bloodmoonmuses

[bloodmoonmuses]

supercut- johnny suh

genre: johnny x reader, childhood friends to ex-best friends to lovers, a little bit of angst and a lotttttt of nostalgia <3

summary: time escapes you and johnny- a supercut of bliss and naivete, all glittery and rosy, morphing and everchanging over the years- until your paths cross once more.

(for @lovesuhng <3)

Seventh Grade.

Johnny Suh. The Boy With the Eye Smile. Or at least that’s how you’re introduced to him by your mother the week before seventh grade. In an effort to not be bogged down by the remnants of summer sloth in your system, you and your mother wake for breakfast despite not needing to do so this early.  They’re a bit of a formality, the set plates and cutlery as if it isn’t just the two of you on a Wednesday morning, but it’s sort of sweet you suppose. The sun hasn’t even risen entirely and sleep matter still resides in your eyes. 

“You’ve seen him, right? He should be around the same age as you,” your mother asks, taking a bite of her nearly burnt eggs. And you had seen him, Johnny Suh, yesterday. Flying a kite with a few younger boys in the neighborhood, plump cheeks made more prominent from the width of his smile. You remember noting that you didn’t recognize him- you would’ve remembered. He’s a head taller than a majority of the kids, lanky and heart-achingly gentle. How pure, you had thought as you watched him through your kitchen window. 

His family just moved to the neighborhood, your mother tells you, and you nod as she recounts such. 

“So close to the school year,” you respond in a muffled voice. 

“If you see him at school, you should say hi. And don’t speak with food in your mouth, honey.” You swallow the bite of your pancake promptly, anxious for the school year ahead, picturing that poppy red kite fluttering in the sky.

Johnny Suh With the Eye Smile is popular, you discover. And charismatic. And smart. And somehow he’s all of these things on the first day of school (and without being a douchebag). The two of you share a language arts class where your desk is three rows behind him. You quickly become acquainted with the back of his head, burning a hole into it, infatuated with how his hair reminds you of dandelion fluff- the choppy fuzziness of it… the way he sways as though stirred by a summer breeze.

He’s the type of kid that raises his hand in class even when he doesn’t know the answer. He makes everyone laugh (even Olivia Wilson who is known to have a stick up her ass. You conclude she must have a crush on him, as do many other girls). Johnny gives your language arts teacher a high-five on the way out of class. Johnny is cool. 

It’s only the first day of school and kids are clamoring to sit next to Johnny in the cafeteria, attempting to wave him over to their respective tables like he’s a local celebrity.  But he keeps walking, in his JNCO jeans and Tony Hawk t-shirt, and instead sits next to you: the quiet kid sitting at the back of the cafeteria alone. As he does so, the cacophony of the students’ voices dissipates for just a second, your brain unable to register anything other than Johnny choosing to sit by you of all people.

He sets his bright blue lunch tray on your table, feigning nonchalance. 

“Hi,” Johnny says, lips pressed into a pouty line. He opens his carton of chocolate milk.

You acknowledge him with a jut of your chin, an attempt at looking cool, then realize you have to actually speak. “Hey.”

“I’m Johnny.” 

“I know.” You say, biting into your sandwich. How couldn’t you?

Johnny nods, immediately cutting to the chase. “Yeah. Uh- I think I saw you-”

As you eat, the sandwich gets lodged in your throat and you cough briefly, caught off guard by Johnny’s bluntness. “Where?” you ask.

“Peeking out the window at me through your blinds… When I was flying that kite.” Right, you think. So he did see you. The eye contact wasn’t a fever dream. 

Scanning his decidedly neutral face, you say, “Oh. Sorry,” and Johnny shrugs at you. 

“Just wanted to let you know it wasn’t… my kite. I’m too old for that,” he whispers. 

So he’s here to protect his street cred’? Hilarious. 

“No worries. I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?” 

“That you were helping the other boys.”

Johnny pauses, confused that your take on the situation is benign, and you see the faintest blush appear across his face. Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye. You wonder if you’ll ever see him any more bashful than this.

“Well.. I’ll see ya around?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Then he gets up to attend to his clamoring friends, leaving you in his afterglow. 

When the final bell rings, you race out of school in hopes of catching up with Johnny. Finally, you had someone to walk home with, you thought. No need to take the long way to avoid your fear of crossing the street alone. 

You’re sure Johnny is fearless.

When you find him, talking in a circle of school boys by the flagpole, you wave meekly across the green. Johnny waves back, walking over to you when the other kids peel out.

“Hi neighbor.” Johnny says. 

“Wanna walk home together?” you ask, “I can show you a shortcut.”

“Sounds good.”

And the rest is history, really. It didn’t take much, in hindsight. Kids become friends so easily. In part, due to proximity, but there’s something to be said about the intuition of a middle schooler. A sort of magnetism that sparks up like a struck match. Instant fire that burns hot and fast. That warms you from the inside out. In your chest, then your face, your gut… until it spreads to your fingertips.

Johnny is your neighbor. Then walking buddy. Classmate. Friend. Until one day, you realize he’s your best friend.

Freshman Year.

“-and then Johnny said I should dye a few streaks of my hair red because it would make me look edgy and I could walk to the skatepark with him- the one at the underpass a few blocks away- because I’d look super cool. Like Avril Levigne.” you ramble to your mother in one breath, like the words are involuntarily tumbling out of your mouth. Another summer has come and gone. You’re a little older, slightly wiser, but buoyant with youth. Knees in a perpetual state of bouncing, hormones in a perpetual state of chaos… It’s a week before your freshman year of high-school.

“Would you jump off a cliff if Johnny said you’d look super cool?” your mom asks in jest, feigning the artificial vocal fry you’ve adopted this month (a phase your mother hopes ends soon). 

You groan, teenage attitude not completely in check quite yet. “Of course not, Mom.” Well, maybe. If you had a parachute-

Shaking her head, your mother says, “Just saying, that boy is all you talk about these days.” 

She calls him “that boy” as if he isn’t at your place almost everyday. The only reason he’s not here now is because his family is on vacation. You make a mental note to text him.

“That’s not true.” It’s mostly true. But he’s your best friend. Aren’t you supposed to talk about them all the time?

Your mother pivots. “How do you feel about starting high-school?”

Contemplating on the question a bit, you shrug. “How should I feel?”

“I don’t know. That’s for you to decide,” she says sweetly, voice lilting with amusement.

“I think I’m excited.” You and Johnny had already put in your requests to have lockers next to one another. With him, you feel like you could brave the world. “Not nervous or anything.”

“Well, that’s good. Why is that?” she presses. 

Because I have Johnny, you think.

In the week leading up to your freshman year of highschool begins, you get braces. It hurts like hell, but you manage to get out of bed and meet Johnny at the neighborhood park, like you usually do, when he returns from vacation.

“Did it, like, hurt a lot?” Johnny asks you. You’re holding a bag of ice against your cheek.

The numbing has long since worn off, but the pain couldn’t nearly deter you from seeing Johnny in the flesh- his smile giving you energy just like it did all those years ago. A whole week without him… How you survived, you’re not sure. When your peers wondered why Johnny wasn't around, they went to you first. A known pair, you two, and the thought of such makes your heart swell with pride.

In a slurred fuss, you say, “What do you think, genius?” 

“Point taken. I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Asshole,” you mumble. 

Johnny quirks an eyebrow, then says, “Are you, like, gonna be hot after you get your braces off?”

“Johnny, what are you even talking about right now?”

“Like the whole makeover montage in Princess Diaries. You should get contacts too.” You push your glasses up higher on your nose bridge. He’s joking but your chest constricts regardless. Johnny thinks you have the potential to be hot.

“Fuck you,” you say, your own laugh betraying the intended bite of your tone.

Johnny scoffs. “You wish.”

“Ew! Gross.”

“You’re blushing!” Johnny teases, and you jump off the swing in mid-air, giggling as you chase one another around the park like school children. 

Junior Year.

Johnny with the Eye Smile is your best friend and you love him, but you kind of hate him right now. Like, you want to punch him in the face and then kiss it better and then punch him again- the kind of hatred that makes your heart beat in your ears. But the hatred is fickle, a weak flame that dissipates as quickly as it flares up, as Johnny recounts his first kiss. He looks so giddy- an emotion you haven’t seen him wear often throughout the course of your friendship. 

Time escapes you and, before you know it, your junior year of highschool is coming to a close. Instead of being lost in summer’s wake, you’re confronted with its onslaught- the open-endedness of its impending descent…

You’re actually surprised it’s taken this long for Johnny to muster up the courage to kiss someone. There’s a long list of people you know for a fact would’ve loved to do so. Now, Johnny’s sitting on your bed, staring at the tapestries strewn to your ceiling, your room smelling of lavender and peeled oranges. You’re trying to tune him out, but his nervous hands demand your attention, fiddling fingers dancing across his abdomen like he’s playing the piano. You’ve never seen him like this. Not since the faintest blush graced his cheeks in the cafeteria on the day you met. And over a kite no less. This… this was serious. 

Johnny kissed someone. And it wasn’t you.

Johnny tsks. “I didn’t even think Olivia liked me-” he confesses.

“Wait. Olivia Wilson? From middle school? You kissed Olivia Wilson?”

“Why are you saying it like that?” Johnny asks with a furrow of his brow. Unbeknownst to you, you’re mirroring his confused expression.

“Saying it like what?”

He drags his hands over his face, sighing. “Like it’s hard to believe.” 

“No, I just meant… Olivia is…” you search for a word. Any word. “-cool.” She’s a blonde cheerleader who’s slated to be the class salutatorian at the very least, valedictorian if she really applies herself. She bakes cookies and keeps them in her car for when she encounters homeless people and tutors for kids free on the weekends. 

You hate her.

Your stomach lurches at the thought of her cradling Johnny’s face and you can almost smell her perfume- notes of licorice infiltrating your nostrils while you scrunch your nose. 

“Was it good? The kiss, I mean,” you practically wince out. 

“I think so,” Johnny says. “We, like, made out for a while. Then I drove her home and she kissed me again.”

“Wow.” What a lame thing to say, you think, but it’s the prevailing word at the front of your brain. Wow, Johnny really likes her. Wow, they’d look really good together. Wow, he kissed someone and it wasn’t you. 

“Yeah, wow.”

And you’re not sure what, but something green and molten bubbles up inside of you, uncontrollable and vicious, burning at the apex of your chest. “Well actually,” you start, prompting Johnny to look you in the eye, “I thought I saw her kissing Daniel Choi… the other week. After cheer practice.” A total lie that escapes you for whatever reason. “You know how athletics comes back to school a little earlier to train? I was, like, driving around and saw them, I think.”

His smile drops instantly. He believes you, because why wouldn’t he, and you want to take it all back. You want to say, “It’s a joke!” and hear that belly laugh of his, but the words never leave you. You just… can’t. 

It’s junior year, you reason with yourself. Nearly the summer before your senior year. You need him. You need this- whatever this is. 

“Wait, really?” Johnny asks. 

“She didn’t tell you?” you say, feigning shock. This is awful. You feel awful.

“No…” Johnny grows quiet. 

“It’s probably not serious,” you backtrack. “You know Daniel-”

“Whatever. Wanna drive around and listen to music?” Johnny grabs his keys in a rage before you can even answer.

