getting a little out of hand, at this point.

Still in the same white, cut up t-shirt from back at the slides, the two of you make eye contact for a moment before you realize that you should probably actually say something to him in response.

"Yeah, well," you start with a nod back behind him and towards where Karina stands. "She was the one with intent to remove fingers, not me."

Pausing to glance back over his shoulder and acknowledge the other woman, he gives her a nod before turning his attention back and towards you.

"Good, because I really mean it when I say I can't sew for shit."

You can't help but chuckle at the words. "Would be quite a repertoire of skills under your belt if that were to be the case."

"Indeed. You live around here or on vacation?"

Sly, you think to yourself. Granted, you don't hate the attention especially since he seems keen on directing it to you, in particular. It does beg the question, however, of how much of a point is there to any of this, really? A summer fling can be fun, sure, although not exactly your usual speed of doing things — and especially not off of the back of some of the worst heartbreak you've ever experienced — you look the man in front of you over just one more time before parting dry, chapped lips to respond to him in some form or another.

"Vacation," you grant him, albeit slowly, as if anticipating something suspicious in his questioning. "Why?"

It's sort of a stupid question, you know.

Perching a well-defined arm up against the metal locker next to the both of you, he leans into it and maintains eye contact with you before answering as much. "We should do something while you're in town."

Reeling at how forward he is, your answer comes out a bit more stuttered than you would have liked to begin with. "I—I'm not sure there's much point in tha—"

But regardless, Karina is there to interject, anyway.

Nudging herself into the scene and with her own phone in hand, the woman stands between you and him to do something that you stand a bit half and half on: it's somewhat annoying, and a bit out of bounds especially as friendships go to be giving out your number to men that you've only barely just met...however...

He is so fine, and a bit charming, to boot.

"Here's her number," you hear your friend say as she stands with her back towards you. The whole thing takes place in a matter of seconds, and as he slides his phone back into his pocket, Karina makes haste in whisking herself back out of the scene, but not before flashing you a knowing, mischievous smile.

"Trouble that one is, huh?" He says, thumbing back over his shoulder as she disappears into the rest of your friend group.

"You have no idea," you sigh in response, and now resigned to the fact that this is definitely going to be some kind of thing, you figure it best to move along towards the next most obvious course of action. Whatever this is going to be, after all. "So, what's your name?"

Corners of his mouth pulling into an all too pleasant curl, you hate how much it sort of makes you melt at the sight of it. An unfortunate side effect of much too attractive and seemingly also kinda cool guys, you figure.

"Jeno," he says, as if delighted by the fact that you would ever even ask. "Lee Jeno."

Over the next handful of days — through a shocking amount of quiet evenings spent at home around take-out boxes and cheap wine with the girls — texts from the cute blonde at the waterpark that you now know to be named Jeno come far more frequently than you realize you had anticipated.

For one, he knows that you don't live around here so you can't imagine there to be much of a reason for him to be pursuing you for much more than a fun romp in the sheets, only to then never speak to you ever again. It's not an arrangement you're all that opposed to under normal circumstances, though you can't help but consider that where you are mentally and emotionally right about now is far from normal circumstances.

And two, he hasn't really laid on the same sort of aggressive, sexual interest that you may have expected from a guy looking for that sort of thing.

In fact, talking to Jeno is just pretty...casual.

Seemingly making it a point to text you late into the night and right before bed (incredible timing every time, you note), you chuckle every time thinking that this time to be the one where he comes on strong. After all, most men only text women that they're interested in this late at night for one thing and one thing only, so every time as the chime of your phone receiving a message comes through, you arm yourself with the armor of anticipating something heinous to some degree — you can only hope that it's not a dick pic, at least.

Phone in hand, lights off and snuggling into the plush, comfortable sheets of your bedding, you unlock your phone and navigate to your messaging application to see just what it is that lies in wait for you this evening.

Jeno [01:23]: good morning, or night, i never know how to announce myself at this time of the day

It's sort of annoying the way you can't help but smile, but you're thankful enough for the fact that he is unable to see the effect he already has on you in such a way.

In the wake of being told that you're not wanted, not desired — sometimes it's nice to have a reminder that not everyone feels that way.

You have no intention of engaging in anything more than basic flirtation with this man, but hey, that can be enough.

You [01:24]: how do you always know exactly when i'm settling in for bed?

Typing bubble popping up immediately after sending your message, you can't help but wonder just how eager this guy really is to be the receiver of your full attention.

Jeno [01:24]: i have karina on look out so she can let me know precisely the right time to hit you up

You [01:24]: creepy, but i respect your willingness to tell me, at least

Jeno [01:25]: well, you know what they say, honesty is the best policy. what are you guys doing tomorrow night?

Taking a moment to mull over the question before you begin typing your reply, you answer him easily, but mostly out of curiosity in why it is that he's asking.

You [01:26]: i don't think we have anything planned? you can ask karina ;p

Jeno [01:26]: very funny, are you going to hold that terrible joke over my head forever? anyway, my friend is having a party at his place, parents out of town for a week, you guys should come by.

You're none too proud of the way your heart beats just that much harder for a split second in time at the coming through of the invitation. Still, play it cool.

You [01:27]: i'll ask the girls tomorrow if we have anything going on and i'll get back to you. are any of your friends cute?

You're not sure you've ever seen the typing bubble pop up that quickly in your life after sending that message.

Jeno [01:27]: really man? already trying to scope out my friend group to see if you can get an upgrade? :(

You [01:28]: i have friends...they will want to know...it will likely be a huge deciding factor in whether or not we show up at all so think carefully lol

Jeno [01:28]: fine! yeah i guess some of them are handsome, not quite as handsome as me but you know what can you do? hehe

Rolling your eyes but with grin still plastered across your lips, you begin typing your response back to him.

You [01:28]: i'll pass the message along then

Jeno [01:29]: cool. get some sleep then, you really shouldn't be texting strange men so late at night anyway, who knows what could happen hehehe goodnight, rest well

Part of you wants to rebuke the claim despite very much having already considered it for yourself, but in an effort to not appear too interested and too eager, you simply leave the conversation alone and with that as the last message sent for the evening.

Butterflies in your stomach and the promise of who-knows-what at this party tomorrow leaves sleep hard to come by, but you figure it's at least a little worth it if it means checking your phone for text messages from a different man whose name starts with a 'J' for once.

Of course, you're none too surprised once you find yourself at said house party.

A bit more rambunctious than what you'd typically like to find yourself at back home — with slews of college-aged people running, yelling, dancing and talking amongst themselves as well as throughout the entire premises of the property both in and outside — as you and your friends make your way inside to the enormous stacking of alcohol bottles and disposable plastic cups, it's one particularly bright head of blonde hair that catches the corner of your eye as he makes his way across the room and towards you with a smile.

Nudging your arm gently with his elbow, as if to say 'I told you so' about your being there at all, Jeno grins even wider once your eyes meet. "So? What do you think?"

Looking around briefly, you glance back towards him with suspicion plastered across your face.

"I'm starting to think you might be too young for me."

Jeno reels at the suggestion with eyes wide and full of shock. "Why? Adults can party. You don't party?"

"I do, just not typically messy frat house parties...at least, not anymore."

Knitting his eyebrows together and slanting his grin, Jeno cocks his head sideways to look at you with something of a twinge of judgment. "It's a beach town, and a popular destination for summer breakers obviously, what do you expect? Maybe try winter break, next time."

Nudging you again to punctuate the thought playfully, you look back towards Giselle who quickly pushes an alcoholic concoction of you'll-never-know into your hand with a grin before her and the others begin to disappear into the crowd.

"Wait! Where are you guys going?"

"You have your date, we're going to find ours," Winter answers back with a casual flip of her hair. Then, her attention pulls to the man standing just beside you. "What was his name again?"

