#Junhui fic

[eoieopda]

in limine | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 12.5k rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content (v fingering, p in v penetration; use of protection isn’t referenced — the smut is v prose-y —but these two would not fuck without a condom!!). reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer, has at least one (small, nondescript, hidden wrist) tattoo. a/n 1: this fic is part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 a/n 2: everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry. this is based on my one (1) month in that practice area. a/n 3: smooches to the (w)hor(e)anghae beta gang — @jihopesjoint, @daechwitatamic, and @sailorsoons svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

If you had a dollar for every exasperated sigh you’ve let out during this seemingly never-ending phone call with your mother, you’d be able to pay off your student loans in an instant. Though the frustration is palpable to you, causing your already elevated blood pressure to spike further, it’s invisible to her. 

Or worse, inconsequential.

“I’m just saying!” She offers, as if this takes the edge off. As if she’s ever said anything just to say it. “It wouldn’t kill you to give Mika another chance. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The next time you hear her voice, it doesn’t come from the phone pinched between your ear and shoulder; it materializes in the back of your brain and lingers like a poltergeist.

Don’t roll your eyes like that unless you want them to get stuck that way.

Across the counter, the person subbing in for your usual barista shoots you an impatient glare, then flicks his gaze to the growing line behind you.

“Mom, I have to —”

“— You really should return her calls, dove. Bitterness causes premature wrinkles, and you can’t afford —”

At this, the thread you’re dangling by snaps. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try your best to keep your voice down. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”

When you hang up on her, the forceful tap against your phone’s screen sounds more like a rock against a window. Already wind-bitten from the walk here, your cheeks burn even more harshly when you note the multiple pairs of eyes watching you with poorly disguised interest. 

Not wanting to make an even bigger spectacle out of yourself, you hurriedly shove your phone in your pocket and accept the drink being handed to you, even though you can tell by the blatant lack of ice that it’s wrong.

“Thank you,” you mutter with a curt nod.

The second-string barista doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve spoken. That said, the throbbing vein in his temple disappears the second you back away from his counter.

With the americano you didn’t order burning a hole through your palm, you turn swiftly and head for the door. You barely make it two steps before your phone starts screaming from the inside of your coat pocket.

Leaning hard against the glass door, you force it open with your body alone and use your spare hand to instead grasp the source of all your morning’s problems. The pressure of that godforsaken brick shoves the post of your earring painfully into your neck. 

You growl, “When I said later, I didn’t mean by thirty seconds.”

A voice that is distinctly not your mother’s stammers, “Um — hello — This is Tom from Amato, Shapiro, and Santi.”

Never have you ever encountered a firm of assholes so aptly named.

He waits a beat, no doubt expecting you to apologize for your rude non-greeting, but you don’t. In fact, he could wait forever and still not get a mea culpa. 

It’s only fair, you think. 

Just last month, the serial sex pest he represents escaped liability for harassing your client, due in large part to Tom’s bullshit antics. If that poor woman couldn’t even get an apology for what she went through, Tom certainly won’t now.

“Yes, I know where you work, Tom.” 

You roll your eyes again. It’s a reckless decision, given how furiously you’re charging down the sidewalk. A dog-walker scrambles to get both himself and his tiny, white dog out of your way. 

“Do you need something? I don’t chat for free.”

The shitty little laugh you get in response makes your skin crawl. He doesn’t drag it out, though, immediately simpering, “But do you make use of the time you bill for?”

“What are you — ?” You begin to ask.

Tom cuts you off, his tone jovial and no less fake than his back alley Gucci loafers. “I’m inquiring about your witness and exhibit lists for the Qian divorce in two weeks. Really waiting until the last minute, huh? Trying to keep me on my toes?”

Though he can’t see you do it, you shake your head with a patronizing smile. 

“Nice try, Tom,” you sigh. “Judge Ito continued that to May. She’s the keynote speaker for that cancerous children charity gala, or whatever.”

You weave through two old women with a muttered apology. Both are too busy gossiping about their grandsons to hear you, which is no surprise. They didn’t notice the queue of pissed-off pedestrians stuck behind their roadblock, either.

“No,” Tom corrects you. “She issued an entry a month ago, advising the parties that the conflict was no longer conflicting; and the original trial date would stand.”

The block heel of your boot catches in a divot in the sidewalk. Although you don’t trip, you may as well have. The coffee you didn’t want sloshes violently, goaded by your sudden, harsh squeeze of its cup; and it splatters all over your top, burning your chest through sticky, soaked fabric. 

Because why not, you rue, the heel that did you in clatters separately to wet concrete when you lift your foot, having ripped itself from your sole.

Rather than lie down on the concrete and wait for death in the way you crave, you swallow hard and choke out, “I never got that entry.”

“It sounds like you never got competent support staff.” He laughs too loudly, making your blood boil. “Ultimately, it’s up to you which is more pressing: cleaning house or the Rules of Civil Procedure.”

Your mouth opens instinctively to tell him all the million ways he can fuck off and die. He cuts you off again before you can start: 

“Just know that I will make it a problem if you can’t get your shit together in time for court. My client is sick of yours dragging this out. Frankly, so am I.”

And without another word, Tom hangs up on you. 

Whatever.

Anything else he might’ve said would’ve been drowned out by the hammering pulse in your ears, anyway. What you did hear loops through your brain with every uneven step you take down the warpath, bringing your office building closer and closer into view.

Trial in two weeks.

Competent support staff.

As much as you hate to admit it, Tom has a point. You’ve been making excuses for your paralegal, Dev, for months, but this kind of fuck-up can’t be overlooked. No matter how endearing he is, Dev’s a goddamn disaster. Put simply, you can’t keep sticking your neck out for him only to have it trampled, time and again.

Dread churns in your stomach for the remainder of your commute, although the full-blown nausea doesn’t hit you until you exit the elevator and wobble out into your firm’s waiting area. A deep breath in through your nose is followed by a shaky exhale through your mouth. 

Neither helps. 

You make a mental note to tell your therapist that she was wrong, then another one to actually schedule an appointment.

Despite your unflinching exterior — and the profession you’ve willingly chosen for reasons still unknown to you — the simple fact remains that you don’t seek out confrontation. Nothing ruins your day quite like having to ruin someone else’s. Unfortunately for Dev, you don’t have a choice not to go nuclear. Likewise, you don’t have much time left to get your shit together prior to trial. All you seem to have is an ultimatum to present him for consideration:

Stay late with me tonight to clean up this mess, or be out of the job by the end of business hours.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you make a beeline for your personal office. 

There, somewhere amidst the out-of-date statutory reference books and evidence boxes, you’ve got at least one pair of spare Chelsea boots hidden for circumstances like these. 

Well, that’s not quite true. 

You’ve planned ahead for sudden court appearances or shitty weather, not for the abysmally bad luck you’ve experienced so far this morning. Regardless of why you have this contingency plan locked down, you’re grateful that you do. If nothing else, it will allow you to obtain some semblance of balance before potentially kicking Dev to the curb.

Upon hobbling into your office, you close the door behind you and immediately kick off your current shoes so violently that the broken boot flies somewhere out of sight. It takes several minutes’ worth of sock-footed scurrying to find their replacements. Eventually, you locate them in a far more reasonable spot than you expected: tucked neatly underneath the far edge of your L-shaped desk.

You drop yourself into your desk chair, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of your burdens against your shoulders, and begin to unceremoniously shove your feet into your boots.

It all just fucking figures, doesn’t it?

For as far back as you can remember, every Valentine’s Day you’ve experienced has been hellish. Comically cruel, like the showrunners in charge of your narrative are trying to maintain viewership, season after season; and they’re upping the ante as they go.

Last year, Mika couldn’t be bothered to remember your relationship, let alone the holiday. She spent it underneath someone else in your bed. Before that, the “first date” you had to be talked into in the first place ended the same way it started: with you sitting alone at a bar in a crowd of perfect pairs. The pattern started in undergrad, though the memories thankfully get foggier the further back you look.

By staying away from romance entirely for the last few months, you’d made yourself so sure that you’d cracked the code — that, for once, you’d make it through the fourteenth unscathed.

And yet, here you are, suffering immensely before your day even starts.

When your therapist’s bullshit breathing technique does nothing to soothe you, you close your eyes and mutter to yourself, “It cannot get worse. It will not get worse. Bad things have happened, but it is not a bad day.”

Whether the sudden sense of calm you feel is the byproduct of mindfulness or delusion, you can’t say. Whatever the source is, you’ll take it. You cling to that shred of perspective, push yourself to your feet with a grunt, and head back in the direction you just came from.

Outside your door, the hallway gives you two options: the waiting area, which you stomped through to get where you currently are, and the office shared by your firm’s two current paralegals. 

Tsia, the more senior of the two, is currently on maternity leave, which means that you’ll be able to dangle Dev off the ledge without an audience. That tiny piece of consolation is enough to get you moving in his direction, although the serenity you just barely managed to scrounge up starts evaporating more and more with every step you take.

“Dev?” You call out as you approach his closed door.

This, you note, is unlike him. He’s never been productive enough to need to shut out distractions; and he’s never been shameful enough to hide the fact that he spends most days scrolling through TikTok — without headphones, no less.

“Dev?” You try again, attempting to sound much more pleasant than you feel. “Are you on the phone?”

Hearing no response, you reach for the knob and turn it slowly, offering him some additional time to at least pretend to be busy. After counting to five, you push the door open. Then, you freeze.

Dev and his blasted cell phone are nowhere to be seen. His work laptop is on, which might have suggested that he simply stepped away, but the backlit sheet of paper taped to it says otherwise. You cross to his desk and snatch the note from his screen, eyes scanning quickly through his shockingly neat script and widening with horror at every word.

Boss,

Please consider this my resignation letter. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you in advance, but everything came about so suddenly that I haven’t had much time to wrap my brain around it. My partner’s business trip to Malta turned into a relocation offer, and now the two of us are going to –

Without bothering to finish that sentence, you crush the paper within your white-knuckled fist and squeeze your eyes shut tightly enough to sting. 

FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.

Unable to scream out loud, you slam that same fist down onto his desk with force. The smack of your hand against the wood doesn’t distract from the panic swelling in your chest, but it does bring his laptop back to life. The sudden appearance of his desktop is especially surprising, considering you told him no fewer than ten times to password-protect his shit.

Because the hits simply will not stop coming, you see two things at once that make you want to vomit. 

The desktop wallpaper is an adorable photo of Dev and his partner. Both are smiling, holding one another closely on a beach somewhere, as if the world isn’t capable of crashing down around them. 

At the bottom of the screen, below sand-covered feet, is a growing list of push notifications on his minimized Outlook application.

It’s the last thing in the world you want to do, but you can’t help it; damage control is impossible if you can’t properly triage the problem. Swallowing down bile, you click on the icon and bring up your firm’s primary email inbox, which Tsia and Dev are jointly responsible for manning. Of the hundreds of untouched messages, more than half are from either local Clerks of Court or Tom fucking Santi.

Just above the notice of your now-upcoming trial, you find the only January emails that Dev did read, confirming one-way plane tickets to Malta and the booking of international movers. That motherfucker not only lied in his quote-unquote resignation letter about the amount of notice he could give you but also about the billable hours he burned, planning his escape.

All at once, you feel your internal systems crashing out. Your eyes swim, your head reels, and your stomach lurches. You don’t know whether you want to scream, sob, or send yourself flying out of the nearby window. All of them — preferably at once.

The only reason you don’t do any of these things, no matter how strong the urges are, is the fact that your professional reputation is at stake. Your abject refusal to appear incompetent kicks you into overdrive. It kicks you so far, in fact, that you find yourself in your co-worker’s office with no real memory of walking there in the first place.

Yuki jolts when she looks up from her monitors and finds you looming over her with your eyes too wide to be normal. She gets up immediately and gestures for you to sit on the plush loveseat underneath her window. You don’t – rather, can’t – move, so she places her hands on your shoulders and ushers you onto a cushion herself.

“Dear god,” she mutters. “Are you okay?”

She should know by now that this is the worst possible question to ask you under circumstances like this. Of course, you weren’t okay when you barged in here to begin with. You’re even worse off now because your weakness is being perceived. 