You follow him out of your room wordlessly, a layer of sweat forming on your forehead, feeling relieved that you don’t have to talk about that God forsaken kiss anymore. The smell of licorice fades and instead you bask in Johnny’s musky vanilla. 

The illusion of serenity lasts one tortuous week.

“Hey, what the fuck, _______?” Johnny slams your locker shut in lieu of a greeting. The sound sends shockwaves through your body. 

The locker in front of which Johnny greets you everyday, eye-smile melting your heart a little more each time you see it. The locker inside which you’ve taped a polaroid of the two of you. The locker you two shared when Johnny forgot a sandwich in his and the stench of mold made it unusable. Your locker.

You lean against it, bracing for impact. Ready to double down. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem? Daniel said he’s never even spoken to Olivia, _______. She was gonna ask me to prom… I yelled at her last week.”

“I must’ve made a mistake, Johnny.” 

He fumes, nearly dry heaving as your words hit his ears. 

Then, softly, you say, “We can go to prom together.” You pick at the skin on your fingers, averting your gaze to anywhere but Johnny’s face- a tell of yours that Johnny knows all too well. In your periphery, you see he’s bright red.

“Are you seriously lying to me right now?”

“Johnny. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah. So tell me the truth.”

Your voice is barely about a whisper. “Olivia isn’t even your type…”

“Goodbye, _________,” Johnny says, devoid of any levity or lightness. His eyes are impossibly dark. A part of you thinks he’ll turn around, or meet you on the swingset later that day. And you wait there, keep your bedroom window open and check your phone obsessively, but he never comes. 

Johnny goes to Senior prom with Olivia Wilson the following year. 

Beyond.

You’re older now, much wiser, and far away from teenagedom. In fact, your teen years are a distant memory, so far removed that only the best parts of them appear in your daydreams- a supercut of bliss and naivete… glittery and rosy. 

You’re teleported back to the swingset where you’d talk to Johnny until the moon came out. To the tree under which you saw him fly that poppy red kite. To the porch where you finally had your first kiss after falling out with Johnny. 

To the dining table where you’d share pancakes with your mother.

You’re home for the holidays, back in Chicago, and your house smells of cinnamon and vanilla. The nostalgia comes in vicious waves- choppy, foamy and salty. Tear stained cheeks on random afternoons. Then in gentle, comforting ones that lull you to sleep like a lullaby. 

Being back in town after graduating college makes your bones feel weird. The way you move around your home now is less intuitive. It’s more like walking through a museum, fingers aching to graze the artifacts of your youth. Photos faded with a thin layer of dust, participation ribbons from Little League, old school uniforms tucked away in boxes.

“Mom!” you call out to her from upstairs, “Do you think I still have my highschool yearbook here?”

“Yes, it’s with my scrapbooking supplies in the craft room.”

You practically bolt there, settling on the floor once you’ve located the blue book, flipping frantically until you find Johnny’s picture. 

Your best friend with the fluffy dandelion hair and soft demeanor. His senior photo is slightly faded from how often you used to thumb through the yearbook.

You remember loving him from a distance after that ill-fated day, the abruptness of the friendship’s end too much for you to handle. So you took the scraps. The wayward glances from Johnny, the check-ins from his mom, when he accidentally sent his graduation party invitation in the mail… The two of you co-existed, parallel to one another but never intersecting- in stark contrast to how intertwined you once were. Your chest aches at the memory.

“________, my love, can you come downstairs for a sec?” your mother calls distantly. You close the yearbook solemnly and make your way down. “Can you run to the grocery store for me?” she asks. “We’re out of eggs.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Shrugging on a coat and putting on another pair of socks, you prepare to brave the elements. You decide to take the train, so you can admire the winter wonderland outside. When you don’t think about how much of an inconvenience the snow is, it’s beautiful- the untouched banks on the side of the road, all pristine and crystalline. 

The mounds sparkle and crunch beneath you as your trod to the station, which luckily is a quick walk from your place. The city whips past you, a blur of sleek skyscrapers contrasted against graffiti buildings, and you’re at the bodega before you know it. 

Quickly, you locate the eggs, placing them in your basket, and scour the little corner store for a few more goodies. As you reach for a box of instant hot cocoa, you feel someone materialize next to you. The stasis of the store would have it seem this city’s a ghost town, though Chicago is far from one, but the person startles you regardless. You jump back a bit, muttering a half-hearted, “Excuse me,” before realizing you know him. There’s no way…

“Oh, sorry-” Johnny comes to the realization at the same time you do, retracting his hand from the box. 

Your hand is frozen in space, eyes scanning his form to make sure he’s real. His hair is short with blonde highlights and his glasses are massive, giving him a cartoonish look. His puffer jacket is also massive, all bundled up and pillowy like a marshmallow.

You smile to yourself briefly, before sputtering, “How long has it been?”

Without missing a beat, Johnny says, “Six years.” Has he been counting?

“You look like the Michelin Man with glasses,” you say.

Johnny chortles. “You got your braces off.”

“Am I finally hot?” you joke, “like in Princess Diaries?” 

And it’s probably from the cold, but you swear Johnny blushes as he shrugs and says, “Jury’s still out on that one.”

“Here,” you start, getting back to the task at hand, “lemme grab that for you.” You pick up two boxes of the hot cocoa mix and place them in your basket. 

“You don’t have to-” Johnny stammers, shaking his head.

“It’s the least I can do.” (-which is probably an understatement.) 

The two of you walk to the cash register where you buy both his and your items.

“Is this all you came out for?” you ask Johnny.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Clearing your throat, you force out your next question, the voice that squeaks out of you sounding foreign. “Where ya heading- if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Nowhere fast. I drove here actually. What about you?”

“Train.”

“Cool…”  

Would you jump off a cliff if Johnny said you’d look super cool?

Johnny rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting for you to break the silence. You oblige him. “Well, it was nice seeing you Johnny. Happy holidays.” you start to walk in the opposite direction, until Johnny says-

“Actually- wanna go to the park?”

—

“This is soooo weird,” you chuckle as you swing back and forth, the nippy air feeling like a thousand cuts on your face. Your nostrils burn with each inhale, and the run-off of slightly melted snow trickles as it moves down the hill.

“Being back here?” Johnny’s voice is close, then distant, then close again, as he swings alongside (and much higher than) you.

“Yeah, it’s like I just stepped into a time machine.” And it’s true- you feel like that kid whispering about the new kid over pancakes. His fingertips are bright red.

“Except you were spying on me from your bedroom window,” Johnny scoffs.

You groan. “I explained a thousand times that I was just-”

“Just because you explain something, it doesn’t make it less creepy! And-”

“-making sure the kite didn’t get stuck in a tree.” you shout over his accusations, cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling.

Johnny shakes his head, heaving from his laughter. “Your ‘explanation’ is total bullshit, by the way.” 

You sigh. “Guess I’m never living that down.”

When the both of you settle, sitting on the swings instead of kicking back and forth, you take a moment to drink up Johnny’s features. He’s even taller, somehow, lankiness morphed into dashing height. Awkwardness morphed into a charming stride. Eye-smile morphed into a blinding grin.

Your mind is racing. You have so much you want to say to him. So much to ask. Six years… where does the time go?

“You’ll never guess who I had my first kiss with in Ju” you giggle at yourself because, of all things, you can’t believe that’s what you decide on. Regardless, it’s a funny story. 

Again, Johnny scoffs. “Daniel Choi, right?”

“Wait, who told you that!?”

“He was bragging about it for three weeks. I nearly punched the guy.”

The two of you weren’t even friends at that point.

“You’re ridiculous!”

More silence falls over you, draping itself densely over your shoulders- stasis from how sheerly overwhelmed you are at the words on the tip of your tongue. You feel Johnny’s anxiety too, it radiating in waves off of him, but it’s not awkward. The two of you wade in the stillness, slight movements yanking on the bars of their metaphorical enclosure. Your sniffling, twitching nose. Fidgeting fingers. Johnny’s bouncing knees and pounding heart.

That is, until the silence is no more- Johnny just barely breaching it by saying, “It should’ve been me. I should’ve kissed you.” 

Then he stands before you, grasping the swing chains just above where you’re holding them and effectively envelopes you in his warmth. Johnny’s proximity makes you shudder and you look up at him, eyes as bright as they were when he was younger.

“I could’ve been.” Then, in a hushed voice, you add, “It can be.”

Then, as he grasps your face with his ice cold hands, Johnny places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You giggle into it, the clunkiness and trepidation, then recapture his lips in a real kiss. This kiss is all encompassing, your entire face ablaze while you deepen it, your lips yearning for and experiencing lost time in a confusing clamoring. You’re practically clawing at Johnny up until the point of you pulling away for air.

Johnny scans your face, smirking at the way you’re panting. “You are kinda hot without the braces,” he says.

“You’re actually the worst.”

And, yet again, he shrugs. “Okay, but you love it though.”

“I guess…”

As you lean in for another kiss, you hear a scream. When you whip your head around, you giggle at the sight:

A kiddo on the other side of the playground flying a poppy red kite in the dead of winter.

a/n: unedited and feedback is always appreciated! <3

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[bloodmoonmuses]

MARK // '프락치 (FRAKTSIYA)' M/V BTS

[bloodmoonmuses]

hi, i'm ken! 22, blk, virgo, writing for nct + txt mostly! all works found under: #bloodmoonmuses

tomorrow by together ♡*✲ﾟ*

strawberry kisses (choi beomgyu x reader, established relationship, fluff)

you want me so bad rn... (choi beomgyu x reader, established relationship, fluff)

sun-faded youth; shimmering potentiality (choi beomgyu x reader, childhood friends to lovers, angst)

nct 127 ♡*✲ﾟ*

johnny suh

favorite (johnny suh x reader, friends to *more*, fluff)

stereo 127 (johnny suh x reader, friends to lovers, college au)

supercut (johnny suh x reader, friends to ex-best friends to lovers, nostalgia, fluff)

mark lee

yeah x10 (mark lee x reader x lee haechan, tennis au, inspired by challengers)

when souls touch (mark lee x reader, love confession, friends to lovers, fluff)

come back to me (mark lee x reader, meet cute au, established relationship, fluff)

the weatherman’s weathered heart (weatherman! mark lee x reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn)

time lapse (mark lee x reader, established relationship, fluff, free-form prose)

stray cats, cold spaghetti  (mark lee x reader, meet cute, fluff, friends to lovers)

translation: i love you (mark lee x reader, college au, friends to lovers)

clover (mark lee x reader, college au, friends to lovers, fluff)

we’re not really strangers (mark lee x reader, meditative prose, angst)

mediocre party crashers (mark lee x reader, strangers to more, fluff) mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special!

through thick and thin (mark lee x reader, angst, established relationship, prose???)

lee haechan

yeah x10 (mark lee x reader x lee haechan, tennis au, inspired by challengers)

strawberry sunday (lee haechan x reader, established relationship, flufff)

lee taeyong

it waits for dawn (lee taeyong x reader, friends to lovers, summer coworkers au)

jeong jaehyun

gardenia (can’t get you) (jeong jaehyun x reader, stalker, body horror)

stray kids ♡*✲ﾟ*

should’ve, could’ve, would’ve  (bang chan x reader, angst, friends to lovers)

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[bloodmoonmuses]

lia_loves___ instagram update

Bébé🤍👼

[bloodmoonmuses]

x-mas special sneak peek....