"Jaemin."

"Whatever," she says quickly and as if nothing he could have possibly responded with would have made any sort of a difference either way. "We'll be around, we all have our phones. If you need someone, you know how to get us."

Panic subtly settling in at the thought of being left alone with this guy that you barely know at all, it's not that you feel unsafe with him, or that you can't trust his intentions — no, it's far from anything so insidious that has your nerves firing and the anxiety bubbling up in your gut.

What if it's awkward?

"Ta-ta!" Ningning chimes as the four of them walk away, and it's in that moment that you realize you are deep, deep into the lions den, now.

In a room full of busy people, you can't think of a time that you've ever felt quite so alone.

Then, you feel your phone vibrate. A message from Karina.

Kari [20:42]: let the hot guy from the waterpark make it all better :p you know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else

Turning your phone far out of sight of Jeno upon reading the message, another comes through before you have the chance to begin typing any kind of reply to her.

Kari [20:42]: or bent over by someone else, or on top of someone else? well you can fill me in on the details when he's done filling

You don't bother reading the rest of the message as you quickly lock your phone and shuffle it back into your pocket, but you're thankful enough when your attention comes back to Jeno that in the meantime he has struck up conversation with another guy just beside him. It gives you a moment to look him over for the first time, too: messily slicked back blonde hair and black button down shirt that's equally messily tucked into far too nicely fitting black jeans with a carefully placed aesthetic rip at one of the knees.

He looks good, and you're glad you didn't over or underdress in your fitted jeans and simple blouse, also.

"This is my friend, Renjun, he's the home owner...well, sort of," Jeno starts once he realizes you're finished with the nonsense going on within your cellular device. "He's one of the handsome ones we touched on briefly last night."

Introducing yourself in kind, you shake hands with the new acquaintance as he laughs at the concept of being discussed. "Thanks, happy to know I made the cut, I guess. What are you doing talking to this fuckin' guy, anyway?"

Jeno's eyes widen at the sudden attack. "Hey! I just complimented you, come on!"

Not helping the laugh that erupts from their jest, you take a sip of your horrendous drink before responding. "It's been a little out of my hands from the get-go. I'm just sort of along for the ride, he keeps texting me every night, what am I supposed to do?"

"Ah, yeah, I've heard that about this one before," Renjun nods and sighs, with Jeno spiraling into disaster beside the both of you all the while. "Can't let him start texting, he'll never quit. I hate to tell you, but you're basically married, now. He's a level five clinger."

"I am not a level five clinger!"

"That's unfortunate," you casually respond, carrying on the conversation with Renjun as if Jeno not even standing there at all. "Hopefully he doesn't have any weird quirks that are hard to live with, then."

Renjun shakes his head as he takes a sip from his own cup. "Nah, he's a pretty simple guy, all things considered, I think you'll have a pretty easy time with this one."

"Well that's comforting, at least."

"Hello!" Jeno finally interjects with success, stalling the ongoing banter and bringing both of your attention back to him. "I'm literally right here!"

Smiling then, Renjun brings a heavy hand up and to the back of Jeno's shoulder before turning on his heel and beginning his exit in the wake of destruction. "Have fun, call me if you need anything."

With a lull in the ongoing messiness that so far is this evening as it stands, you and Jeno stand calmly before one another for a few moments with no words spoken; that is, of course, until his lips part and he gently offers up an idea of his own.

"Want to go some place quieter so we can talk?"

There's certainly a distinct level of unease that courses through your bones with every step you take towards the second level of the home. Passing by people already paired off for the evening and making out on the steps for what feels like forever — you can't help but wonder if this is some kind of preliminary entry into what he thinks is going to be on the agenda for the evening. Yes, you had already considered this much, and yes, you're aware of precisely the types of things that go on at parties such as this, but it doesn't mean that just because you're here and to see a guy, at that, that you're resigning yourself to partaking in any such festivities.

Jeno leads the way, and once the two of you make it up to the dimly lit hallway lined with a handful of doors — some open, some closed, and a handful of people leaned against the walls engaging in their own, private activities — it's as he continues towards one of the open doors of what you could only presume to be a bedroom that your heart sinks into your stomach and you dig your heels into the ground.

"I don't—" Is all you can manage out, because it's awkward and you don't really want to make an ordeal out of this either. You don't know this man, and especially not well enough to know how he'll take to being denied the thing that he seems to be under the impression that he will be obtaining tonight. As a result, you lay out the 'soft no,' in hopes that it will be enough to get the point across.

Head turning and glancing back at you upon hearing the words, you're a little taken aback by his response: less because of any of the potential, aforementioned reasons, but rather...because he appears confused.

Did he really think he had it in the bag that easily? Just because you showed up tonight?

The thought is enough to raise a level of irritation in you that has you feeling comfortable enough in asserting yourself just that much more. "I don't want to—I'm not going to—"

It still takes a second, but when he finally realizes, it seems to hit him like a semi-truck.

"O—Oh, no! No, no! That's not...I wasn't...I didn't think—"

Hands up in front of his chest as if in full retreat just on account of the mere implication of it, you're a little charmed by the tinge of blush that takes across his cheeks and especially highlights his ears.

But more than that, you believe him in his earnest.

"I just thought because it's quieter up here, no music and less people...I didn't think anything was going to—we can keep the door open! Or go back downstairs, anything is fine by me."

You're charmed, just a bit. You hate to admit it to yourself, and you certainly aren't going to admit it to this man, but you are.

Offering him a gentle smile, you nod back towards the direction in which he had been heading just prior. "It's fine, we can go—" you say, stepping forward again with insistence that Jeno do the same, and as the two of you meet side by side once more, you're careful to add one more addition, just for clarity sake.

"—But keep the door open."

A couple of days later and once the banging drum of headaches and hangovers have worn off, with the friend groups now thoroughly enough enmeshed on account of Renjun's family home and an absolutely unfathomable amount of adult beverages, the next most obvious plan of action is set into motion.

Dinner and bowling.

One thing about this town that you've come to realize is that there is little to do — and especially during the summer time — that doesn't directly involve alcohol and partying. With most restaurants and shops closed until the middle of August at least, the guys are happy enough to inform that there is still one mainstay left that doesn't involve having a terrible time the next morning.

The dinner seating is something that you can't help but take note of: two, long tables pushed together by the wait staff to accommodate such a large party of patrons, with Jeno sat right across the table from you, you notice the way that certain budding couples seem similarly paired off. It's sort of cute, in a way, but you choose not to pay it much mind. Sure, chats with the handsome blonde just along the way serve as a pleasant way to pass the time, and you'd be lying to yourself (and doing a terrible job of it, at that) if you tried to say that you hadn't at least briefly considered where else this could go just for a fun little before the vacation were to come to an end.

Just as the thought comes to its conclusion in your mind, your eyes come up and meet Jeno's over the brim of his beer glass.

That charming-ass eye smile.

Slowly, he brings the glass down while maintaining eye contact, his hand disappears under the table, and you watch his eyes fall to whatever it is that he's doing under there.

Your questions are answered promptly, however, by the vibration of your phone in your jacket pocket.

Jeno [18:12]: interesting seating arrangements we've got here

You try to bite back your smile. Easier said than done, and dealing with his texting antics much simpler when from the comfort of your own bedroom.

Still, you play along and begin typing our your response.

You [18:12]: almost like they're hinting at something

Jeno [18:12]: i'm not too good at signals, need someone to spell it out for me hehe

Glancing back up from your phone, you catch his eyes as he does the same with a knowing grin plastered across his lips.

You [18:13]: you'd have to ask them, i don't know anything about it :p

Jeno [18:13]: okay will do, but speaking of spelling it out...you look amazing tonight

Stilling in your seat at the sudden forwardness of the message, a typing bubble pops up again just as quickly as the previous message is received.

