A/N: Written for @mysonesecret's A Thousand Words challenge over on fanprose! Much love for hosting!
Yujin x Male Reader Fluff
1k words
Read it on fanprose, and leave comments on your favourite lines!
Now, today might not be the round five, or the big decade. But today’s three years. You believe that warrants something a little different.
Usually, this is where the morning would go: You feel your hand sliding down her perfect geometry, her hips rolling forward while she’s half-conscious, slit coming into contact with your morning wood. She’d wake up halfway through the first thrust, moan something unintelligible yet hot against your jaw, and you’d both pretend the slow grind toward the hour of lunch counted as being productive.
But it’s as you say: This warrants something slightly different.
She blinks up at you, bleary yet beautiful, and her mouth curves into that little puppy-smile she forces for the crowds, and you force out of her.
“Yujin,” you say to her, quietly.
She mumbles something that isn’t quite words.
“Yujin,” you say again.
One eye cracks open proper. Then the other. “Hi,” she whispers, voice shot to hell from sleep.
“If you’re about to ask me to get on top, the answer is no. I’m still recovering.”
You laugh. “That’s not—”
“Because technically,” she continues, already warming up, “what you did last night counts as a war crime in at least twelve countries. I looked it up.”
You smile, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, let your thumb trace the arc of her cheekbone. “Happy anniversary.”
“Mmm.” She shifts, rolls her hips just enough to make her point, and her smile widens when you inhale sharply. “Happy anniversary to you, too.”
You smile again.
“On second thought—”, she goes to palm your hardness, devious smile to boot, “—maybe I would like to stick to tradition. You get me?”
You do. It’s a good tradition—reliable, mutually beneficial, leaves you both breathless and sweaty and weirdly wanting to hydrate. But this morning, watching her yawn and squint against the light and press her cold feet against your calves, you find yourself hesitating.
“Actually,” you say, and she raises an eyebrow. “Can we—can I just look at you for a second?”
Suspicion flickers across her face. “That’s weird.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s suspicious,” she decides, stretching. The sheet slips, and you get an eyeful of everything in your periphery. “What did you do? Did you forget to get me something?
“No.”
“Did you forget to book dinner?”
“No.”
“Did you—” She props herself up on one elbow, and the sheet falls further. You’re a gentleman but you’re not a saint. You’re gonna ogle. “Did you cheat on me with Wonyoung?”
“That was one time,” you deadpan, “and you let me.”
“Okay, then—”
“I love you.”
The words land differently on her than they usually do. Usually they’re punctuation—dropped between gasps as you fuck her, murmured against her cunt while you worship her. This time, though, they’re the whole sentence, standing on its own, and it makes her go oh-so very still.
Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”
You laugh, and she relaxes incrementally. “I just thought maybe we could try something different.” You trace the line of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the jut of her hip. “I wanted to tell you things. The stuff I don’t say when we’re—”
“Fucking?”
“Being busy,” you amend, and she snorts. “I love the way you laugh at your own shitty jokes. I love that you still get embarrassed when I catch you singing in the kitchen. I love that you leave your books facedown on the nightstand even though it drives me crazy up the wall.”
Yujin stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. Then, slowly, something softens behind her eyes.
“Your turn,” you encourage.
“You’re really good with your mouth.”
You roll your eyes. “Is that your final answer?”
She goes quiet for a long moment. Then, her fingers find yours under the sheet, lace together, squeeze.
“When you pick me up at the airport.”
“The airport?”
“Mhm.” She shifts closer. “Because no matter what time I fly in—whether it’s the afternoon when you’re supposed to be at work or when you’re tired at the dead of night—after a long schedule, an even longer flight, what feels like even longer dealing with paparazzi, cameras blinding me, and all I want to do is go home…” She tilts her chin up, meets your eyes. “The first thing I see when I get out of there is you, waiting for me. And I feel like I’m there already.”
Your throat feels tight. Your chest feels tighter.
She laughs and kisses the corner of your mouth. Then the other corner. Then your nose, jaw, forehead.
“I love that you remember my coffee order,” she kisses back down into your lips. “I love that you let me steal your clothes. I love your little butt that’s just perfect for some therapeutic squeezing.
“I love that you drool in your sleep,” you declare back. “I love that you leave your hair ties everywhere. I love that you trust me enough to fall apart.”
Your hand slides lower, cups the curve of her hip, thumb tracing circles into the bone. She’s so warm. Her thigh hooks over your waist and suddenly her cunt is pressed against you, slick and ready and—God this is perfect.
“I love you,” you say again.
“I love you too,” she says, pressing another kiss to you. “Now, are we done being sentimental? Or are we going to fuck?”
“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I’m a romantic person.”
“You’ve called our anniversary a reminder that you tolerate me.”
“I stand by that.”
You roll on top of her in faux anger, settle between her thighs, watch her eyes go dark and focused. Her nails dig into your shoulders. Her hips lift, searching.
“Happy anniversary,” you tell her.
She pulls you by the back of the neck, bites your bottom lip, smiles against your mouth.
It's a tad dramatic, though. The benefits are good, overtime is rough, but at least you're compensated for it. People are… fine, your boss even nice at times, but you always thought you were destined for so much more than a 9-5.
(9-8, usually, you remind yourself, looking at the time.)
---
Hey, remember when you were complaining earlier? Well, there's some good to all of this.
If you like being poked in the side of the stomach every couple of hours, that is.
"Ow!" you yelp as the poke sends a sharp jolt through the side of your stomach. "What the hell, Yujin!"
"Hush, you'll be fine," she waves away your complaint. "Did you see this?" She shoves the printout in your hand.
"Are you being dramatic again?"
"Well, yeah. No more than you though. Can't even take a poke to the stomach," she rolls her eyes, but the shadow of her dimples tells you all you need to know.
"What is it."
"A thanksgiving potluck! When I applied for an American company, I thought the work culture would be better. I didn't expectall this… extra stuff!"
You scan the paper, a list of thanksgiving food items and names assigned to them.
"This is work culture. It's a work potluck."
"This doesn't affect ROI's! It's above my paygrade!" Yujin cries.
"You get paid more than me."
"I do more work than you."
"Hush, we're talking about the potluck. You got assigned… cranberry sauce. I got assigned the mac and cheese. I'm sure you can manage."
"We're in Korea! No one eats cranberries! I don't even know where to get them! Trade with me."
You put on your most smug face. "Sorry, Yujin, boss specifically asked me to do the mac." You stretch, faux-arrogance lining your voice. "Famous family recipe, you'd understand. I make it every year."
In your stretch, you're of course, vulnerable.
Poke
"Yah! What the hell!" you yelp much too loud, and suddenly you're acutely aware you're standing at the fax machine with the prettiest girl in the office, all eyes trained on the two of you talking about macaroni during work hours.
"Bootlicker!"
Yeah, so it's not all bad.
---
Like a mound of gold, you carry that pot of mac through the building with utmost care, steam billowing through the gap in the tinfoil drawing eyes from everyone in the damn place.
Elevator's about to close, and through the front door comes a sight you'll etch into your memory forever. Perfect woman she is, Yujin, hair slightly a mess, runs towards you, container in hand.
Unconsciously, your foot is at the elevator door, holding it open.
She walks into the elevator in a hurry, placing her container directly on top of your macaroni pot, probably smushing the pasta through the tinfoil. You can't help but cringe.
"Did the cranberry sauce win?" you laugh.
"I was up. All. Night." She runs her fingers through her hair, inspecting herself in the elevator mirror. "This party better be damn worth it."
"Just wait 'till the Christmas party."
She takes the container back, eyeing your macaroni.
"Smells good," she manages.
It's a glowing success. Well, you should've made more, to be honest, but still, second, third helpings of the stuff are piled high onto peoples plates.
And yet…
"It's not bad, Yujin," you wince, trying your best to hide your reaction as you bite down on a cranberry sauce lathered turkey.
"It's horrible, you're like, the only one who's taken any!"
"N-no seriously, this is like, my third helping."
Her shoulders slump. "Don't lie to me, you've been holding back a cough the whole time."
"Have n-not!"
"You just did it again!"
"Look, I'll even get more."
"Hmm."
Okay, she's bickering in that playful way she always does, but if there's one thing you've learnt about Yujin working with her for half a year, it's that she's very proud. Not in some arrogant, in your face way, just, she works hard, you know.
"Your mac is good. Like, really good," she changes the subject.
You shrug. "Well, it's a family recipe, so."
"Yeah well," she stabs some macaroni and brings it to her lips. "You should teach me some time."
===
It's these little moments that keep you here (not all of them have to do with Yujin, one time your boss invited you into his office and pulled out a bottle of scotch from under his desk, said it was 'for the occasion', whatever that meant), but the paper work is still an unending stack of monotony.
It's good, in all aspects of the word.
But you don't want good. You want something more, something that you can connect to.
You don't want somewhere you can just autopilot, let the workplace around you blur as time moves around you. You want somewhere you can take your own steps.
"You're spacing out again," Yujin's voice cuts, and you instinctively move your hands to protect your sides.
You intercept her outstretched finger aiming for a poke.
Dimples are back, and she's smiling, and you almost forget how damn boring this job is. "Wow, you're getting better," she says slowly, ripping her finger out of your hand because the contact feels a little too real here at the fax machine. "Look at this!"
It's a similar sheet to the thanksgiving potluck assignments, but this one is headlined with: CHRISTMAS PARTY.
"They have me down for napkins! That's so embarassing."
You do your absolute fucking best to hold in a laugh.
"Well, napkins are important."
Maybe laughing would be better. She moves so fast you can't even react, two jabs of her fingers at either side of your abdomen causes you to buck forward.
"Ow! What the hell!"
Some of your coworkers don't even react to your bickering anymore.
"I can't just bring napkins, this was supposed to be my redemption!"
"I already told you, your cranberry sauce wasn't that bad."
She crosses her arms, and her face doesn't betray her. She's annoyed. "Don't patronize me."
You think of insisting, but that look on her face is pure determination.
"Okay, it could've been better."
"Exactly, and now I can't prove I can do better. They gave the cranberry sauce to you— look!"
It's true, next to your name is the familiar macaroni and cheese, but also cranberry sauce.
"Okay, it's decided," she settles, "we'll make it together."
So, An Yujin is at your house, with that damn smile you've only seen in daylight. It's different at night, when there's less light pollution to block out how damn radiant she is.
So much for cooking together, though:
"So this is what you come home to every day, no wonder you're so…"
"So what?"
"Tedious, monotonous, hmm— oh, dull is a good one."
"That doesn't sound like me at all!"
"Yeah, not when you're talking to me. Usually, though." She says, taking a gander at your living room, and before you can react to the implications of what she said: "you could really use some plants, liven the place up a bit."
"What would I need plants for?"
"They're cute! Your kitchen is nice, though."
It is. It's one of the things you pride yourself on most, spices all lined up in the cupboard like little soldiers, dry ingredients labelled and stored perfectly, and the chef d'ouvre of the place, a custom built wine cabinet.
"So this is where your home decor budget goes huh," she teases, opening the cellar and pulling out a particularly expensive bottle of wine. "Corkscrew?" she smirks.
"Oh, make yourself at home, why don't you," you roll your eyes, but toss a corkscrew her way anyway. "What happened to cooking?"
"Well, we can't cook without wine! That'd just be boring." She finds your wine glasses, pouring particularly hefty helpings.
"Nope," you stop her before she can raise the glass to her lips.
"What do you mean, no?"
"You have to let it sit."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, you're one of those," she teases, raising it again.
You grab the glass from her hands and place it back on the table. "Trust me, it's worth it."
She lolls her head, looking at you annoyedly. "How long, then?"
"Half an hour."
"Ugh. What are we gonna do for half an hour?"
You open your grocery bags, tossing her a pack of cranberries. "Sauce."
Cooking with Yujin isn't like cooking alone; it's chaos. There's splatters and noises you know don't belong, and it's only made worse when the wine has properly decanted.
"And now we just let it reduce for a bit," you say, closing the lid on the saucepot full of cranberry sauce.
Yujin's hair is a mess, her T-shirt stained red. "That's exactly how I made it last time. Like, exactly."
"Hmm, well, we'll see. Mac and cheese time."
"Ugh, can't we just make japchae. I'm good at that."
"No, people like my mac."
"Fine, then teach me."
"Get me the cheese," you request, grabbing the grater. "Yujin, cheese please— Yujin?" You turn around. "Hey! That's enough wine!"
"Never enough, this is the fun of cooking!" By the time she's done pouring, her glass is nearly full. "Get your glass!" she demands.
You reluctantly grab it, and she brings the bottle down to pour.
"Hold still."
"I am."
She tips the bottle up, dimples still etched on her cheeks with that sly little smile. "Oops." She tips the bottle nearly upside down until only the dregs pour out. "Looks like we finished it all."
She raises her full glass of wine (what, maybe 4 helpings worth) to her lips, raises her eyebrows slightly and sips.
"That's my wine, miss."