Embarrassment and self-loathing bubbles under the surface of your skin, making you hot. Both threaten to leak out through your eyes. 

You don’t want to have to ask for help, period, but you’re out of options; and Yuki is the only person here who’s allowed to see you anywhere near a breakdown. That, and you’re certain she’d be available. Having drafted the shared parenting agreement for her and her ex-boyfriend, you know for a fact that their daughter will be with him tonight.

“If I buy you takeout, would you be willing to stay for a while after work to help with some last minute trial prep?” You can’t even bring yourself to meet her eyes when you explain, “Dev bailed, and I’m so, so, so fucked now.”

Yuki grabs your hand from your lap and squeezes. For a split second, you feel relieved. Then, you hear her sigh, and your hopes are dashed just as quickly as they were raised.

“Kimiko’s kindergarten class is having a daddy-daughter dance for Valentine’s Day tonight,” she starts.

The pained look on her face tells you everything you need to know. Nevertheless, she continues, “Ty flaked, as usual. I had to be the one to decide what would be more humiliating for her — being the only kid there with their mom, or the only kid who doesn’t get to go at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Yuki.”

You mean it, wholeheartedly. The only victim of your shitty love life is you. Yuki, on the other hand, has a six-year-old to protect from becoming collateral damage. 

She simply shrugs, too used to this sort of letdown to let it ruin her day. “Kimiko bounced back fairly quickly, which is pretty sad, in and of itself. She asked if we could wear matching outfits.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day. Gesturing to her entirely black, incredibly chic outfit, you tease, “Is she dressing for a funeral, too?”

“I wish!” Yuki throws her head back and whines, “The vibes tonight are tragically bright pink, and I have to leave early to shop before the dance starts.”

“Well…” You give her hand a squeeze, then let it go entirely. “I’m sending you thoughts and prayers, buddy.”

She swats at you, tells you kindly to fuck off, and then wishes you good luck while you head back out her door.

As you trudge back towards your office, you run through your list of contingency plans. 

The firm’s owners, Zavier and Jaein, are both out of the question. If they’re not spending the night with their respective spouses, they’ll be continuing their not-so-secret affair with one another. Even if they weren’t, you’d rather stand in front of an oncoming train than give them any reason to doubt your abilities. 

Next.

With Yuki out of commission, there are three other associate attorneys left for you to consider. 

Dani is engaged and definitely has plans with his smoke-show of a fiancé; there’s no point in asking him for help. You’d never hear the end of it if you did, anyway. He’s so committed to his one-sided rivalry with you that he’d probably make a plaque to commemorate your failings. 

Pass.

Sana and her wife are on a cruise somewhere far more pleasant than here, so she’s out. Thank god. Beating your head against a wall would be preferable to spending several hours in a room alone with her. Sana’s only personality trait is married, and she’s entirely incapable of talking about anything else. 

Hard pass.

The relatively new hire, Junhui, is still an unknown factor. In the few months he’s worked here, you’ve met him exactly once that you can recall. It was a brief encounter in the break room; and his mouth was so full of whatever he’d brought for lunch that he couldn’t respond beyond simply waving when you’d introduced yourself.

He seemed perfectly nice — and from what you hear, he’s perfectly competent — but yours is far too big a burden to shove onto a virtual stranger.

Besides, there’s simply no way that someone who looks like that doesn’t have better places to be tonight.

Junhui doesn’t realize that he’d nodded off until his bleary eyes travel down from his half-finished report and spot the time in the bottom corner of his screen. Apparently, it’s already a quarter to six. If he hadn’t fallen asleep at some point in the recent past, he’d be stepping off the train home by now. 

Of course, he isn’t. Now, with all the other commuters flooding public transit, the trip home will be at least twice as long.

Damn it.

He scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to get the exhaustion off of it, though he doesn’t manage without yawning into his palms. 

Figuring that he’s already behind schedule, he slowly rises to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a groan, dreaming all the while of the caffeine he can down before heading out. With no one left in the office, he’ll be able to fail his way through this acquisition without anyone knowing how completely inept he is at using the firm’s espresso machine.

As expected, Junhui’s walk to the conference room is lonely. Each of his colleagues’ doors are closed, making it clear that they all bolted the second they could. Even the cleaning staff managed to come and go without him noticing; all the trash and recycling bins have been emptied. 

Thankfully, he notes, someone forgot to turn off the conference room light before they dipped. If they hadn’t, all his steps would be taken in total darkness — because, even after three months of working here, he still doesn’t have a clue where the switches are.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust. 

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed. 

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing. 

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly. 

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press, or even where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further. 

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go. 

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though. 

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along. 

Fuck. 

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true. 

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

For the first time since he walked in, you offer a full reaction — not just a hint of one. He would’ve preferred a laugh, or even a genuine smile; however, that’s not what he gets. Instead, your face becomes pinched.

“Fucking Dev.”

Whatever thought you might have had about making your own shitty drink disappears. You stalk back over to your shrine of documents and drop once again to the floor, legs knitted. In the split second you’re not looking at him, Junhui spits out the bean shards you missed while grinding and tosses them in the nearby trash can.

Although he’s curious, he hesitates to ask what it is you’re working on. Clearly, whatever it is has got you stressed to the point that caffeine is no longer a priority. Based on personal experience, that’s a bad sign.

Still, Junhui can’t seem to stop talking to you, even though he’s sure it’s a bother. He takes a second look at the sheer amount of paper surrounding you and ventures a guess: “Class-action suit?”

“That would honestly be preferable,” you mutter, looking up from your notes long enough to glance over your shoulder at him.

He takes this as a sign that his presence isn’t entirely unwelcome. At least, it’s a good enough omen to draw him closer. He skirts back around the mess of chairs until he’s standing across from where you sit, and then he leans back against the table.

You look back down again, leaving Junhui to wonder if he made the wrong call. For what it’s worth, he also wonders what it really is about you that’s making him act so awkwardly all of the sudden.

“What are you still here for?”

His heart drops into his stomach, which is about ready to fall right out of his ass. His mouth opens, though nothing comes out.

Sensing the way he’s quietly spiraling, you look up at him. “In the office, I mean,” you amend quickly with a shake of your head. “We don’t really run into each other during business hours, so I didn’t expect to see you here after, you know?”

Ah, fuck.

Junhui swallows. 

The truth — that he’s only here because he dozed off on the clock — is offensive, even to him. Here you are, working hard enough for two people; and in stomps the clown whose tasks bored him right to sleep. While he doesn’t want anyone to know about his unprofessional little snooze, the thought of admitting it to you feels…

Nope. 

He’s not going to unpack this, not now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a desire to not look dumb in front of a colleague or one to be a little more impressive to you, specifically.

“I was working on an investigatory report,” he eventually says, conveniently leaving out the fact that his impromptu nap kept him from finishing it.

You arch an eyebrow again, which he’s beginning to believe is an unconscious tell of yours. Yet another quiet invitation.

“Investigatory report? Is that… common?”

The two of you look at each other. Now, he’s confused.

“You do immigration law, don’t you?” You gesture over his shoulder, out the door. “You’ve got five different name plates outside your office, written in as many different alphabets —”

Oh.

“— I kind of just assumed —”

Junhui laughs, which causes your other eyebrow to rise up and join the other. “I mean, I dabble. It’s all soul-crushing, though, so I try not to take those cases unless they’re, like, dire.”

Too many of them are.

You hum in acknowledgment. “So, what do you do?” 

“Guardian ad Litem work, mostly,” he replies with a shrug. “The name plates are —“

He gestures vaguely, but then all that suppressed, systemic frustration starts to bubble up, unbidden. He’s never been great at withholding his little rants, so he starts talking a little too quickly, a little too loudly. 

“There are a lot of immigrant families in the area, right? Whether or not they should, a lot of them wind up court-involved, especially where their kids are concerned.” 

As aware as he is that his hands are moving too much with each word, he’s unable to stop. 

“I noticed that absolutely nobody on the local courts’ appointment lists was multilingual, which is just fucking negligent —”

When you finally speak, it’s with your head tilted and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like someone found their calling.”

And against his better judgment, Junhui takes his balled up fist, extends his thumb and pinky finger, and holds it up to his ear. “Might have been a wrong number, but it’s worked out well enough so far.”

And you laugh, sincerely and squeakily in a way that nearly makes him laugh, too.

“You’re weird. You know that, right? Like weird weird.” You grin as you say this, leading him to believe it’s a compliment of the highest order. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Junhui looks at you, looking at him, and he feels the charge your shitty espresso couldn’t muster. He feels bolder. Gesturing to your mountain of documents, he finally brings himself to ask why you’re still here. The second he does, he regrets it; he watches you deflate in real time, smile warping downwards.

“It’s a clusterfuck.” 

You take your eyes off of him and plant them back on the file in your hands. 

“I found out that a nasty trial of mine is taking place in two weeks, rather than twelve, and I have to get shit together tonight or I’m fucked – genuinely, irrevocably fucked. I can’t file a Witness and Exhibit List until I get through all of this discovery–” 

You shift your extended left leg to give one of the boxes a half-hearted kick. 

“– and if I don’t submit that for electronic filing by midnight, all my shit will be excluded.”

Junhui nods his understanding, then pushes himself off the table he’s been leaning on. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to excuse himself and walk out the door, but that was never his intention. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the floor across from you and grabs a packet of exhibit stickers off one of the nearby boxes’ lids.

“Letters or numbers?” He asks, holding the packet aloft.

You blink before you splutter, “Oh, wait, no. No, you really don’t have to. I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Letters or numbers?” Junhui repeats himself, softer but no less seriously.

“You seriously don’t have other plans?”

Now, it’s his turn to balk. Unlike you, his shock is entirely manufactured. “On a work night? In this economy?”

“On Valentine’s Day,” you correct him with emphasis.

Rather than feigned horror, it’s earnest embarrassment that floods his face. The tips of his ears start burning, too, in a matter of seconds. Smiling sheepishly, he admits, “Guess I forgot. Don’t really have much to celebrate, you know?”

You raise the manila folder in your hand and reach over to tap it against the packet of stickers in his.

“Cheers to that,” you scoff.

Junhui, it turns out, is even more productive than you are. He falls into lockstep with you the moment he sits down, and other than asking him to hand you things that are closer to him than to you, you don’t need to direct him.

Better still, he anticipates. Every time you finish reviewing one exhibit, he’s holding another one out to you – pre-marked – with a packet of post-it tabs for you to mark especially relevant pages. Though you certainly didn’t ask him to, the tabs he gives you follow a color-scheme, creating a key for easier reference.

Green for financial records, red for social media posts and other electronic communications, blue for your clients’ extensive medical and therapy records.

In only a handful of hours, you comb through everything you need to in order to truly start preparing. The sinkhole that’s been occupying your stomach since this morning disappears. In its place, all that’s left is a void of a different kind.

“I’m starving,” you announce suddenly and dramatically, flopping onto your back with your arm flung over your forehead. “Are you?”

When you don’t get a response, you pull your arm away from your face and crack one eye open in the face of the overhead fluorescents. If your vision wasn’t already blurry from all the time spent reading, this stupid decision likely would’ve blinded you. Thankfully, your eyes still work well enough to look over at Junhui.

Where Junhui was, rather.

You blink, dumbfounded. You didn’t see or hear him leave, which begs the question: were you too locked-in to hear his goodbye, or did he slip past you like Casper the Selflessly Helpful Ghost? You don’t know when it was that he even left, or why it is that you’re frowning now for the first time in six hours.

You reach for your phone to text him and ask. It’s in your hand before you realize that you don’t have his number and back in your pocket before you feel yourself truly start to pout. Although he was putting in unpaid labor on your behalf, you’d gotten the impression that he was enjoying himself. You were, anyway.

Deciding that you can manage lonely better than hungry, you force yourself to sit up, then to your feet. Without bothering to put your shoes back on, you step over the paper fortress you’ve spent all night building and shuffle off with heavy eyelids towards the door.

Someone in this office has to have snacks, whether they’d be okay with you sniping some or not. You cross your fingers while you head for the breakroom and hope for a nice, unexpired yogurt, at the very least. Maybe a leftover packet of oyster crackers if you’re lucky – ones that aren’t stale if you’re especially so.