Jeno [18:13]: like really...you looked amazing the other night at the party too. do you always look amazing or is it just when you happen to be seeing me?

Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat just slightly before reaching forward and taking the glass placed in front of you into hand in preparation for a much needed sip of water. You ignore him purposefully, but you can feel the sharp gaze of the man in question as he monitors your every move.

Jeno [18:14]: don't think i didn't notice the way you were looking at me the day we met :0

Unfortunate, but you had been a bit obvious, largely on account of not having expected being faced with seeing this man ever again. You'll have to reel it in better next time.

You glance up again, this time with intention of meeting his eyes — from across the table, Jeno sits with one corner of his lips curved upwards ever so slightly, as if knowing precisely what it is that he's doing. Not surprising, of course, he's not coming onto you now on accident — but he's never been this forward and the only thing you can really chalk it up to now is the dwindling time left on yours and the girls remaining vacation time.

As they say, 'shit or get off the pot.'

But are you interested? Frankly, you're not really sure.

Handsome? Without a doubt. Nice? Sure, seemingly so. Trustworthy? Probably enough to enjoy a night together.

However, you can't help but remain starkly aware of the still gaping whole in your heart where Jaehyun not so long ago resided.

Looking over his features again, Jeno takes another sip of his drink: messy, blonde hair, beautiful eyes, the most charming smile and all accented by that devastatingly stunning mole seated just on his cheek bone.

Yeah, maybe you are, because when you take him in as he sits before you now, just like this, enjoying each and every physically enamoring aspect of a man all the more infatuated with you, as well — you can't help but wonder...

God, how nice is your dick, then?

And just like that, is if everyone in the world having a window of insight into your mind, your phone vibrates again. Naturally, your first thought being another text from Jeno as your eyes remain glued to him, but with every round of vibration that sends through the device it quickly dawns on you that not only has he not dipped his vision back down from you to fire off another round of flirtation, but rather that the disturbance coming through is not a text message at all.

It's a phone call.

Looking down, the number isn't one that you recognize although the location code is. Eyebrows furrowing in thought and vague concern as the screen continues to illuminate in your hand, you feel the gentle tap of a foot under the table and from quite evidently — right in front of you.

Eyes now upwards again, you meet Jeno's concerned ones, but you don't have much time to quell whatever worry he may have before you're up, out of your seat, and heading outside to take the call.

Your first thought is one that sends anxiety through every nerve under your skin: family or friends in emergency, god forbid something terrible having happened, but once you reach the parking lot and are met with the cool breeze of the coast just down the way — when you answer the phone, you come to find yourself no more quelled of fears upon hearing the voice on the other end.

"Hey," the voice says, low and seemingly already defeated. "Sorry, I know you're out of town, I just wanted to talk to you."

Heart beating nearly straight through your chest and hands shaking as you strain to hold your phone to your ear, you stand in silence as your mind races with the how's and why's of what this is and could mean.

After having not received a reply for so long that you don't even notice the amount of time passed, the man on the other end speaks again.

"Hello? Are you there? It's Jaehyun, sorry, I changed numbers."

"Uh, y—yeah, I know who it is, sorry, I'm just—" you pause again to think through your words carefully, as well as garnering yourself more time in an attempt to steady the quake in your voice. "—I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

Chuckling lightly, he carries on, and just before he does you catch a glimpse of the blonde previously seated across from you at the table as he carefully exits the establishment to check on your whereabouts.

"Yeah, I know. Is it a bad time? I think you might agree that we left off on the wrong foot."

Swallowing down the lump in your throat as you quietly acknowledge Jeno's presence, you're not entirely sure where to go from here. The way that your heart thumps strongly at hearing Jaehyun's voice again is one that's hard to ignore, but the way that he broke up with you and only now is contacting you again lies equally as much on your mind.

He doesn't deserve a conversation, and especially not a second chance, but it doesn't change the fact that deep down you want to grant him both.

For better or for worse, however, now isn't a good time.

"I'm out with the girls right now but I can call you tomorrow night, when there's less going on. You know how they are, always have me up to something."

"Sure, you have the number, call me any time," he says with the most calm and nearly adoring of tones. "I miss you, have fun."

"Th—thanks," you answer slowly, and with that, the call ends.

Standing in the middle of the parking lot with Jeno only a few feet away in silence, you suppose that it's probably written all over you the sort of affect that something like this has on you. Despondent and borderline broken after having only so much as heard a few simple words from a man who despite all of his poor treatment of you still holds such a strong place in your heart...

There's no other word for it, simply put, it's pain — and soul-crushingly so.

You can hear he gravel under Jeno's shoes as he slowly approaches you, and there's a small part of you that wishes he just doesn't. Go back inside, stop pretending to care about this or us beyond just wanting a quick fuck, quit playing the nice guy.

But you know you're projecting, and you bite back the venom of your thoughts so that they don't manifest into underserved words.

"You okay?" He sheepishly asks and with concern weighing heavily on his features. You force a half-assed smile in response.

"My ex-boyfriend called," you huff out a laugh. "Broke up with me over text a bit ago, now he wants to talk. Said he misses me."

"And you're gonna tell him to go fuck himself, right?" Jeno says, and much to your surprise. Not used to such a strong response from him in regards to, well, much of anything.

Shrugging, you let out a defeated sigh. "Maybe? No? Probably not."

Silence. Then you glance back towards him.

"I love him."

"Yeah, of course you do, it's fresh," he says delicately, closing the distance between the two of you to take your wrist into one of his hands and carefully usher you back inside. "But that doesn't mean he's deserving of it."

"I know."

A small squeeze of your wrist, as if just to let you know that he's there despite your already being well aware, and looking up towards him as the two of you re-enter the building, Jeno smiles at you widely with teeth and eyes on full display in a way that sort of reminds you to just live in the moment — the here and the now — and to worry about that, whatever that is, later.

"I'm just a guy, I get it," he starts with his face leaned into the side of your head to whisper the words directly into your ear. "But sometimes accidents happen on purpose."

Turning to look at him and meeting so close to his face that it has you just about startled, you roll your eyes and snort at his attempt to bestow aged wisdom upon you in your time of need.

"That doesn't make any sense, is that your idea of giving advice?"

Slinging an arm up and around your shoulders to pull you in tighter against him, he once again brings his face to the side of your own. "Yeah, how'd I do?"

"Terrible."

"Hey, but you laughed, though."

As it turns out, there are perks to making friends with the guy who works at the waterpark.

That is, beyond his good-looks, pleasing disposition and the fact that he tends to be quite into you, when Jeno invites you and yours back to the waterpark for some free-entry fun, the five of you can't help but take him up on the offer.

Besides, it gives you just that much more reason to have your phone out of sight and subsequently out of mind.

Rather than the typical morning arrival, however, Jeno tells you to come later in the evening on account of things tending to be more quiet. This turns out to be the case and much to all of your delight as the crowds have long since thinned out and lines to rides are much shorter than your last foray at the place of amusement. Still, it's less time to do as much as you all probably would have liked, and as the closing hours quickly approach, you and the girls make your way back to the lockers to not only collect your belongings, but once again meet with the man who brought you all there to begin with.

You come to realize that you're quite fond of how he looks fresh off of a work shift, with tousled hair and a bit of a sun-kissed glow to his skin only amplified by the glisten of water and sunscreen — when Jeno approaches the group you find that while yes, you have seen this man now numerous times before so the way that he looks is of no surprise to you, something about him like this, like right now, is different.

And as usual, when it comes to Jeno, you're the only person in the room.

One strong arm up and against the metal just like the time previously meeting like this, he all but cages you in as he leans casually against it to speak to you. "I've got to stay a bit late to do some minor maintenance in the backend, want to stay with me and we can go out afterwards or do you have somewhere to be with your friends?"