"I thought you wanted to cook, not drink— fine, hold out your glass."
You do, and maybe it's the wine, or the constant work wife allegations your coworkers berate you with, or maybe it's just Yujin here in your happy place, but you hold it out close to you so she has to saddle right up next to you to tip wine from her own glass into yours.
Okay, you're sensationalizing it, she's not saddled up right next to you. But she's close, closer than she is when she pokes your belly at work, or sits down across from you at lunch to pick at your food. She smells kinda homey, whatever that means.
She raises her glass to pour, and you realize, homey smells like fresh laundry and wine. She starts pouring, but not before her eyes flick to yours.
It catches you off guard, and you fumble with the glass.
If things weren't messy before, they are now. Yujin tries to overcorrect for your juddering hand, and spills the wine all down your front.
"Oh—" she stutters apologetically, but not before you grab her still full wine glass and jovially splash some on her, price be damned.
"Ugh, this T-shirt is ruined now! What the hell was that for!" The shadow of her smile still lingers, but it's hidden by her playfully challenging demeanor.
"You spilled on me, first. Plus, you already have cranberry stains all down your front."
"I did not! And your hand shook!" And she pokes you in the abdomen.
It goes like this, the night, and it's the most fun you've ever had while cooking.
Soon, the overwhelming smells take hold, and now considerably more drunk, stained, and giggly, you lift the lid of the sauce pot off, revealing the velvet burgundy of the cranberry sauce.
Picture it like a movie: you and Yujin bent low, eye level with the pot as you lift the lid, steam billowing out.
"It looks the same as mine did," Yujin says defensively.
"It'll taste better."
"How do you know."
"Because I made it."
She rolls her eyes. "Mhmm, sure. Get me a spoon." You both straighten up, and, spoon now in hand, she takes a small dollop of the sauce.
Blowing once, twice, she takes a bit of your sauce.
Her eyes close, and you're honestly a little nervous. You can't remember wanting someone to like your cooking as much as you do now.
She slowly opens them, and then: "damn. It's good."
Relief. "Why do you sound disappointed, hmm?"
"Would've been fun to tease you," she says plainly, loading her spoon again. "Here," she offers
Two things:
1) Yujin is spoon feeding you
2) Indirect kissing via that spoon
She's just staring at you too, waiting there, large brown eyes excited.
Your eyes find literally anything else to look at as you close your mouth around the spoon, and, unsimilarly, you don't close your eyes. Instead, your eyes focus as the flavours dance on your tongue, throwing whatever tension existing onto the backburner.
"Good, right?"
"Hmm," you reply.
"What? Oh, come on, don't be one of those people who can never be satisified with their own cooking. This is like, way better than mine."
"It needs something," you reply ignoring her earlier sentiments. "Hey, pass me a tablespoon, won't you? No— drawer on the left, yeah."
"Seriously?" she questions. "We already added sugar—"
"Trust me," you say, mixing just a tablespoon more in the sauce. "Try it now."
It's undeniable, her reaction says it all. If she liked it before, now, it's perfect.
"Wow."
"Better, right." It's not a question.
"Mmm," she answers. "Okay, that was really good."
It's simple, it's something you've heard about your food before. Hell, Yujin complimented your macaroni not 2 months ago, but seeing her reaction, it steels your resolve, it seals your decision.
"Good, then you can make it next thanksgiving— well, now that you know how to make it."
She settles from her reaction, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping down a nearby counter. "Yeah, if they don't give it to you again."
"They won't."
"What do you mean they won't?"
"Yujin I— I think I'm gonna quit."
Her body tenses and her head flicks to you, and just seeing the look on her face you want to take it back. But then the look is gone, and she goes back to wiping. "Oh."
She says it like it doesn't mean anything; honestly, it shouldn't, really. You're just two coworkers making food. But it does, the air is loaded. And this is enough to crumble whatever resolve you had built up.
"I don't know, though," you say.
"Well, where would you go? What would you do?"
You peer around the kitchen. "This."
"What, cooking?"
"I know it's stupid, but I've always wante—"
"It's not stupid at all!" she exclaims. "It's brilliant!"
"You think?"
"Yes! It's so… you."
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, 'I don't know', you were so confident just a second ago."
"Yeah, but, this job is so stable. And I mean, I only cook at home, I don't know if I can make it as a pro."
Yujin leans back on the counter, raising her glass to her lips. A long, exaggerated sip, and she smiles. "I believe in you. I see you, you know, when you're sitting at your desk. I know you don't want to be here."
It's touching in a way, how she knows, how she pays attention. "Except when I'm talking to you," you say dryly.
"Well, I'm not like that," she says. "I can survive in this job without you." It's not meant as an insult, the opposite, actually. It's said like: 'don't worry about me, I can keep myself sane at work'. In her own special way, of course.
She stares at you, resolute, determined, like she's the one that's about to quit her job to cook, and then a timer beeps, signalling the macaroni is ready.
"We'll keep in touch, anyway."
---
Listen, it's not like you've been counting the days since you were last here, but it's been a while.
You still remember the humdrum of the lobby as you climb into the familiar elevator, and then: her.
Yujin, hair disheveled again, rushing through the lobby like she always does. Your foot sticks out, stopping the door from closing.
She's still looking down as she crosses the threshold of the elevator, but when she looks up, sees you and gives a little yelp, you can't help but smile.
But she clears her throat, straightens up, embodies professionalism (for some reason, she's never cared about that around you before), and says as plainly as she can, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off at that nice restaurant you never invited me to?"
You too stand up straight, sustain that pretense of this being an elevator with just two old coworkers. "I work here."
"You worked here. 6 months ago."
"Well, I'm back."
She turns to you, slumping. "What happened to your dream."
You shrug. "Hmm, I tried it. It wasn't for me."
"But you loved cooking!"
"Still do."
"Then why'd you leave?"
"It was stressful, hours were fucked. And I got yelled at like, 6 times a day. But really, it's because it's not the same."
"It's not the same as?"
"Cooking for you."
Yujin's cheeks go red, but her eyes never leave yours.
"Maybe I can do it again sometime?"
She clears her throat, composes herself. "Cooking with me," she corrects.
"Right, with you."
"Yeah, that wouldn't be so bad," she says as the elevator door opens to what will inevitably be your workplace for the rest of your life. "Wait— don't tell me you reapplied to this job just so you could ask me that! You could've just called!"
"Yeah, well," you say, stepping back into the familiar office, "this place isn't all so bad, is it."
"You hate it here."
"Not all of it, some of it is fun."
"Most of it isn't fun at all."
You shrug again. "A tablespoon of the stuff is all I need," you say, before walking off to your old desk.
---
The place is crowded, which kind of stresses you out, but even 30 years later, Yujin's smile is enough to calm you down.
She grabs your hand from across the table. "Are you nervous?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Hmm, right," she rolls her eyes, scanning a printout labelled 'GRAND OPENING MENU', until—
"From the chef herself!" Yujin glows.
The chef is walking towards you carrying an elegant looking dish.
"First courses are out in 10 minutes, and we're absolutely fucked," the young girl says. "But I wanted you to have this before shit goes down," she places the food (a pasta dish) on the table. "First plate of the restaurant."
Before you can even respond, the chef turns away in a hurry.
Suddenly, she stops, turns around.
"Mom, Dad— thanks," she mutters, before running back to the kitchen.
You find Hanbin at the reception, sitting cross-legged on the grass with a flower girl on each side and glitter in his hair.
One of them giggles as she places a tiny crown of fake roses on his head. He accepts it with exaggerated grace, then catches your eye across the lawn like he’s just won an award.
You bite back a smile. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” he grins. “These girls said I’m their prince.”
You raise a brow. “You’re my date, though.”
Hanbin stands and bows to the flower girls. “Excuse me, princesses,” he says solemnly. “I must return to my queen.”
When he’s in front of you, he takes your hand like it’s the first time, like it still makes his chest flutter. “You look beautiful,” he says, voice quieter now. “I keep forgetting to breathe when I look at you.”
You give him a look. “Did you practice that in the mirror?”
“Of course not,” he says. Then, “…Maybe once.”
The music shifts into something mid-tempo, and Hanbin immediately tugs you toward the dance floor.
You protest. “I don’t dance to slow songs with a fake prince.”
“I’m a real prince,” he insists, placing your hands on his shoulders. “And you owe me one song.”
You let him sway you, his grip gentle at your waist. Around you, wedding guests spin and laugh, but Hanbin’s eyes don’t leave yours—not for a second.
“You know,” he says suddenly, “this could be us someday.”
You blink. “At someone else’s wedding?”
“No.” He leans in, soft and certain. “At ours.”
The words land somewhere deep inside you, unexpected but not unwelcome.
You don’t say anything—just lean up to kiss him slow and sweet, surrounded by fairy lights and the sound of a love song you don’t remember the name of.
Hanbin kisses you back like he means it. Like he always does.
When you pull away, he grins, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Still think I’m just a fake prince?”
You press your forehead to his.
“No,” you whisper. “You’re mine.”
Jiwoong
You almost forgot how many eyes followed Jiwoong when he stepped into the room beside you. Dressed sharp in his tailored black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled just so, he moved with a calm confidence that made it clear he didn’t care about the stares—or maybe he did and enjoyed every second.
He offered you a glass of champagne with a slight smile. “You said this was a low-key thing.”
You laughed softly. “Small, yes. But no one said low-key was quiet.”
He took a slow sip, eyes scanning the crowd, before resting on you. “They’re all looking at you too.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And?”
He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe I like being the only one who gets to look at you.”
The evening settled into a gentle rhythm. Jiwoong stayed close, never overbearing but undeniably present. Then a man approached you during cocktail hour, smooth with rehearsed charm.
“y/n, right? We went to school together,” he said, offering a polite smile.
You nodded, wary.
“Noticed you came alone,” he added, glancing around. “Where’s your date?”
Before you could answer, a hand rested lightly on your waist—Jiwoong’s. His voice was low, measured. “Right here.”
The man’s smile faltered as Jiwoong’s presence seemed to fill the space. Without turning, Jiwoong gently steered you aside, thumb tracing a slow circle at your hip.
Once away, you glanced up. “That was… firm.”
Jiwoong’s eyes met yours, cool and unreadable. “Just keeping what’s mine.”
You smirked. “Jealous?”
“Not jealous. Protective,” he corrected, voice soft but certain.
His gaze lingered, and you felt the weight of it, a quiet promise without words.
“Planning to keep me close all night?” you teased.
He gave a subtle smile. “Always.”
The music shifted, and guests moved toward the dance floor. Jiwoong’s fingers found yours, entwining gently.
“Later, in the car,” he whispered near your ear. “We’ll have our own dance.”
You smiled against his cheek, heart speeding up. “Looking forward to it.”
Zhang Hao
owns every step, his suit crisp and perfectly tailored, his smile polite but warm enough to disarm anyone who meets his gaze. He nods kindly at a few guests, exchanges quiet hellos, but mostly stays focused on you, the way his eyes flicker with quiet pride as you walk hand in hand.
The ceremony fades behind you both as the reception begins, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the garden. Hao’s laugh is low and genuine when an older auntie tugs him by the arm and insists he join the bouquet toss. “You must catch it for the bride’s sake,” she says with a teasing grin.
Hao plays along, the perfect gentleman, stepping into the circle with surprising ease. You watch as he raises his hands, catching the bouquet with a practiced smile, then bows theatrically to the aunties, earning delighted applause. When he turns back to you, bouquet in hand, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “Looks like I’m next,” he says softly.
You shake your head, laughing, and slip your fingers through his. “Maybe tonight is your lucky night.”
Later, the music softens, and guests start drifting onto the dance floor. Hao pulls you gently in, arms settling around your waist with a tenderness that takes your breath away. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you swaying under the fairy lights, their glow like something out of a dream.
“What would you say if this was our wedding?” Hao asks, voice low and sincere, eyes never leaving yours.
Your heart skips, heat pooling in your chest. You search his face for any hint of jest but find only earnest hope. “I’d say yes,” you whisper.
He smiles, fingers brushing your cheek, thumb lingering as if memorizing the softness of your skin. “Good answer,” he murmurs, leaning in slowly until your lips meet in a kiss that’s gentle and sure, lingering just long enough to promise so much more.
The song ends, and though the music changes, neither of you move apart. Hao’s hand slides down your back, pulling you closer as he whispers against your lips, “Let’s finish this night somewhere quieter.”
You nod, heart racing with anticipation. The drive back is quiet but charged—the city lights blurring past the windows, the hum of the engine a steady rhythm beneath the soft glow of the dashboard.
Hao reaches for your hand, entwining fingers with yours in a simple, grounding touch. “I’ve wanted this,” he admits, voice husky, “to be able to say I danced with you like that, like you were the only person in the world.”
You squeeze his hand, leaning into the warmth of his presence. “Me too.”
The car slows, and Hao glances at you, eyes shining in the dim light. “Tomorrow’s a new day,” he says softly, “but tonight… tonight is ours.”