[bloodmoonmuses]

Unconditional, 2024 JAEHYUN

[bloodmoonmuses]

fishing was very serious for this baby

[bloodmoonmuses]

‘yes, professor?’

professor! jung jaehyun x reader

smut, 1.5k words

it starts with whispers. nothing concrete, just hints scattered in the air like cigarette smoke curling in the hallways after late-night classes. you hear about him before you meet him: jung jaehyun, the youngest literature professor in the department, rumored to have a sharp tongue and a reputation for unraveling students’ egos in seminar discussions. not in the humiliating, arrogant way—he’s too controlled for that. he dismantles arguments with precision, makes you feel the cracks in your logic as if he’s pressing his hands to them. but what everyone talks about isn’t just his intellect. it’s the way he looks, the way he moves—how he reads a passage from paradise lost like he’s seducing the room.

you sign up for his seminar on a whim, telling yourself it’s because you like the syllabus—something about desire and morality in 18th-century literature. it’s a lie, of course. you know exactly why. you’ve seen him once before, walking across campus with a leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm, his fitted dress shirt pulling taut against his shoulders. you’d been curious then. intrigued. and now, sitting in the second row of his seminar, you realize curiosity was too soft a word for what you feel.

the first few weeks are uneventful. he’s strict, dismissive of lazy interpretations, and ruthless about deadlines. when he speaks, it’s with a deliberate cadence, like every word has been measured for weight. he doesn’t look at you—not specifically—but you feel his presence like a charged wire running under the surface of the classroom. and then it happens: he catches you staring during a lecture, his eyes lingering just a moment too long. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to send a rush of heat straight to your stomach.

you don’t mean to push. it starts small—comments in class designed to catch his attention, emails phrased too carefully to be casual. he doesn’t bite, not at first, but there’s a flicker in his gaze every time you speak, a slight pause before he responds. it’s like you’re testing a boundary you’re not even sure exists, prodding the edges of something unspoken.

it shifts one evening during office hours. you come in with a question about your essay, and he barely glances up from his desk, motioning for you to sit. the room smells like old books and his cologne, something warm and musky that sticks to your clothes even after you leave. as you talk, his gaze sharpens, not in the way it does when he’s dissecting someone’s argument, but like he’s reading you, peeling back the layers of what you’re really asking. you stumble over your words, and his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like he knows something you don’t.

“you’re distracted,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair. his tone is measured, neutral, but there’s an undertone that makes your stomach tighten.

you make some excuse about being tired, about the pressure of keeping up with his class. he doesn’t buy it. instead, he stands, moving around the desk to lean against it, arms crossed. he’s closer now, the sharp line of his jaw more prominent under the low light of the desk lamp.

“you’re a good writer,” he says, and it’s the first compliment he’s ever given you. “but you hold back. afraid of pushing too far, maybe.”

the air between you stretches thin. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, your throat dry. his eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second, and you know you didn’t imagine it this time.

“i think you know how to take risks,” he continues, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. “you just need the right… incentive.”

it’s not an invitation, not yet, but it plants something in you, something dark and electric. you leave his office flushed, your skin buzzing with the memory of his voice, of the way his eyes lingered just a little too long.

you start to write differently after that. your essays become sharper, more provocative, laced with a kind of defiance you didn’t know you had. when he reads them in class, his comments are laced with a subtle edge, like he’s speaking to you and no one else. it’s maddening, intoxicating. every interaction feels like a game you’re not entirely sure how to play but can’t seem to stop.

the break happens late one evening when you show up to his office after hours, the building nearly empty. you tell yourself it’s about your paper, about some question you need answered, but you know better. and so does he. when he opens the door, his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch.

“this is inappropriate,” he says, but his voice is thin, stretched too tight. the way his eyes linger on your lips betrays him. he steps aside, letting you in, the door clicking shut behind you like a trigger. the space shrinks, the air heavy, pressing down on your chest.

you’re not sure who moves first. it’s a blur of tension snapping, his hands grabbing your hips, your body colliding with his desk as his mouth crashes into yours. the kiss is bruising, all heat and hunger, the faint taste of coffee and mint on his tongue. your back arches into him as his hands slide up your thighs, rough and impatient, pulling your skirt higher.

“do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he growls against your lips, his cock already hard and pressing against your stomach. his hands are rough on your ass, pulling you closer, making you feel every inch of his need as he bites down on your neck. “every fucking time you walk into my class with those tight little skirts, pretending you don’t know what you’re doing—this is what you’ve been asking for, isn’t it?”

“yes, sir,” you whimper, breathless, gripping his shoulders. “please, i’ll be good. i’ll do anything.”

his eyes darken, and before you can say more, he grabs your hips, spinning you around and slamming you against the desk. the edge digs into your thighs as he presses you flat against it, his body caging yours. “anything?” he repeats, his voice dripping with dominance. “then stop pretending to be so fucking innocent and take it like you’ve been begging for.”

his hands yank your blouse open, buttons scattering across the floor as he pulls down your bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air. his mouth is on you instantly, sucking and biting at your nipples, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. his hands slide up your thighs, bunching your skirt around your hips. when his fingers find your pussy, he groans, deep and guttural.

“you’re soaked,” he mutters, pushing two fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. “all semester, acting so innocent, sitting in my class with this pussy dripping and waiting for me.”

“i—i couldn’t help it,” you stammer, your voice high-pitched and needy as his fingers curl inside you. “you’re so hot, professor. i just want to be your favorite.”

he lets out a low, dark laugh, pulling his fingers out and grabbing your hips to flip you over, slamming you down against the desk. “oh, you’re my favorite,” he growls, his voice dripping with heat as he unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking sharp in the silence. “and i’m going to fuck you like it—fill this pussy so good you’ll never want anything else.”

the clink of his belt barely registers before he pulls his cock free, thick and leaking, the sight alone making you clench. he lines up and thrusts into you in one brutal motion, his cock stretching you so perfectly it steals the air from your lungs.

“fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hips bruising as he sets a punishing rhythm, driving into you so hard the desk shakes beneath you. “you feel that? this is what happens to little sluts who tease me all semester.”

“yes, sir,” you moan, your nails dragging against the desk as he pounds into you, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. “mmm—fuck—your cock’s so good, professor. i’ll be so good for you—promise.”

“you better be,” he growls, leaning over you, his teeth grazing your ear. “because this pussy is mine now. no one else gets to touch it.”

his hand slides between your legs, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles that make your body shake. “come on,” he growls, slamming into you harder. “take it. take every inch like a good girl.”

your walls clench around him as the pressure builds, your cries turning into screams as pleasure crashes through you, leaving you shaking beneath him. his thrusts grow erratic, his grip tightening as he buries himself deep, his cock twitching as he spills inside you with a guttural groan.

he stays there for a moment, his cock still throbbing inside you, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he murmurs, almost mockingly. “all fucked out and stupid for me. maybe now you’ll learn how to behave in my class.”

but as his lips brush against your ear, there’s no mistaking the hunger still burning in his voice. you both know this isn’t over.

it’s only the beginning.

[bloodmoonmuses]

testify by Eve L. Ewing

[bloodmoonmuses]

[bloodmoonmuses]

love jones

pairing: photographer!haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, angst, strangers to lovers, hollywood!au, photographer!haechan, model!reader, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wr- [gets hit by a car])

summary: After breaking off your engagement to your fiance, you move to Los Angeles to pursue a modeling career. There in the fairytale land where stars go to shine you meet Haechan, an aspiring photographer with a penchant for mischief and flirtation.

word count: 12.4k (/25.5k)

a/n: inspired by love jones; the song by leon thomas featuring ty dolla $ign and the movie by theodore witcher. this is a repost of an old fic that i will be publishing in 2 installments; it is also the prequel to supermodel, which you do not have to read. installment two will be linked here when posted. as always, feedback is appreciated!

The air was different in California. 

“The land of make-believe,” you sighed, holding the cold metal bar in your hands. This was your new home. Sine die. 

Better than New York City, you muttered crankily to yourself. Everything there reminded you of him. Every street, every scent. You would rather not think of the asshole that cheated on you with another woman while you gave him everything. California, on the other hand, was a brand new slate. Free of assholes that showed other girls their penises while being months away from vowing forever to you. You had let out a massive sigh of relief when your doctor confirmed that you didn’t have any infections.

Still, you fondled the engagement band on your finger. 

“I know you’re not out here thinking about he who shall not be named,” Chaewon chided in disapproval, hands on her hips. 

You turned around. You hadn’t heard the door open. When she came beside you, you turned around again, facing the busy street just below of you. 

“No. I’m not thinking about him,” you lied through your teeth. “I’m just brooding.”

“Same damn thing.”

You rolled your eyes. 

Chaewon back-hugged you and wrapped her arms around your waist snugly, making you giggle. “I forbid you from thinking about that asshole any longer. The whole point of you coming here was to forget about him.”

“And the new opportunities,” you added. 

“Exactly. He was holding you back. He wanted to be the man and bring home the bacon, and couldn’t stand the thought of you being a successful independent woman perfectly capable of taking care of her damn self,” Chaewon said without taking a single breath. 

You mulled it over. That was a little too true. Your ex-boyfriend always talked about having kids and taking care of you and them, but you hated to think that your independence might’ve driven him away. “But you don’t just forget about the life and broken promises of the future you made,” you whispered sadly. 

Chaewon let out a little sigh. She was sad for you. Her heart, too. 

Then, she backed off and said, “You know what? We’re going to the club.”

You gawked and did a one-eighty. Full speed. “What?”

“You heard me. And put that ring up, girl. You’re not gonna get any dick if a man sees that on your finger. I don’t know why you haven’t given it back to him yet. Better yet, you should throw it off a mountain. We have plenty.”

“Oh, please,” you replied boredly. “I know these Los Angeles boys don’t give a damn. They would fuck the hole between the ring if their dicks were small enough.”

“Oh, don’t bring your Manhattan bullshit over here. The boys I know have decorum,” Chaewon replied matter-of-factly. 

“I’m sure,” you deadpanned. 

Chaewon cocked her head at you and planted her hands on her hips. “When you’re done being a drama queen, you need to go change into something risqué. I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up.”

“Yes, Mother,” you said coolly, in spite of not being even the least bit inclined to bump and grind at a club tonight. 

“I’m serious. If that ring’s not off your finger by the time I get back, I’m kicking some ass.” Then, she went back inside. You shook your head. Los Angeles, you thought. What am I going to do with you?

The club was packed with people, which was to be expected given that it was a Friday night. You paid them no attention, sticking close to Chaewon like a toddler kept close to their mother’s bosom. 

“And I told her, ‘but that doesn’t make any sense. Gladys Presley popped Elvis Presley out of her coochie eighty-six years ago. There’s no way you could be his mother.’”

The group laughed at Jeno. 

Jaemin hurled back a shot of vodka and added, “Gladys Presley didn’t look happy in a single picture I’ve seen of her.”

“Shit. If my son was Elvis Presley, I wouldn’t exactly be exhilarated either,” Ryujin quipped. 

Mark covered her mouth. “Lower your voice. You cannot say that too loud out here.”

Ryujin shoved him off. “Get your hands off me, freak,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. 

The group laughed again. Except for Mark. 

And Haechan. 

Winter casted a glance at Haechan. “What’s up with the sun man?”

Jaemin, who was to the left of Haechan, nudged him and asked, “What’s wrong, my man?”