Before you can step foot into the breakroom, a sudden, muffled shout snaps you out of your famished, fugue state.

“Hot!”

Your gaze snaps from the floor to Junhui, who stands in front of you with both of his hands full. His eyebrows now occupy the space immediately below his hairline; his eyes are wider than you would’ve previously thought humanly possible. Relief splashes over you. If you’re being honest, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the two steaming bowls of buldak ramen you just narrowly avoided crashing into.

With two, paper-wrapped pairs of chopsticks held between his teeth, Junhui can’t say much of anything. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “Ih ooh mih meh?”

“What?” You snort.

Realizing how truly useless that question is, you reach up and carefully pluck the chopsticks from his mouth. A heart-shaped smile takes their place.

“I asked if you missed me,” he simpers. “I told you I’d be right back.”

You blink twice, quickly. 

Did he?

He jerks his head in the direction of the conference room. “C’mon. You’re hungry, and I’m burning through my epidermis.” 

As soon as you side-step out of his way, Junhui takes off at a laughable pace, footsteps measured and careful to avoid sloshing hot soup as he goes. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from telling him how much he looks like those sprint-walkers turning laps at the local mall. All he needs is a tracksuit.

When you finally catch up to him, you find that he’s already set both bowls onto the table and pulled up a chair. One chair. You open your mouth to ask him about this, but he senses your question coming and waves it away with his hand.

“There’s only ten minutes left to file your Witness and Exhibit List,” he points out. 

You don’t doubt him enough to check your watch, but you’re surprised to learn that he’s kept track of your deadline, even when you haven’t. Both of you move at once, nearly colliding a second time on your respective routes to your laptop.

Oh.

That single chair is for you.

“Seriously, eat,” Junhui urges. “I’ve got this.”

He sits down on the floor and hauls your computer into his lap without another word. You can’t seem to move, though. You simply stand there, watching him, and try to fight the very unexpected urge you suddenly feel to cry.

In fact, you’re still standing there when he calls out to you without looking up. “Case parties and who else?”

“The fertility –” You swallow thickly then clear your throat. “The fertility doctor, Eve Nguyen. She’s testifying to the in vitro hell my client put herself through while her husband was withholding the truth about his vasectomy from her.”

Junhui types furiously as you talk, face scrunching up in disgust without turning away from your screen. 

“Her therapist, too: Phoebe Miller. She’ll testify to the impact of the hormone treatments on Ms. Al-Hamin’s mental health, and the sheer amount of time she spent sobbing on Ms. Miller’s couch when she finally found out about her shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

“Eat,” Junhui urges again, more emphatically this time. He gestures with his head to the table, where the ramen he made for you is still waiting. “I mean it. I’ll figure out a more court-appropriate way to phrase shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

You do as he says and sink down into the chair he pulled out for you, pulling the food toward you eagerly. Thankfully, he doesn’t glance over at you to confirm that you are in fact eating. Though you’ve bonded quickly in this little trench of yours, he doesn’t yet have the kind of security clearance a person would need to see you scarf down noodles with reckless abandon. 

Maybe eventually the two of you will get to a point where he can perceive you unhinge your jaw like a snake just to devour a meal. 

Today is not that day.

Without needing to be asked, Junhui switches his focus to the stack of numbered exhibits to his left. As he thumbs through them, he adds each one to your Exhibit List in order, then quickly shuffles the one he’s identified to the bottom of the stack. He does it all so effortlessly that he finishes that task before you’ve finished your food. 

Unfortunately for you, that means he looks up in time to see the massive, final bite you stuff into your gaping maw. It’s not disgust that you’re met with, though. It’s something soft, a smile that’s entirely present in his eyes. You freeze and thaw at the same time, not giving a shit that those things should be mutually exclusive.

“Do you want to look this over before I e-file it?” 

You shake your head, mouth too full to tell him that you trust him. Setting the empty cardboard bowl down on the tabletop, you offer him a thumbs up instead, which makes him laugh; then a finger-heart, which makes him laugh harder.

Although he could, Junhui doesn’t stand up right away. He goes right back to typing, throwing you for a loop. 

“Hey,” you say. When he doesn’t stop, you do your best to mimic his softly commanding voice. “Eat.”

He shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds a thousand miles away; too focused to be fully present. “I’m already over here. I might as well file these subpoenas.”

Now, you really want to cry.

“I don’t even know how to thank you.” You laugh to hide how close to tears you are. “Seriously. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’d stay this late to help someone, let alone someone I hardly know.”

Junhui presses down on the trackpad, definitively hitting submit on the last of your work for the night. He closes your laptop, sets it back down on the box to his left, then turns to you.

“I think you would,” he disagrees with a gentle shake of his head. “Besides, I can’t say that I hardly know you anymore. I got paid for my labor with lore.”

You snort out a laugh. The buldak sauce lingering in your throat burns your sinuses, prompting you to close your eyes tightly and laugh even harder. When you reopen your eyes, it’s impossible to tell whether the tears on your lash line are steeped in mirth, spice, or bone-deep gratitude.

“Don’t say that like it’s just compensation,” you warn.

Junhui tilts his head to the side, his stare innocent and not at all challenging. “Isn’t it?”

Outwardly, you roll your eyes. Inwardly, there’s a war amidst the butterflies in your stomach; the majority love the way he looks at you when he’s perplexed, while the rest scream not to fall into the same old trap for the millionth year in a row.

You force a change in subject lest you start to choke on all the honey dripping from your eyes. 

“How about you actually eat this ramen you made while I clean up the mess I made of this room?”

Junhui sighs like he’s truly put-upon. Nevertheless, he holds one hand out to you, silently requesting that you haul him to his feet. Figuring it’s the very least you can do, you oblige. He’s towering over you in no time, shooting you a tiny, thankful smile that sends your brain into a tailspin.

He eats, and you busy yourself with the numerous trip hazards around him: first, shuffling your case files and boxes to the side of the room, then wheeling both Junhui and his chair back where the latter belongs. He protests all the while — not because you scoot him without his consent, but because you wave off every single suggestion he makes about waiting until he’s done so he can help.

“You’ve done enough!” You grunt as you forcibly drag the table back into place. “There’s above and beyond, and then there’s you — way past that.”

His cheeks go pink while he goes quiet. You bravely decline to stare at that dusty rose color and instead hop foot to foot while you tug your boots back on.

“I feel awful that you’re going to get, like, five hours of sleep before you have to come back here. Do you have —”

You lose your balance and the rest of that sentence, but you gain Junhui’s hands on your upper arms, preventing you from falling over entirely.

“— court in the morning?” You supply breathlessly, a little too shocked by his quick reflexes and concerned eyes to function.

Junhui waits for you to let go of the back of your boot and regain your footing before peeling his hands off you and shoving them quickly into the pockets of his coat. His response comes a bit clumsily, though you don’t have much room to talk.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head and shrugging. “My schedule is pretty light this month, actually.” Then, he smiles sheepishly. “Especially compared to yours.”

Eyes narrowing playfully, you snip, “Don’t brag, Wen Junhui. It’s uncouth.”

He pauses for a second then asks, “Is it couth with you if I walk you out?” 

Your jaw damn near drops. His response is so stupid, so hopelessly devoid of rizz despite the beat he took to think of it, and yet you’re powerless in the face of it. 

This man is a loser; and even though there are a million Human Resource-related reasons why you shouldn’t, you kind of want him.

No, you do want him.

Badly.

You swallow that burgeoning need like a shot, then you let out a measured, cooling breath. 

“I’ll allow it,” you sniff.

The subsequent walk to the elevator, as well as the ride down, aren’t quiet. You’re grateful, but you can’t take credit; Junhui keeps the conversation going easily, notwithstanding your distinct lack of input. 

If he notices how quiet you’ve gone, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Just the same, if he notices how intently you watch him while he talks, he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

Before tonight, it never really occurred to you how pretty he is. Of course, you haven’t been blind. Your few passing encounters clued in you in that he was good-looking, at least from a distance, but he’s something else entirely when he stands as close to you as he is now. You can’t even pretend to look anywhere else.

No matter how many sharp angles he has — the high bridge of his nose, the L-shape of his jaw, and the peaks of his cheekbones — there’s softness to balance it out. You see it in the heart-shaped curve of his mouth when he smiles; the faint freckle directly above it; and the cat-like, slow blink when he occasionally glances down at you. It’s present in the almost breathy tone of his voice, the one that makes it sound like he’s reaching you through some dreamlike haze.

But then you realize how fucking stupid it is for you to look at anyone the way you currently are, let alone a co-worker.

You made a pact with yourself after breaking up with Mika to keep to yourself for the foreseeable future — to protect yourself from the series of unfortunate romantic events you can’t otherwise seem to avoid. For eight months, you’ve stuck to it, even though you’re lonely. It’s been working, too. Nobody’s been able to shatter you because you haven’t given anyone the hammer or the opportunity.

And your avoidance isn’t just for your own good, either. Something about you either draws shittiness out of people or grows it where none existed before. Everyone you’ve dated in recent years was fine until they got too close; they all seem to be better off now that they’ve gotten away from you. In fact, if your social media creeping has taught you anything, it’s that Mika is the only one of your exes not happily in a relationship.

The pattern is too significant at this point to be a coincidence, and though you try to pass it all off as shitty luck, you’re the common denominator amidst all these disasters.

Shouldn’t you be held accountable for that?

“Look alive, sunshine.”

You snap back to attention with a jolt.

Junhui stands in the opening of the elevator with his hand on the frame, actively preventing the door from closing on you. You didn’t hear the bell go off when it opened; you have no idea how long you’ve been standing there, zoned-out stare fixated on the floor.

He sees what must be a bewildered expression on your face and laughs. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? I apparently do that sometimes, too.”

“No, I —” You shake your head while you start to explain, but then your brain stops buffering. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“I didn’t say anything. Out you come!”

You let Junhui usher you out of the elevator, but as you do, you crane your neck to look up at him with unabashed wonder. “Like a prey animal?”

He holds his left index finger up to his lips to silence you, then goes as far as actually shushing you. The tips of his ears peek out from his wavy hair, bright red against the dark.

“Like a little bunny?” You tease, tugging at the hem of his coat.

He rolls his eyes, though no part of him seems annoyed in the slightest. He doesn’t even move away from you. Instead, he rebuts you while lingering at your side, “No.”

You take your fist and rest it on top of your head with your middle and index fingers extended upward, smiling brattishly while you wait for Junhui to look back over at you.

His gaze is locked on the door ahead, however. He raises his arm and points, drawing your attention. “What is that?”

The second you see it, you drop your head back and groan with everything you’ve got. “Fuuuuuuck.”

That would be the security gate, which the building security staff lowers over the front doors when they leave for the night. It’s electronic and can be easily opened with a passcode — which you don’t have.

“Oh, my god.” You shove your face into your palms. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about the fucking gate. I don’t even know what time they close it.”

“There’s a pin pad over there.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s pointing.

“You’ve worked here for a while. They gave you the code, right?”

You will yourself to shrink, to turn into a speck of dirt on the floor and be promptly kicked away. If he can’t see you, he can’t hate you for getting him locked in the goddamn building after donating hours of his time to help you.

Oh, you fucking clown.

Swallowing harshly, you whisper, “I’ve never stayed late enough to need it. I’m seriously so sorry. Technically, we can get out through the emergency fire exit, but that will —”

“— Set off all the alarms and sprinklers,” Junhui correctly assumes, prompting you to nod with your head still buried in your hands.

Silence creeps in then and settles over the two of you, suffocatingly thick like a fire blanket. It’s fitting, given how badly embarrassment burns your cheeks. You want nothing more than to curl up and die — right here, where security can find you in the morning and atone on their knees for trapping you like a rat.

But then Junhui laughs — really, truly, deeply laughs — so hard that you feel him momentarily double over at your side.

You part your fingers and peek over at him through the gaps. With his eyes screwed shut, the mirthful tears have nowhere to go except the far corners of his eyes. They streak down his temples, glowing a hazy shade of blue due to the colored security lamps overhead. 