You smile, lips barely brushing his in a whisper of a kiss that holds everything unspoken between you.
And in that moment, under the quiet stars and soft city glow, you know this night is just the beginning.
Matthew
Matthew arrived early, exactly on time if not a minute before, his suit crisp and his smile bright as he shook hands with your family one by one. He had a knack for remembering names—your grandmother, your cousin Jisoo, your uncle Minho—and by the time the ceremony started, he felt like part of the crew. You watched from across the garden as he laughed easily with your dad, even helping him with the speakers when a technical glitch threatened to delay the music. Matthew’s hands moved confidently over wires and knobs, fixing the problem before anyone else had noticed, then brushing off your grateful smile like it was no big deal.
Throughout the night, Matthew was everything you could hope for—polite, attentive, the kind of boyfriend who knew exactly when to hold your hand and when to give you space to breathe. You slipped through the crowd together, his arm casually draped over your shoulder as he introduced you to his own friends who had come along, quietly proud to have you by his side.
Later, away from the noise and glittering lights, you found a quiet corner near the garden’s edge. Matthew’s gaze softened as he settled beside you on a bench, his usual energetic spark replaced by something more thoughtful.
“I know weddings aren’t usually your thing,” you said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “But you’ve been amazing tonight.”
He smiled, fingers entwining with yours. “I like seeing you happy. That’s enough for me.”
You leaned into his side, heart slowing in the comfortable silence. “Do you ever think about forever? What that looks like?”
Matthew’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady and sure. “All the time. It’s not scary when I think about it with you.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, overwhelmed by the quiet sincerity in his voice. “Sometimes I get scared. What if it doesn’t last? What if…”
He tightened his grip, cutting you off with a soft chuckle. “Then we hold on tighter. We figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere.”
A gentle breeze swept past, carrying the scent of blooming flowers as Matthew leaned closer, brushing his lips lightly against your temple. The simple touch sent a shiver through you, the promise in it clear.
“I don’t want to rush,” he murmured, voice low and intimate. “But when it feels this right, it’s hard not to imagine all the days ahead.”
You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest as you turned to face him. His hand slid to your cheek, thumb tracing your skin softly, eyes searching yours like he wanted to memorize every detail.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” you whispered.
He nodded, lips curving into a tender smile. “One step at a time, with you.”
As the music swelled in the distance, the night wrapping around you both like a quiet promise, you knew this moment would stay with you long after the last dance.
Taerae
Taerae stayed close to your side all evening, his quiet presence like a gentle anchor in the lively reception. He wasn’t the loudest or flashiest, but his smile—oh, that smile—had a way of lighting up the whole room. It was soft and genuine, the kind that made people stop and smile back without even realizing it.
From the moment you arrived, guests were drawn to him like moths to a warm glow. Kids giggled as he crouched down to meet their eyes, and even the usually reserved relatives couldn’t help but grin when he cracked a shy joke or offered a simple compliment. You found yourself watching him with a smile, feeling proud to have someone whose happiness spread like wildfire.
During the speeches, Taerae squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You caught the way he smiled through the heartfelt words, a quiet strength shining beneath his calm exterior.
Later, as the night unfolded under twinkling fairy lights, you found yourself walking hand in hand through the garden. Taerae’s smile never faded; it was a constant comfort, like a silent promise that everything was right in the world.
“You know,” you said softly, “being around you makes everyone happier. It’s like your smile is contagious.”
He blushed just a little, eyes flicking away for a moment before settling on you again. “I didn’t realize.”
“It’s true. People just naturally want to be near you.”
Taerae shrugged, but the warmth in his gaze said he believed you. “Maybe that’s because you’re with me.”
You laughed, leaning into his side. “You’re not wrong.”
The music shifted to a slower song, and without saying a word, Taerae pulled you close. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, steady and reassuring.
In the quiet space between the notes, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The moment felt simple but profound—two people wrapped up in each other’s calm amidst the night’s excitement.
“You make me feel safe,” you whispered.
Taerae kissed the top of your head. “And you make me smile like never before.”
You looked up, catching the glow of the fairy lights in his eyes. His smile was brighter than ever, and for once, words weren’t necessary. You knew you both felt it—the kind of happiness that doesn’t need to be explained, just shared.
As the song ended, you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the world around you fade away.
Ricky
You don’t even make it out of the car before Ricky is fixing your dress for you like it’s award season. “We look too good to be on time,” he says with a wink, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair before offering you his hand. His suit matches your outfit perfectly—down to the exact shade of your accessories—and you know he planned it that way on purpose.
Inside, people turn. Heads tilt. Someone actually gasps. And Ricky? He eats it up, chin lifted slightly as if you’re arriving at the Met Gala instead of someone’s garden wedding. “Eyes on the bride, people,” he calls lightly, smirking as he guides you through the tables like the whole day was planned around you two.
Every toast he gives is a moment. He taps his glass before standing, lets the silence stretch dramatically, and says something just sentimental enough to make people “aww,” but finishes with a sly glance your way and a casual, “—and to my favorite plus-one for being the prettiest person here.”
At cocktail hour, someone makes the mistake of asking if you two are “just friends.” Ricky’s jaw ticks before he smiles wide, too wide, like he’s suppressing a scream. He doesn’t even respond—just sets his champagne down, slides an arm around your waist, and whispers in your ear, “Can you believe that? They think I’d come all dressed up for someone I wasn’t in love with.”
You nearly choke on your drink. “Ricky.”
He shrugs, totally unbothered, but you can feel the heat in his gaze when he looks at you. “What? I’m just being honest.”
As the sun sets and the lights flicker on overhead, casting the dance floor in gold, Ricky steals you away to the edge of the crowd. “You look like a movie,” he says lowly, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Like something people pause just to stare at.”
And when someone calls out to you, “Hey—didn’t know you two were together!” Ricky doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I know. It’s hard to believe someone this perfect is mine,” he says loud enough for half the wedding to hear, hand still curled at your waist. “But she is. Girlfriend privilege.”
He doesn’t even glance around for reactions. He’s too busy watching your expression soften under the fairy lights, like that was the only moment he cared about landing.
Gyuvin
It starts with Gyuvin doing a split on the dance floor thirty minutes into the reception.
You’re still mid-bite into a canapé when he yells, “Y/N, watch this!”—and then boom, right into a crowd-cheering, camera-flashing split like he’s on stage instead of your cousin’s wedding. People are clapping. The DJ is laughing. You’re just trying not to choke on your food.
He bounces back up like nothing happened, wild grin on his face as he practically skips over to you. “You’re next,” he says, grabbing your hand before you can even protest. “We’re starting a conga line.”
“No, we’re not,” you argue, and somehow end up leading the conga line anyway, everyone snaking behind you as Gyuvin chants, “Let’s go, let’s go!” like he’s the MC of the whole night.
He keeps the energy high for hours—dancing with your aunties, trying to convince your uncle to teach him how to moonwalk, nearly taking out a centerpiece trying to “floss” with too much enthusiasm. You lose track of him during the cake cutting, only to find him back at your table with two frosting-covered forks and a guilty smile.
“Don’t ask questions,” he says, already smearing a little icing on your cheek before you can move away.
“You’re the worst,” you groan, wiping at it—but he’s quicker. He leans in and kisses it off, dramatic and loud, right in front of everyone. Someone whistles. Someone claps. You bury your face in your hands.
But as the night winds down and the guests start to leave, the loud Gyuvin softens. He tugs you outside, past the lights and the music, shoes in one hand, phone in the other. He plays a song you love—low, soft—and pulls you into a slow sway on the dewy grass.
No crowd. No noise. Just the two of you and the muffled music.
“You had fun?” he asks quietly, like he’s not the reason half the guests were grinning all night.
You nod, arms draped around his neck. “You were a menace.”
“A loveable menace,” he corrects, pulling you in a little closer.
He’s warmer like this. Calmer. No jokes, no stunts—just Gyuvin, holding you like you’re the only person left in the world. The twinkle lights from the patio glow faintly behind him, and you realize he hasn’t stopped smiling once tonight.
“I liked seeing your family happy,” he says. “You happy.”
And there it is—that softness he tries to bury under all the jokes and noise. You kiss him before you can help it, laughing against his lips when he dips you like you’re in a movie.
“Okay, that was smooth,” you admit.
“Told you,” he grins, “lovable menace.”
Gunwook
You feel it the second your ex walks in.
Gunwook had been relaxed all night, joking with your cousins, twirling you once during cocktail hour just to see you smile. But now—now his hand tightens around yours like instinct, his body shifting slightly in front of yours as if to shield you.
You glance up at him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is tight. His eyes don’t leave your ex as they walk over, wearing that familiar, too-smooth smile.
The greeting is awkward. A hug you don’t really want. Gunwook’s hand stays glued to your lower back the entire time, fingers pressing just a little harder when your ex starts asking, “So, how’ve you been? You look amazing.”
“She’s been great,” Gunwook answers before you can. “And she still looks amazing—because I take good care of her.”
Your cheeks burn. You try to steer the conversation away, but Gunwook’s jaw stays locked, his arm never leaving you. Even after your ex finally walks off, he doesn’t let go. Just pulls you in tighter, pressing a kiss to your temple that lingers.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” you murmur.
“I know,” he admits. “But I wanted to.”
You exhale a soft laugh and reach for his hand, brushing your thumb along his knuckles. “You jealous?”
He meets your gaze, expression unreadable for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I am.”
He says it like it’s not a flaw. Just fact. And somehow, that makes it feel even softer.
Later, once the music’s louder and people are too tipsy to notice, he pulls you onto the balcony. The air is cooler out here, the lights from the reception glowing behind you, but Gunwook’s hand is still warm in yours.
“Sorry if I made things weird,” he says, nudging your side. “I just… saw them talking to you and thought about how easy it would’ve been to never meet you. To never have this.”
“You have it,” you say. “You have me.”
He looks at you like he’s memorizing it. Then he grins, loosening his tie and pulling you in. “Come here.”
He sways you gently, no music except the faint echo of the reception inside and the quiet shuffle of your shoes on the concrete. His arms wrap around your waist. Yours around his neck.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says quietly, like it’s just for you.
You press your face into his shoulder, smiling into the fabric of his shirt. “Even when I hug my ex?”
He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. “Especially then. You always come back to me.”
You tilt your head back to meet his eyes, your voice soft. “I never left.”
He doesn’t answer—just pulls you close again, closer, like he’s never letting go. And tonight, you believe him.
Yujin
You don’t even make it through the entrance before Yujin almost takes someone out with his elbow.
It’s a blur, really—a quick pivot to avoid a passing waiter, a dramatic stumble, and a breathless “Oh! Sorry, sorry!” as he tries to catch a falling gift bag and somehow knocks over a centerpiece instead.
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
Then laughter. Lots of it.
Even your aunt, who’s usually the least forgiving about disruptions, clutches her stomach as she giggles, waving Yujin off when he apologizes again with a frantic bow. And just like that, he’s made his impression—not the one he meant to, but the kind everyone will still be smiling about hours later.
You slip your hand into his. “Iconic first five seconds, honestly.”
His ears flush, lips twitching as he tries to look mortified. “That was not how I pictured this going.”
“Yeah, but now my grandma knows your name. You’re basically a legend.”
Yujin groans, but he’s smiling too—soft and sheepish, the kind of grin that curls slowly and lights up his whole face.
The night goes on, and so does he. He bumps into the same waiter twice, trips over a child’s toy at dinner, and gets cake on his sleeve while trying to help serve. At one point, he nearly slips trying to do a spin move on the dance floor and ends up grabbing the arm of your cousin’s boyfriend for balance.
It should be a disaster.
But it’s not.
It’s charming. It’s him. That bright, unfiltered sweetness—how he laughs at himself first, how he’s quick to say sorry but even quicker to smile. How he helps clean up what he knocks over without needing to be asked. How the younger kids cling to his legs like they’ve known him forever.
And when your grandma tells him she hopes you marry someone with a “gentle heart like yours,” he turns so red he actually chokes on his ginger ale.
You nudge him with your knee under the table. “See? Told you they’d love you.”
He looks at you like you just hung the moon. “They love you more.”
You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s your show.”
Later, when the sky’s gone navy and the lights are warm and low, Yujin takes your hand again and pulls you in for a slow dance. He’s not graceful—he steps on your foot once, apologizes, and laughs so hard his head falls against your shoulder. But he never stops smiling. And neither do you.
Because this is him. Clumsy. Kind. A little chaotic. But so easy to adore.
And as the night winds down, you realize everyone was right.
A/N (pt1): Yes, I am a Yujin Noona agenda enjoyer. He was actually the first idol younger than me I ever stanned. Reader is 2 years older than Yujin, she's in 2nd year of university and he's in last year of high school, so the age gap in not that big. I thank my friend V for helping me polishing this fic <3. I hope you enjoy!
A/N (pt2): I planned on posting this fic for a while, but for some reason I always ended up postponing it. In the end, I decided to post it as a Valentines special. It's a different style from what I'm used to, so it might not be the best
You don't date younger guys.