It's a lovely offer, and the idea of seeing a waterpark long past closing is an enticing one just for the thrill of it, but you're not one to pass up on dinner with the girls that brought you here for an after hours slide ride.

"We were actually about to head out to dinner, text me when you're out though and maybe we all can—"

"No. Way!"

The shrill voice comes from Ningning this time, and a bit to your surprise as it's typically either Karina or Winter with something loud and boisterous to say. Regardless, the woman comes up quickly from behind Jeno with arms crossed fiercely as if personally slighted by your unwillingness to ditch her.

"Dinner at the lil' diner down the block can wait, when the hot lifeguard asks you to stay after closing, you stay after closing."

"Ningning..." you bemoan first, only to look up at Jeno who is far too busy feigning a lack of listening in to the situation playing out right in front of him.

"Stay," she insists again, slinging a t-shirt up and over her shoulder before slowly sauntering away as if having won the war that she, herself, started. "We'll see you later—"

And just before disappearing entirely with the other women, she turns back once more with just another thing to add.

"—If you come home tonight, that is."

Jeno's work in the the back where some of the machinery is kept is quick and for that you are thankful on account of it being mind-numbingly boring watching him do anything at all that he is meant to do there. The flex of the muscles in his arms and back growing bland far sooner than you might have anticipated, you're happy to hear only twenty or so minutes in that he's finished and the two of you can carry on with your tour of the premises now that there is no one else there but the both of you.

As you walk, he tells you fun stories of silly happenings since his three years of working there has begun: tales of lost belongings on slides and peoples swim bottoms being stolen by the waves of the pools that artificially craft them, the two of you laugh into the calm, night air as you circle back around to the large river that spans nearly the entire lot of the waterpark — calm and meant mostly for simply lounging about in the sun, Jeno sits at one of the small tables offered just at the side and motions for you to sit just beside him, as well.

Still in nothing more than your swimsuit and a towel, it feels oddly comfortable. In fact, despite your checking, you haven't caught the man eyeing you down at all — not that that leads you into a false sense of believing that he simply hasn't, because frankly, you know better than that.

But at least he's willing to reign it in in the event that you could see him in the act.

And on top of that, you've been stealing glances yourself, anyway.

"Things good?" He asks, and it feels so abrupt given the timing. You know what he's referring to with eyes honed in on any possible change of your expression, but you attempt to maintain composure whilst under the proverbial microscope of his view.

"Yeah," you sigh, leaning back into your chair casually. "Everything is good. Sort of not looking forward to leaving next week."

Jeno smiles at the words. "Yeah, this town is fun, but only on vacation. I think you'd find if you lived here all year around you'd miss it back where you're from."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Just gonna have to make sure you get the best this place has to offer then," he says with a groan as he brings himself back up and to his feet. Hand extended out towards you with an offering to help you stand, you stare at him blankly for a few moments before slowly taking it and allowing yourself to be hoisted upwards. "Shall we take a swim, then?"

"Are we allowed—"

The thought suddenly cut off by the sight of Jeno reaching down and pulling off his loose, white tank top shirt. And sure, it's loose enough that you've more or less caught a glimpse of everything under there already, but not like this, not on full display.

"No, absolutely not," he laughs as he chucks it into the chair he was only just sat in. "But no one checks the cameras anyway and they already know I'm here after hours as it is so it's not going to ring any alarm bells that there's movement on site. Is that a yes?"

You pause. You need the moment to think this through, not that you even really want to. Deep down, you sort of know what this means, at least to the most basic extent, and sure — you can decline anything at any time and you're pretty certain he'll take it in stride — but still, saying yes to this is effectively saying yes to something.

"Yeah, let's take a swim."

The water feels colder now without the sun beating down on it but you come to find that the trade off is the way that the overhead lights as well as the submerged ones illuminate the water in such a beautiful way that everything glitters all around you. Following Jeno's lead as you both wade through and into one of the man-made rock sculpture caves that under typical servicing hours, lend much needed reprieve from the sunlight — now instead you feel a bit something like a character in a fantasy film: a mermaid coming back to her home as the wetness of the ocean glistens off of the barely lit walls of the faux-rock now surrounding you in hideaway.

Realistically, the scene is nothing special, but right now and with present company, your feeling of being locked away and hidden from any potential prying eyes feels especially heavy knowing precisely the thoughts that have weighed on both of your minds ever since they very first meeting here.

As silence falls between the two of you and you comfortably place yourself with your back against the smooth offering of rocks, you use it as a moment to take in the sight of him while he's not paying attention: shirtless and with flesh on full display, Jeno brings a hand up and out of the water to push his hair back and out of his face before catching hint of the fact that he has an audience, after all.

Then, he slowly closes the distance between the two of you, and with the tiniest grin of understanding perking at the corners of his lips, you suppose that there's a part of you that sort of always resigned yourself to this.

And really, what's summer vacation if not for having a summer fling?

One hand planted against the firm offering of rock on either side of you, caged in but feeling neither scared nor small on account of it, Jeno brings himself close enough to you that you have little more option that to struggle with your footing at the bottom of the pool and allow him the gentle insistence of settling between your legs.

Slowly, he dips his head down and towards you, but you pause the moment to speak in a whisper.

"You brought me here to do this, didn't you?"

To that, he only smiles again before continuing with the movement. "You came knowing that."

A gentle first kiss, perhaps much more so than you would have anticipated; rather than coming in hot and heavy from the start, the true feeling of being with and near him instead comes from the way his chest presses you tightly into place as his mouth slots firmly against your own. It's a little breathtaking, and somewhat overwhelming having been caged in like this by him, but with every forward movement of his lips and tongue against your own you can't help but feel as though the breath being pulled straight from your lungs, and with intent, at that.

The first, testing grind of his hips against you has you gasping into his mouth, and the sinister curl of his lips tells you that he couldn't be more pleased by the reaction.

One, strong hand dropping down from the rocks behind you and instead holding firm at your thigh from the underside, Jeno holds your leg up and out just enough to maintain the open space so that he has precisely the access that he desires like this, and with another slow, deliberate grind of what you know to be the solid length of himself beneath much too thin swim trunks, you can't help the way that your head lolls backwards and just about slaps into the solid structure behind you.

Pulling from your mouth as if to allow you the ability to breath, warm lips trail down your jaw line and back around to your ear, but rather than speaking anything in particular, the man simply allows you to listen to the quiet moans and exhales that drop from his lips as a result of the friction forming between the both of your bodies.

With every simulated drive of himself into you comes a breathy, needy sound fallen from his mouth. On top of that, with just the right angle, paired with just the right amount of speed and force behind his hips...

Surely you won't cum like this?

But with how heavenly he sounds against your ear and the tensing in your thighs and abdomen, you pull your bottom lip up between your teeth hard with eyes clenched shut as if not wanting to make it so evident just the effect he's having on you like this. Squirming within his grasp, and your orgasm feeling just on the cusp but ever so slightly out of your hands, you huff out with frustration and throw all caution to the wind in a desperate whirlwind of pleading events.

"Please, God, I want you," you whine against his ear. "Want to feel you."

It's a terrible idea and you know that, for a plethora of reasons. However, you're horny and on the edge of cumming and cannot possibly be concerned with any of them. You've been good enough up until now pretending to have little to no interest in his cock at all, but enough is enough, especially as it glides against you rock hard and barely clothed between your bodies.

Jeno, for better or for worse, has other plans.

"Want that too," he whispers against your ear, the hot puffs of his breath washing over the otherwise warm, wet smooth of your skin. Unfortunately, instead of freeing himself from the very same confines that plague you, he merely picks up the pace of his hips against yours.

As well as aiding with a slight shift of the angle at which he grinds against you.

Turns out, that'll do the trick.