Haechan didn’t even blink. He was too busy staring past the tables. Something had evidently caught his eye. 

Jeno followed his gaze and snickered. He spotted you, sitting at the bar with Chaewon. “I know what’s got my boy’s attention.”

Everyone glanced where Jeno was looking. There you were, obliviously laughing and chattering with your best friend. You were wearing a flimsy black dress now in lieu of the dolphin shorts you’d worn while moving the last of your stuff inside your new condo. 

“Damn, she’s bad,” Jaemin murmured under his breath. 

Winter angrily hit him. 

Jaemin immediately stammered, “I mean, you’re badder. She’s nothing compared to you. I’m just saying she’s a little cute. For someone like Haechan, maybe.”

The table erupted in laughter. 

“Mm-hm,” Winter hummed doubtfully, crossing her arms. 

“Come on, baby. You know I’ve only got eyes for you,” Jaemin said, giving Winter a smooch to the cheek. “Billions of girls in the world and I still choose you. You’re the only one I want.”

Mark deadpanned, “He’s so smooth.” 

“He must get it from you,” Ryujin shot, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Mark shot her a glare. 

Jeno draped an arm around Haechan’s shoulder. “Come on, man. You just gonna sit and stare at her or what? You gotta make a move.”

Ryujin quipped, “And what do you know about making moves?” 

“August twelfth, two years ago.” 

Ryujin narrowed her eyes at him. “Only losers who get little play remember the exact date they fucked somebody.”

“Well, that says a lot more about you than it does about me, doesn’t it? I could have been talking about anything,” Jeno quipped, smirking. 

The boys, especially Mark, laughed. Winter fought a chuckle in female solidarity. 

“I pieced it together,” Ryujin mumbled. 

“It’s okay to admit you’re a little lonely, Ryujin. I mean, after Sunwoo fled to Chicago, I can only imagine it’s been a long minute since you’ve gotten any attention downstairs,” Mark crooned like potent venom. 

There were a couple of ‘ooh’s from the boys. 

“You guys are annoying,” Haechan finally said after having not spoken for the past few minutes. Which was unusual for someone like him. “I’m going to go get her number. Watch this.”

The table whooped and hollered, cheering him on. Meanwhile, he approached you stealthily, popping a stick of gum. 

Haechan sat at the available seat to your left (because Chaewon was to your right) and greeted, “Hello, ladies.”

Chaewon took one glance at the handsome stranger to your left and had raging heart eyes. You, on the other hand, were wishing you would have ignored her and brought your ring to deter any unwanted visitors. The one thing he was good for, you grumbled to yourself. But if you were being honest with yourself, the stranger was pretty cute. Pretty brown eyes, like your ex-fiancé. Smooth skin. And he had the cutest, most kissable lips. If you hadn’t already written him off as bad news, you would have let yourself be interested. 

“Hi, handsome,” Chaewon flirted, giggling like an idiot. You stiffened. You knew your way around men, but you weren’t in the mood. 

Haechan smiled, but he was all eyes for you. Ironically, you were wishing he would disappear. He asked, “Can I have your name?”

“You haven’t done anything to deserve it,” you replied with complete disinterest. 

“Hard to get. I fuck with it,” Haechan noted. “What do you want me to do?”

You pretended to be in thought. “You can start by removing yourself from my vicinity. Please and thank you.”

Chaewon winced and told him your name.

“Chae,” you groaned.  

Haechan repeated after her. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Oh, could you be any more original?” you deadpanned. “By the way, I’m engaged.”

Haechan laughed. “You are definitely not engaged. I know that and I know nothing about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And how would you know that?” 

“Because engaged people have engaged people vibes. You have painfully strong ‘I hate anything that has to do with love and romance’ vibes,” Haechan answered slickly, then leaned close to sing for only your ears, “And I don’t see an engagement ring on your finger.”

Chaewon was having a laugh at your expense. Meanwhile, this stranger pulled back and smirked at you, reading your thoughts. You wanted to be mad that he was right, but you kind of liked his voice in your ear.

“She’s single,” Chaewon added, as if it were necessary. “Maybe not ready to mingle though.”

You were fighting the most irritated groan at this point. 

Haechan raised his hands and backed off, taking the mean scowl on your face as a firm ‘no’ and the rejection coolly. “That’s cool. Look, I’ll leave you ladies alone. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” Chaewon said, waving him goodbye as he stepped off the barstool. 

When he was finally gone, you let out a breath of relief. 

Chaewon gave you a look. “He’s so into you. I’m not even mad. You fumbled so bad. He’s fine as hell.”

“You’re forgetting that I didn’t ask to be dragged to this club in the first place. I don’t want to get dicked down by some dude whose name I don’t even know,” you grumbled, finishing what was left in your cup. 

“I’m sure he would have given it to you if you asked,” she replied teasingly. 

You rolled your eyes. “He can keep it to himself. I don’t want to fuck and forget.”

“Ugh, lame,” Chaewon groaned. “Fuck and forget is every young model’s motto.”

“Well, not mine,” you huffed, vexed. With a smidge of attitude. 

Chaewon noticed your tone and frowned. “Okay, timeout. Babe, listen. I’m not trying to pressure you into doing anything you don’t wanna do. If you don’t wanna fuck around then don’t. I was just suggesting it might be nice to get to know somebody else. See where it goes.”

“I know,” you sighed, squeezing her hand. “Tonight’s just not a good night.”

Chaewon bobbed her head. “I understand. Take your time. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

You gave her a weak smile.

Meanwhile, Haechan was doing something adjacent to the walk of shame as he approached his clique’s table, empty-handed.

Jeno immediately taunted, “What a snag, man.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeno,” Haechan hissed, throwing Jeno his middle finger. 

Mark gave Haechan a compassionate look. “You get an ‘E’ for effort, dude.”

“L for loss,” Jeno murmured under his breath none too quietly.

“She looked like she wanted to kill you with her bare hands,” Jaemin retorted, holding Winter’s hand under the table.

Winter snickered. “And how would you know what that looks like?”

“Because I see Ryujin look at Mark like that everyday,” Jaemin quipped, earning a couple laughs around the table. 

“Whatever,” Haechan said, feigning nonchalance. “You win some, you lose some.”

Jaemin braced his hand on Haechan’s shoulder. “This is just the trials and tribulations, buddy. You’ll get her next time.”

Haechan downed a shot of liquor. “We’ll see.”

When Tuesday morning arrived, you were up bright and early. You slipped on a minimalist outfit and got a taxi to the record store. 

Ryujin was working the cash register when you walked inside. You didn’t recognize her, but she recognized you, smirking in amusement. “Good morning. Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for a Michael Jackson vinyl,” you replied, holding your purse. 

“Vinyls are back that way,” Ryujin said, pointing her finger. “Good luck. He still sells fast.”

You thanked her and headed straight for the back shelves. Your record collection was a vinyl away from being finished after a number of years spent putting it together and you were desperately on the hunt for the finishing piece. Not a second later, Haechan meandered inside clad in denim jeans and black leather. He looked like nothing short of any parent’s worst nightmare. 

Ryujin beckoned him over and whispered, “Aren’t you the king of good timing? Your girl’s in the back.”

Haechan furrowed his brows. “My…” Then, he faced the back of the store and saw you carefully sifting through records, trying your absolute hardest to find the one you were looking for. From the looks of it, however, your efforts were in vain. 

Haechan glanced back at Ryujin in shock. “Shit. Should I shoot my shot?”

“I mean, the last time you shot your shot, you missed,” Ryujin replied, propping her pretty face up on the counter. “Like Michael Jordan against the Toronto Raptors in 2002 missed.”

“And he still won. So, watch it,” Haechan shot back. 

Ryujin rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But don’t make me get the buff Johnny guy from next door to escort you out of the building. The cute one that’s pretty tall.”

“Everyone knows who Johnny is, Ryu,” Haechan muttered, making his way towards you. Again. 

You didn’t even give Haechan the chance to speak when you noticed him. Your face scrunched up and you droned, “You again.”

Haechan lifted his hands. “You know, most people usually greet others with a ‘hey’ or a ‘good morning.’”

“Not in New York City.”

Haechan gave you a curious stare. “You’re from New York City?”

You grimaced. You didn’t mean to let that slip. “I’ve already said too much.”

“You’ve said just enough, girl,” Haechan replied with a smirk. “Whatchu looking for?”

“A Michael Jackson Thriller vinyl. It’s for my record collection,” you answered absentmindedly, ransacking the shelves for the record to no avail. Which was irritating. It’s like his most popular album, you grumbled to yourself.  

That certainly got Haechan’s attention. “Oh,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I have a signed Thriller vinyl at my crib.”

You scoffed. “Please. As if.”

“I’m deadass,” Haechan insisted, but the untamed twinkle in his eyes made him hard to believe. 

“Right,” you droned. “And I’m guessing this is the part where you invite me back to your crib and try to persuade me to hook up with you.”

“Hey, I’m not that type of guy. Scout’s honor,” Haechan said, though sensing your raging skepticism, he called out, “Look. Hey, Ryu! Don’t I have a signed Michael Jackson vinyl?”

“It’s like you won’t let us forget,” Ryujin shouted back, annoyed. Then, she leaned over the counter, noticing the reluctance all over your face. “Yeah, he’s got one. It’s legit. I’d tell you if this punk was bullshitting.”

For whatever reason, Ryujin’s words of confirmation finally pushed you to believe him. You badgered, “How in the hell did you get your hands on a signed Michael Jackson vinyl? He couldn’t have given it to you. You were how old when he died?”

“Legends never die, baby,” was Haechan’s witty reply. 

You almost rolled your eyes, but settled for stubbornly folding your arms instead. “Okay. What do I have to do for it?”

“Go out on a date with me.”

That didn’t surprise you at all. Haechan had been trying to ask you out from the get-go. He was nothing if not persistent as ever. “A date,” you repeated with a smidge of boredom. 

Haechan bobbed his head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date-date. My friends and I are having this get-together tomorrow night. You should come. Ryujin has been bitching about how there’s an uneven boy-to-girl ratio.”

You arched a brow. “And you want me to even things out?”

“Well, with you we’d have four boys to three girls, but if you find me worthwhile you can start bringing your friend and then we’ll be as even as a figure eight.”

You mulled it over. One date wouldn’t be so bad, you contemplated. It wasn’t as if you would be alone with this boy. There would be five other people in the room with you. Not to mention Haechan truly didn’t seem that bad. And if you were being honest, under better circumstances, you probably would’ve already taken him to bed. 

Besides, after spending most of your dating life with a cheating bastard, you definitely deserved to move on. Something fresh. If you decided that you didn’t like Haechan after this date, you could cut him off. Matter of fact, you could cut him off afterwards whether you liked him or not. Anything for the vinyl. 

Haechan watched your lip tuck out in thought and thought it was the cutest thing ever. He could tell you were really mulling it over. The gears in your brain were spinning quicker than ever before. 

“Fine,” you finally said after a while. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

In his head, Haechan was doing a very, very strange victory dance. But instead, he played it cool, and said, “Sweet.”

“Cool.”

Haechan pointed to the vinyls behind him with his thumb. “Can I play you something?”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

Haechan did a smooth one-eighty and grabbed a Michael Jackson Bad vinyl before popping it into the record player beside you. You watched him skillfully set the needle, as if he had done it a thousand times before. A song you knew very well started to play. 