It's not a rule you have, just what always came natural to you. Ever since elementary school you never cared about the boys in your own year, let alone younger, always admiring the last years.
In fact, your boyfriends were always a couple years older. Not too much, not too little. But that gap that makes them more a bit mature and proactive. You don't want to lead situations in a relationship, but to be cared for.
It was just your taste, so you don't date younger guys.
That didn't mean they didn't hit on you.
You remember some first years leaving chocolates, letters or pepero in your locker on special days during high school, and some of them were brave enough to hand it directly to you, but the first to fully try to seduce you was Dongmin's friend.
Woonhak has had a crush on you since Dongmin's 16th birthday, and while everyone knew, you only found out when he started clumsily flirt with you during your last year of high school.
You didn't stop him at first, thinking it was a momentous thing, but when he actually asked you out you had to break it down to him. It's not that you didn't like him as a person, he was an amazing friend and a cute dongsaeng, but he wasn't the type of guy you dated.
When you started university you were really looking forward to dating. You were a first year again, so most guys would have been older than you. In fact, just your first year you had 3 relationships. Yes, none of them lasted, but your dating life was really picking up. However, it came to a harsh stop during exam session and it didn't seem to want to comeback for your second year.
"Dongmin‐ah, are you sure you don't have a crush on Hanbin‐hyung?"
Jaehyun looked at where Hanbin sat, next to his boyfriend Hao, then back to his friend.
"What are you talking about!?"
"I'm just saying, you stare at him a lot"
"I just admire how cool he his"
Dongmin turned his head away, trying to play it off. Though, you could see the slight pink on his cheeks.
"Are you sure? Then why are you blushing?"
He pulled the hood of his jacket up and covered his face, grumbling about how you were a liar.
"There's nothing wrong with liking older guys. I mean, it's me your talking to. Ah, I wish I had a crush right now, why can't I find a new hot older guy?"
Your friends laughed, until Yunah spoke.
"Maybe it's your karma, you want an older guy too much, so you can't have it"
"That's unfair!"
"It'd be so funny if your next crush was younger"
"Eeh~ it could never happen. I don't date younger guys. Never"
"Then let's bet on it! If your next crush is older, I'll do the house chores for a week, but if it's younger, you'll have to make Louis take his bath"
"That's unfair! You know how much your dog hates water!"
"I guess you aren't sure enough in your taste then"
Quickly you grabbed Yunah's hand, before she could retreat it.
"Have fun cleaning the house for seven days"
Just then, Woonhak arrived.
"Have you girls made a bet?"
"Yeah, about whether her next crush will be older or younger than her"
"Ay~ isn't that obvious? Everyone knows she only likes older"
"Yeah, that's why she rejected you, Woonhaki"
"Yah! Jaehyun‐hyung, there's no need to remind everyone, it wasn't a big event"
"Right, because you didn't spend a week crying afterwards"
"It's not- don't say it so loud! You're gonna ruin my reputation"
The bickering kept going, but you didn't mind it. Actually, you didn't even acknowledge it, because you were too busy admiring Woonhak's silent friend. He was so pretty and handsome at the same time, with that boyish charm that is magnetic. You couldn't help but stare.
"Ah, right. Guys, this is Yujin, he's my dongsaeng from high school"
High school? Dongsaeng?
"They closed the school for today, so I thought I could bring him to see his future university"
Future?
"He's quite shy, so don't worry if it takes time for him to open up, okay? Let's sit down"
Woonhak sat next Yunah, while his friend rounded the table, taking the free spot next to you.
"Hello. I'm Han Yujin, nice to meet you"
"You too. I'm y/n"
You forced your eyes away from his face to avoid making him uncomfortable, but now that he was so close you could see how handsome he was way better and it was messing with your head, making you shift awkwardly in your spot.
Honestly, you really were a sight for your friends. It was so obvious that you liked each other since then, but they couldn't really tell you in that moment.
Yunah elbowed Woonhak, making him lower his head so she could whisper to him.
"I think y/n needs to prepare to give a bath to Louis"
After that, you met Yujin a couple more times when Woonhak brought him along. You got used to him, so his beauty wasn't affecting you so much anymore. Also, he didn't really talk to you, feeling more comfortable with the guys. You figured it was normal teenager behavior (as if you weren't a teenager just a year ago).
It was a random afternoon that things changed.
"They didn't mention it'd rain today!"
You were walking alone back home when you felt something wet hit you. All of the sudden it was raining. Not having an umbrella on you, the next best thing was to run to the closest bus stop and wait.
So that's what you were doing when voice called for you.
"Noona!"
Suddenly the water stopped hitting you. Yujin was holding his uniform jacket over your heads, body pressed close to yours to make both fit under it.
"My house is just across the street..."
He didn't finish the sentence, too flustered as he realized just how close you two were. But he didn't need to. You just nodded, not trusting your voice when your heart was beating so fast.
You thought it'd be a challenge to walk under the jacket, but you easily arrived to his building. That was what you were convinced of before turning around to face a soaked Yujin once you entered his apartment.
"What happened?! Weren't you covered?"
"It was too uncomfortable to stay both under, so I only covered noona"
He was so cute, looking down to the small puddle of water forming under him.
"Ah... thank you. But you should have cared about yourself too! Go take a warm shower!"
"No, noona, you should go fir-"
"I won't have any of that. The most soaked person goes first. Look at you, your dripping all over! Go quickly before you catch a cold!"
With you pushing him down the hallway, he finally walked off to his room to take a change of clothes and disappeared in the bathroom. You waited about ten minutes before he returned to the living room, hair all fluffy after being blown dry, making you giggle at how cute he was. Shyly, he handed you a set of clothes.
"Your clothes are wet, so... you can change into this when you're done"
"Thank you. I'll be quick"
You tried to be the fastest possible and soon you slipped into the comfortable clothes he gave you. The sweater was very comfortable, already oversize for Yujin, it arrived mid thighs on you. The pants were a bit more difficult to handle. You had to roll the waist and the ends to not have it fall off or trip on it. Was he only legs? You weren't that much shorter than him.
When you entred the living room again, he was sitting on the couch, so you took the seat next to him.
"It's still raining hard..."
"You can wait here until it stops... if you want"
"Can I? I wouldn't want to invade or anything"
"No, it's okay. My parents won't be home until very late and my little brother too, he has cram school... also, I'd like to spend time with you"
"Then, I'll accept the offer"
The smile he gave you was the sweetest. Yujin started looking around as if he had a plan already.
"Do you... do you wanna play with Mario Kart?"
"Only if you're ready to loose"
The hours spent at his apartment unlocked a new relationship between the two of you, you finally discovered his real personality, under layers of shyness. By the time he waved you off as you took your taxi home — still in his clothes, because neither of you knew how to use the dryer — you were officially his noona and he was your dongsaeng.
Yes, only a noona-dongsaeng relationship.
So why did you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever your bodies brushed?
Two days later you were waiting outside your ex school to give him his clothes back, excitement washing over the nervousness when you finally spotted him in the crowd.
"Noona! I missed you"
"Eh~ it's only been two days. By the way, you didn't catch a cold, didn't you?"
"No, I'm fine. You're also healthy, right?"
"Yeah, but it's all thanks to you, my savior"
"Ah, that's too... I didn't do much"
"What are you saying? If it weren't for you I wouldn't have survived that rain"
"Yujin, there you are! Why did you dissappear like that?"
A boy and a girl came rushing towards you.
"Ah, I had to meet noona"
The two analyzed you and then how Yujin was looking at you.
"Oh, are you his girlfriend?"
That took both of you by surprise.
"What are you saying, Sakuya? He could never pull someone this beautiful, she's out of his league"
"Hyunseo, you wanna die?"
The whole interaction made you laugh. They were so cute, they reminded you of your school days with your friends. Not that it changed much in university.
"Ah, I came to give you these back"
You pushed a bag into Yujin's hand, inside the clothes he landed you, washed and dried thanks to Yunah.
"Then, I have a lesson, so I'll go"
Just as you rounded the corner of the street, Yujin stopped you.
"Noona, do you wanna go to a pc café this weekend?"
"Getting you ass kicked at Mario Kart wasn't enough? But, yeah, sure, I'd love to. Let's decide the details by text, okay?"
Sakuya and Hyunseo watched as you walked away and how in love Yujin looked.
"Really? A pc café for a date? Are you even trying to impress her"
"It's not a date! At least... for now"
The pc café was just the first of many hang outs between you and Yujin. At some point you had every weekend occupied by him, so much that Woonhak was becoming jealous since he couldn't see his dongsaeng anymore. And, apart from him and Yunah, the rest was pretty confused at how Yujin went from nearly avoiding you to teasing you.
"There you are. Have you been waiting for a long time?"
"No, I just arrived. Also, I don't mind waiting for you"
The comment made you blush, so you restored to let your eyes wander between the various machines inside the arcade.
"Is there any game you wanna play first?"
"There's this new one I tried last week and I thought that it really suited noona"
He was right, it was totally your style. You're not sure how many rounds you played before noticing how Yujin was probably getting tired of it. After that, you kept going at various games, until you finished all the ones with a two player mode.
"What do we do now?"
"We can still try new games. I'm okay with just watching noona play"
There he went again, making you feel all funny in the stomach. Though, you're still trying to understand if it's just his personality or he's actually flirting.
Soon enough, you found another machine you liked. Yujin stood beside you, giving you encouraging words and celebrating with you whenever you won.
But at some point something started to bother him.
He had already noticed the group of guys that always seemed to choose a machine near yours. At first he hoped in a coincidence, but then he noticed a pattern and the way they became more and more obvious about the way they were looking at you.
It came to a point where he couldn't pretend not knowing anymore.
You had just won another round when Yujin placed his hand on your back, moving so that his frame covered yours from unwanted eyes, hugging you from behind and placing his head on your shoulder.
"I don't like the way they were looking at you"
Finally, you spotted the group, now angry at Yujin.
You decided to pretend this wasn't affecting you to push the narrative that you were taken to those guys. But it was hard, because this was heavily affecting you. The press of his warm body against yours, his hands placed so softly on your tummy, the tickle of his hair and his breath against your neck and, most of all, the erratic beating of his heart against your back, signaling that this was affecting him too.
When they finally left, he let go, both of you taking a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
The rest of your hang out could be described as 'awkwardly cute'. The whole ordeal left you two stuttering flustered messes. Every time you locked eyes or your bodies touched, it was like something prohibited happened, yet, it felt good.
Only when you exited the arcade the tension eased and you were back to your normal selves as you walked to the bus stop.
"You're really a gentleman, Yujinie"
He gave you a questioning look.
"You always make sure to walk on the outer part on the sidewalk, you even switch sides when we turn"
He tried to play it off as something he did naturally, but really he saw a video saying this is what a real man do and that women find it attractive. So he payed close attention to it, because he wanted you to look at him as a man, on the same level as the older ones you dated, not just your dongsaeng — though, he wasn't going to stop calling you 'noona'.
The bus ride was quite, both too tired after an afternoon full of fun and heart flutters. And you must've been really tired. Yujin realized it when he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder, turning to find your head resting on him as you slept. His heart skipped a beat for the nth time that day. He didn't want to be creepy and stare at you, but the urge to do so was stronger. It's not his fault you were just so mesmerizing.
"Noona, we're almost arrived"
You didn't flinch, your sleep too deep. That when a thought crossed Yujin's mind.
"Noona, I like you"
Then he pressed a small kiss on your hair. Wow, he suddenly felt so much lighter after saying this out loud, even if you couldn't hear him.
In the end, when you reached your stop, Yujin basically had to drag you out as you followed with heavy steps, still waking up.
"Thank you for today, it was so much fun. Are you also free next weekend?"
"Woonhak asked me to hang out... but I'll just tell him I can't"
"You shouldn't ditch your friends for me"
"It's okay, I like going out with noona better. Then, I'll see you in a week"
"Yes. Then we'll see each other again next week"
That's probably when he should have started walking away, but he didn't feel like it and you didn't want him to.
"I-" "Actually-"
You both chuckled, saying the other should go first, until he forced you to speak.
"Is it too much to ask you to come inside? Yunah is out tonight, so we could watch a movie, if you want"
"I'd love to. My parents are on a trip and my brother is staying at a friend's house, so I'd be home alone. I'd much rather be with you"
You tried suppressing the biggest smile that was forming on your face, mostly failing.
"Then, should we go in?"
When Yunah came back home that night, she found the two of you sleeping in a mess. The TV was still on, with Netflix asking if you were still watching. Blankets and pillows had popcorn all over after you accidentally threw them because of a jumpscare. Which was the same reason why Yujin was hugging you and your face was pressed into his shoulder, though his grip was lighter now that he was unconscious.
"Ah, what do I have to do with these two idiots in love?"
It was comfortable to be with him and the more time you spent together the more he showed his silly side, making you laugh like no one else ever did. And oh, how much did Yujin love to see your smile, especially when it was because of him.