Orgasm fast approaching now as he repeatedly presses his hips against the apex of your thighs, he continues with the original train of thought. "You ever been fucked in a body of water like this? Doesn't make for great lubrication, unfortunately—"

You can't be bothered to pay all that much attention to the science lesson, and with your hands gripping into his back and biceps as he continues hard and fast against you, you feel the distinct feeling of his teeth dragging down ever so slightly against the column of your neck in such a way that it has your head spinning and toes curling with how close to the edge you are like this.

Not for long, though, as he finishes the thought entirely. "—Want that glide to be so fucking smooth."

Frankly, you're not used to hearing him curse all that much, so when he does it's especially meaningful, so when he shoots down your begging for him to fuck you instead because he has far more delightful plans for you in the future and under more optimal circumstances, you couldn't bite back the shriek if you had tried as your orgasm tears through you with so much force that you swear you may crack a tooth with how tightly your teeth are clenched through it.

And like a good boy, Jeno 'fucks' you through it as every shockwave of release jolts through your body and your clit begs to be untouched. Releasing the grip on you, he pulls his face back around to look you in the eyes with an all-too-proud grin plastered across his lips — though, you don't get much of a chance to fight him on it as those very same ones quickly meet yours just as adoringly as the first time.

When he pulls back, he's still smiling — odd behavior for the un-orgasmed half of the equation, you think, but before speaking, the man brings a hand up to your forehead to delicately wipe away a handful of stray hairs that found their way there in all of the debauchery.

Eyes meeting, you can tell he has something to say, and that you're probably not going to like it.

"You wanted me to fuck you, and raw at that."

"Oh come on!" You groan in playful embarrassment, pushing him away from you with desperate splashes of water left in your wake as you escape. Jeno only laughs as he trails behind lazily.

"You did," he reaffirms with a teasing chuckle. "You so did."

The following days come to pass far quicker than you had anticipated, you're soon to find.

With every day, every moment now seemingly enmeshed between the groups of friends, time with Jeno is more common than time away — no one hears about the goings on at the waterpark, at least, not on your end (and you have reason to believe that he hasn't said anything either on account of the fact that Jaemin would never shut up about it if he had) — but there's evidence enough in the distinct change of something between the two of you as the brief, casual brushing of hands slowly transforms into open and public slotting together of fingers during movie nights and not-so-concealed presses of kisses to the temple of your head at any time that Jeno seems to be able to close the distance between your bodies.

It's nice, and you can admit as much to yourself without fear or worry. The problem lies in the fact that therein resides so much more than it simply being nice now, and in fact, you're somehow managed to stumble yourself precisely in the line of fire of what it is you had sort of been hoping to avoid this entire time.

Granted, it's not necessarily worth a conversation on account of logistics and the more or less of what this is, but still, even with it only having been two weeks since you've met this guy, he reads a bit like an open book, and if there's one thing you're fairly certain you have down about him and the way his mind works, it's that he wants to have that talk, regardless of the realistic outcome.

Really, it's the least you can do on account of the whirlwind, summer romance you've happily found yourself wound up in, in spite of everything.

On the last night before you and yours leave to go back into the city, the blowout house party is at home; Ningning's summer house. An excellent decision on account of the fact that the five of you can pack up early the day before and simply wake up to leave the next day with little more to worry about than some final touches and your hangovers as a result.

Though, leaving the next day is far from what you currently wish to be attending much thought to.

With folding chairs strewn about around some of the tables in the back yard, as well as the barbecue that's fired up and attended to by Renjun, Mark and Giselle; with a red, plastic cup in hand as you sit facing out towards the crashing waves of the beach, you can't help but allow your gaze to fall to the side and onto the object of your desire that was never really supposed to end up as much more than simply the hot guy that worked at the waterpark.

Instead, you watch him as he engages in a conversation with Winter — a playful argument about which dog breeds are cutest — and it's times like this that you make a conscious effort to take mental snapshots of this moment, right here, right now. Making sure that you never forget this feeling, never forget what it was like to live in this time with the guy who sports such quintessential summer hair and reminds you of what it feels like to feel young once more, and forever.

Eyes curved into perfect, crescent shapes and a matching perfect smile as he laughs along to whatever it is that your friend is saying, suppose he must feel the heavy weight of eyes upon him as he shifts to grant you his attention once more.

There's a few seconds of silence, but you watch the way his face melts from one of joyous laughter to something that's more akin to fond adoration.

"Want to go talk?"

Jeno doesn't look all that surprised when you say the words, and instead offers you the gentlest of smiles, as if already anticipating as much, anyway.

"Sure, let's talk."

It's colder the closer the two of you get to the waves of the water, the sound of them crashing lightly against the muddy sands that lie beneath — with the sun just about set already and hues of orange with purple only barely peeking out from above the costal line — with legs dangled over the side of the small, wooden pier, Jeno slings an arm up and over your shoulders to tug you closer against himself, partially for the warmth and combatting the breeze, but really, just because he wants to have you there.

"Have fun?" He finally asks, you nod against him.

"I've kind of fallen for you a bit, ya know that?"

To this admission, Jeno reels so hard that it has you looking up at him — he looks far more shocked than you would have anticipated going into this because...obviously? And as a result, you snort out a laugh. "What? Isn't it obvious?"

"I mean—I'm just...surprised, I guess?" He admits awkwardly before settling back into place. "We're having fun and I was trying so damn hard, but I didn't think it actually worked."

"You're kinda oblivious, yeah?"

Jeno laughs. "I've heard that before, yeah."

With the words now out in the open, you allow there to be some silence between the two of you — something of a ruminating of what this is and what that means between the two of you right now, with no real need to add anything more to it in immediate time.

Instead, the two of you look out towards the water — still painted with pinks and purples as the sun sets over it for its final few minutes before nightfall.

You inhale to speak, though you're not thrilled about it despite its necessity.

"We can't...keep this going, you know," you say first, choosing words carefully as you carry out the thought. "It was fun but you know...back to real life, back to home."

Glancing up to gauge his response, Jeno only smiles as the words for a few, passing seconds before looking down at you and responding.

"Yeah, I know."

Through more silence, you think that you can feel it in his chest the way his heart beats in such a way that the sadness of the circumstances is evident. An unfortunate reality of such things: sometimes it really is wrong place, wrong time, wrong location, wrong...everything but you.

Standing again and heading back inside with fingers interlocked, you can't help but think of how the thing they never tell you about short term relationships is that they can be just as meaningful, just as impactful as long term ones. There's nothing inherently lesser, or worse, or meaningless about them — a snapshot in time where everything between you and someone else was perfect and incapable of being tarnished, at that — really, it's an ideal circumstance, especially as someone with a desire to rekindle hope in the concept of loving and being loved.

Just because a relationship ends, doesn't mean it lacks value.

And when you go back home, you'll take Jeno with you: perfect hair, perfect smile, and adorably unaware disposition all packaged up as a reminder of how good it can be to simply be.

Getting back inside, after enjoying the inviting sights and sounds of the quiet outdoors, the unrelenting boom of loud music and yelling friends pierces your ears in such a way that you can't help but attempt to curl in on yourself and escape from it. Jeno takes notice with a squeeze of your hand upon arriving to the kitchen, quickly pouring drinks for each of you and then dipping down next to your ear.

"Want to go upstairs where it's quieter?"

Yeah, of course you do. Still one last thing on the agenda for this trip, after all.

Discarding nearly full cups and making your way up the stairs; through the hallway that's all too familiar to you by now, you can't help but call back to the last time you'd done this very same walk, with this very same man: a few key differences now compared to then that are worth taking note of, however. For one, Jeno's grip on your hand as he leads you up despite not even being entirely sure which room it is that you'd once called yours is, and two, you now find yourself far more open to any potential scenarios that may arise.

In fact, you're hoping that they do.