“I’m sorry.” His apology comes out squeaky on the tail of a wheezing laugh. “No one should have to spend this many consecutive hours with me. God, you were so close to freedom.”

You buy into the bit, rather than admit to the tiny thrill spinning dizzy circles in your brain. “It is a tremendous burden, yes. Of all today’s trials and tribulations, you will be my undoing.”

Junhui wipes his cheek, then glances over his shoulder at the elevator. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment, gears turning, before he turns back to you with his head tilted sideways. 

“If I can bother you for a little while longer, I think I have a way to pass the time.”

In the far corner of the conference room sits a bar cart, weighted down with more bottles and glasses than is even remotely necessary for a place of business. Artfully curated for trial and settlement victories, it boasts at least six different kinds of liquor. Each one is more expensive than the last.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You ask, gesturing to the bottle of gin in Junhui’s hand.

He can’t make heads or tails of your hesitation. You strike him as the type to apologize later, rather than seek permission first. Even if his assessment of you is wrong, he knows without a doubt that neither Zavier nor Jaein would ever draw a sword on their most objectively successful associate. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, tone laden with amusement. “You’re the reason we have this cart in the first place.”

You shoot him a warning look that lacks heat. He hopes you don’t intend to rebut him; there’s no need to be humble, especially when what he said is true. Without you, there’d be a hell of a lot less to celebrate around here. 

Come to think of it, the only thing more impressive than your trial record is the long list of happy client reviews that come up in internet searches.

Not that Junhui has Googled you.

Okay, not that he’s Googled you more than twice.

He twists the cap off the bottle and pours matching amounts in two glasses, keeping his eyes focused on his ministrations instead of on you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of getting in trouble. What would Tom Santi think?”

Two seconds after he adds a splash of tonic, your hand appears from his peripheral vision and grabs the nearest glass from its spot on the edge of the cart. When Junhui’s eyes travel down the length of your arm and up to your face, he spots the innocent, bewildered way you’re blinking back at him.

Cotton-candy sweet, you lilt, “I’m just worried that you can’t keep up.”

You tilt your glass — a silent cheers — before taking a sip, a devilish smile appearing as soon as the cup leaves your lips.

His stomach flips excitedly even though he’s aware that it shouldn’t. There’s a fence of red tape building a perimeter around you, and it’s dotted with hundreds of warning signs: off-limits, trespassers will be prosecuted, etc. 

He needs to get a grip — quickly. Entertaining the idea of you finding him attractive, too, is idiotic in more ways than one, and he knows it. Not only are you astronomically out of his league, but you’re also his colleague. 

Assuming for the sake of argument that you did stoop to his level, you’d eventually come to your senses and realize that he’s nowhere near your caliber. When that inevitably happens, Junhui will still have to work down the hall from you. He doesn’t have the confidence to bounce back from something like that, not since his ex put his self-image in a blender half a year ago.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again, bunny?”

He blinks rapidly, and you come back into focus. You’ve moved from his side since he zoned out. Now, you sit on the edge of the conference room table with your legs knotted, not unlike the way he found you on the floor several hours ago. Though you tease, there’s a distinct hint of concern in your narrowed eyes while you assess him.

Junhui’s instinct isn’t like a prey animal’s at all, but he knows better than to act on it, so he finishes pouring his own drink and recaps the bottle. Rather than put it down, he keeps it in his hand, grabs his drink with the other, and heads off for the door.

“Come with me,” he tells you.

You follow without question, footfalls sounding off quietly behind him as he leads you through the dark back to his office. Before you can get the wrong impression — or the right one, if the circumstances themselves weren’t wrong — he flicks on the lamp near the door and ushers you inside.

You’ve never been in his workspace, just like he’s never been in yours. Your office, he imagines, is as immaculately organized as you seem to be. That said, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had opposing counsels’ severed heads mounted on the wall.

His office, however, has a wildly different vibe. It seems to surprise you, so much so that you freeze halfway inside with wide eyes and a partially open mouth.

“You have kids?”

Apparently, it’s Junhui’s turn to be surprised. He glances over to where you’re pointing and laughs. 

On the wall directly behind his desk is a full collage of drawings and handwritten notes, most of which were done by kids under the age of ten. Though their backgrounds, ages, and abilities vary significantly, they all have one thing in common: they all got really attached to their court-appointed Guardian ad Litem, Wen Junhui.

He shakes his head, although you don’t see him do it. You have your back to him, too focused on reading the various letters to react when he finally speaks. 

“In a way, they’re kind of mine, just not… literally.”

You maintain your respectful silence, as if you’re wandering through a museum exhibit. He watches while you lift a hand and let your fingertips run gently overtop an especially artful tribute from a six-year-old named Iseul.

“Big fan of glitter and googly eyes, that one,” he muses, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how long it took me to clean up the visitation room at the community center when our meeting was over.”

You point to three stick figures, who hold hands in front of a large, grey building. Above them, a gigantic sun fills the corner of the page. It wears black sunglasses, the irony of which seemingly didn’t occur to Iseul.

“Who are they?” You ask.

Junhui points to each person as he explains:

“The — uh —  wonky-looking one with what seems like a bloody neck is me in a red tie. In the middle is the artist herself, Iseul. She took some liberties; in reality, she has all ten fingers and isn’t known to wear a crown. To her right, that’s her foster mom, who she calls ‘grandma’, even though she’s only 45.”

“Is she still with grandma?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grins, unable to help it. “That stately, grey blob behind us is the probate court. We finalized her adoption last month.”

“Cute. I wish my clients would send me celebratory masterpieces,” you hum.

Junhui snorts. “Are you sure you want that?”

He can’t even imagine what kind of shit newly-divorced adults would send you. Nothing cute, he’s sure.

“No, actually. I take that back.” You shake your head and laugh. “I just want them to pay their legal fees on time.”

“You’re really asking for the world, aren’t you?”

You take another sip of your drink, then shrug, smiling impishly. “A nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do what a nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do.”

Before he can start ranting about Tom fucking Santi and his shitty opinions, you change focus again and begin to drift towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall. The top half of it is lined with statutory volumes, while the lower half has books and activities for the kids who occasionally come with their parents and caregivers to meet with him here.

You grab a deck of cards off one of the shelves and turn back to him with a vaguely menacing look. 

“You brought me in here so I could beat you, didn’t you?”

“I brought you in here so I could beat you,” he rebuts. 

In the time it takes Junhui to cross over to you, you drop your work bag to the floor, move the two child-sized chairs out of the way, and sit directly on the floor without a second thought. He sits on the other side of the small table and reaches for the deck only for you to shake your head vehemently at him.

“Nope,” you state emphatically, popping the second consonant. “I don’t trust you to shuffle these. You have clearly stated ulterior motives.”

He opens his mouth to argue otherwise but is shut down.

“Despicable,” you tut.

Once again, he tries to defend himself. “Excuse me? Your intentions aren’t any better —”

But you block him, grinning wickedly.

“— I’m a guest here and will not have my ambition questioned, thank you! Now, would you prefer to be destroyed by luck or skill?”

He has the feeling you’re going to destroy him in any and every way, so he says, “Dealer’s choice”, and takes a pointed swig of gin.

You think on this while you shuffle, making a big show out of it with your eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Then your eyes light up to broadcast that an idea has come to you. 

Dutifully, you split the deck between you, doling out one card at a time to ensure the numbers even out. You slide your half over to you, face down, and gesture with feigned impatience for Junhui to do the same.

When he obeys, you look him dead in the eye. “I declare War.”

Four games and three drinks later, all your laughter finally catches up with you. With your abdominal muscles aching and eyes swimming, you tip over backwards and land on your back with a muffled thump.

“Okay, that’s bad, but I still think I can top it,” Junhui states with a shake of his head.

Your head lolls to the side so you can squint up at him properly. Once you catch his eye, you petulantly insist, “No way.”

There’s a flash in his eyes that says challenge accepted. 

You like it.

In fact, you like this side of him: the version that isn’t intimidated by you, that isn’t afraid to be bold. Neither of you is drunk by any means, but your respective masks are off now, and you have gin to thank for introducing you properly.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this out loud, on purpose,” he starts, then takes a deep breath. “This is perhaps the stupidest way anyone’s relationship has ever ended.”

He sits cross-legged next to you on the floor, perfectly within range. Without sitting up, you swat his knee. “Stop stalling! I don’t have all night.”

You do, but that’s neither here nor there.

“So, the last girl I dated had this… kink, I guess? Where she wanted to tell me she loved me during sex. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks at that point, but I figured, why not? What’s the harm?”

Your eyes widen. “Famous last words.”

“See?” He snaps his finger and points at you, grateful to be understood. “That’s the thing. She dumped me not long after that because things were —” The reveal comes with air quotes. “— moving too fast.”

You set your glass down somewhere above your head. Even though it’s empty of liquor, melted ice spills onto the carpet. You ignore the mess you’ve made and throw out both fists, thumbs down. “Boo!”

“Thank god I didn’t like her much,” he sighs.

“You dog.”

Junhui levels you with a playful glare, so you withhold further jokes and simply ask, “What was wrong with her, other than the attachment issues?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. In fact, he takes his time in finishing the last few sips of his drink, then he sets the empty glass down on the table. Unburdened, he lowers himself onto his back next to you with one bent arm underneath his head. From there, he concentrates on the ceiling above.

“It wasn’t her so much as us.”

“Oh?”

Junhui heaves a sigh. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like there needs to be some sort of announcement during law school about how fucking hard it is to practice law and date.”

He’s not wrong. 

Your career has impacted every single one of your relationships, no matter how hard you try to keep them separate. You’ve never figured out how to manage it — to split yourself successfully between two spheres, both of which demand one-hundred percent of you. 

None of your other attorney friends have ever brought this up, though, leaving you to feel like the broken one.

Still staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he fills the silence you’ve left. “I don’t think most people get it, you know? Not that they should have to — nobody should accept something they’re not comfortable with — It’s just hard to make things work with someone who doesn’t understand what this is like. What it costs.”

You’re well acquainted with that massive fucking toll.

The struggle to find community in an inherently adversarial system, the second-hand trauma that comes with managing the worst moments of people’s lives, the burnout, and all the shitty coping mechanisms these things lead to if you’re not careful.

You don’t need to speak on any of this now, though. For the first time in an abysmally long time, you’re sitting with someone who doesn’t need an explanation.

Junhui, however, seems to interpret your silence as discomfort. You don’t blame him. He still hasn’t noticed the heart-eyes you’ve been staring at him with since he started talking, so he has no idea

“Ah, nuts. I’ve made things too serious.” He screws his eyes shut then yells, “Aaaah!” 

You crack up, fully and immediately, which only prompts him to do the same. Never has there ever been a loser so endearing. 

Turning his head now to look at you, he urges with a grin, “Quick, say something stupid!”

And goddamn, if the first thing that comes to mind isn’t exactly that…

“Kiss me.”

Junhui doesn’t react, save for the grin slowly disappearing off his face. He doesn’t even speak. For a moment, all he does is stare right back at you, straight through the full-body cringe you’re experiencing.

Fuck.

Maybe now’s the time to use that emergency exit, fire alarms and sprinklers be damned. 

You open your mouth, armed and ready to explode into awkward apologies; and you suck in the breath needed to do so, but not a fucking word comes out.

His gaze shifts from your eyes, to your lips, then back again. The expression he wears all the while looks something akin to tortured — but you’re clearly batshit insane, so your judgment is questionable at best.

A beat passes again in silence. You’re ready to crawl out of your skin, an urge that only grows when he finally murmurs, “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

Terrible. 

Perhaps the worst you’ve ever had, second only to you blurting it out just now. 

You have nothing better to say now, but that’s not what keeps your big mouth shut. It’s the fact that his question doesn’t seem to be directed at you at all. 

Something about that tone of his comes across as rhetorical, like he’s got to work this shit out separately from you.

But he doesn’t stay separate. The hand not being used to prop up his head reaches out and gently encapsulates your chin between his thumb and index finger. His thoughtful eyes narrow, searching yours. 

“Why doesn’t that make me want to any less?”

All at once, your heart skips; your breath hitches. You don’t have an answer to his question, just an inkling that you have as much to gain as you stand to lose. That cost-benefit analysis, coupled with the insatiable need you have to be kissed before you fucking expire, make you reckless.