There was a counter side to this, though. Focusing on his cute and silly side, you forgot how handsome he is, which actually worked in his favor. By now Yujin understood the effect he could have on you and he didn't waste one occasion to abuse it. Whether it was leaning too close, making your hands bursh, fixing your hair, cleaning a spot on your face or doing gentleman acts, he always used every excuse to make you blush and avoid eye contact. Yeah, he loved making you flustered.
You didn't actually realize how much you liked all of this until Yunah reminded you of your bet while she pointed out how much you were smiling just from texting him.
What you did right afterwards was dumb and you still regret it.
Until then, you considered dating older guys kind of your trade mark. Having it questioned made the perception you had of yourself tremble. It wasn't like Yujin wasn't a good option, but you really never, ever considered dating a younger guy.
So you got scared. And fear can make us dumb.
That's why you found yourself one night sitting on the sidewalk, dolled up for the older guy that in the five minutes you spent to go to the bathroom found himself another entertainment.
Quickly, you opened your phone and started a call. You were taken aback when a male voice rang from the other side. In the rush, you must have gotten Yunah and Yujin mixed up.
"Noona... are you there?"
Right, you still haven't spoken.
"Ah, yes. Sorry, you must've been sleeping"
"No, I just finished studying. Is everything okay? You sound sad"
It took you a moment to answer. You pondered your options, then decided that it couldn't get worse.
"Would you... meet up with me? I understand if it's too late"
"No, it's not a problem, send me your location"
Yujin rushed to get to you, worry written all over his face. He crouched down in front of you, cradling your face to make you look at him with teary eyes.
"What happened?"
"I had a date, but he went away with another girl"
Then, the tears couldn't be stopped. Yujin was quick to hug you, pressing your face to his chest as he caressed your hair, in an attempt to shoot you.
"He's an idiot. How could someone look at anyone else when they have you? He didn't deserve you"
Finally the tears calmed down enough for you to speak.
"I'm sorry, Yujinie. I shouldn't make you to take care of me"
"Don't be. I want to take care of you. Just because you're older, doesn't mean you have to be always strong with me"
You stared up at him with wide eyes. This was something you never considered. In your vision of things, the older person in a relationship had to be the protective one, a rock for a the younger to lean on. But who said, you couldn't lean on someone younger at times.
"Noona... I really like you! I know I'm younger, but I can be the man for you! Let me show you by being your boyfriend. I promise I won't let you down!"
The sincerity in his eyes and words was clear. It made you smile.
"I like you too, Yujin. I'd be honored to be your girlfriend"
"Really!?"
"Yes"
The two of you giggled for some seconds, taking in what you just said. Then, seeing a taxi arriving, you proposed to stop it. But before you could stand up, Yujin leaned in to peck your lips. It was quick and innocent, but it left you in a flustered, shocked mess. You realized the yellow car had stopped only when he offered you his hand to get up.
Once sitted inside, you found out he was in the same state as you, his own action backfiring on him. Though, the ride to your apartment wasn't uncomfortable, even if silent. When you arrived, he asked the driver to wait for him as he walked you to the gate.
"Then, goodnight, boyfriend"
"Goodnight, girlfriend. Dream of me"
Before he could be caught blushing again, he rushed inside the vehicle, tripping in the short walk, making you giggle. As he went away, you kept waving at each other through the window.
"Boyfriend, uh?"
Yunah's voice startled you. She was behind you, coming home from a late night walk with Louis.
"Ah, yes"
"Then that's two baths to Louis"
"What!? The bet was for one!"
"Yeah, but it was for a crush, not a boyfriend, that must cost more"
You were screwed. But maybe... you could have made it into two dates with Yujin. He told you Terry was also hard to wash, so he must've known some tricks.
"Why are you smiling so dumbly?"
"What?"
"You're thinking of your little boyfriend, aren't you? You're so in love!"
"Stop it!"
Maybe giving Louis a bath might be less hellish than the teasing your friends are gonna reserve you.
BONUS SCENE
"So then he started running to the first base and- Yujin, are you listening?"
Woonhak stopped his narration of the latest baseball game to nudge his friend, whose eyes were focused on you by his side.
"I don't think so, he's too immersed in his girlfriend"
With that sentence alone, Yunah started what you've been trying to avoid: your friends' endless teasing.
"Girlfriend?! What happened to miss 'I don't date younger guys. Never'"
"So you can like someone younger! Then what's what made you reject me?"
"Ah, you were so confident when you made that bet and now look at you"
All the comments that your friends threw at you sent you into panic mode, torn between the undeniable truth of what your past self said and wanting to make them shut up.
Yujin noticed, of course. Suddenly, he hugged you as if protecting you from the rest.
"Leave my girl alone"
My girl
Yeah, your brain went into short circuit, because Yujin just called you his girl, in front of all your friends and while holding you firmly against him at that. You just stared up at him, looking at him like a Disney princess does to her charming prince.
That why you didn't realize your friends stopped teasing.
"I think you broke her"
They finally left the two out of the spotlight, acting disgusted by how in love the two of you were. Meanwhile Yujin just hugged you closer, basking in your little bubble.
little things zb1 maknae line do as your boyfriend
notes: gn reader (no pronouns used), got a ton of inspo from this fic by @luvh4nji !! first reaction for zb1 :)), ricky calls reader beautiful, i am a red haired gyuv enthusiast my apologies, mentions of insecure yujin, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes <33 title from zb1 - crush
SHEN RICKY always gives you little gifts.
“i got you something.”
“ricky,” you chuckle softly as you shake your head. your lips quirk into a smile as you set your phone aside, turning to face him. “you didn’t need to.”
“but i wanted to.” he shrugs nonchalantly. “i always want to.”
ricky twirls the stem between his finger as he holds it out for you to admire. you softly gasp at the sight, admiring the hues of pink and white and decorating the flower petals. “it’s beautiful!”
“here,” his touch is feather-light as he reaches up, carefully brushing stray strands of hair away from your face. butterflies swarm throughout your stomach and shivers race down your spine at the feeling. “let me.”
ricky smiles sheepishly as he delicately tucks the flower behind your ear, careful not to let any petals fall. you can faintly smell the sweetness radiating from it. you smile brightly as you tilt your head to the side to pose. “how do i look?”
stepping forwards, he cups your face between his hands. ricky leans in, pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek. they feel soft against your skin - tinted a soft shade of baby pink and routinely coated in strawberry chap stick. he smiles when he pulls away, a light flush quickly spreading across his skin. “beautiful.”
KIM GYUVIN is always holding your hand.
amidst the bustling crowd, you peek over the tops of heads and behind shoulders as you search for gyuvin throughout the crowd. wires stretch across the ceiling like vines. you only catch glimpses of muted conversations when staff members pass you by.
it only takes a small gap in the crowd before you recognize him, his red hair a sharp contrast to the black boxes behind him. “gyuvin!”
his eyes widen. he watches you in shock for a moment before he immediately begins rushing towards you. “you’re here,” gyuvin whispers shakily. his grip tightens around your waist as he leans in, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.
“i’m here,” you chuckle. you rub your hands against his back in an attempt to soothe him, careful not to wrinkle the thin fabric of his stage outfit. gyuvin’s hands cup your face when he pulls away, gently trailing along your jawline. a deep flush rises to his cheeks despite the thin layer of foundation covering his face.
“there’s so much i want to show you.” gyuvin smiles brightly. his large hands envelop your own, intertwining your fingers together with ease. shivers race down your spine when his thumb casually brushes against your knuckles. he squeezes your hand once. “just follow me.”
PARK GUNWOOK is clingy.
the sunset casts a golden glow across the train car, illuminating the horizon in the distance. its wheels scrape against the rails, creating a quiet hum that drones on for hours. you turn to look out the window. flashes of trees and seemingly never ending hills eventually give way to acres of flat fields, filled with crops ready for harvest.
you startle slightly when gunwook’s head falls against your shoulder; stray strands of his hair tickle against the bare skin of your neck. he all but slumps his body against yours, letting a deep sigh escape him. your bodies mold together like puzzle pieces.
“is everything okay?” you whisper. you reach upwards to carefully push a strand of hair away from gunwook’s eyes. he leans into your touch slightly, smiling softly when you allow him to lean his cheek against your palm.
“yeah,” he mumbles in response. his voice is low and raspy. the telltale signs of sleep slip into his words. gunwook looks up at you with rosy cheeks and tired eyes full of love and admiration. it’s enough to make your heartbeat a little bit faster and butterflies swarm throughout your stomach. “just want you.”
HAN YUJIN tells you everything.
“yujin,” you whisper. he nervously chews on his bottom lip, anxiously staring up at the continuous spin of your ceiling fan. moonlight illuminates your bedroom, painting the walls silver. “what’s on your mind?”
yujin curls into your side, abandoning any embarrassment in the night. his legs entangle with your own beneath your blankets. “i’ve been thinking,” he whispers, so quiet that you almost miss the words entirely beneath the hum of the air conditioner. “about performing. about the concerts.”
“are you nervous?” he nods, tucking his face into the comforter. “you’re an incredible performer. all the work you’ve done to improve is showing, even if you don’t think it is. you’ll be amazing out there - i know you’ll be. and if you need any help, i’m here. and so are the members.”
carefully, you begin to card your fingers through his hair. yujin sighs softly in response, nuzzling his head even further into your pillows. you can all but feel him relax against your touch. “how are you feeling now?”
“better,” he says, muffled against the fabric. twisting to face you, yujin sleepily smiles up at you. “thank you.”
you smile softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against his temple. he takes a deep breath in response, finally allowing his eyes to flutter closed. “sweet dreams, jinnie.”
if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my zb1 masterlist <33
➙ random daily stories you’ve posted of your best friend yujin
pairing: han yujin x gn!reader
genre: crack, some fluff too lol
warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended, reader jokingly and openly wanting hanbin
a/n: happy belated yujin, I know his bday was a few days ago and he’s officially 18 (they grow up so fast) but I thought I’d do a little something for my yujin lovers out there, enjoy ^~^
male reader x kim minju (ex-iz*one) ft yujin, gaeul and rei of Ive
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6
words: 9.15k - a lot of set-up in here for future parts, sorry
Blasé - indifferent
It’s a far cry from elegance—the way you’re both scooping up pieces of clothing from the ground.
"Trousers?" You’re scanning wall to wall, behind stools and tables until your eyes rest on the woman across the room. "Where did they go?"
Minju's got her hands at her waist, fitting her own trousers. “Over there.” She simply tilts her head in a direction of vague guidance.
Aside from the distant voice from the flickering television in the corner, showing scenes of the news, and the soft sounds of jazz music, there's an uneasy amount of silence for a bar in the mid-afternoon. Another knock at the door—Wonyoung must be getting impatient. No surprise.
You're pulling on your trousers as Minju slides her arms into her blazer, settling it onto her shoulders. As she brushes down her clothes, fixes her hair and steps over to her shoes, she has shifted back into the unassuming young woman you first set your eyes on. Not a trace of the indecency remains. Not even a slight indication that, despite the attempt she made to clean up with a few napkins, there's likely still your cum running from her cunt.
She has spent the past couple of minutes explaining how this will go—how you're going to sit back at the bar and Minju is going to re-open as if nothing happened. She didn't tell you exactly how she plans to deal with the Wonyoung problem, but, ‘just let me handle it’ is somehow enough for you.
You sit where it all started, joining your drink at the bar. The last remnants greet you in a sorry state of neglect. You do what you can to straighten up, a hand through your hair, a smoothing down of the wrinkles in your shirt, and a tug on the sleeves to straighten the cuffs. It is when you start to think you've got yourself somewhat under control that you realise just how bad you must look. There’s the undeniable sign that you can’t ignore—that rising tide of musk and sweat from your body and the discomfort it brings.
Another loud rattle of the door against the frame, vibrating across the hinges and into the metal fixings. A call of your name, but it's not quite how you think it should sound.
Minju flicks a series of locks on the door; three separate bolts—heavy-duty clunking metal. Finally, she drops the latch and unlocks the main lock. She has her hand on the handle of the door and she hesitates, looking over her shoulder to check on you once again. One last look.
Just smile.
She opens the door, standing in the opening, between you and the woman outside.
"Wonyo—" Minju begins. "Sorry, who are you?"
You twist in your seat and watch the scene unfold. You expect anger, an outpouring of venom from a woman so full of ego, arrogance, vanity, and maybe even jealousy.
Reality is far from the expectation.
The woman asks Minju if you're here, and while you're still racking your mind to work out who she is, Minju lets her in and, in a way, you're grateful for seeing her walk into the room and folding her umbrella.
"Gaeul?"
"Finally, I was a minute away from leaving. What were you—" She looks around the room, at the out-of-place stools, and then at you. She scrunches her nose and sniffs, confirming her suspicions through the scent of sex. "Oh."
She turns her eyes to Minju. Gaeul lingers, eyes fixed on the bartender's face.
"We... we were talking." Minju chuckles in amusement.