Swapping places and taking the lead, Jeno follows just behind you as you open the door to your bedroom — stepping inside where all of your packed bags and other such belongings not yet able to be stuffed away until the very last moment lie about on countertops or draped over chair backs — when the two of you step inside, you realize that there's a part of you that has sort of already come to this conclusion a long time ago. It's difficult to pinpoint the exact moment, and likely well enough before the late evening spent alone with him at his place of employment, rather, your memory lands at that time in the parking lot, when your ex called, and Jeno was right there to pick up the proverbial pieces of you.

It wasn't much, just that he was there. Sometimes that's enough.

Turning back to face him, it's a quick movement and so much so that the surprise of it is evident on his face with wide eyes and a late response to the feeling of your lips on his, but more than that, the sound of the door shutting behind his back and locking into place by no ones insistence but your own.

He's quick enough on the uptake, however; hands coming up to slot gently on either side of your face to pull you just that much more into the kiss — and with the length of your body pressed just as hard against him as he stands pinned between you and hard wood, the close proximity is just so giving in how you're able to catch every hitch of his breath in his throat and forced back groan in his chest.

You pull back, and with a wickedly playful grin across your face. "You've been waiting?"

To that, Jeno scoffs before bringing hands down to your shoulders and gently pushing you to step backwards towards the bed. "Only as long as you have."

The removal of clothing is quick but never quick enough despite the flurry of fabric strewn about the floor through the incessant need to kiss and be kissed by him. Rather, the two of you only part from one another if it's required to discard something that now, more than ever, is no longer desired.

The irony, of course, is in the fact that the both of you have already seen so much of what there is to be seen. Swimsuits only leaving so much to the imagination, as is the same for the pool boys usual choice of lazy attire — you come to find that when presented differently, the absence of clothing and the emergence of skin that you think you've already grown used to couldn't be further from the case. It looks different, feels different — the smooth palm of your hands sliding over arm muscles that you've already felt so many times before as his teeth catch at the bottom of your lip in a kiss that only becomes that much more heated with every passing second — the man that you've known all of the way up until now still might just have so much more still to show you.

At least, that was your impression from the waterpark festivities that evening.

Creating space between your bodies only long enough to plop yourself back and onto the mattress, Jeno wastes no time in following you as he slots himself between your legs and once again kisses you as if never able to have enough of it. One hand pressed into the mattress beside your head, the other trails down the length of your form to settle right between your legs — and now, with no barriers between you and him but his own undergarments — just one, casual dip of his middle finger shallowly between your folds is enough to have your breath hitching differently against his lips.

He grins at the reaction, but says nothing.

Instead, he dips his head down leaving a trail of kisses and nips of his teeth into the flesh of your neck, shifting his positioning back and just enough to be able to mouth over one of your nipples with a firm, swirl of his tongue. It's nice, but nothing special — at least, not before the same pad of his finger between your legs finds such light but evident purchase against your clit.

Slow, careful circles rubbed against you, back arching ever so slightly off the bed and up against his mouth as he continues teasing licks against your flesh, it's a certain kind of torment feeling so much and not enough all at once, and you can't help but consider one fact: he knows it.

You're not one to beg (well, other than that one time), and you're certainly not going to be undone so easily by a guy that for all intents and purposes you barely even know, and biting back a groan, you tightly knit your eyes shut in hopes that perhaps he's not torturing you on purpose — dragging this out because you both know it's the first and last time you'll ever get to have it — and surely he'll make quick work of you soon enough.

But the slow, down and inward press of the same finger towards your opening, only to replace the empty spot with his thumb has you thinking otherwise.

Jeno barely penetrates you with the single tip of his digit — if he does, it's so shallow that you can barely even feel it — a crime in and of itself, but amplified by the fact that you're racing towards the point of no return in what it is that you want, and if he insists on teasing you with the opportunity of being filled by him, then little does he know that he's stumbled upon the grandest of unravelings of you.

A heavy exhale, you decide you have to look down to take it all in, and especially if you're going to have a chance at saying words at any point in time. As you crack an eye open, Jeno switches breast to take your other nub between warm, wet lips — and it's then that he digs a finger into you just a bit deeper than before and all the while maintaining attention to the aching bundle of nerves held captive beneath his thumb.

Now you're frustrated, and you're not sure you can hold evidence of that back much longer.

With another heavy exhale, you attempt to bear down your hips against his hand to feel more of him, but to that, Jeno looks up to meet eyes with you wearing a look that almost tells of disapproval.

"In a hurry?"

You groan, not entirely sure if at the words or the implications behind them.

He wants to take his time.

"No, just—" you all but whimper, head thrown back against the pillow beneath it once again as if resigned to simply being along for the ride with this man. "—Kind of killing me, here."

"Why?" He questions with lips still feathering against the skin of your chest.

Then, the finger far too casually settled at your opening is slowly driven in to the last knuckle, and it feels fucking electric.

"This what you want?"

For someone who has always had a low tone of voice, you're not sure where the next few levels in drop have come from, same going for the erotic gravel that courses through his throat with every word he says against you. Either way, that in combination with the full length of his middle finger buried in your cunt already has you wondering just how it is that you're going to get through this particular night.

Guys like this are supposed to kiss you, get a blowie, maybe give you the sloppiest oral sex you've ever had (but hey, at least the effort is there), and then fuck you into the mattress for a full, mind blowing three minutes before rolling onto their backs and passing out.

So, what the fuck is this?

"Yes," you resign yourself to answering, because presumably you won't receive much else if not for your going along with it. Squirming against his hand again, you feel him pull from you ever so slightly before once again burying the hand deep against you.

Jeno hums before speaking again. "I don't think it is, but I think you're willing to settle for now."

Oh, he's so annoying when knuckle deep in pussy.

It's then that he pulls himself up and into a knelt position between your legs: not removing his hand from your pussy, but instead, bringing the other one — now freed — to the same position.

The new thumb coming down to collect the slick collecting around his finger, he brings it to your clit to focus one hand entirely on that motion, and now leaving the other to focus entirely on the place where he enters you. Now, however, with far more range of movement and ease of angle, Jeno settles into a smooth, rhythmic flick of his wrist to once again simulate fucking you the way that you really want him to.

Everything but what you actually want, and it's driving you fucking insane.

It's almost perfect, though, and that you find irritating in and of itself. Glancing up at him, Jeno's attention is spent mostly on watching you and your face, only occasionally allowing his eyes to drop down to take in the sight of the absolute mess he's making of you now.

He adds a second finger, and with it, a slightly faster rhythm.

Still trying not to sound entirely defeated and fucked out, in the absence of your moans, instead the room fills with the familiar, wet sounds of the work that he's doing on you — and upon the realization, you might have to just moan, it's less humiliating than this.

A certain curl of his fingers, however, and you don't have to weigh the pros and cons any longer as the sound is ripped from your throat whether you like it or not.

"Oh," he whispers in the event of it, as if pleased by his sudden findings. "You liked that one."

"Sh—Shut up," you barely manage out in reply before another groan falls from you, and while you're frustrated and horny, you muster up the desire you begin making requests. "Faster," you whine out, hips grinding down against his hand in hopes for more friction against your clit.

"Demanding," Jeno coos in response, though not heeding it whatsoever and much to your displeasure. Instead, you feel another shift in the mattress from his movement, and despite being somewhat terrified of the next thing that this guy could have up his sleeve for you, you look down towards him...

Only to find him settling face first with your pussy, and two fingers carefully finding their way back inside of you.

"You're lucky I'm kind of a pushover," he says with a small chuckle, and punctuating it with a long, firm lick through the slit of your pussy that has your entire body trembling with promise. "You want to cum, then I'll make you cum."

There's not much to say to that, and not that you'd be able to on account of his lips quickly attaching themselves around the very spot that craves the attention. Less than that is the amount of time that you have to think over the fact that you're not going to be able to hold out very long due to him toying with you up until this moment, either. You consider that there's always a bit of ego involves in situations such as this — not wanting to appear too eager, too interested, but you suppose it's long past that point now, anyway.