Leaping past the point of no return, you grab him by the tie and pull him along for the ride.

Any timidness he showed you earlier is forgotten in an instant, replaced entirely by an assertiveness you didn’t know to expect from him. He gets you on your back without resistance, then settles himself above you with his weight balanced on a single hand beside your head and his knees on either side of your thighs. 

His other hand slips to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss and keeping you where he wants you: well beyond the professional boundaries you’ve both crossed to get here.

You could be embarrassed by how quickly you melt, seep, spill, but your better judgment is discarded alongside your sweatshirt without a second thought. Junhui’s jacket, button-up, and tie are tossed into that same void, not long after.  

Absolutely fucking none of them are missed.

Lost under the warmth of his bare skin on yours, your brain is far too occupied to worry about which articles of clothing ended up where. All you're capable of caring about is his mouth on your throat; his hand between your thighs, slick fingers dragging you slowly out of your mind.

The orgasm his hand steals from you leaves you half-dead, but that doesn’t stop you from clinging tightly to him, begging for more, please, everything.

And that’s precisely what you get, though you shouldn’t be surprised. If this day has taught you anything, it’s that Junhui is synonymous with acts of service.

“Kiss me,” he commands breathlessly with his tip waiting at your entrance. 

You do, eagerly, unaware at first that this is an act of service, too — a distraction, more specifically, to take your mind off of the stretch he brings. Nails pressed into his back, you whimper against his lips and let that pressure melt into something perfect. 

“I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not,” you whisper.

His eyelids may feel like lead, and you look like a dream, but Junhui is wide awake, laying half-dressed at your side. 

Of course, you knew this when you asked. You keep opening your eyes to look at him secretly only to find him watching you, amusement growing each time he catches you.

Even though his voice is rough from exhaustion, he musters the strength to tease you, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering, obviously.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t keep up your nonchalance for long. You bury it, along with your face, into his shoulder. When you finally tell the whole truth, it comes out rushed, as well as muffled.

“I spent most of the day wishing it was over. It was nightmarish, right from the jump. All I have to do is fall asleep, and it will be over…” Your shoulders sag under the weight of your sigh, which is delivered warmly against his skin. “But I don’t want that anymore.”

Junhui hums in acknowledgement. He pauses for a moment to consider what to say next, then decides to take a page out of your book. He’s an attorney, after all; he doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t already know the answers to.

“What changed?”

A lot.

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering,” you repeat. 

Your laugh makes his body move, too. Just the same, the smile he feels forming against his bicep mimics the one on his own mouth. “You know, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t seem accurate.”

This prompts you to pull away from him, prop yourself up on your elbow, and stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you how many times you just made me cum?”

He makes a big show of counting on his fingers until you swat at him. Then, he gets back to the point: 

“What I meant was, is it co-worker or Valentine?”

You blink, no doubt stunned that someone was finally able to catch you off guard. Junhui doubts that this happens often. If that’s the case, he’ll keep this image of you, surprised into silence, in his back pocket for later.

“I’ll concede that those things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” you eventually demur with a haughty shake of your head.

Junhui grabs your hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it. “Your concession is noted for the record.”

[fairyhaos]

ও wen junhui as your college boyfriend

gn!reader, wc ~500 tags: requested by anon, college au, fluff, crack, est. rs., this is so cute omg i want a college bf!junhui now

he's honestly so adorable no matter what

so u can bet he's the cutest college bf ever too!!

memorised ur wholeee schedule on day one and sends YOU reminders about ur own classes every day

makes a point to eat lunch with u whenever possible

also whenever Not possible too

like he'll come SPRINTING across campus after his class just to have lunch with u if that's what it takes

sue him, he likes spending time with u :(((

he's also thee best comforter during exam season omg!!!

more than willing to stay up all night studying with you if it makes you feel better

he knows how u spiral into panic if you're left on ur own, so the closer it gets to exams, he starts showering u with even MOREE affection than before

and you know he'll be showering u with kisses once exams r FINALLY out of the way as a congratulations 😙

always leaves snacks in your bag and little post-its with cat faces drawn on them to reminder you to drink water bc he KNOWS that you're so bad at taking care of urself when you're fully locked in

"hey junnie, you know you can just text me, right?" / "are you saying you don't like my cat drawings :((" / "whAT NO I WOULD NEVER—"

also just bc he's a broke college student does nawwt mean you'll ever catch him slacking as ur bf !!

gives you little gifts whenever possible, is always showing up at ur dorm with flowers, buys you books + clothes + stationary + groceries + whatever he can to show he cares

one thing he won't do, though, is catch bugs for you.

nuh uh. that is a no-go.

who cares that he's literally 600000x bigger than the spider? the spider is still WAYY scarier than he'll EVER be so he is NOT touching that no thank you.

the two of you stay glued to one corner of the library till ur friend arrives and scares the spider off

but junhui makes up for his bug-related uselessness by being useful in literally every other area of ur life

hungry? he'll cook for you. sick? he'll take care of you. stuck on an essay? he'll help you, even if he's not studying anything remotely related to ur major

he could be in the throes of finishing his dissertation, bags under his eyes and the world on his shoulders but he'll still drop everything to help you

what can he say? he's in love with u.

and what makes it even better is he knows, he knows that you'd do the exact same thing for him too

you're so full of love, so kind and wonderful that he can't help but do all of this in return, just to try and give an ounce of that same love back

it's the least you deserve, he thinks.

(and don't tell anyone, but right after graduation, he's thinking of getting you a promise ring and taking u to visit china with him b4 u go to ur respective internships.)

(and then, further down the line... he's really hoping to marry you one day. you know. because he really does love you a lot. hopefully you love him just as much too.)

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

[junkissed]

bedroom exclusive

member — actor bf!jun x f reader  genre — smut, (playful) angst, fluff word count — 3.9k  synopsis — seeing your boyfriend on tv kissing another girl definitely doesn't feel good, but he's got plenty of time to make it up to you. and he plans on letting you know that you're the only one on his mind.  smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, kissing, fingering, jun likes to be a tease, reader likes to be a brat, some jealousy but it's (mostly) pretend, all my fics have disgustingly happy endings i can't help it sorry notes — requested by @miwayu v this idea has been sitting in my inbox for 783 years but i have finally finished it !! big thanks to @onlymingyus for proofreading. i hope you enjoy!  

"well, how come you never kiss me on the couch like that?"

jun crosses his arms with a huff. "first of all, yes i do, and second of all, it's not like the scene was my idea! i didn't write the script!"

he's right about everything, but you still can't help but feel upset. no, not upset: you have to admit to yourself that you're a little... jealous. jealous that everybody gets to see how your jun kisses someone, how he holds someone, how he closes his eyes and wraps his hands around and how he touches someone. it's exactly what he looks like when he's doing all of that with you, so watching your boyfriend do all of those things with someone who isn't you is jarring, to say the least. but at the end of the day you know it's acting, and that after the cameras are turned off and the staff goes home for the night, he's doing all of that for real with you and only you. but even though you're not really angry with him, you still feel like pouting.

you stay quiet, trying to think of something to say, but jun speaks. "baby, if it really has you so worked up, then why don't i just show you?"

his question catches you off guard, and you look over at him in suspicion. "show me what?"

but as soon as the question leaves your lips, jun is putting his arms around you and flipping you down onto the couch. everything happens so fast that you barely comprehend what's happening until your back is flat against the cushions and he's positioning himself on top of you, caging you in with his arms and his legs straddling either side of your hips. your heart races when you look up and see the familiar look in his eyes as he holds himself above you. 

you don't try to hide the whine that escapes you, and jun grins in satisfaction as he leans down, his face hovering just centimeters above yours. "show you what it's like to be under me, darling. no cameras, just you and me."

your eyebrows knit into a frown and you turn your cheek to the side, away from him.

he sighs, but your refusal just makes him even more determined to convince you otherwise. "come on, baby, don't act like that. it isn't real. this is real, and i know you know the difference."

he presses his lips against your neck, feeling the way your pulse jumps beneath your skin as he gently leaves a trail of kisses down your throat. your curiosity gets the better of you and you turn your head back to look at him, only to find him staring into your eyes, his fixed gaze never leaving you as he works his way across your neck. 

the familiar feeling of his large hands roaming your body makes your skin warm, and you do your best to ignore the traitorous rush of slick between your legs. you can only pretend to be mad for so long before you give in, and it's beginning to seem easier and easier with every move he makes, working you up in ways only he knows how. he knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly which buttons to press, knows exactly what to do to get you begging and pleading for more. 

but still you have the urge to fight him, not wanting to let him have the satisfaction of your pleasure just yet. "i don't know. it looked pretty real to me," you tease him.

he kisses a sensitive spot on your neck and sucks on it a little, gentle enough not to leave any marks but still more than enough to make you stifle a gasp. 

"are you being a brat on purpose, or are you really mad?" he asks, his voice a touch softer than before. he hopes you're not seriously upset, and he knows you like to make jokes, but if you're really hurt then maybe he needs to switch gears.

"both," you reply with a pout, but you lift one hand to run your fingers through his hair, a quiet reassurance that you're alright. "i'm really mad that you're not inside me yet."

his eyes light up, and he begins to suck at the spot on your neck harder, this time enough to bruise. "well, brats don't always get what they want right away," he says, and you shiver as his teeth graze over your skin. "right now i wanna take my time with you. so are you going to behave and let me do that, or are you going to keep acting like a brat and make me leave you with nothing?"

"i think you'll fuck me no matter what i act like," you say, and your hand trails down his stomach to feel where his cock strains against his pants, just as you suspected. he may know all your body's secrets, but you know just as much, if not more, about his. "because you love me too much. and you like this too much."

"but this isn't about me, baby," he hums, and the vibrations against your skin almost make you moan. "what i like doesn't matter right now. what matters is you deciding whether you're gonna keep playing these games, or if you're gonna let me fuck all those doubts out of your pretty head once and for all. it's your choice, sweetheart."

his trail of kisses moves back up your neck, but his lips stop short at your chin, clearly waiting for you to answer.

you pretend to think it over, narrowing your eyes in pretend thought, still refusing to give him the response he wants.

"why are you making this harder for yourself, baby? you know i love you," he whispers, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. "you have nothing to be mad about, because look where i am right now. i'm not with anybody else but you, and i don't want to be with anybody else but you. so drop the act, honey. i dropped mine."

you sigh out, both your hands finally coming to rest on the back of his neck. your fingers weave into his hair, twirling his locks between your fingertips until you can't take it anymore, breaking out into a smile that gives him the cue he was waiting for.

he leans down and finally pushes his mouth against yours, and your eyes flutter shut, your entire body relaxing at the familiar feeling. his nose presses against your cheek, his lips parted slightly as his hands hold the back of your neck, tangling in your hair splayed out across the couch. you let out a shaky breath and he swallows it, pushing his lips deeper into yours. 

his mouth moves slowly but his kisses are anything but gentle. his tongue prods at your upper lip and you welcome him, matching his pace and pulling him down towards you so you can wrap your arms around him to hold him tighter against your chest. 

he shifts above you, his knees straddling either side of you, and you can feel how hard he is. the image of him doing exactly this for millions of viewers flashes in your head, but any doubt is pushed out of your mind when he starts grinding his hips against your leg, groaning into your kiss. he might even be needier than you are right now, but you can't help teasing him just once more.

"is this bringing back fond memories?" you break away from his mouth to say, breathing heavily.

"shut up," he bites back, then exhales sharply. his voice is low when he speaks again. "the day we filmed that scene, all i could think about was you. it was the day we were supposed to have dinner at your parents' house, but i made you lie about being sick so we could stay home and i could fuck you in every room in the house instead. i didn't mention it at the time because i thought it'd kill the mood, but trust me when i say the only memories i have of that day are about you."

air catches in your throat and you glance up at him, but the look in his eyes is serious. he didn't tell you much about his schedules and  exactly which scenes he was filming on which day, so there was no way to tell what was happening on set unless you were there personally. you remember this particular day well— more accurately, you remember the days afterward that you'd walked with a limp.

"i thought you did it because you didn't want to have to eat my mom's overcooked chicken again," you respond, trying to cover your surprise with a breathless laugh.