"With the door locked?" Gaeul is easy to read, even across the room, and you can see the genuine concern on her face. You hear it in her voice too. Suddenly, even being here feels wrong. Discomforting is the silence. Unnerving is the smile that stretches on Minju's face—a much prouder look than you're giving.
"Relax darling, we were just talking, and then…" Minju dismisses and Gaeul rolls her eyes.
"No, no. Please. Don't say another word," Gaeul waves her hands in front of her, a gesture of surrender. "I don't want to know the details."
"You sure you don't want to hear about how he just—?"
"No. Just no." Gaeul turns from the grinning woman and heads to you.
She struts in that same determined way she always does. Steady are her paces. Bag over her shoulder, short hair half-tied up and black jeans hugging her legs. As usual, she dons the casual grace that suits her so well.
“Bro, what the hell happened?”
“You seriously don’t know?” you answer the question with a question.
“You got called away. Wonyoung said she had somewhere to be and the rest of us were left waiting, but nothing ever happened. Then classes end and Wonyoung finally just tells me I could find you here.”
“I’m in a shit-storm, Gaeul.” You say, resigned to your seat.
Figuratively, of course. Though Gaeul looks like she’s been in one herself as she throws her rain-drenched raincoat over a stool. The one outside probably isn’t bad enough to require a name, but you know the one that you’re facing all too well. Storm Wonyoung.
You recount the abridged version for her. Of course, the details of you and Wonyoung and your benefits need little introduction. As for the rest, it’s difficult to explain the parts you still don’t understand, like how this all comes down and you and you alone. It takes two to fuck.
"You can't just hide in here from it all."
You laugh a little and say, "not hiding." An obvious lie, and Gaeul gives you a forced smile that says she's not convinced.
"You had us worried."
“Even Wonyoung?” you ask; it’s a test more than a question. You know the answer. You know that she doesn’t give a shit, but you want to see if Gaeul tries to sell the lie.
"Ha! That would be a first." Minju mocks with a scoff. She walks back to where you first found her, behind the bar, and she's still pulling and tugging at her shirt to get the fit back how she likes it.
"I’m sure she does," Gaeul says, with little confidence in her words. She sits herself down next to you and drops her bag off her shoulder and onto the bar.
"You’re still trying to convince yourself," Minju mutters with a shake of her head. "She really has you all around her little finger."
Gaeul is trying her best to ignore the interruptions. "Wony and Yujin—they can fix this."
"Yujin, huh? Now that's a new name." Minju interjects yet again, looking at you with eyes sharp enough to cut. She has her back to the shelf of alcohol, her arms folded under her chest. The more you think about it—the more the pieces seem to fall into place—the clearer it becomes that Yujin is the best friend who replaced Minju.
You scratch your ear. What a mess.
"Gaeul, there's no way the school let me back in."
"You don't know that."
Minju steps forward, a little closer. Her tongue dances across her lips as she readies herself to speak. "Oh, you think Wonyoung is going to get daddy's money and pay your way out of this mess? What's she going to tell her father? Hey daddy, please can you bribe the school to help this guy who's been fucking your princess silly? Seriously? She’s probably the one who got you kicked out in the first place."
That same laughter. That same mocking, belittling attitude that Minju had toward the idea of Wonyoung earlier. As if Minju sees nothing but weakness. Sure, Wonyoung has her fair share of faults, and sometimes she comes off too entitled, but right now, in this situation, her heart is actually in the right place. Or that's at least what Gaeul is saying.
“She would never do that! Wonyoung takes care of her friends and I’m sure she…” Gaeul gives up on her argument as Minju continues to laugh in the face of it.
Minju holds one elbow in the palm of the other hand and places her index finger on her cheek. She flicks it over to Gaeul and points. “Where are my manners? Drink?”
"Coffee, I guess."
"Come on, we're in a bar, let me pour you a—"
"No." Gaeul snaps. "All that stuff does is tear lives apart." An unexpected sternness in her tone—not one you’re accustomed to. There's a hardness that washes over her features—even her hair seems to have stood up a bit on end.
"Gaeul, it's just a drink—"
"That's how it starts and before you know it—" The door opens and a couple of men walk in, silencing her. They look to choose their seats and Gaeul seems to shrink into her stool.
"Alright. Coffee it is," Minju says before shifting her focus to you. "Anyway, Yujin—you fucking her too?"
"No." It's not a lie. Close call? Sure. Want to? Of course. Fucking her? No.
With Minju it just seems like if you give her any opportunity to fan the flames and she’s there. She’s the type to see you caught in a storm and perform a rain dance.
She laughs. She knows. It’s written on your face. "Of course not. Maybe she will let you one day." Minju laughs again and turns to pour out a coffee from the machine on the back of the bar.
Gaeul leans in close, making sure Minju can't hear you over the sounds of the coffee machine whirring to life. She whispers, "bro, what’s wrong with this girl? And how does she know Wonyoung?"
"High school or something. They go back. Way back."
Minju approaches you, drink in hand, and without a word, places the coffee in front of Gaeul. Her expression speaks a hundred mocking words, and she shows little remorse for how she only seems to have stirred the pot further. Her earlier words ring in your ears—how you should be more selfish and that there's more to life than Wonyoung and Yujin.
But here's the hitch.
The problem.
You can't shake the feeling that you really like those girls. No matter how complex their games get or how hard they play with your emotions. There's some innate charm about the two of them; a kind of charisma that not only attracts but holds. No matter how impossible their demands are, you keep on wanting more.
You're attracted to their sheer arrogance. Drawn by the magnetism of their utter assurance. Entranced at the depth and certainty of their convictions. And if Minju could read your thoughts right now, she would tell you just how stupid you sound.
As Minju walks away and towards her new patrons, sitting at the other end of the bar, you can only admire her.
Not just physically, but who she is. She doesn't care what other people think. She lives for herself.
"Bro, you gonna keep staring her down like that or you gonna talk to me?"
"Gaeul, I have to ask: why are you here?"
"To save you from doing something stupid. Though I might be too late." Gaeul throws a side-eye down the bar to Minju while she takes a drink.
"Don't take it out on her." You shrug. "She—"
"Hey, I get it, she's hot," Gaeul rests her cup back on the bar and brushes a hair away from her cheek and back behind her ear. "I could tell when I walked in. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together, but what I don’t understand is you. Do you just enjoy being used by anyone with a nice body?" Gaeul put her hand up between you, palm showing, stopping you from replying. “Actually, don't answer that. What I'm saying is, don't you want more?”
Gaeul takes another drink from her coffee, holding you in suspense. The truth is that you don't really have an answer and you're not in any state of mind right now to make one.
"Look, all I'm saying is that we girls talk. About love and relationships and sex and well... Just stop being so naïve, will you? If you get caught up playing the game, you're the one that's going to end up played." She picks the cup up again, cradling the warm mug between her fingers, wrapping her slender digits around it, squeezing gently. A long inhale follows as the aroma rises, the scent strong and enticing.
"I didn't ask for any of this." It's a defence so weak that you don't even support yourself. It's a hard denial of the fact that you have been used. Wonyoung has had you under her thumb from the start. And maybe you have gotten a little too comfortable under there.
"Listen, stop thinking with your cock for one day, bro. Tomorrow morning, go pick Yujin up from her house and take her out to get a dress for the party." She's talking fast, laying out a plan you weren't prepared for.
"She asked you earlier, remember, and don't worry, I already picked out a few that I know she will like. I'll text you the photos and what stores they're in. And for the love of god, just enjoy her company without trying to cum on her."
You shouldn’t feel insulted by that, but you do. These girls really share everything.
Gaeul continues her instructions, "and then you turn up at the party on time, take the opportunity to forget everything that's happened and have a fun evening with Yujin, okay?"
It sounds so logical that it's impossible not to follow—even if it's rarely ever that simple. You agree. A silent nod, but enough to assure her that her words have reached you.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"Yes?"
Gaeul places the coffee mug back down on the table, pushes it away, and turns to face you. "Please make sure you dress nice, too. None of this"—she motions to your clothes—"can make an appearance. Seriously.” She smiles to herself as she stands up from the stool.
"Did I hear something about a party?" Minju returns with a renewed smile.
Gaeul rolls her eyes and gives you a slight shake of her head. Her way of letting you know that she has already seen enough of the new addition to your life.
"I think I've spent enough time here already. You should probably get home, too.”
You glance toward your drink, and Gaeul rolls her eyes. She laid out the recipe to success so simply and left you in charge of your future.
She offers Minju no quarter, merely walking toward the door she came through without a word. And she gets none in return, Minju quickly forgetting she was ever here to spoil your fun.
Minju repeats her earlier question. "So, party? Tomorrow? Are you talking about Sakura's?" The name is somewhat familiar. The truth is that you don't know for certain whose party it is, or why it was happening, just a time and a place, but as Minju confirms the details with you, they match up. Not that you have ever met this girl in question, it's just another friend of Wonyoung's.
"I didn't plan to go, but if you're my chaperone, then I could be convinced." Minju's got a glint in her eye and a flirtatious lilt in her tone—the kind a girl pulls out when they're trying to tempt you into doing exactly what you know you shouldn't.
Gaeul told you just minutes ago to stop thinking with your cock and it’s easier said than done as Minju stares down at you with those eyes that look oh-so-pretty and the desire floods into you once again.
Still, there's some semblance of resistance in you. "It's not a good idea, for more reasons than I can even explain right now."
She stares at you in silence, smiling as she tries to understand, but her hands reach across and her slender fingers stretch over the top of yours. Fingers brushing over your knuckles and her thumb tucking under your palm.
"Don't ruin the fun," she replies. That spark. Flash. That temptation for more is so hard to resist. Gaeul’s words melt away.
"It's just that—"
"Think about the message it will send: I'll wear my sexiest dress and turn up arm-in-arm with you and Wonyoung will never know how close you were to being broken when you turned up here." It’s probably the worst message you could send, but it does sound exciting.
A momentary smile—lost to a sigh at the thought. "That's only going to stir up more trouble, Minju."
"All's fair in love and war. You ever heard of that? Your move.." She smiles at you—the sly, playful smile of someone who's in complete control, and is too willing to show it. Her hand tightens on yours and her eyes are unrelenting, and despite every sensible part of you warning yourself of her dangers, there's a spark that keeps growing inside that draws you back in.
"Are you really getting all proverbial with me right now?" You try to avoid giving her the answer she wants, but the girl is too smart to let you do that.
"Are you really avoiding giving me an answer? Well, it's too late now. We're going. You can come by and pick me up at seven?"
"Seven," you repeat. A resigned affirmation. "Here?"
"Not here, stupid. My apartment. I put my address in your phone notes."
"My phone?" You pat at your pockets, not feeling it anywhere.
"Here." She pulls it from her back pocket and throws you a gentle wink. "Don't forget about me now."
***
Luckily, it seems that news of your expulsion is still under wraps for now. Not only has no one from the class sent you a text about it, being their usual prying selves, but if the news had gone beyond the school and someone like Yujin's father had found out, he wouldn't have let you anywhere near his daughter.
Actually, everything today just feels so... normal. Even Yujin has avoided mentioning it while you have been out with her.
You're still out now, sitting on one of those chairs outside the changing rooms. You know the ones—placed there for a very specific set of people. The ones for the disgruntled boyfriends who hate this sort of thing and all it entails. With their various bags by their side full of clothes, jewellery and shoes.
That's a lot of guys anyway, but you—
"What do you think?" Yujin calls out as she pulls back the curtain and steps out into the hallway. "It looks nice, right?"
—aren't in their ranks today. You appreciate this ritual for what it is. There is no exasperation. No annoyance. Nothing but the simple delight of watching a beautiful woman twirl in front of you before her reflection.
"Looks great, Yujin," you answer with an honest smile.
She gives you another twirl, arms out, her slim and toned legs shown by the dress's thigh-length cut, her arms bare and the rest of her dress is tight fitting across her flat stomach and rounding her breasts. She's playing gently with the strap on her shoulder, adjusting it against her skin. With another turn and twist, the backless nature of the dress catches your eye.
"You say that about every dress I try."
"Well, they're all gorgeous. It's hard for me to pick one."
Her laughter is sweet and musical, and it hits your heart with a dull thumping, like a heavy drum being struck inside your chest. "You're not as much help as I hoped. What do you really think?"
Yujin drops a hand to her hip, planting it there and posing with a soft pout on her lips. She has her hair held back into a ponytail. "Tell me, am I sexy?" She punctuates the question with a shake of her hips. "Pretty? Cute? Tell me, do I look good enough to eat?"
"Eat?"
Yujin does that thing she always does; where when she finishes laughing after teasing you and she bites her tongue and it pokes through her lips. She drags the curtain back across, obscuring your view again, and you're left with nothing but the plain white corridor. That and the sounds of her carefully undressing on the other side of the draped fabric. You can imagine how she undid the zipper. How it opens from her lower back. The sound the fabric will make as it slides over her naked curves—
Fuck. Stop. Don't fantasise now. Not here.