“I just can’t stop loving you,” you exhaled, noting the song name. You knew every word. 

Haechan nodded and smiled at you. Then, he stretched out his hand. “May I have a dance?”

You giggled and took his hand in yours, putting your other behind his shoulder as he wrapped his around your waist. You wanted to be mad that you liked how his hands felt on your body. Ironically, you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt the touch of a man. 

In little to no time, you were slow dancing in the back of a record store with a stranger. A very handsome stranger at that. You locked eyes and it was enough to make you hold your breath. 

Neither of you took your eyes off of each other afterwards. You were just swaying to the rhythm, breathing in the sweet, titillating scent of him. Sharing the warmth of your bodies as they touched. 

It was almost romantic. Then, a thought struck you. “I never got your name.”

“My friends call me Haechan,” he replied, flashing a smile. “But you can call me ‘baby.’”

“Haechan,” you said, tasting his name on your tongue. And ignoring his attempts at flirting.

Haechan’s face faltered for half a second, but he was quick to recover. “Because I like the way it rolls off your tongue, I’ll let it slide.”

You snickered. 

That sound was music to his ears. “So,” Haechan started. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” you chirped. “I’ll give you my number.”

“I hope you like motorcycles,” Haechan replied with a chuckle. 

“You drive a motorcycle?”

Haechan pointed to the entrance with his shoulder. “Parked right outside. She’s my baby.”

You stared over his shoulder and right through the glass window, spotting his motorcycle parked directly out front. It was a sleek, black motorbike that coupled perfectly with his mischievous attire. 

Oh, boy. 

For an entire hour, you carefully planned your date night outfit with Chaewon (who after loudly celebrating your secured date agreed to assist with the wardrobe assembling prep) over FaceTime. 

Not that it was a fancy date. Which was exactly why you were conflicted. You wanted to dress to impress, but you also didn’t want to seem like a try-hard. Like hell you were trying to impress Haechan, but you knew men like him perceived the slightest things as sexual advances.

You went for jeans and a crop top with a cute puffer jacket in the end, and called it a night. Just in case it got chilly, which was unpredictable in bitter Los Angeles evenings. Over the night and throughout your day, you caught yourself thinking about the handsome stranger that liked motorcycles. 

The slow dancing in the record store. The eye contact. The warmth of his body beside yours and his perfect scent throttling you. And you found yourself smiling. When Chaewon asked you how the dance was after you confided in her about the little event at the back of the record store, you’d replied, “It was magical.”

You were standing on the fence. Haechan was cute and could be an excellent distraction from your mess of a love life. But you weren’t exactly ready to risk getting your heart broken again. 

So, you decided you wouldn’t be getting your heart involved. Haechan was harmless fun.   

But you were still counting down the hours until he arrived at your front door. 

Haechan arrived punctually at your front door with two minutes left to spare. You grabbed your phone off the charger and dropped it in your purse before racing to open the front door. “Hi,” you said. 

Haechan waved. “‘Sup, baby.”

“You’re on time,” you commented, maybe slightly surprised.

Haechan chuckled at that. Seemingly not offended. “Yeah, I am.” He cocked his head.  “Should I have stood you up?”

A part of you somewhat expected him to and you would be lying if you said it hadn’t. Sue you for being cynical. After all, your last relationship had taught you to be a little more careful with your heart. Deciding you wouldn’t be answering that question, you gave him a quick scan and concluded that you liked what you saw. “You clean up nice.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m handsome?”

“It means you dress up well. Take the compliment before I retract it,” you replied, crossing your arms. 

“You already said it. No take-backs,” Haechan teased, grinning all smug-like. “You look pretty. But you’re always gorgeous.”

His flirting was going to be the death of you. “You’ve seen me three times and not once without makeup.”

“Take the compliment before I retract it,” Haechan mocked, giving an impersonation of however your voice sounded in his head. 

You gawked. “I do not sound like that!” 

Haechan snickered and grabbed your hand, shutting the door behind you with his other. “Listen, baby,” he started. “While I would love to get on your nerves, we’re going to be late.”

Realizing he was right, you dropped it. For now. “Okay,” you sighed. “Well, let’s go.”

Haechan led you outside to where his motorcycle was parked, making small talk with you along the way to fill the silence in the air. You didn’t talk about anything special - most of it turned into him being endearingly aggravating - but you noted that you liked his voice. 

When you got there, Haechan passed you a pretty pink helmet and told you, “I bought this for you. I hope you like pink. You gave me a pink girl vibe.”

“Because you’re just so good at knowing what vibes I give off,” you deadpanned, realizing this was the second time he had told you what vibes you gave him. And had been correct. 

Haechan didn't do shit but smirk. “Well?”

You sighed. “I love pink,” you admitted, attempting to put it on. 

Your confession made him grin even broader, but instead of teasing you, Haechan opted to help you put the helmet on correctly. “You a virgin?”

The use of that word made you shudder a little bit in surprise, but you quickly realized what he meant. 

Your faltering didn’t go unnoticed by Haechan, no matter how brief. “I meant a motorcycle virgin,” he added.

“I know,” you replied, chuckling. “And yup. Nobody has ever taken me for a spin on a daredevil before.”

“I’m glad to have taken your motorcycle virginity,” replied Haechan, stepping back after clasping your helmet. “Ready, babe?”

Your voice wavered, “Sort of.”

Haechan mounted his bike and gestured for you to mimic him. When you were straddling the seat, he gently steered your hands around his waist. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be fine as long as you hold onto me really, really tight.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you liking me touching you has nothing to do with it?”

“Those are the pros.”

“And what else are the pros?”

“On a motorcycle, we get to dodge all the traffic,” Haechan replied with a grin, securing his own helmet. “Now, like I said, hold on tight.”

You did as told, tightly clasping your arms around his waist and holding on for dear life when you felt the motorcycle jerk alive underneath your shared weight. 

And it was exhilarating, flying past the city lights at the speed of light itself and watching splashes of color bleed into each other. You could feel the wind on your face and whip through your hair. You found yourself laughing as Haechan quite literally took you on the ride of your life. 

He weaved in and out of lanes adroitly, avoiding stationary cars with a technique only years of training could upskill. Which was reassuring. You weren’t sitting on the back of the bike of a total amateur. 

Hearing your noises of excitement made Haechan crack a broad smile. She likes it, he thought smugly. It was a step up from the night he met you and he would gladly take any tiny accomplishment. He couldn’t wait to see the look on the boys faces when he popped up with you in tow. No one believed him when he said he’d scored a date with you. 

Well, of course Ryujin did, because she saw the whole thing go down. But she wouldn’t support him nor deny that he had snagged you. So it would be a huge surprise. 

With some minutes of driving out of the way, you and Haechan finally dismounted his bike, arriving just shy of Jaemin’s house. You both caught your breath for a second, leaving your helmets behind. When you knocked on the door, a man you obviously had never seen before answered, a cup in hand. He saw you and his features instantly twisted with surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. 

“I told you so,” were the first words to leave Haechan’s mouth. 

Jeno stepped aside, making room for you. And ignoring his friend. “Come on in, beautiful. The party’s just getting started.”

You weren’t wooed by the pet name, which made Haechan snicker as he walked inside the party, arm locked with yours. 

The look of surprise on everyone’s faces did not go unnoticed by you and you quickly turned to Haechan, asking, “Did you not tell your friends I was coming?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t shut up about it. We just didn’t believe him,” Jaemin answered for your date, shock promptly fading into amusement. He held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Jaemin. The host of this shitshow.”

You kindly shook hands with him and told him your name. “Nice to meet you.”

Haechan took over from there and pointed to his friends in the order that they appeared on the couch as he introduced, “Winter, Ryujin, Mark. And I guess the fuckward that opened the door for you is Jeno.”

Jeno lifted his middle finger. “Oh, fuck you, Haechan.”

“Love you too, man,” Haechan replied smugly, ushering you to the couch. 

In little to no time, you were socializing with Haechan’s clique as if you’d been good friends for ages. None of them made you feel like an imposter, which you appreciated. Jaemin and his girlfriend Winter, who was sitting squarely on his lap, encouraged you to get comfortable. You felt right at home, laughing at their shenanigans. Many of which were Haechan’s, who was quite the shit-stirrer and troublemaker. You weren’t at all surprised. He screamed chaos. 

His friends had a noteworthy amount of individuality and magnetism too. Jeno was everything you thought Haechan would be, but hilarious. Maybe even charming depending on who you asked. He liked taking turns hurling insults with Haechan. They were like brothers. 

Jaemin and Winter were absolutely smitten with each other and were insufferable when apart, but grossly cute together. She was glued to his lap most of the time, but added a unique sense of humor to the conversation in between kisses. 

Ryujin and Mark were mortal enemies and couldn’t go a half second without bickering and endless banter, but they were a killer Spades duo and gave you and Haechan a run for your money. Their similarities to an old married couple were reminiscent of your grandparents and you made a mental note to check on your grandmother later.

“Talking to yourself is not weird,” Mark whined some hours later. 

Ryujin shot, “Maybe on whatever planet you come from.”

The pack (and you admittedly) let out a laugh at poor Mark’s expense. 

Jaemin set down his drink and took a hit from the joint you had all started to pass around not too long ago. Everybody was at least a little buzzed by now except for Haechan, which surprised you. You didn’t expect him to be responsible. “Okay, okay. Chill. Every man deserves to give himself a good pep talk in the mirror.”

“Okay, so are we talking pep talks or having full-blown conversations with yourself?” asked Jeno. 

Winter turned to Jaemin and asked, “You give yourself pep talks?”

Jaemin bobbed his head. “Sometimes,” he said. “Like when I asked you out. I gave myself a long speech of encouragement.”

Ryujin furrowed her brows. “Didn’t she say ‘no’ the first time you asked her out?”

Everybody laughed. 

Haechan turned to you and explained, “Jaemin asked Winter out in our freshman year of college in the courtyard. He pulled out all the stops - flowers, chocolates, the whole nine. She rejected him and the whole campus talked about it for weeks.”

“I thought he was so weird!” Winter exclaimed. 

“She thought Jaemin was weird. Jaemin talked to himself. I’m connecting the dots,” quipped Ryujin, passing the joint.  

Mark hissed, “You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’m connecting them.”

Jeno pointed to you with his drink. “What about you? Do you talk to yourself?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. 

Mark leapt up and exclaimed, “Yes!”

“But only when I’m self-deprecating.”

“Oh,” Mark replied darkly. Ryujin had to tug him back down. 

Haechan grabbed your hand and said sweetly, “Never talk to yourself.”

You rolled your eyes. He was such a flirt. Maybe you were starting to like it. 

Some more colorful banter later, Haechan decided to connect his phone to Jaemin’s bluetooth speaker and everybody got up to bust a move to his wonderful music selection. He volunteered his hand and you took it gladly, in a world of your own as you each danced. 

Haechan quickly became talented at making you laugh. He shimmied his hips in a very, very unattractive way and you almost snorted. “You know,” Haechan started a couple minutes later, your bodies much closer. “I can’t shake the feeling that you’re really familiar. Like I’ve seen you before.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I do modeling.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm,” you hummed. Your faces were dangerously close. One wrong move and your lips would be touching. “Mainly in New York, but I’ve decided to come here for a fresh start.”

Surprise was Haechan’s initial reaction, but he quickly responded, “That checks out. You are breathtaking, after all.”