"i did it because i wouldn't have been able to sit at that table and not think about fucking you on top of it," he says, and you can feel the heat creeping into your cheeks at the thought. "now, stop bringing it up, or i'll have to fuck that bratty attitude out of you."

"what if i want you to, though?" you retort. "maybe i need more convincing."

his nostrils flare, and he pushes his mouth against yours once more, drinking in the desperate sounds that leave your lips. "we both know you're a liar, but i'd still be happy to change your mind."

one of his hands trails down your chest, then your stomach, before finally stopping just below your belly button. you're sure he must be able to feel the heat radiating from between your legs, but he doesn't move, just rests his hand on top of your pants.

he stays still for a moment, and the way his hand hovers unpredictably makes your heart race, waiting for him to do something. suddenly he cups your clothed pussy without warning, and you moan out his name, the sound muffled by his lips as he kisses you harder. he relishes in the way your hips buck up against his hand.

he's in love with how you're already so desperate after just a few kisses, but he isn't faring any better himself; the weight of his cock aches, straining against his pants and against the side of your leg. it's almost embarrassing how you're both so needy for each other, yet he couldn't even begin to imagine anything hotter than this moment here with you.

maybe the directors had been onto something with those scenes. if anything, it just gives him more material to do with you. his mind wanders, running through each scene in his head and picturing it differently. kissing you on the kitchen counter, kissing you on the table, kissing you against the wall, kissing you on the bed, kissing you in the park, kissing you in the rain… so many possibilities, and he can't wait to try every single one with you.

it's not until you break apart from him, whimpered words tumbling out of your mouth as you plead with him to touch you, that he comes back to reality. those kisses can wait for another time. 

he plants a quick kiss on your upper lip before slipping his hand underneath the waistband of your pants. you exhale a sigh of relief at the feeling of his fingers on you, pushing your pants down your hips and kicking them away to give him better access.

"you're so wet already, baby," jun hums, swiping his finger over your dripping entrance and grinning when you shiver. "you like kissing me this much, huh?"

you manage to shake your head. "i like knowing you think about me when you're supposed to be kissing someone else," you breathe.

"i'm always thinking about you, sweetheart."

just like his mouth, his fingers start out gentle, running up and down through your folds and rubbing tiny circles around your clit. the warmth of his hand mixes with the warmth between your legs, and a shiver runs down your spine, already feeling the tension building in your stomach.

but soon it becomes not enough and you're just about to start begging him for more, but without you even having to ask he pushes the tip of his index finger into your pussy.

"fuck…" you moan against his lips, struggling to catch your breath. "i could cum just from that, jun, please—"

"mm, should i let you? or should i make you wait, from all this attitude you've been giving me?" he asks, pushing his finger deeper into you.

you can't even give him an answer, but he must decide to let you off easy this time, because he slides another finger into you. you moan, pulling his head closer to kiss him as his fingers start to move faster.

your eyes are squeezed so tightly shut it makes you dizzy, and you can feel your teeth knocking against jun's, but you're so lost you barely notice it.

he adds a third finger and instantly you feel yourself falling into the pleasure, clenching around him.

you frantically tear your lips from his, moaning and panting and gasping for breath as your high overtakes every part of your body. a rush of wetness pours from you, gushing out over his fingers as he continues to thrust them in and out of you, the added pressure of his thumb on your clit prolonging your orgasm. 

it takes a few moments but finally you come back down to earth, the feeling of the couch cushions under your back reminding you where you are and what you're doing. jun lays on top of you, his fingers still buried in your cunt and his mouth leaving kisses all over your face as you wait for your breath to return to you.

with a content sigh you push on his shoulder to make him sit up, and he kisses you once more before he leans away.

"are you comfortable?" he asks, and you look up at him in confusion at the question.

"very comfortable after that," you tell him with a giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows. "but otherwise yes. why?"

he smiles. "just wondering if you wanted to move to the bed. or the floor, if you feel like."

you purse your lips, giving him a pout. "i thought you said you were gonna fuck me on the couch?"

"clearly you still have the energy to be a brat, so my work here isn't done yet," he grins. "couch it is, then."

he pulls his shirt off in one quick motion before reaching down for your clothes, but you barely even notice him lifting your arms to slide you out of your shirt.

you've seen him shirtless hundreds of times by now, but he never fails to take your breath away. it's been too long since you've had a moment to stare like this anyway so you take full advantage of the opportunity, your gaze fixated on the sight of his bare chest and the way his muscles flex with movement. have his arms gotten bigger? they've definitely gotten bigger.

"like what you see?" he laughs when he notices you watching him, and you smack his arm playfully. he's corny, but you couldn't love him more.

"i do. and i'm not afraid to admit it."

"still mad you're not the only one who gets to see it?" he teases.

"mm, a little," you exhale. "but i'm the only one who can see it every day, in person, whenever i want. so at the end of the day it doesn't really matter what they see, does it?"

he stands up and pushes his pants down, a smile playing on his lips. "that's my good girl."

you can't help but continue to ogle him as he strips, the outline of his cock against his briefs so defined you can practically taste it.

"do you want to be on top, or me?" he asks, and your eyes belatedly move back up to his face.

"i thought you were gonna fuck the brat out of me, junnie," you tease him playfully. "how can you do that if i'm on top?"

he scoffs. "last time i ever offer you a choice, then. maybe i should just fuck your mouth instead, since you seem to think you're getting your way here."

"you say that like it's a bad thing," you laugh. "like i don't beg you to let me suck you off, like, twice a day."

"well, unlucky for you, that's not happening today," he says, and finally pushes his underwear down. his cock springs free and you groan, any argument you had instantly dying on your lips at the sight.

you know the look of lust on your face is blatantly obvious, but you couldn't care less. not when your boyfriend's gorgeous cock is mere inches away, yours and yours alone to see. it finally sinks in that all the scenes from his drama were just pretend sex, while you're having real sex. and boy, does it make your stomach flutter.

jun knows you all too well, knows how you get when you're around him and how you lose all control at just the sight of him naked. and he adores it. being naked in front of cameras and crew members made him shy, but being naked in front of you made him the proudest man in the world. the way you look at him as if he's the only person you've ever seen; he can practically see the stars in your eyes, and that alone is worth more than billions of strangers seeing him on a screen.

he drinks in every second of your reactions. the way your breath stutters when he leans over to wrap one of your legs around his waist, the way you shiver when he runs his hand along your thigh and the way your hands immediately find their way to his head as you try to pull him down towards you.

he can tell in the way your attitude has changed that you aren't mad (or even pretend-mad) at him anymore, and he takes this as his sign to bend down and kiss you again. 

"do you believe me now?" he whispers, his warm cheek pressed against yours. you close your eyes and feel the vibrations from his voice against your face, your grip on his hair tightening as you hold him as close as you possibly can.

"believe what?" you ask softly, though you already know what he's referring to.

jun hums. "that you're the only one i love."

"i never doubted that for a second."

he pushes his lips against yours and you swallow him, the both of you growing more desperate and more restless as he grinds his hips against yours.

you kiss him until you can't anymore, leaning your neck back against the couch seat with a breathless moan.

he moves his lips downwards, momentarily stopping between your breasts before he quickly sits back on his heels, angling his cock between your legs with practiced ease. 

it takes seconds for him to slide into you, a whine stuck in your throat at the pulsing feeling inside you. he pulls his hips back slowly, nearly slipping out before he pounds back into you. 

your hands yank him down again and he falls flat against your chest, quickly finding the best position to hold you as he continues to thrust into you.

his hands sit beside your head, cupping your cheeks as he pants and gasps and groans your name.

sweat-drenched pieces of jun's hair dangle above your face, but the only thing you see is the way he looks at you, his intense gaze communicating things far beyond words.

"jun…" you manage, everything else failing you as you melt into his touch. your body is on fire, there's so much you want to say and do but your head is spinning.

jun pulls you into another deep kiss and you let your eyes fall shut, letting him take over, mouths moving together so you can't tell where he ends and you begin.

"fuck, you're so perfect," he curses, his thrusts growing faster. "so beautiful."

"all mine, junnie," you moan, the only words you can remember. you're barely thinking about what leaves your mouth but you know exactly what you want to say, 

"i know, baby. i'm all yours," he pants, desperately kissing you anywhere his lips will reach. "nobody else's. yours."

it doesn't take much longer for the knot in your stomach to tighten until you can't hold back anymore. "so close, jun, please, 'm gonna cum," you choke out.

"just wait for me baby, just hold on," he pleads, and he shifts his hips just slightly to fuck into you at a different angle.

all it takes is just the way you say his name, the way you look up at him with lips swollen from his kisses, the way your brows knit together in concentration as you try your best to hold back your orgasm for him. the way he's so fervently yours, and he doesn't have to act or pretend or be anything less than a hundred percent genuine about the way he loves you and you love him.

your whole body shudders as you cum, spasming around him until it triggers his own orgasm and he lets go with a groan. his hips jerk as warmth floods your abdomen, and it seems like it goes on forever as he shivers in sensitivity.

he exhales, and you kiss his cheek gently as you feel him breathe against your chest.

after a minute he shifts his arms around you, still holding you as he sits upright and pulls you onto his lap, his cock still inside of you.

your head falls into the crook of his neck with a sigh, thoroughly spent. there's plenty of things you probably should be doing now, but it feels so nice to just sit and rest, feeling full and satisfied.

"i would say that was much more fun than filming for the show," jun says finally with a little giggle.

you hum, cheek still resting against his shoulder. "enough about the show. i have the real thing right here."

he grins. "so you admit you're not mad at me."

"how could i ever be mad at you, when you fuck me like that?"

"i know," he says proudly. "i just wanted to hear you say it. i'm a really good actor, aren't i?"

collecting the last of your strength, you sit back and pretend to glare at him, to which he responds with another giggle and a kiss to your nose.

"whatever," you tell him as he tucks a piece of your hair out of your face. "take me to shower and show me more of those scenes, and then i'll believe you."

but he's already standing up, keeping hold of your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you down the hall. "oh, with pleasure."

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[seokmn]

DAMN TRIP .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･

pairing: junhui x fem!reader wc: 0.8k words warning: pet names, jun as girl dad (yes, its a warning for my delusional besties out there.)

“let me be over there again”

Junhui dropped his bags on the floor and wrapped his arms around your waist, tightening his grip as if he would never see you again. He let out a defeated sigh. “I can't believe I have to go… what if I tell my boss I got sick? I can tell him I have dengue fever, and he’ll let me stay at home!” You laughed at your husband's comment and shook your head while caressing his hair. “We don't live in a tropical or subtropical country, you can't have dengue fever.”

“You have no idea how good I can be at acting,” he smiled and hid his face in the crook of your neck. “I don't want to leave you and D/N by yourselves. Seven days is too much time away from you."

You placed your hands on his shoulder and pulled him away just enough to make him look at your face. You smiled in a comforting way and kissed his temple. “Junnie, we’ll be fine, and we’ll be always facetiming each other. These seven days will pass in a blink of an eye, okay?”

Junhui still looked upset, but he nodded and gave you a peck on your lips before looking in the direction of your daughter's room, “D/N? Dad is leaving soon, won't you give me a hug?”

In a matter of seconds, you saw your daughter running to him with a frown on her face, arms raised, and one of her hands holding a folded paper. “Daddy, don't go!”

Junhui picked her up and gave her a sweet kiss on her forehead. “I wish I could stay, but I have to go… It's only for seven days, though,” he tried to comfort her, but his heart was absolutely broken. Since you gave birth to your daughter, Junhui and D/N became inseparable. “And I'll facetime you every time to tell a story before you sleep. I promise you.”

He caressed her puffy cheeks as her frown was deepening. D/N used her free hand to rub her eye while giving him the folded paper that was on her other hand, Junhui smiled and looked at her with the kindest expression ever. “Is it for me? Can I open it now?” she nodded, and he shifted her in his arms so he would be able to open the folded paper with his two hands. Once he opened it, he saw a drawing of you, him, and the little girl with a bunch of hearts around the three of you. He couldn't help but tear up as he showed the drawing to you, making you a little bit emotional as well.