You rock your head back, resting it against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. The white tiles aren't exactly exciting, but they are preferable to imagining anything Yujin is or isn't currently wearing.
"Can you believe it?" Yujin calls from behind the curtain, wrangling your attention back. "Nine whole days. No warning at all."
"Did I miss something?"
"My dad. He's gone for nine whole days this time. Only one day after momma has gone to visit my aunt. The house is weird without them. It's just me and the staff. It's cold and quiet. You should come over more." It's all so nonchalant for her to ask that. No mention of what happened the last time you were in her house. How you—
Yujin pulls the curtain and steps out. A new dress. It's hard to look away and even harder to look her in the eyes. This is an elegant red one, an alluring warm hue. The dress is cut high up on the thigh, close enough to the line of the panties you're actively not thinking about. Tight on her waist and a neckline that follows the collarbone and frames her neck and shoulders in soft fabric.
"Well?"
"Yes." It's the only word that comes to mind. She's the most beautiful thing. Your favourite image. She is like a perfect portrait, hung there just for your view.
"Yes what?" she asks.
"Yes to this dress. This is the one."
She pulls a look. One you're not exactly sure how to read. "And about coming over?"
"Um..." The old you would have leapt at the chance. Fuck, the current you wants to too, but you still haven't addressed the elephant in the room.
"What's going on with you?" Yujin quizzes. She knows you haven't been your usual self the whole day. Everything weighing on your mind, including a future where you quite literally have no idea what tomorrow will bring. You can feel it—have felt it—holding you back.
"Look..." You run a hand through your hair. "The school thing has been playing on my mind." It's half the truth.
"Is that it? It's only school."
"Yujin. It's my life. I don't have money or assurances or—"
"You have me." Yujin steps forward, looking down at you in your seat, smiling. "Right?"
You look at her all confused. How do you reply to that? What does she even mean by that?
"I've got your back, okay? Always," Yujin assures, her smile so calming and comforting and yet, her words leave something to be desired. "Trust me."
Yujin raises a delicate hand toward your cheek, hovering millimetres from touching, just close enough for you to feel her heat and her draw. For an agonising second, all is silent as the air hangs tense. Then the touch. The smoothness of fingers that have never worked a day in their life against your skin.
"I already called the school. Told them Daddy would cut his funding if they didn't brush it under the rug." It's all so easy for her. How casually she flaunts her money and influence. But as the fingers trace the edge of your jaw, graze across your cheeks and come to rest their pad beneath your chin, tilting your head upward and casting your vision toward the young woman's bright smile, you can’t help but pin your hopes on her.
There's this moment you're stuck in, staring at her smile and wishing you could kiss it. Her fingertips threaten to draw you in but just as you let them, she slips them off you and pulls herself back. "But—" Yujin says with a wink, "you owe me."
She takes three steps back, slipping back into the cubby of a changing room across from you.
Yujin turns to the mirror, admiring the dress, her fingers running flat against her stomach. Her arms trail up along her side and around, stroking and smoothing down the fabric. Her shoulders shift, tugging on the fabric and perfecting the fit as she always does. "You're right. This is the one. You have good taste."
Yujin reaches her hands behind her back, fingers reaching her upper back and to the fabric of the dress. You watch, breathing steadily, as her fingertips begin to work the zipper, sliding it downward ever-so-slowly, exposing an inch of skin, then another, and another…
She tilts her head and gives her hair a subtle shake, exposing the nape of her slender neck. With a gentle roll of her shoulders, the dress falls loose, slipping from the sharpness of her shoulders, and gathering up on her elbow and waist. Her back is bare to you, and when you can drag your eyes to the mirror, a lot more too. That's when you catch her gaze, looking back in the mirror, watching the effect she has as the dress falls further, fully from her arms and waist to the floor.
Now only her underwear hugs her hips, the soft lace of her panties a little sheer, framing her perfectly round ass. Her eyes are fixated on your own, her face almost twisted, so sadistically joyous, revelling in the sight of your torture. Yujin says nothing—how could she say a word to ruin this tension? A laugh slips through her lips, and then she reaches behind her for the curtain. Drawing an end to the act as she conceals herself behind the fabric.
“Take this," she calls through the curtain and you're still trying to settle back into reality when out pops her hand, the dress draped over it. "You still have my card, right? You can go pay."
You take the dress, not knowing how to reply.
Yujin continues, "meet you by the door."
***
"Did you two just—?"
"She's in the changing room, Rei. At the store."
"Oh." Rei sounds out of breath and fatigued, her words come heavy, laced with pants. "Fuck it. You can help me. You're the only person who answered."
"What's wrong Rei?" You're talking with your eyes fixed across the room, waiting to see Yujin emerge.
"What's the best excuse to get out of a guy's apartment?" Rei is hushed a little now.
"Wait. Are you in there right now?"
"In the bathroom, he can't hear me right now, but yeah. I need an out. This guy was texting me about how well he was going to fuck me and he blew in like a minute." There is some disgust in her tone, a clear sense of disillusion. "Dude ended up just watching me get off. Prick."
Trying to keep it on topic, and trying to not imagine Rei masturbating, you say, "family emergency is always a good one. Hang up. Walk back into the bedroom. Then I'll call you pretending to be your uncle."
"A sexy uncle or a creepy uncle?"
"Your choice?"
"I'd say you're more of a sexy uncle."
You try not to indulge her. "Rei. Go."
"Right."
She hangs up. And you give it a minute, counting back from sixty. You call her, and when she answers, you turn up your volume, which grabs the attention of a few people in the store. "Rei! Rei! Where are you?"
"Uncle? What's wrong? Calm down!" She even sounds slightly convincing.
"Your aunt. There's been an accident. You need to hurry." You're quieter now, and the eyes around you go back to whatever they were doing.
"Yes uncle. Right away! I'm on my way now." Then you barely hear her ad she's speaking to the mystery man in the room with her. "Sorry, I have to go. It's my uncle. My auntie... she..."
Wow. She even sounds so genuinely upset. There's probably even a fake tear in there somewhere. There's some more muffled conversation you can't make out, likely Rei's dropped the phone while she dresses. You can imagine it, even if you couldn't make out what's going on in the background. She's feigning a panic, apologising to the guy, quickly pulling on her panties while he's laid there all confused. She's grabbing a shirt, jeans, a coat, and then rushing out the door. All the while maintaining her worry.
"Uncle?" she calls down the phone after some sounds of commotion. "I'm on my way now." There's the sound of a door slamming in the background.
"Rei? You good?" you ask.
"I'm out now. Thank you. Ugh. At least one guy didn't let me down today. Why is it so hard to just get a good fuck?" She lets out the words with a sigh, her tone is annoyed, and the sound in the background has changed. Her steps. The outdoors. The sound of cars.
"Take it as a compliment. Maybe you're just too hot for him."
She laughs a little, "yeah or my pussy is too good. Some people aren't prepared for what my pussy can do." She laughs again, louder this time and it brings a chuckle from yourself.
"Got to go now, Rei. Text me when you're home," you tell her.
"Wait! Before you go, what are you doing in say... an hour?"
"You what now?"
"Come on." She whines in that exaggerated way she can't quite contain. "If you're not busy then..." She trails off and silence follows.
You're not even sure what to think. Not sure what to say. "Rei..."
"Just kidding. Thanks again." She speaks in a hurry and hangs up the phone quickly too, before you can even say goodbye. You bring the phone in front of you, to make sure the call ended. It did.
You look up from the screen just as Yujin appears across the store.
***
Yujin leads you through the mall as you trail just behind her, one arm draped in bags full of clothes worth more than triple the car you drove her here in.
"Trust me. If it's not in a cone, then it's just not right," Yujin insists. You're not sure how you've come down to arguing about the semantics of eating ice cream, but here you are.
"But what if it's in a glass and it has a wafer with it? It's the same taste. The same substance," you contend, trying to reason.
"That's a sundae and sundaes are a whole different thing altogether. Everyone knows that."
"Okay, so what's wrong with that, but in a plastic cup?"
"You mean in a disposable container with not much thought, nor flavour nor creativity?" She stops in place, turning to you and saying, "Ice cream is an experience." She raises her hand to her head, grabbing at it and feigning frustration.
"So, glass okay, cone okay, plastic cup, not okay? Even if it's the same ice cream in all three?"
"Exactly." That's her reasoning, for leading you all the way to the other side of the mall, to the place that puts ice cream in a cone, and not in a little tub.
You hold your tongue for a minute and follow. Waiting for that perfect moment to throw your next question out there. You're slipping through the crowds of people, cutting around groups as they browse and peruse the items on display at the front of each store, and occasionally avoiding the people mindlessly walking on their phones.
Yujin is looking ahead and she doesn't see it coming. Two kids running right across her path. You quickly reach for her arm and pull her out of the way just in time to avoid them running headlong into her.
"What are you—"
"Careful." You tilt your head towards the kids as they run across in front of you.
"Oh." Yujin flicks her gaze after them and turns it up at you, smiling. "My hero," she says whimsically, almost to the point you feel she's mocking you. Yujin lifts her arm under your grasp until she meets your hand with her own, and then interlocks her fingers into yours. She continues leading as if nothing at all has changed. You're following her again, past countless stores, your hand bound with her all along.
"So, Yujin, soft-serve or—"
"Don't even go there." Yujin laughs, turning to flash you a smile. She pulls on your hand to bring you to a stop. "Here we are."
"But, we didn't even discuss flavours..."
***
It's different, and not entirely comfortable. Usually, Yujin is buried in her phone, scrolling down her feed, flicking through stories or reading all those weird Instagram message requests she gets from her followers. Not this time. No, Yujin is sitting beside you in the passenger seat, her phone nowhere to be seen—enjoying life. Enjoying your company.
She still has her ice cream, in a cone just as she wanted, and she's sharing it with you as you drive. She reaches over between her licks to give you a taste.
It's not just that, it's how talkative she is—now more than ever. Never has she been so willing to discuss her family. She's just finished telling you all about her auntie and how her mother helped her set up a shop overseas, and how she’s visiting her right now. All this talk has led her to her father, who she talks about with much less fervour.
You will never forget the first time you met him; the imposing aura the man commands and his rigorous standards for everything. Her stories though? They seem more like myths.
"He ran a whole rival company into the ground. Pricing them out of deals, cutting shady deals himself. It was ruthless. But effective," Yujin says, pausing before she gives her ice cream another lick. "Hundreds of people lost their jobs; it was all on the news. I was young, so I didn't really understand. Mother tells me it changed him. He was away for a long time. I went years without really spending time with him."
"Yujin... I don't understand. He always seems so..."
"Nice?" Yujin completes the statement for you with a sarcastic laugh. "When he's home, he puts on the act. But when he's away, sometimes mother just wishes he would stay there." She's looking straight ahead now, focusing on the view out the front window as you dip off the highway.
"Can I ask about the scar, then?" It's a topic you're unsure about broaching, but it feels like the kind of chance that won't come again if you leave it.
"Scar? The one on his neck? He wouldn't even tell me or mother how he got it. Probably some ex-employee, or... an ex-lover." That's the one thing you knew about him. Yujin told you before about how he barely even hides his trysts from his wife and the damage it has caused.
"Sometimes I wish the entire company would just burn, and we would all be left with nothing. Have a normal life."
“A normal life isn’t any better, Yujin. Just a different shade of the same colour.”
There's a vulnerability to her now that always seemed so elusive. It's the softness of her tone and the almost timid smile that crosses her face when you look over. Then comes the quiet. The silence as she waits—waits for the world to answer all her unanswered questions. Waits for you to give the reassurance she needs, to know she's not alone.
With one hand still on the wheel, you reach the other over to her lap and find her hand.
"Don't." Yujin pushes back at first. But the harder she pushes, the tighter you squeeze and you let her know that you're going to be here. Her resistance crumbles and the fight subsides. And Yujin entwines her hand back with yours, locking her grip. "Thank you."
You turn the next corner and the molten orange afternoon sun burns ahead of you, threatening to fall below the horizon. Its warm rays burst with vivid colour.
"You never talk about your parents," Yujin asks with a soft curiosity.
"I don't know them. It's just my brother and me. Always has been. Always will be. He raised me," you explain so simply.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I sound so ungrateful now." This might be the first time you have ever heard Yujin utter that word—sorry. She holds a little tighter onto your hand, a returned reassuring squeeze to tell you she cares.
You keep hold of her as you turn into the gated grounds of her house, pull up into her long-cobbled driveway and pull the car over in front of the door.
"You should come in, stay with me until the party," she offers, refusing to let go of your hand.
"I have to go home, I have to wash and change and..." You trail off, omitting the fact you also have to go to Minju's place before the party. Her hold on your hand loosens as you speak but you hold a little tighter and tell her, "but, I'll see you soon."
The warmth of her touch departs your grip. Her face seems more understanding. "You will." She smiles and behind her, through the window, you spot her staff approaching to help with her bags. "Don't be late, okay?"
You give her a firm single nod as she steps out of the car.