With fingers dug deep inside of you and the expertly pointed grind of his tongue against your clit — relentlessly quick and just like you'd asked of his hand only moments prior, he's definitely trying to make you cum, and he most certainly is going to get his reward, as well.

Bottom lip pulled tightly between your teeth as every muscle in your lower body tenses for the impending release; one hand gripped into the sheets just below and the other coming up to find purchase in the bleached blonde hair that you've grown so fond of after such a short time — you're not able to say much as it feels as though every breath is being sucked out of you by the man as he teeters you on the edge one last time before pushing you over it — instead, you're somewhat displeased by how easy it is to say his name in little more than an airy chant; over, and over, and over again as he finally topples you over into orgasmic release and with a rush hitting so hard and so fast that any sound that once would have escaped from you is instead replaced with a silent shriek of nothingness as a result of your dry, spent throat.

You need a moment before anything else happens — many moments, in fact — of heavy breaths and a heaving chest as you attempt to collect yourself in the aftermath of it all, and there's a split second where the thought crosses your mind that if this was all that would amount from your night together with him, that might actually be good enough.

Still plenty of time left in the evening, however.

Finally, you pull in a full breath of fresh air before looking back down towards Jeno: face cradled in one hand and gazing at you with nothing but proud adoration in his eyes, you're annoyed but not enough to ignore the disheveled mess of hair atop his head, as well as the wet glisten of you that's still happily sported along his chin.

"Good?"

He's so annoying.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, you like being praised or something?"

"Doesn't everyone?" He playfully responds, once again dragging a finger through the prominent wetness of your folds. "Look how wet you are, so good for me."

You know he's toying with you, not meaning anything in particular by it, but you're not proud of how evidently correct he is, either. Regardless, he changes the subject fairly quickly beyond it.

"Are you down and out for the night already?" Jeno chuckles, pulling himself up and into a kneeling position once again and if anticipating the fact that you'll tell him you're not.

It's only then that you finally get a real, good look at the lining of what lies hidden beneath the last remaining black garment on him.

Not done, not even close.

Sitting up only long enough to grab an arm and pull him back down with you, Jeno catches himself with both palms splayed out on the mattress as you pull him into a kiss once again. This time is different, however. Beyond the taste of yourself so evident on his mouth, he kisses you in a way that's far needier, less held back than all of the other times before. Always wanted you, and probably painfully so, but not enough to ever put that above anything else at hand.

But, suppose it's his turn now.

Hand dipping down between both of your bodies and wasting no time slipping into the black fabric to feel him, your fingers wrap around the smooth flesh of his cock in such a way that already has him sighing into your mouth — it's sort of addicting, the way he sounds and feels and looks like this, at the mercy of you and only ever really wanting you since the moment he laid eyes — in ways, it's a job well done, and now he shall receive his prize.

Though, you're not even really sure which one of you is winning, now.

It's difficult to get a feel for metrics just by touch — but thick and plenty long enough come to mind in a way that's far too dizzying to spend too much time thinking about. You give him a few lazy tugs before Jeno pulls up and away from you entirely to hang over the edge of the bed and fish out the most obvious thing from his pants pocket.

"Came prepared," you casually comment, and when he comes back up with the package in hand, he only sighs in relief.

"Not a chance I was going to fuck this up by not thinking ahead," Jeno responds firstly, finally shuffling the fabric at his hips down and revealing the full sight of himself to you. "Though, you'd let me hit without it anyway, I guess."

"Oh my God!" You whine in embarrassment, reaching up to playfully slap his arm as he rolls the condom along himself. "Moment of weakness, I would have come to my senses."

Settling back down lengthwise against your body, Jeno kisses you hard once more as you feel the distinct wrapping around your thigh of an arm that intends to have you fully splayed open for him. Once finished there, the same hand comes between you — dragging the wide, length of his cock through your wetness before even attempting to push inside.

It's similarly torturous to before, however, and your squirming beneath his body is evidence of it enough.

Forearm holding his body weight, Jeno shifts his hand upwards so that he can touch your face as he continues to bring you to madness — soft kisses peppering not only your lips but your jaw, cheeks, and even falling down onto your neck — you can't tell if he's doing it purposefully in hopes that you'll beg, or if he truly has no idea just what it is that he's doing.

You believe it to be the former, though.

Regardless, he's a man worn thin of patience himself, and your requests are not needed to feel the incredibly present stretch of him entering you.

Embarrassingly slick for him and well prepared, you're reminded of the comment he made back the last time you two shared a moment such as this — how he wanted it to be different, right, in some ways, and as the feeling of him pushing to fill you to the brim brings you to nearly dizzying new heights — with fingers gripped into the skin of his back and shoulders and teeth gritted, you can kind of see why.

You don't want to say his cock is perfect, but it's pretty fucking good.

Once fully seated inside of you, Jeno brings that hand back to your thigh to pull it wide and away. Rather than moving right away, he allows you some time to get used to him — no stranger to a big dick, but a wide one certainly tends to take a second each and every time. In the meantime; lips trailing down your neck, sucking and biting into the skin as you try to bite back the whimpers that threaten you already — unfortunately, you're soon to find this man to be no such help in you maintaining your composure.

Stray fingers curled into your hair — not to pull or cause pain, nothing more than simply holding you there — you become starkly aware of how consumed you are by him now, and with hot breath cascading across your ear and cheeks, you're once again faced with that same low, gravely tone of voice from earlier that had you coming nearly undone in the palm of his hand.

"How do you like it?"

Barely coherent enough to register the question, you feel the shiver the words send down your body as a result of it, all the same — as if somewhere in your subconscious well aware of the implications long before your present and aware mind capable.

Before you can answer, however, his voice drops lower and down into a whisper against the shell of your ear. "How do you want me to fuck you?"

Another chill, and with it paired with one shallow drive of himself against you.

"Been dying to feel you cum around my cock, so please," he says, and this time with desperate emphasis coloring the plea at the end.

"Tell me how you want to be fucked."

The shivers subsequently pooling right between your legs and at the very spot where Jeno enters you — you know well enough that he can feel the way your cunt clenches down hard around the thick of him with every pointed, filthy word that drops from his lips. More than that, however, is the way your fingernails dig that much harder into his flesh at the promise of finally receiving precisely what it is that you want from him.

To be fucked stupid, and borderline incoherent.

He doesn't wait for an answer from you before beginning a calm, steady rhythm against you, though. Smart enough to know that regardless of your answer, you both do require friction from this sort of engagement — rather, just like the time before it's the particular way his breath hitches and he softly groans into your ear with every tight, wet hug of your pussy against his thrusts that is quite possibly doing you in more than the actual action itself is.

No matter, though, because your mind is made up.

"Harder," you whimper out for him with hips pushing up to meet his actions. "Fuck me harder, deeper—"

His next drive into you has your entire body moving up the length of the bed, as well as any further words or thoughts lost somewhere in the mix between.

The next shift in positioning is quick, so much so that it has your head spinning ever so slightly as you feel him bring his torso off of your own to prop himself up and over you once more — it's better leverage for harder thrusts, and even more is the capturing of one of your stray wrists in hand just before settling himself in place. Effectively pinned beneath him, there's a brief moment where he stills — flashes you a look to check in and make sure you're not displeased with the new development, because there's always a bit of growing pains in an attempt to take the lead, be sexy, and more than that, not overstep any boundaries.

But really, you know he just wants to do whatever it takes to make you cum as hard as possible, and it's a commendable effort, that much is for sure.

Two, three hard drives into you with your wrist pinned just next to your head and you're all but crying out for him. Figure, that's probably motivation enough.