“Sweetie… That's so beautiful, I'll take this drawing with me all the time. Thank you for giving it to me,” he kissed her forehead once again and searched for something in his pocket. “I have something for you as well.”

Her eyes lit up in curiosity as he took out two bracelets out of his pocket and showed them to her. "I asked uncle Joshua to help me to make them for us, the pink and yellow one is yours, and the pink and blue one is mine. It has our initials, look!” The little girl grabbed the pink and yellow bracelet and took a look at it, seeing the stars and three letters, being them the initials of your names. She smiled widely, wrapped her little arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek.

“Daddy, I loved it!” Junhui chuckled and rubbed her back. “I'm glad you loved it. I hope to see you wearing it!” He turned his gaze to you. “Yours is on my side of the bed. It's pink and white, your favorite colors,” you smiled and wiped your tears away. “Gosh, you're acting like you’re leaving for a whole year,” you placed your arm around his waist, and Junhui took this opportunity to give you and your daughter a family hug.

“I love my girls so much,” he sighed before continuing. “I promise to come back quickly and bring you gifts.”

The three of you stayed like that for a while before you broke the hug. Junhui pampered his daughter with sweet kisses all over her face before putting her back on the ground, then he looked at you, gave you a sad, yet lovely smile, and pecked your lips. “I'll text you when I get to the airport, before the flight, after the flight, and when I get to the hotel,” you chuckled and nodded. “Have a safe trip, love. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he turned to your daughter and crouched down to be on her level. He booped her nose and smiled, “I love you as well, got it?”

“I love you too, daddy! Have a safe trip!”

Junhui sighed before standing up once again and grabbing his bags to leave. He looked at you and D/N and smiled before leaving the house, leaving you and your loved daughter alone for the next seven days with his heart broken in pieces, absolutely hating the thought of not having you around.

[studioeisa]

take my word for it 🧭 junhui x reader.

when bitterness bites, novelty is nectar.

★ almost-lovers junhui x reader. ★ part of the angst olympics collaboration & my personal buzz (seventeen's version) project. ★ word count: 2.9k ★ genre/warnings: angst, childhood friends, idiots in love, right person/wrong time. obscene use of em-dashes (sorry). based on NIKI's take care. ★ footnotes: this is an overdue update to buzz (svt's version), and my official entry to me & the bestiesss' angst collaboration 🫶 missing junhui hours are always open, i fear.

The first time you see Jun again, it’s been three years. 

You don’t realize how much time has passed until he’s standing in front of you, taller than you remember, sharper in the angles of his face, but with the same lopsided grin that once got him out of trouble with your teachers.

“You’re late,” you tell him, though your annoyance is betrayed by the smile threatening to fill your face. 

Jun snorts, adjusting his cap lower over his eyes, though it does little to hide the way they crinkle at the corners. “Nah,” he says. “I think I’m just on time.” 

He isn’t, you want to insist. He’s thirty minutes late. (Maybe years late, if you really think about it.) But there are only so many hours that you and Jun have with each other, and you don’t want to squander it with a petty argument. 

You’re standing outside a familiar café tucked into a quieter part of Nanshan, the same place you used to visit after school when Jun had big dreams and no schedule to keep him away. He used to drape himself over the chairs, drinking lemon tea and sighing dramatically about one thing or the other. 

Now, he’s here on a two-month film shoot. Slipping into your hometown like a whisper, never staying long enough to settle.

You push open the door, the bell chiming softly as you step inside. The place hasn’t changed much— same dark wooden tables, same warm scent of coffee and osmanthus pastries. It feels almost untouched by time. A sharp contrast to Jun, who moves with the ease of someone who belongs everywhere and nowhere at once.

The two of you take a seat in the corner. The air between you should feel heavy with all the things unsaid, but it doesn’t. Jun always knew how to make things easy.

“So,” he starts, stirring his iced coffee with a straw, “care to tell me just how much you missed me?” 

You scoff. What an opener. He keeps you waiting for half an hour, and the first thing he does is try and wheedle a confession out of you. 

“Not a lot,” you shoot back. I catch you on television plenty of times, you consider saying. You’re on the billboards I see on my morning commute. You’re right there, whenever I open SNS. How could I miss you? It’s like you never left. 

“Ouch.” Jun clutches his chest, feigning hurt. “I come all this way, and this is the welcome I get?” 

You shake your head, fighting down a smile. Like he’s never left, indeed. 

The conversation flows as it always has—effortless, like slipping into an old song. You talk about your job, your family, how your parents still ask about him like he’s their long-lost son. He tells you about the movie, about co-stars you only vaguely recognize, about how his director keeps yelling at him to stop using his “idol face” when he acts.

Time bends and blurs. It’s too easy to pretend nothing has changed, that he isn’t someone the world watches with hungry eyes, that you’re both still sixteen and untouchable.

Then, somewhere between the laughter and the nostalgia, the conversation stills.

Jun looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression shifts.

Don’t, you mentally beg him as you avoid his gaze. Don’t say what’s both on our minds. Don’t make it real. Don’t make me want— 

“Have you—” He hesitates, taps his fingers against the table. “Have you ever thought about leaving Shenzen?” 

You blink. “What?” 

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the shared language you speak and how it’s marred by minute differences. You, with your unburdened Mandarin; Jun, whose accent carries hints of all the places he’s been. All the people he has to be. 

He tilts his head and studies you like he’s memorizing something. “You always talked about going somewhere else. Trying something new.” 

The words feel like a physical blow to the chest. 

There’s no delicate way to put it. That ‘you’ who had dreamed of bigger things and faraway places was a distant memory. That was a version of you who hasn’t existed in a long, long time. 

That was a version of you that once existed alongside a starry-eyed Jun, but the stars in your friend’s eyes have long since burned out— snuffed by the weight of his responsibilities. 

You plaster on a smile. “Not everybody gets to chase their dreams, Junnie,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. 

His lips press together in a thin, disappointed line. “I know.” He glances away, around the café that once witnessed all your scheming, before he fixes that searching look back on you. “But you should have.” 

The words sit between you. Neither heavy nor light, just true.

A part of you wants to ask if he ever thought about staying. If he ever looked back. If he ever wondered what would have happened if he had been a little less brilliant, a little less meant for something bigger.

But you don’t.

Instead, you sip at your drink and ask Jun about Jackie Chan. About the twelve boys he calls brothers. About everything that has to do with nothing, just so neither of you have to deal with the suffocating elephant in the room. 

The night ends quietly as it began. Outside, the Shenzhen air is thick with the lingering warmth of spring, the streets humming with soft life. You and Jun walk together for a while, your arms brushing but never quite linking.

There’s a metaphor here somewhere, you think amusedly, and you fight the urge to tease Jun about it. 

For ten points, you almost ask him, can you tell me why we won’t just hold hands, Wen Junhui? 

At the corner where the roads split— his back to his hotel, yours towards home— the two of you hesitate. Jun grins, tilting his head. “Are you gonna say it, or should I?”

You shake your head, exhaling. “Take care, superstar.”

His smile softens. You used to call him that all the time, used to tout his impending stardom like it was as certain as the blueness of the sky. “Yeah,” he says. “See you around, alright?” 

You nod, but you don’t look back.

And Jun— Jun watches you disappear down the street before turning away, hands in his pockets. He whistles a tune neither of you ever got the chance to finish.

It’s been two years since you last saw Jun.

This time, you don’t meet at a café. There are no warm pastries or quiet corners, no scent of lemon tea curling through the air. Instead, there’s the sharp scent of rain-soaked pavement and the dull glow of a street lamp flickering above you.

You weren’t supposed to see him today.

You had known he was back— of course you did. His face was impossible to miss, plastered across the city on every advertisement, playing in every store you walked past. He was here for another movie, another fleeting return, and you had told yourself you wouldn’t reach out this time. Why say ‘hello’ if you would only be risking another ‘goodbye’? 

You spot him first, half-hidden beneath the awning of a convenience store, scrolling idly through his phone. He hasn’t noticed you yet. His cap is pulled low, his shoulders hunched against the drizzle, but it’s him. You’d know him anywhere.

You could walk away.

You should walk away.

But instead, you step forward, letting your umbrella tilt slightly so the rain dampens your sleeve. “Didn’t peg you for the type to loiter outside a convenience store like a delinquent,” you joke.

Jun looks up, startled, and then his face splits into a slow, disbelieving grin. “And I didn’t peg you for the type to stalk me.”

There it is. The first words exchanged in what feels like a lifetime. It’s like a Band-Aid to a bullet wound— a cut put there by Jun’s texts that have gone unanswered. Let’s meet up, he had asked you days ago, and you let the message collect dust in your inbox. 

A part of you dreads the thought of him bringing it up. Here, now. But Jun also knows better. Knows why the two of you can’t keep indulging each other. 

But fate seems to have other plans.

“You’re the one standing outside my usual store,” you shoot back with a half-hearted roll of your eyes. 

He laughs, soft and familiar, and suddenly the past two years don’t feel so far away.

“Guess that means I owe you something,” he says, nudging open the door with his shoulder. “Come in. I’ll buy you a drink.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should say something polite and leave, pretend you never saw him, pretend this doesn’t mean something. But then Jun lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head in that way he always does when he knows he’s winning, and you find yourself following him inside. 

You always did let him win, didn’t you? 

The store is nearly empty. The hum of the refrigerator and the occasional beeping of the cashier scanning items are the only sounds filling the silence. You make a beeline for the drink aisle, Jun trailing behind you.

“You still drink lemon tea?” he asks, side-stepping you. 

You nod. He plucks a can from the shelf without hesitation before grabbing a coffee for himself. 

You remembered, you think, and the thought must be clear as day on your face because Jun lets out a snort of laughter when he looks at you. “What kind of monster forgets their best friend’s favorite drink?” he quips.

There it is again. That careful, unspoken line. Best friend. Like a safety net stretched between you, always just enough to keep the two of you from falling. 

You don’t respond, just follow him to the counter where he pays, ignoring the way the cashier does a double take when she recognizes him.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle.

“You have somewhere to be?” Jun asks, handing you the can. 

In the corner of your eye, you can see the cashier fiddling with her phone. Probably trying to look up Jun. 

You shake your head.

“Walk with me for a bit,” he says, and it’s a plea as much as it’s a question. 

So you walk. Past neon-lit storefronts, past the murmuring voices of late-night diners, past streets that still hold echoes of your childhood. One of the few things that you still share.

Jun talks about the film, about how he barely has time to sleep, about how his co-star is absurdly talented and makes him feel like a rookie again. You listen, nodding in the right places, letting his voice fill the spaces between you.

He gives. You take. It’s always been this way. 

You’re in more familiar neighborhoods when Jun asks you, blunt as ever, “Have you been happy?” 

You don’t know how to answer.

You think about your job, steady but unremarkable. You think about your apartment, neat and quiet. You think about the life you’ve built, the one you never dreamed of but somehow ended up with anyway.

You think about how the only time you ever feel sixteen again is when Jun is standing beside you.

“I’m fine,” you say at last. “I have everything I need.”

Almost everything, you add in your mind as your free hand twitches at your side. The empty spaces between your fingers feel glaringly obvious, feel like some place where Jun could rest if he deigned to. 

Jun studies you for a long moment. Then he hums, low and thoughtful, and turns his gaze back to the road. The walk continues, but something has shifted. The silence is heavier, the air thicker. The distance between you is measured in more than just footsteps now.

You stop at the same corner as last time. His hotel. Your apartment. 

Jun shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels. “I leave in two weeks,” he says. 

“I figured,” you respond. Not unkindly. 

“Maybe we can—” he starts, and that mental litany starts up in your head once again. 

Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to yourself. 

He hears it, he must, because he trails off and shakes his head like he’s ridding himself of wishful thinking. “Nevermind.” 

It’s the smartest thing he’s done tonight. You lift your can of lemon tea in a mock toast. 

Here’s to us, you want to say, the two biggest idiots in the goddamn world. 

Instead, you leave him with the usual. “Take care, Junnie.” 

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Always,” he shoots back. “Take it easy, you.”

Again: You don’t look back. 

And Jun— Jun watches until you’re gone before turning away, taking slow steps back into a city that no longer feels like home.