You groaned. “It’s like you have some compulsion to flirt with me.”

“I do,” Haechan replied with a grin. “I’ll keel over and die if I don’t flirt with you.”

That checks out, you were tempted to mock, but instead you mimicked monotonously, “Must flirt. Will self-destruct if I don’t flirt.”

Haechan laughed loudly and you smiled at the sound of him. As the night carried on, you were finding less and less to dislike about him. He also only got even handsomer at this range. You could see every little detail on his pretty boy face. 

Needless to say, Haechan was also hyper aware of the lack of distance between your faces and bodies. His eyes kept flitting to your plump lips and all he could think about was how kissable they were. “I think it’s really interesting that you’re a model,” he began. 

You casted him a glance. “Why?”

“Because I’m a photographer.”

“Really?” you asked, somewhat shocked. 

Haechan bobbed his head. “Mm-hm. My whole life kinda. It’s my passion.”

“Interesting,” you replied, though it wasn’t a lie. You were thinking over his admission. He was splurging your assumptions of him, dime by fucking dime. Haechan screamed spoiled rich kid at first glance and you’d doubted that he even had a job. 

“Tell me something else about you,” Haechan said, locking eyes with you and doing his best to keep them there. You tested the limits of his self-control and he didn’t know whether he liked it or not. 

“Like what?”

Haechan shrugged. “Anything.”

You thought long and hard about it. His weighty stare didn’t help in the slightest. After a minute you confessed, “I like cheesy movies.”

His eyes flickered with surprise. “Seriously?”

You smiled coyly and replied, “Yes. It’s a character flaw, I know.”

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “The model with an attitude that collects vinyls as a hobby likes cheesy movies. You amaze me, you know.”

You gasped. “I do not have an attitude!”

“You have lots of attitude, baby. Snark for days. And I love every minute of it,” flirted Haechan for the umpteenth time this night alone. 

You were tempted to roll your eyes, but you kept them on his face, realizing again how good-looking he was. His lips were calling your name and you wondered if they were as soft as they looked. “Relax,” you said, feeling your hold on the reins slacken. You didn’t like it not one bit. “I’m only going out with you because I want that Michael vinyl.”

Haechan seemingly didn’t take offense to that and replied, “I know, but I thought that maybe if we went out on a date you would realize there’s actually a lot to like about me.”

You had already reached that conclusion on your own, feeling yourself become attracted to Haechan the longer you spent time with him, but your heart had intricate security and you were in no way inclined to let your guard down. 

“Like what?”

Haechan didn’t waste a second on hesitation. “We have similar music tastes. We both like cheesy movies. I’m a photographer. You’re a model. I mean, come on. We go together like pancakes and syrup, baby.”

Him likening you both to pancakes and syrup made you snort. “Is that the best analogy you could come up with?” you asked. 

“Cut me some slack,” Haechan groaned. “The last time I ate was ten this morning. I’m starving.”

You laughed. 

He squeezed your hand affectionately and said, “Speaking of which, there’s a diner down the block that serves really good pancakes. I can vouch. Wanna go grab some?”

You pretended to mull it over and eventually replied, “I would like that.”

Haechan sported a victorious grin before disclosing to his clique that the two of you would be seeing yourselves out. Ryujin bid you goodnight and Winter pouted, asking when she would see you again. You and your date barely managed to escape the party, slipping outside into the cold after a solid five minutes. 

The sky looked a little darker now, the city a little brighter. Time really did fly by when you were having fun. Among other things. “C’mon,” Haechan said, grabbing your hand. And you both held hands as he walked you to his parked bike. 

The diner was bare, given the early hour as the clock transcended past midnight, but the food was delightful as promised. Only a pair of employees were working their shifts, but you and Haechan tried to keep it down as you talked over an early breakfast in the booth. 

Which failed tremendously. Haechan was just so hilarious. Your laughter rang out through the breakfast joint in spite of how much you constantly reminded yourself to be quiet. You weren’t even paying attention to the pair of co-workers increasingly losing the will to live. You and Haechan talked about everything under the sun. The city and its shallow. Work and speeding vehicles. The best spots in the entire city. Your heart sped like how it did when you were speeding on his bike. 

“Your friends are cool,” you told him after a while. 

“But I’m cooler, right?” Haechan asked jokingly, earning a roll of your eyes. 

You picked up your coffee and droned, “Very.”

Haechan laughed playfully but sobered a little to confess, “I’m glad I met them. It’s kill or be killed in this city. It’s hard to find people that don’t share the same three superficial personalities.”

“Oh?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah. It’s brutal.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Shit, where do I even start?” Haechan said, chuckling a little, but soon finding the answer to his question. “Jaemin is a complete geek. Don’t be fooled by his looks. There’s a reason Winter turned him down the first time, but he’s a chill dude that doesn’t bother anybody. He’s studying to be an engineer.”

That surprised you and tempted you to laugh. “Really?”

“Yup. Ironically, he’s probably the most regular person out of all of us. He doesn’t like to draw attention to himself,” Haechan ranted, pausing to sip from his drink. “Winter is the complete opposite. She’s a model, like you. Been in Vogue. When she’s not feeling up Jaemin, she loves to tend to her garden.”

So that explained the abundance of flowers in their front yard. It was vibrant plant galore. They looked nurtured, obviously a lot of love was being put into taking care of them and keeping them healthy. 

Haechan continued, “Ryujin is a unique blend of art kid and debate club survivor. She works part-time at the record store obviously, but she has big hopes for her paintings. She’s really talented.”

You were genuinely intrigued. “Wow. I would love to see her art.”

“That painting in Jaemin and Winter’s living room is hers. It was a housewarming gift when they moved in together,” Haechan told you like he was giving you the inside scoop. “Mark is a single pringle with way too much time on his hands, but he makes great music. He wants to be a famous rapper.”

“Mark and Ryujin aren’t boning?”

Haechan snickered loudly, shaking his head. “Nope. They’re like brother and sister. Ryujin has a boyfriend, but they’re dating long distance. He lives in Chicago or something like that.”

You made a face. “Commitment. That’s impressive. I respect it.”

“Yeah, same. I couldn’t handle it. I need too much stimulation for that shit,” Haechan said. 

“Hypothetically, you wouldn’t be willing to make it work for me?”

Haechan thought over his answer, chewing over his words. “I would at least try,” he told you admittedly. “But I can’t say for sure I could make it work.”

You admired his bluntness. His ability to be straightforward was something you genuinely respected. You knew he wanted to impress you, but on top of all that and his acute need for humor, Haechan was incredibly honest. Unlike somebody you knew. 

Curiously, you cocked your head, realizing you were missing somebody. “What about Jeno?” you asked. 

“What about him?”

You cocked a brow. “You were telling me about your friends?”

Haechan made a face of remembrance. “Oh, right. Jeno is single, but Giacomo Casanova reincarnated. He could have been written by Shakespeare. Another aspiring model.”

Why aren’t you a model? You took one good goddamn look at Haechan and not very subtly licked your lips until they were dry. He was so breathtaking. You couldn’t believe he was the man behind the camera. “You’re kinda handsome, you know,” you admitted. 

Haechan snickered. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of your mouth, but with how you were unabashedly checking him out, it was no secret you found him attractive. “Is that what you gathered from what I said?”

“No. I gathered that you’re fine enough to be a model and yet you are not. I think you even have the charisma,” you told him blatantly. “Why stand behind the camera?”

Haechan shrugged. Feigning nonchalance. “That’s just who I am,” he said. 

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he replied with zero hesitation. 

You shot him a smile. “Then, I guess that’s all that matters.”

Haechan nodded in agreement. He wouldn’t trade his job for the world. He liked being able to do his favorite hobby for a living. Not everybody had that luxury. You were the same way, but damn it you couldn’t take it off your mind how Haechan looked straight out of a magazine. You had seen hundreds of handsome men in your lifetime, far and up close, but he took the cake.

It was hard to believe Haechan was anything but a casanova himself, considering your first impression of him was that he was a player trying to get into your pants. Which was fair because he was, and he couldn’t deny that. But in spite of his good looks, magnetic personality and charisma, Haechan had some admirable personality traits. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, accusing, and asked, “What do you think about debauchery?”

There you went with the random statements and questions again. Haechan snorted, leaned back in his seat, and replied silkily, “I am quite the debaucher.” 

“You mean debauchee,” you corrected. 

Haechan groaned, “Who gives a fuck? I love pussy.”

You snorted back a laugh. Again, honesty. Noted. 

Haechan finished what was left of his pancakes in one final bite and chewed without any particular rush. “Listen, if you’re asking me this because you think I’m a player, you’ve got the wrong guy,” he said eventually.

Your mind was racing. You were plagued by doubts. “Do I?”

“You do.” Haechan dropped his fork, reaching for a napkin. Then, he added, “I fuck. I fool around. I’m not gonna lie and act like I’m a fucking prude. But when I’m tied down, I get tunnel vision.”

“Something tells me you’re not tied down often,” you remarked, never taking your eyes off of him. 

Haechan met your stare and shot back, “Something tells me you don’t like being tied down.”

He caught you there. You wanted to be upset, but you couldn’t. Not when he was so right about you already. “I don’t mind being in a relationship but… I don’t like it when men act as if a woman being in a relationship should deprive her of her individuality. I want to be independent.”

“Then, we’re the same in that regard,” he replied, grinning at you. “I would never try to control you or anything like that. You’re a grown ass woman and I’m a grown ass man. I just hate feeling stagnant and I need constant stimulation. Hypothetically, could you handle that?”

You pretended to mull it over. “Yeah.” You nodded your head. “I could.”

Haechan grinned wildly. He was liking where this was going. And he definitely wanted to see you again. Little did he know, you felt the exact same way.

Haechan checked his watch and frowned. “It’s late. I should take you back home.”

You quipped, “What kind of grown ass man has a curfew?”

Haechan snickered and started to tidy up his things. 

You left the diner a couple minutes later, hopping back on Haechan’s sexy motorbike. He drove you through the city, besotted with how your arms felt wrapped so tightly around his waist as he sped through the night. 

When he dropped you off at your doorstep, fingers laced through yours the entire trip there, something bittersweet came over you. You didn’t want the night to be over. Haechan had won you over in just one night alone. 

“I guess this is goodbye,” you said when you’d reached your door. 

“Goodbye for now,” Haechan corrected you, smirking. He could hear the sadness in your tone you tried to veil. “By the way, I’m free tomorrow. You can swing by my place to pick up the vinyl. I’ll text you my address.”

Confusion twisted your features for the briefest second before you remembered the reason you’d even agreed to go out on a date with him in the first place. You had forgotten all about your record collection. “Sounds great,” you chirped, reluctantly taking your keys from your purse. You were glad you would finally get your hands on the vinyl, though still crestfallen that he had to leave. 

Haechan didn’t want to leave until he was certain you were safely inside your condo and he heard the door lock, but you surprised him when you unlocked your door and turned around to say, “I had a really great time tonight.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad.”

You pointed inside your place with your thumb. “Do you… wanna come inside?”

It was no secret what that meant. You wanted to fool around with him, there was no doubt. “I shouldn’t,” Haechan said. 

Not that he didn’t want to. But it was the first date and he didn’t want to seem like he was only after one thing.

The disappointment on your face was noticeable, but you forced a smile. “Right. You probably shouldn’t.”