Jeno continues to fuck you hard, but not especially fast as every drive of his length into you is deliberate, pointed, and angled perfectly to find and continue to rub against that particular spot that has you tensing and shaking beneath him. Watching him from this angle above you; muscles firm and flexed with every calculated thrust, mouth only slightly hung ajar as eyes that now remain nearly glued to the place that the thickness of his cock disappears inside of you with slickened ease — it's hard to imagine that you ever considered not allowing yourself this moment in time, because God, he's going to get precisely what he set out for.

Glancing up from that place, Jeno's eyes meet your own before clenching shut tightly to take in the feeling of you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good."

He was right, the praise thing is pretty fucking excellent. Might as well pay it back.

Bearing down to meet one of his thrusts, you whine out for him in response. "Feel so good," you start before another hard pound of his hips against your own interrupts the thought. "F—Feel so big."

With that, you feel his hips falter ever so slightly, paired with a light chuckle falling from his lips.

"Don't say that," he says in a laugh. "Talk about how big it is and I'll cum in two second flat."

This knowledge piques your interest, hand that remains unpinned coming up to lightly cradle his face. "That's what does it for you, huh? Like hearing about how big your cock is? How full I feel when—"

"I'm serious!" Jeno then gasps suddenly, stilling his motions between your legs altogether and laughing all the while. "I'm not joking, I will cum right now if you keep it up, no one wants that."

You laugh to match him. "Okay, okay! I didn't realize it was that bad..."

Dipping down again, Jeno kisses you hard and firm on the mouth before pulling back up and delivering a single, hard drive of himself into you. "It's bad, and if I cum before you do I'm going to put my fucking head in the blender, so may I?"

"By all means."

It's out of scene and not a particularly sexy conversation, but it is one that reminds you of all of the things that you seem to adore about the man. Someone who can be everything and at a moments notice: caring, funny, sexy, good in bed, bad in bed should the moment fit — it serves as all the more reason that you're thankful for your making of the decision to go through with this, after all. Not just for the sex, because sex can be found anywhere — but rather, because of this particular moment right here and now, shared with this particular man.

And that, you can't find just anywhere.

Jeno wastes no time settling back into things as he fucks into you hard once again, but also faster than previously. There's something about the new angle that he's settled himself in — a perfect lean of his torso over yours that has the shaft of his cock rubbing perfectly against your clit in such a way that has your body tensing and nerves firing with each and every thrust of himself into your cunt. This time, over the sounds of wet and skin meeting, instead it's you that's heard in particular over everything else — with no way or ability to bring yourself back down from the impending doom of the orgasm that's now threatening to rip through you at a moments notice.

Of course, Jeno notices, and probably feels as much with how tightly wrapped around his cock you are — and if he's close to cumming himself, you can't tell through his composure as his steady hips never once falter through the loud whines and whimpers that fall from you on account of him.

"Close?" He asks, well aware of the way you fall apart beneath him and with no other interest than you get you precisely there.

You nod quickly. "Harder, harder, fuck—"

And you don't have to ask twice as Jeno once again settles into a different position — unpinning your wrist and instead bringing both of his large, strong hands down to clasp onto the dip of your hips for leverage — instead now he holds the ability to not only fuck up into you, but also pull you down onto his cock, and in even quicker, harder succession.

You sort of wish you could have enjoyed the feeling of him like this just a bit more — the full, thick pull of his cock against your walls with every fluid drag of himself against you — but instead, Jeno is only granted a handful more drives of himself into you like this before you're crying out and cumming hard around him in electric pulses and waves of clenches down around his length.

Reduced to nearly whining, Jeno doesn't stop his relentless force into you in chase of his own release now that his job here is done, and rather, you're not quite satisfied with the impending end of this scenario just yet, either.

"Cum, baby," you whisper out to him, and you're certain that you can see the way the pet name all but deep fries his brain in real time with the clench of his facial features upon hearing it. "Want you to cum on me, wanna see it."

Another shockwave to an already far too aroused mans brain, he attempts to shake it off long enough to focus back on the task at hand but shortly thereafter realizes that there isn't much left to focus on. Four or five more hard thrusts into your cunt, Jeno quickly withdraws from you — peeling the condom from his glistening wet length and swiftly palming over himself in quick succession to bring himself the rest of the way there over your messy, exposed pussy and stomach.

But really, you just want to watch him stroke it.

A beautiful sight: a man desperate and on the verge of orgasm, fast at hand to bring himself over the edge, the muscles in Jeno's abdomen tense as he teeters on the edge of release for your viewing pleasure, and as his breaths begin to hitch in his throat only to be replaced by short, pained whimpers, you deliver the killing blow for him.

"So big, cum for me baby—"

Granted, you hadn't planned much of a script in your head past that point, but it would go unneeded anyway as you watch Jeno's fist stutter to a halt halfway down the shaft of his cock before emptying his load atop the already messy pool of wetness gathered at your spread open folds.

And perhaps nothing better than the loud, anguished groan of his release as he slowly finishes stroking himself over your cunt and to completion.

Kinda defeats the purpose of condoms but the two of you will have to take that up with the health clinic another day.

Slumping down and onto his back next to you, both with quickly rising and falling chests in an attempt to breath air that brings something other than the scent of sex, Jeno is the first to lean into you to press a kiss to your temple, just like so many times before.

"Good?" He asks.

You hum coyly before shrugging. "It'll do, I guess."

"Nice, that's what I am for. Have all the ladies in town like 'eh, it was this or reruns of Friends."

Smiling, you inhale deeply with thoughts of this. All of this, and just how nice it is. You wonder briefly if this is a life you could see yourself getting used to — being had and held by the man lying next to you — before the stark reminder of it not even so much as being an option settles in once more.

Short term relationships are valid, and giving — and you couldn't possibly end this one off on a better note.

Take it for what it is.

Waking together in the morning is as nice as the night before, albeit far less involved. Even through the entanglements of limbs and an incredibly pointed lack of clothing on either of you, you're the first to stir with Jeno still lying beside you, although quickly met by the man to have gentle pecks and other such trinkets of adoration bestowed upon you in what is now your final couple of hours left together.

In the shower, there's a moment that you think maybe it can be done after all, and as Jeno stands with toothbrush in hand and mouth full, when you dip your head out to make a mention of the prospect to him, once your eyes meet you can't help but cower back behind the stained glass from which you had come.

Don't ruin this, just let it be.

With bags lazily packed and messily stuffed into the car, the friend groups say their goodbyes at around noon, and with the way that some of them go, you think that you and Jeno far from the only two who consummate their relationship on the final night.

It's sort of sad, in a way, but you suppose you're glad you're not alone in feeling this way.

Turning to face Jeno one, final time — eye smile and freckle that you've grown so fond of — his hands come up to cradle the sides of your face before pulling you into a tender kiss for the final time, his eyes never leaving yours in the pull back even for a second.

Hands dropping to pinky fingers on each hand interlocked as you begin to make your way to the vehicle, you're thankful at least that Jeno have the ability to maintain a strong facade in the aftermath of all of this because frankly, you're not so sure how well you're going to fair once it's all said and done.

There's a pause with arms extended as you open the car door, the link between you and him now stretched nearly as far as it can be held by a mere two fingers — all the while, his gaze never falls from you.

And neither does his smile.

"Safe drive."

Two unreasonably gut-wrenching words.

"We will."

And just like that, you're off.

Arm propped up on the side of the door, the inside of the car is dead silent. You know why. Everyone knows why. No one really wants to talk about it.

Then, your phone buzzes.

Digging it from your bag, you're not entirely sure what to expect, though you're hoping not to find one thing in particular. Instead, you're pleasantly surprised by the name that flashes up on the screen.

Well, suppose that's a bit of an understatement.

Jeno ♡♡ [12:22]: so, what are your plans for winter vacation, anyway?

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2 (probably)