***
You're about to buzz for the third time, but you pause to check your phone. You read the address over and over. You're at the right place. Maybe Minju made a typo? Maybe she did this on purpose just to waste your time? You press the buzzer a third and final time. It rings and rings until eventually the screen lights up.
Minju's face is pressed to the camera. "You're early."
"Actually, I'm right on time."
She turns away from the camera to check the clock on the wall. She leans a little to get a better look, bringing more of her into view. More accurately, bringing her bare shoulders into the camera shot. "Fuck," she says as she turns back to the camera. "Okay, look, just come up."
"But I have a taxi here waiting."
"So wave them away." The camera cuts off and the door buzzes open.
You roll your eyes and open the door, turning to the taxi driver and lazily waving a hand before you enter.
When you make it to Minju's apartment, a surprise awaits. You find the door unlocked—that's not the surprise. What's behind it is what is so unexpected. It looks like the aftermath of a localised apartment tornado.
There are shoes on the floor between strewn-out items of clothing as soon as you enter. There's a pair of her jeans right by the door and next to them a bra. You drag your eyes across the room and things don't get any better. You don't even want to know how that pair of tights ended up hung over her TV. Or why there's one of her bomber jackets hung from the fridge? And you especially don't want to question how the back of her sofa became her de facto underwear drawer—there are six or seven pairs laid out along it.
"Minju, it's me," you call out.
Minju pokes her head from her bathroom door. "Take a seat."
"And where in the world am I supposed to find one?" Even her dining chairs hold two folded stacks of work clothes.
Minju shrugs and scrunches her nose before ducking back into the bathroom. A moment of silence is followed by the blaring of a hair dryer. You navigate the floor like a minefield until you close in on the door she just slipped into. You check your watch, just twenty-five minutes until when you told the girls you would be there. Until when Yujin is expecting you—alone.
"Minju!" You call over the sounds of her drying her hair..
She speaks from within, her voice almost completely muffled. "What's wrong?" The sounds cut to quiet.
"Ten minutes until we need to—" Your voice is caught in your throat as Minju emerges from the bathroom. She's wearing nothing but the scent of her soap and the soft glisten of her damp skin. And, in true Minju style, she doesn't cover herself, she doesn't even shy away.
It’s all so… blasé.
"My eyes are up here." Her giggling is playful and sultry, luring you to her, and there is no place else for your gaze to drift. All you have to do is watch. Follow every drop and curve, every exquisite angle. The wet, raven hair hangs heavy down her back.
"You— we— clothes— where are your clothes?"
"Ummm..." Minju raises her hands in a form of shrug as she twists and scans around the room. "They're somewhere here. Probably." She keeps walking, across your path and into the kitchen. You watch her as she struts all the way to the far counter. She stands for a moment or two in a pose, her weight on one leg and the other propped on her tiptoe.
She finally turns back to you, half a bottle of wine in her hand and a half-cocked smile on her lips.
"Minju, I need to—"
"When was the last time you had a drink? Anything since yesterday afternoon?" she asks as she sweeps two glasses that don't even look clean from the countertop.
"No, nothing, but—"
"How about sex? Fucked anyone else since me?" she's asking so casually as she places the two glasses on the small part of her table that isn't covered in books, papers and boxes. She uncorks the wine bottle and begins to pour.
"What? No, but Minju... it's almost—" Your pointless protests are stilted by the young woman thrusting a glass of wine towards you, which you feel compelled to step closer and take. You stand across from her, glass in hand, staring at a face that's staring back.
"Me neither. Cheers," she says, tilting her glass toward you as an invitation. You clink them together and follow her lead, drinking the wine in one go. “That's the drink out of the way. Now how about a fuck?"
Minju places her glass onto the table and then she approaches, sauntering one foot in front of the other until her bare chest presses against yours.
"Time is ticking, I know." Her mouth is beside your ear, whispering into it and brushing the tip of her nose across your cheek. “But we can be quick."
She slides back a step, her hand taking hold of your collar, tugging you toward her as she takes another step. You pass by the table and you take the chance to place your glass alongside hers before she continues to draw you across the room.
You don't resist. Couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted. You step as she guides you. Follow as she leads until her hips rest against her kitchen counter. There you close the space, pressed together, looking into her dark eyes—tainted with want. There's something about Minju that makes everything simple. All the world, the noise, the games. All the expectations and pressures of normal life are foregone and stripped away, leaving only you, her, and basic instinct.
Your fingers cup her jaw, following the smoothness and warmth of her cheeks. It's a subtle action, a movement slow in motion yet so immediate in meaning. As you make your desires known, the sparkle that plays at the corners of her eyes draws your lips into hers.
You near a kiss until she turns away at the last moment, leaning herself forward and presenting her bare back to you. "What do you see?" she asks, looking back at you.
The soft curve of her spine paths her back all the way to the dimple at the base. You smooth the flat of your palm along her sides, touching gently across the silkiness of her warm, wet skin. Your lips come down, pressed to her shoulder and you brush the tip of your nose along her nape. And just like that, you're intoxicated by her. All sense and rationality abandoned. "You."
"Then fuck me." Her voice is sweetly coarse, a gentle whisper. You hear a faint noise escape, a gentle mewing of want.
And fuck you will. Your hands run over her, squeezing gently as you lower. All the while she presses and writhes herself against you, rubbing and stirring at your building lust, toying it further and further. Minju bends over more, backing herself against you until you're made to take a step back. She keeps her hands against the wood as she lowers her head further and slightly parts her legs.
You're quick to unbuckle your belt, pop the button, unfasten the zipper and slip your boxers low enough to take out your dick. Hard, ready, wanting, and there's an invitation in front of you. Bare and inviting, warm and moist, enticing and so perfect.
Minju turns to flash her eyes over her shoulder, holding the very image of invitation. So, with only that little cue needed, you slide inside her. One short stroke followed by a deep, stretching push, all the way, your hips crashing to meet her. Slow, sensual motions in and out as you grip her waist.
"Faster. Like you mean it." There it is. The thing you love and hate about Minju—the expectation, the challenge, the attitude, the need for more.
A few deep breaths and you grip a little tighter. Brace your legs a little firmer and with a shift of weight forward you drive harder into her and her mewl of approval spurs you onward. You hit a rhythm that suits you both. Her back arches. She sways forward with each motion before bucking her hips back, pushing you as hard as you're pulling, matching your want with hers.
As you both find comfort in your actions, a rhythm that doesn't chase a high but pleases wholly, Minju looks over her shoulder again with a question on her lips. "Who's Yujin?"
A quick answer leaves you. "Not now," you respond, while you pull at her hips and pull a whine from her.
Minju's voice is barely a whisper. She repeats the name, questioning it a second time and asking, "You didn’t tell me yesterday. Who is she?"
"Can't you let it go?"
"You have your cock in me. Least you can do is answer my question." Minju is smiling when she says it, showing her teeth with a look that just dares you to not do as she says.
"Fine," you reply and then slide your hand up her body, reaching to cup one of her tits while you fuck her. "Yujin is a friend," you say, and you know how unsure you sound. "And she's a friend of Gaeul and Wonyoung too."
"So, really, have you fucked her too?" The question is as blunt as she can possibly make it and Minju emphasises it further with a deliberate shake of her ass into you, driving her hips back to make a point.
"Nope."
"But you want to." This time, a statement, not a question.
"Why do you think that?"
"As soon as I mentioned her name I could feel you twitch inside me. Fuck me a little bit harder. You wish I was her." Minju laughs, a hand moving behind her back, snaking around to grip her own ass.
"I didn't. I just— It was you, I—"
"I don't care. Think about her if you want. As long as you fuck me." Minju is demanding, the statement becomes her prerogative. She bites her lip and plays with herself. She knows exactly the way to tease and taunt. "That's why you're even doing this? Did Yujin not show enough affection? Too high and mighty to put out? Or does she just not like you?"
"It's complicated." You slow your movements to a series of leisurely strokes. It gives you a moment to collect your thoughts and choose your words. "We've had... moments... but I don't really understand her. But fuck she drives me insane. She's this mystery and sometimes a contradiction and you know what, Minju? Sometimes she infuriates me with her teasing." You remember just earlier today, her little show in the changing room and how it led to nothing more. You hold Minju a little firmer with a tight grasp on her waist and her breast. The anger pushes your hips against hers with a little more force.
"Ooohh... someone is frustrated. It's fucking hot when girls play coy, isn't it? Seeing her and the power she has over you. Dangling the prize and not giving it to you." Minju arches her back and looks at you, a curl in the corner of her lips as she asks, "would you rather be inside her?"
"I'm inside you," is all the answer that comes. It is a grunting, panting whisper. You thrust a little deeper and a moan fills the air.
"Fuck me harder then, use me. Fuck me like I'm Yujin. Like I'm the fucking tease that's finally giving you what you want."
There's something about the way she's taunting and coaxing you that awakens this raw, carnal lust. How does she read you this well? She's got your thoughts down to the very emotion in such a perfect moment, in a time of emotional fragility, and in a way that's strangely flattering, a kind of praise in and of itself. And Minju is saying everything that excites you most about the way you think about Yujin. All of the want and the unfulfilled frustration. All of it validated.
So you fuck her. Truly fuck her.
And you try and bury into her how much Yujin affects you. You push Minju's hips against the counter, slamming her against it and she sends a couple of pots flying in her wake. "Yes, you want her like this," she says in between pants as your thrusts speed to new heights. Minju bucks her hips into you to meet your motions, but even as she braces herself as best she can, she cannot quite catch up.
"Take her as you take me," she cries, letting out the mewing moans with a chorus of gasps, one for every time you grind your cock deep within her, you feel a squeeze, the gripping of her walls, the milking, beckoning tightness. "Break her, like she's never been fucked."
"Ahhh Minju..." You grind in deeper.
"Yujin. You're fucking Yujin!" Minju calls.
You are driven to your deepest. One final stroke as Minju clamps her thighs together.
She yells her words in an abrupt, lustful explosion. "What does Yujin like? Does she like this?" Minju teases, trying to sound seductive despite the audible lack of air in her chest and the torrents of orgasmic energy flooding through.
"Fuck," you grunt, clapping your hips against Minju's ass. Your mind is a cocktail of reality and imagination. A beautiful girl in front of you. The image of Yujin taking off her dress in your mind. That fucking tease, showing you and playing with you and taunting you. She's smiling—they're both smiling. Minju and Yujin. Looking back at you. Smiling, goading, taunting, playing.
"Harder! Fucking harder!" Minju squeals with excitement as she throws herself against the surface in front of her, sending more things flying out the way onto the floor. You have a hand in the centre of her back, pinning her down while you slam into her throbbing cunt. Again and again, the slaps and the wet smacks resound with every impact. "Let it out," she squeals.
Her words stir an inferno, building a flame inside and its warmth fans out, spreading and warming every part of you. Its fire melting and burning you in its powerful force. And then with one last plunge, you hold yourself, pressing as deep into her as possible, filling her up and sending yourself bursting and exploding through her.
The rushing wave. Flooding torrent. Thunderous release.
Everything let go.
In her, and held fast, still spasming, still releasing, spilling, and pouring everything. Everything spent, empty, drained. You try and catch the breath that evades your racing heart and heaving chest. Sweaty and slick. Warm and tender. The exhaustion settling in.
It's all so fucking cathartic. A long-suppressed and repressed fire finally unleashed and given its time to burn. Unhindered and unchained, and all under the watchful eye of your own personal confidant, coaxing out what's been buried, releasing its lock, freeing its bounds.
"Now tell me... how long have you wanted that?" Minju asks, and the satisfaction in her voice makes it clear that she already knows.
With your pulse pounding and breath racing, you're not ready to face her just yet. It takes another moment, holding her, pressed against her, feeling the closeness in a way that you could almost say is romantic. Minju wriggles under you and releases a laugh.
She shuffles and slides away from you, forcing your still sensitive, softening dick to slip from her. Now she is facing you and it's a sight worth appreciating, but at the same time, so, so dangerous. Her beauty is special, but your mind is a mess.
"So..." Minju pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, trapping it between her teeth for a second as she dips her head then she laughs. "Did you have any other fantasies with her?"
"Minju." It's the most exhausted warning you can muster as you sink to the floor, sitting back against a kitchen cupboard.
"If it's any consolation. She's missing out. You're a great fuck. Just what I needed."
"Right back at you," you say, leaning back your head, exhausted, to rest on the cold wood. You stare up at the white ceiling, in a strange reminisce. It isn’t exciting but it’s preferable to your thoughts.
"Hmmm, that's cute." Minju is still standing beside you, using a piece of kitchen towel to awkwardly clean herself up. She wipes the thick, slick mess away and asks, "And look. What we just did, it's not weird. I get it. We're two friends just helping each other out. No strings."
You nod slowly, taking her sentiment.
"Don't worry. Yujin will know nothing. Our little secret," Minju says, patting your head. You sit for a moment in silence, Minju still by your side, she's getting herself a bottle of water now from the pack next to her.