Something told Haechan to bid you goodnight and leave it at that, but then he thought, Who the fuck am I kidding? And with all his self-restraint parked squarely beside his bike, he smashed his lips against yours. 

Your first instinct was to be surprised, but then you kissed him back just as hard. Fuck, you had been resisting the urge the whole evening. It was so satisfying to finally know what his lips felt like pressed to yours like a mold. You lost your mind a little at how romantic his kisses were. They were hard, but slow. You met him halfway, feeling something shift in your body as the kiss steadily grew more and more heated. And you couldn’t fight the heat that wafted over you as his hands kneaded your hips. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s a great kisser, you screamed internally. It drove you mad. It made you crazy with burning ache. 

Naturally, Haechan ultimately ended up slipping past your doorway, locking it shut behind him and kissing you through the hallways. “Bedroom?” he asked between kisses. 

You pointed, although you were losing your sense of direction as you became drunk with the taste of him. You panted, “Over there.”

Each of you were both half-naked by the time you charged through your bedroom door. You were reduced to your underwear, your clothes scattered across the hallway in your wake. Haechan pulled you towards your bed, collapsing over you as your lips synced messily. 

His warmth made you moan, little noises escaping you at the meeting of your bodies, skin to skin. Then, his lips attached to your throat, sinking lower and lower until you could feel his breath at your abdomen. “Can I taste this wet fucking pussy?” Haechan growled while flitting his gaze to your eyes. 

One look at him between your thighs and you were tightening around nothing. There was no reason that should have been as attractive as it was. Please, your body begged. “Are you any good?” you asked. 

Haechan cocked a brow at you and chuckled, reaching for some pillows to hand over to you. “Get comfortable,” were his only words. 

You tucked the pillows he passed you underneath your elbows obediently and lifted your hips. Haechan started to slip your panties off, pulling them right down your ankles before they were tossed into oblivion. All it took was a single glance at your bare cunt for Haechan to dive between your legs. He gripped your thighs, spreading them apart and holding them in place. Your thighs were plush and it was no doubt he liked the way they fit in his palms. 

Haechan spent a moment wandering, just getting a feel for what made you tick. Not a bunch of time was wasted idly and he caught on quickly, reducing you to moans and squirming quicker than anybody before him. It was infuriating. His hold on your thighs tightened, keeping you rooted and still. You bit your lip, trying to smother the sound of your soft sounds in an endeavor to wipe the smug look off his wet lips, but to no avail.

Haechan was eating you out like he just couldn’t get enough of you. Which wasn’t far from the truth at all. Your moans were pornographic and made him crazy with a burning, all-consuming flavor of lust. You covered your mouth flat with your palm, tense when he sucked your clit, moaning, “Fuck,” into your own hand. 

You were already unbelievably sensitive. Maybe because it had been a while since you’d had sex. I’m so busy, you thought. Work had taken priority in your life. In between being pursued by Haechan, you were also becoming high-demand in shoots. None of that changed the fact you’d been maybe subconsciously hoping that this would happen though. You even shaved in the shower just before throwing on your clothes. 

Your whole body was unstill. You clenched your hands into fists, over and over again, before finally letting yourself run your fingers through his dark hair. His lips felt so good, tracing the skin around your thigh. He was disarming you. Slowly but surely. Or maybe not that slowly at all. 

“Haechan, shit. Fuck,” you cursed, your tongue tied in knots. Nothing could articulate how he was making you feel, how the walls of ice around you were collapsing in on themselves.

Haechan merely groaned against your cunt with a mouthful of pussy and the noise was powerful enough to kill you. You were already seeing god. 

Your back arched off the mattress, your hips driving into his face. You couldn’t get enough either. He was making you greedy and you didn’t even understand what for. All you knew was that you wanted him and the attraction was so fervent it was undeniable now. The boy between your thighs had a mutual thought. The room was a hundred degrees hotter than it had been before, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t feel the heat from the outside, too engrossed with how besotted and hot for you he was internally.

He was going to get you to climax even if it was the last thing he did, not that you were far from finishing. And when you thought things couldn’t possibly get any better, he stuffed a pair of fingers inside your pussy. 

The bedroom was too hot to breathe in. You kept panting, kept crying out Haechan’s name, pulling at his locks of hair as you pleased. And he let you. Your body was so indecisive, arching into him but flexing away involuntarily, as if it couldn’t decide what it wanted. 

“Don’t stop. Please,” you cried out. 

Your body only knew him right now, on the verge of going numb because of how sensitive and swollen your clit was. Haechan did the opposite of slow down. He was undeterred and absolutely nothing would stop him from bringing you to climax while he went down on you like a madman. You could feel the heat gathering in your thigh, like it would consume you at any given moment. 

It was practically over for you when he continued to finger your sweet spot, dragging his fingers in and out of your perfect cunt. You were a whirlwind of excitement, less and less able to keep still the longer he sucked and fucked, and touched on you. You could feel sweat on your back and chest. “I’m gonna cum,” you warned. 

“Cum,” Haechan told you, voice a little deeper. “I want you to cum, baby.”

The pressure was building. And it kept coming. There were no peaks, no limits. Like steady rainfall in the forest. 

You cried out his name one last time before your orgasm got the best of you, making you shudder and shake, and tangle your fingers deeper into his head of hair. The whole world stopped for a second. But Haechan kept tasting you through your climax, not stopping until it was over. You arched off the bed, too many sensations hitting you at once. 

When the last of your high faded your back hit the mattress with a thud. You were completely out of breath, a couple of tears forming a shroud in your eyes while they gathered at your lashes. You were finally broken. 

But with your permission, Haechan went down on you one final time after that. For safe measure. Haechan finally pulled back once you’d cum for a second time, meeting your stare, but the eye contact only lasted for a couple of seconds because you couldn’t take yours off of his slick lips. He licked your release nonchalantly and something primal took over you. You were feeling less and less like a woman. More like a beast.

Haechan, grinning to himself as he took notice of how defeated you looked, cocked his brow at you expectantly. “So?” 

Ah. You had asked him if he was any good. “Mind numb,” you panted. “Can’t think.”

Haechan laughed. Feeling a little less lethargic than before, you clambered over to him, tugging at his boxers. You could see the print of his hard dick against it. 

“Someone’s impatient,” Haechan teased. 

“Someone’s not moving fast enough,” you shot back, pulling them down for him to step out of. You gawked, licking your lips at the sight. Fuck, he was huge. You should’ve known. 

You glanced up at him with a little glimmer in your eyes, asking, “Can I suck you off?” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you replied, your lips dry from how much your tongue passed over them. He was just so fucking mouth-watering. You wanted a taste badly. 

There was no way Haechan could tell you no when you looked at him with that sexy gleam in your eyes. Plus he wasn’t at all against feeling your mouth on his dick. “Alright,” he said, playing nonchalant. 

Haechan moved to sit on your bed and you crept between his thighs, sitting on your knees. You spat in your hand and grabbed his dick, only pumping him in your fist for the meanwhile. 

Then, you slowly transitioned into swirling your tongue around his dick, though not yet drawing him inside your mouth. You were toying with him, trying to see how much he could take, and Haechan realized very quickly that you were pushing his buttons. Which was strange. That was his thing. But he kinda liked it. 

A high-pitched moan left him when you finally - fucking finally - started to take him past your lips, hollowing your cheeks, and he fisted your hair behind you. Giving you a full scan, Haechan realized how sexy you looked sucking him off, kneeled between his legs with that sexy ass stare in your eyes gazing up at him. You must have known it was his kryptonite. 

And you did. Meeting his stare, you could read him just by looking at his handsome face. It was your time to be a smug little bitch. You wanted to break him, just like he had broken you. “Fuck, baby. Like that,” Haechan grunted, throwing his head back. Which meant you must have been doing something right.

You were feeling benevolent and took him deeper inside your mouth while wrapping your fist around whatever was still available. There were many sensations on his dick and it was doing something inexplicably unhinged to his brain. 

One look at his face made you feel extremely accomplished. His features were tensed and his lips were parted. I’ll suck the soul outta that dick any day to see that face, you thought very amusedly to yourself, resisting a chuckle. 

You pried yourself away for a while, still looking into his eyes, and taunted, “Too much for you, baby boy?”

“Never,” Haechan retorted, voice airy and light. Like he was on some fucking cloud. 

You lifted a brow, amused, though in that case, decided it was time to up the stakes. You sucked him a little faster, taking him a little further until he hit the back of your throat. Very eager and deliberate. 

Haechan was losing whatever was left of his goddamn mind. His thighs trembled, cock twitching inside your mouth. You were doing unspeakable things to him right now and he was absolutely obsessed. Your tongue touched the base of his dick and your free hand squeezed his bare thigh. God-fucking-damn, was all Haechan could think. Literally. His mind was numb, thanks to you. In a matter of minutes, his legs would probably be as well.  

A couple of tears gathered in your eyes, but you willed yourself to power through. You couldn’t be finished until he was finished. You were way too resolved to make him unravel. At the sensation of your warm mouth, Haechan whimpered, “Fuck,” grabbing and using your hair. 

His sounds were just so fucking hot. You wanted to record them so that you could put them on loop. Arousal seeped between your thighs, but you ignored it, just for his sake. 

Some time had passed since your last blowjob. It was good to know that your mouth was still spectacular, if his sensitive movements and high-pitched moans were any indicator. You squeezed your thighs together. There was throbbing between your legs. Mutual chaos. Mutual destruction. The two of you were a very, very unlikely duo.

Haechan was warm to the touch everywhere you touched him, blood circulating through him swiftly like a Shanghai maglev. You traced your fingers up and down his thighs, giving them a little pinch, and were surprised to find he was incredibly pliant. You little freak, you thought teasingly. You jotted down a mental note to playfully scold him later, too concentrated on stringing him to climax. 

The male before you looked a total of seconds away from malfunctioning altogether. You were making short work of him like no other girl and it was giving him much to think about.

Your nails found purchase in his thigh, dragging your nails down the flesh and leaving little red lines, just before you brought one of your hands to his cock again. You’d been pulling out all the stops to chase him closer to the finish. Every other thought on your mind vanished as you fixed all of your attention on making him cum. Haechan had the same thought, involuntarily bucking his hips as he tried to fuck your mouth.

You let him control the pace, let him do whatever he needed to finish. You moaned around his shaft again, sending vibrations that shook him. A little longer and he wouldn’t last. 

“I’m coming. Shit, babe. Keep going…,” he mumbled, winding his fingers through your scalp again. His pace was erratic. It was all you could do not to choke, giving him permission to use you to get himself off. And it was too fucking hot. You were in disbelief. 

Haechan tried to be careful, not wanting to trouble you, but you knew what you were doing and he couldn’t exactly control his impulses. His impulses controlled him. You sucked and swallowed, all good and pliant. 

Seconds later, Haechan was orgasming, painting the back of your throat with cum. His thighs shook and you could physically feel his dick twitch inside your mouth as he released. He moaned your name loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

You took as much of his load as you could fit inside your mouth, but as it turned out, Haechan came a lot. Some dripped from your chin and you wiped it with the back of your hand. When he let go of your hair, you pulled back, just watching your handiwork smugly. You mocked, “So?”

Haechan blinked, like it would clear the invisible haze. He was barely handling the stimulation. You were undoubtedly one of the best he’d ever had and he was officially sprung with you. “High fucking hell,” he groaned. 

You giggled. That was answer enough. 

For an uncertain amount of hours (nobody was counting), you and Haechan took turns finishing each other, even sixty-nining once or twice till you needed a break. 

“Okay, timeout. I can’t feel my dick,” Haechan sighed after a while, surprising himself. Usually, he wore other people out. Not the other way around, but the two of you were in a competition to see who could exhaust the other first. Haechan realized then and there that you were matching his energy and it shocked the hell out of him, because that was a first. He was even more interested in you now. 

You chortled and collapsed on the bed. You were also having some revelations, but you kept them to yourself. He hasn’t even asked to put his dick in me, you realized after a moment. He was definitely a pussy fiend, but he hadn’t even fucked you and it’d been ages. 

That was a first. 

You held your chin in your face while staring at him. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Haechan looked high as hell and he hadn’t done a single drug in your presence. “Not as we speak,” he replied quietly. “Other than playing pool with Jaemin later and giving you that vinyl, I don’t exactly have plans.”

“You should still rest,” you told him assertively. “Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You smiled, resisting a squeal to contain your excitement. You patted the spot beside you, gesturing for him to come over. Which he did. “Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” Haechan said, blowing a kiss your way.

You rolled your eyes, but quickly devolved into giggles and tangled yourself in his arms. 

Sleep came easy for you that night and had you not forgotten to turn off your alarm, you would have slept past noon. You could feel the sunlight on your face and flipped over, desperate to escape its brightness. 

That was when the memories of last night slammed into you like an eighteen-wheeler. Haechan’s fingers tangled in your hair and his mouth between your legs. Sleep had sobered you, the inebriety of lust distant, save for the ache that lingered in your thigh. Your heart fluttered for a second, but it was gone the second you noticed the man you’d spent all night with had disappeared, his arms no longer thrown around your waist. 

You started to worry then. There was no note on your nightstand. You immediately grabbed your phone from your bedside table, hopeful of finding some sort of message, but Haechan didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a text or voicemail. Bitterness seeped into your chest as you assumed the worst. He’s had his fun and now he’s done, you thought disdainfully. Why you expected him to be any different was beyond you. 

You threw on your robe and slipped on your slippers before stomping downstairs, full of attitude in large quantities. Maybe it was for the better that you didn’t exactly let him hit. But you still felt stupid, because you would have. If he would have asked. 

But he didn’t. 

Thoughts of hunger broke your reverie when you smelled eggs from the kitchen, which was strange, because you were certain that nobody was there. You grabbed a vase off a nearby table and approached the kitchen with slow, cautious strides. 

A part of you hoped it was only Haechan, but surely enough, you were taken aback when you got an amazing view of his back while he faced your stove. 

Haechan is here - and he’s cooking? 

You shook your head. This man was full of surprises. 

Haechan was none the wiser, humming to himself, and didn’t even realize you were present until he turned around to grab something from the island. “Good morning,” he said sweetly. He pointed to the vase in your hands. “Thought I was a killer?”

“You scared the shit out of me,” you sighed, walking over to the island and sitting the vase down. 

Haechan grinned. “Why - you didn’t think I was gonna still be here?”

You didn’t have to answer that question. And you wouldn’t be. You didn’t like that he saw through you so clearly, it made you feel transparent. Changing the topic, you asked, “What you cooking?”

“Omelets,” he replied nonchalantly, fixed to the stove again. “I know we technically had breakfast not too long ago, but I saw how much you liked omelets.”

Something fluttered in your chest. It was sweet, dare you say. 

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” you whispered, getting comfortable at the island. 

“I’m a thoughtful guy.”

“That you are.”

Comfortable silence enveloped you in its wholeness. For the first time since you met him, if it was worth noting. Neither of you liked the quiet very much - silence gave too much room for thinking - but you didn’t mind it right now.

Haechan slipped a steaming omelet from the pan to your plate masterfully, handing you a knife and fork. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he beat you, finally starting, “Speaking of thinking, I been, well, thinking. And I need you to not go ghost on me after this.”

Your eyes flickered, but you glanced at your plate to hide your surprise, cutting off a morsel. “Why would I do that?” you asked. 

Haechan shrugged his shoulders, but ranted, “I just hate when you think shit tight with a girl, and then after you hook up, they don’t wanna keep in touch anymore.”

“Huh,” you mumbled. “Funny. I feel the same way.”

Haechan took the seat beside you. His eyes met yours, something sober in them. “I say all of this to say that I like where this is going and I want to see you again. But if you’re not on the same page, let me know right now.”

“I’m on the same page.”

He pressed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Haechan,” you replied, setting down your knife. “If I didn’t want to keep seeing you after this, I would tell you in no uncertain terms. I’m having fun.”

Haechan nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated. “This is really, really good, by the way. Where’d you learn to cook?”

The boyish smile was back on Haechan’s handsome face. “Everything I know I owe to my parents,” he said. “This particularly to my mother.”

You taunted, “Ah. You a Momma’s boy?”

Haechan chuckled. “Something like that, yeah.”

Almost endearing. You got a mental picture of a tiny Haechan peaking around the corner, watching his mother cook, and it brought a smile to your lips. 

Both of you talked over breakfast. You got orange juice out of the fridge for you to drink and spent what was left of the morning chattering incessantly. You finally accepted that you liked Haechan. Maybe unconsciously, you’d been fighting it because of your ex. 

As of now, you were playing tug-of-war with your heart. On the one hand, there was a part of you that lingered over him and it still felt forbidden to be interested in other men. But one swift reminder that he was interested in other girls while apparently being interested in you, and all the feelings you had for him dissolved into resentment. 

Plus you weren’t exactly ready for another relationship, nor did you completely trust Haechan yet, but on the other hand, he made you forget all about the bastard that hurt you. And how it felt to be hurt. 

Needless to say, you would be seeing him again. Haechan made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. 

You were sad when he had to leave, picking up his clothes that were scattered across your entire condo and redressing himself, but gladly kissed him goodbye. On the cheek. For various reasons.

Besides, you would be seeing him later on that day anyways. You both had things to take care of. 

Chaewon was sporting the biggest smile you’d ever seen when you climbed into the back of the taxi with her. You expected a stern reprimanding, given that you hadn’t returned any of her calls or texts since last night, but somehow this was worse.

“Don’t even,” was the first thing you said when you entered the backseat. 

Chaewon grinned mischievously, singing, “You’re glowing.”

“Yes. There’s this cool thing called a skin care routine. You may have heard of it,” you deadpanned. 

Chaewon wriggled her eyebrows. “Does this skin care routine consist of Lee Haechan’s semen?”

You grimaced. “Gross.”

“You guys totally boned, didn’t you?” she asked. Though it was less of a question and more of a declaration. You hoped the driver was tuning both of you out.

“Jesus, Chae. Good morning to you, too,” you replied boredly. 

“Good morning, bestie. Now did you or did not you bone Haechan?”

You just rolled your eyes. She was relentless. “Okay, fine,” you started, sighing out a little. “We hooked up.”

“I fucking knew it,” Chaewon exclaimed. 

You added sharply, “But we didn’t have sex. It was strictly head.”

Chaewon gave you a look. “Girl, seriously? How was it?”

You pretended to think about it. Memories of last night plagued you. You couldn’t get the image of Haechan strumming you to climax out of your head. You admitted quietly, “He made me see a star or two. Maybe a galaxy. Maybe another universe.”

Chaewon clasped her hands together and made a squealing noise of excitement. 

All you could do was shake your head. But you couldn’t deny that all of your doubts and hesitations about Haechan had been converted into an inexplicable will to see him again. You had an impulse to smile and faced the window so that she couldn’t see. 

“You’re smiling,” Chaewon teased, watching your reflection. 

“I’m not.”

Chaewon nudged you with her elbow. “Come on, girl. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy. And I don’t need a man to be happy,” you quickly replied. 

Chaewon frowned. “You know that’s not what I meant. You’ve obviously been down in the dumps since you called off the engagement and I think it’s a good thing you’re letting yourself be a little more lax.”

You let out a disgruntled groan.

Chaewon slipped her fingers through yours and continued, “No one’s saying that you’ve gotta jump the broom. With how hard you’ve worked all these years, you deserve to play.”

“I know, and that’s all he is. We’re just playing around,” you assured her in spite of the fact that nobody questioned it in the first place. “We’re just kickin’ it.”

Chaewon squeezed your hand. 

Meanwhile, Haechan was across town with a friend of his own. 

“I’ve got a question for you, man,” Haechan started after a total of three minutes of silence. 

Jaemin slung his head back and whined, “Oh, brother.”

He had seen it coming from a mile away. Haechan treated silence like the black plague and when he wasn’t chatting his friends ears off for every second of every minute, he was thinking. Of course, Jaemin knew his friend well enough, so it was no doubt he had a question. 

Truth be told, Haechan hadn’t stopped thinking about you since he left your condo. The endless hours of chatter, you dancing in his arms, the sex. All of it was giving him a lot of shit to ponder. 

“It’s been weighing on my mind for a while,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Do you think you’re with the someone you’re meant to be with?”

“You mean like my soulmate?”

Haechan gave him a nod, although Jaemin was too busy resting the cue between his fingers. “Yeah, like your other half or some shit like that. The one you’ll live for and die with.”

Sparing his friend a couple seconds worth of a glance, Jaemin paused his endeavors and mulled the question over. “You know, not everybody wants to be in love. But everybody wants to be loved,” he began. “People who get in relationships solely to feel loved don’t know what love is.”

“What’s that gotta do with my question?”

Jaemin shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t trade the love Winter and I share with each other for the world, but what nobody tells you about love is that it has its fair share of ups and downs. There’s bad days and disagreements. Not everybody wants to deal with that.”

“That’s some profound shit, brother,” Haechan teased. 

“Whatever, man. I’m just saying that the idea that love has no bounds is false. I’d give my life for Winter and I wanna marry her someday, but we’ve both got boundaries because love is mutual respect.”

Haechan’s mind was adrift again. He was thinking.

Jaemin connected the dots, blocking the corner pocket with his hand. “Now wait just a second. Don’t tell me this is about that girl.”

Haechan groaned, “What are you doing, man? Can I get my shot?”

“No, no, no. This is about that girl you brought over last night, isn’t it?” Jaemin asked. 

Now, Haechan was officially caught. He heaved a breath, stood to his full height, and said, “You just don’t get it, man. We were talking for hours and she could actually keep up with my bullshit. Not only that, but she understood. Then, I get her in the sheets, and man.”

Jaemin snickered. “I’m guessing it was good?”

“Understatement of the year,” Haechan sighed loudly. “I mean, we didn’t even fuck. She volunteered to suck me off. She left me mind-blown, you hear me? Mind-blown. I can still feel my thighs shaking.”

Jaemin whistled. “Goddamn. So, you think she’s your soulmate?”

“Nah, man,” Haechan replied nonchalantly, setting his cue back on the table. “She’s impressive. That’s all. We’re just kickin’ it. You know I don’t do the whole love thing anymore.”

Jaemin could sniff bullshit from a mile away but shifted his hand. “Alright, man. But when those jones come down,” he started, blunt. “It’s a motherfucker.”

Haechan’s eyes flickered.

[bloodmoonmuses]

MARK FRAKTSIYA, 2024

[bloodmoonmuses]

beomgyu - forty one winks