This time, it’s been four years. 

Four years of Jun slipping in and out of Shenzhen like a ghost, four years of you pretending not to notice. You’ve kept track, of course. Not through texts— those stopped after the last time— but through the city itself. His presence lingers in the posters at subway stations, in the muted sound of his voice filtering through a store’s speakers, in the occasional mention of his name in casual conversation.

You told yourself you wouldn’t see him again. That after the last time, after the rain-soaked streets and the unfinished words, there was no point in waiting for another return.

Your bags are packed, your ticket is in hand, and Shenzhen— the city that once held all your dreams and disappointments— is about to be nothing more than a place you used to belong to.

And yet, somehow, in this vast, transient space of the airport terminal, you find him.

Or maybe he finds you.

Jun stands near his gate, his hoodie pulled over his head. But you would recognize him anywhere. Even if it had been another four years. Even if it had been a lifetime.

He spots you. For a second, he looks almost startled— like he wasn’t expecting this, like he had finally convinced himself you weren’t going to be a part of this place he keeps leaving behind.

Then, slowly, that familiar smile tugs at his lips.

It must take a mammoth effort for him to weave through the fans dying to catch a glimpse of him, through the security detail who are paid thousands to keep him safe. He manages. He forces himself to. 

When he reaches you, his voice is softer than you remember. “You’re kidding.” 

You huff, shaking your head. “I wish,” you say. 

He glances at your suitcase, at the boarding pass clutched in your hand. His smile falters. “Where are you heading?” he asks, like the thought of a Shenzen without you is a travesty in its own right. 

You give him a tight-lipped smile. I can’t answer that, your grin says, and he seems to understand. It’s the only safeguard that will keep him from jet-setting to wherever you are, from walking through street after street in hopes of running into you. 

Fate can only do so much for you and Jun. It’s given you chances, given you hope, and yet the two of you continue to scorn it. 

“Why now?” he asks of your departure. His voice is careful but not unreadable. He wants to know if you’re running toward something or just running away.

It’s a little bit of both, admittedly. 

You shrug. “Figured it was about time,” you say instead. 

Time. You and Jun once had it in spades. He exhales, tilting his head like he’s processing the weight of the moment. With a humorless chuckle, he says, “Guess we really are bad at timing, huh?”

The announcement for his flight crackles overhead. A final boarding call.

Jun lingers, watching you, something flickering behind his gaze. He hesitates, like he wants to say something— something real, something that won’t disappear the moment he steps on that plane.

But you already know what he’ll say.

And you already know how this ends.

So before he can ask, before he can make this any harder than it already is, you step forward and do what you’ve never done before.

You reach for his hand.

For a second, Jun freezes. Then his fingers curl around yours, warm and familiar, like they were always supposed to fit this way.

You hold on. Just for a moment. Just long enough to let yourself wonder what it would have been like if things had been different. If you, if he had been different. 

Fate has given up. This is your fate, now— the meeting, the leaving. The loss.

You pull away first. Jun blinks, startled, and you can see the question forming on his lips. But you don’t give him the chance to ask.

“Take care, Junhui.” 

Not superstar. Not Junnie. He’s neither of those things anymore. 

He’s not yours anymore. (Was he ever?) 

His grip tightens around the handle of his suitcase.

With a small, resigned smile, he nods. “You, too,” he says quietly. “Take care.” 

And, this time— you both walk away.

🎧 BUZZ (SEVENTEEN'S VERSION) TAGLIST — @cherrylita @cookiearmy @cunfnxxx-blog

🏆 THE ANGST OLYMPICS TAGLIST — @lovetaroandtaemin @bokk-minnie @gyuhao365 @supi-wupi @rizzus @callmehoweveruwatblog @pleasetellmenow @giverosespls @seikwans @cookiearmy @mingumis @yuyuloverrr @chanranghaeys @starstrawb @catiekayy @choco-scoups @wonuilu @flickhurstyles @yayayayana @lizza2001 @bibblemiluvr @alyssa19123456 @skzbangchanniee @whoa-jo @brownbunnyb @sennasiempre @idubiluranghae @bvrin

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

Worth It 👑

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

pairing: stable boy! jun x young lady! reader

word count: 1.2k

genre: non-idol au, slight regency elements, inspired by jun’s cover of ‘worth it’, no happy ending, angstx3

notes: part of my collaboration for angst olympics. check out the full masterlist to read works from all the amazing authors! special thanks to my love, @studioeisa for beta-ing at the speed of light and for making the banner <3 bold lines are direct translation of jun's worth it.

You taught him all about silk. 

The silk which you can’t live without, which is all you wear; the silken weave of your hair, the silky texture of your favourite pudding; and the colour of your eyes. A silk of maize.  Underneath the silken rays of the early morning sun, your laugh makes the flowers dance in joy,

Days of the weeks blended into months which turned into years that run amok and both of you are now only shadows of the kids you once were. However, Jun was still the responsible one. He had to be. His whole life was spent taking care of an overworked, chronically sick mother and a carefree tactless friend. You, on the other hand, bloomed into the graceful lady of Fenheart City. Who would even look at you and think that once you roughhoused with the street children in Southern slums where Jun still lives in.

Nowadays, the only stolen moments you two can catch are during your daily morning ride. Your parents commend you for still taking the stableboy for your safety but only the two of you know you can outrace Jun anyday. He still has to hold the reins of your horses with his head bowed down so that the guards don’t catch a worthless scum talking to the lady. Especially when there are new envoys and servants all around. Jun can’t afford a sliver of rumours with his mom’s medicine getting more expensive by day. Only the efforts of the young lord of Starfall, the Ashwind church, and the Western Garrison, kept the borders relatively peaceful for medicine traders to cross over.

As part of his new habit over the last six months, Jun said a quick prayer for the good health of Starfall’s lord when you fly into his arms. His hands instinctively wrap around your waist before he finds the sanity of mind to push you away.

“Are you insane? We are in public.” He hissed.

“Fuck being in public. Do you know what those envoys are for?” You sounded hysterical. Scratch that. You were hysterical. A dull pain reverberated in his heart when Jun realized that you were distressed and there was nothing he could do to help you. Helplessness, thy name is Wen Junhui.

“Why are they here?” He asked softly, eerily similar to how he soothed young colts.

You stare into him with empty eyes, swaying back and forth on your feet. A voice so distant to you that you don’t even realize that it’s yours, say, “Father finalized my marriage to the new Lord of Starfall. He promised the stretch of forest borderning their fortier town in return for extra protection for Fenheart. Our marriage will seal the deal.”

You start to giggle and don’t seem to stop. Jun found his teeth clenched together. Just as he finished processing what you said, you snatched his hands and pressed them to your chest.

“I got it,” Eyes blazing, you announce. “Let’s run away together.”

Jun tried to tug his hands free. “Let go of my hand.”

“No. Don't ask that of me. Jun, you can’t ask that of me.” Both of you know why he can’t. What was once a puppy love turned into a devoted one a few summers back. There was no one who knew your soul more than Jun. Both of you never thought about another person. Still, Jun was used to never getting the things he wanted: a bed not made out of hay, a horse of his own, you.

“You know this is wrong, right? We both have responsibilities we can't run from. I have my mother to look after too.” There. He tried his best to be rational.

“You say these things but you are still here. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want me. I know that this is wrong. I know we are disappointing so many people. But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So, if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

“You won't regret me?” His best effort isn’t enough. Rationality had no place for souls intertwined.

“I like to think that our love and our mistakes are all worth it. Even if the result is chaos, it will count for something. So, steal me away, lover boy.”

For the first time in his life, Jun let himself hope.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜

The doors of the City Lord’s study slammed closed, and so did the kindle of hope he nursed for the last few days. Everyone knew that when you went into the study, you came out a changed man. And Jun knew before being thrown in there that he won’t be the same boy anymore.

And he wasn’t. Not when he was whipped for every word you wrote in your goodbye letter to your parents. Not when his mother had to slam her forehead hard enough against the stone floor that it stained crimson to beg for your life. Not when he agreed to let you watch him give you up for money that will set him up for life. He left a shell of the boy he once was. The boy that would have never given you up. The boy that wouldn’t have chosen practicality over devotion. 

Even as they are dragging you away, creating furrows in the soft earth caused by your stubborn feet, you can't help but scream to him. Jun! Jun, please. Please. please. Don't let them take me away. You can't. YOU CAN'T.

Jun says nothing. His hands are already stained. Whether the pouch of gold is heavier than his conscience is between him and the silent forest.

He shouldn't feel guilty. He doesn't owe you anything. He can never owe you anything because there was never a possibility of crossing the chasm, of building a life with you. 

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜

Jun moves. Well, he has the money now. Why shouldn’t he? 

He moves three days away from the border of Starfall and marries a nice, homely local girl whose father owns the most popular taravan. She is enamoured by the handsome new trader and quick on her feet. And that’s enough for Jun. He needs someone who can take care of his mother and share his hardships. (You hated doing chores. You promised that you would start doing them the moment he married you.)

It’s been 10 years and Jun is a household name for best quality silk at the cheapest price. He has five branches in different cities, and yet, at the end of the month, he personally goes to a non-descript town just inside the border to deliver their maudlin amount of silk for the cloth shops. 

When his wife, now handsomely aged and with even more handsome manners, asks him why he doesn't send a servant to deliver those goods (doesn’t it tire you, my love?), he tells her it’s about respecting how much they contributed to his business at the start. I settled here with nothing, madame. 

He doesn’t tell her about the beer he drinks at the only taravan in that town. He doesn’t tell her how he slips a few coins to the innkeeper to tell him about the current situation of Starfall and its lordship. 

He won’t tell her he waits with bated breath about one sliver of news about its Lady. He won’t tell her he still looks for signs that you are content. He can’t tell her he never stopped loving you.

He has everything now. His mother is healthy and loves to babysit her grandchildren. 

He still doesn’t know if it’s worth it.

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[hanniescookie]

snow on the beach - wjh

pairing - junhui x f!reader

genre/warnings - college au, non idol au, fluff, incredibly soft sweet stuff, skinship, reader is down bad for junhui

wc - 978

summary - having unknowingly existed in your periphery, Junhui suddenly becomes the focal point, triggering a weird but beautiful, almost unreal feeling.

A/N - i know i promised to post jeonghan but i dreamt this really cute junhui today where i was down bad for him and during my exam i thought of how much he feels like this song, so i blended it all up and cooked this ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

| @maestro-net

Junhui always existed all around you.

The air you breathed sometimes had his scent, like sandalwood mixed with rain, though you just thought it was the way things smelled that day. In busy places, you might have bumped into him, a quick touch you didn't think twice about.

You might have heard him talking nearby, a certain way he said things or a laugh that now sounds so familiar. He could have been the barista handing you your coffee, his eyes meeting yours for a second before you looked away. Maybe you saw him walking across the street — just another face in the crowd. That cool piece of street art you liked, or that nice little café you found, were places he went to often.

Even when you were thinking to yourself, a certain idea or feeling might have somehow come from him being nearby, his presence just a quiet part of everything around you. He was like the background noise you never really noticed. He was just there, his life touching yours in small, unseen ways.

And today, you finally see it. The background noise has gotten louder, the blurry picture has become clear, and you realize all the times he was simply present, so close, without you ever knowing.

He's not doing much — just playing soccer in the college field. It's weird that he's the only one dressed in a white hoodie and not the team jersey. But your mind becomes more occupied with your heart that's beating a steady rhythm, filling with little flutters that are hard to ignore.

Why did you not see him before?

You question yourself because he's so beautiful, his smile is so contagious, and he's like a galaxy sprinkled with many many stars.

It feels strange, albeit a little. This sensation — your feelings right now for him feel unreal, like something incredibly rare and beautiful.

You don't even realize how long it has been since you've been standing there, admiring him. But all of his presence is making you feel calm and steady, something you've never felt before. He has a kind of glow about him that you can't look away from, and everything else on campus just fades.

This strong feeling you have for him suddenly feels almost too good to be true, but also weird in a way. You can't believe it's him who's stopped your entire existence by just being there.

It happens. You feel a little jolt of electricity course through you when his eyes lift to meet yours. There's hardly anyone on the field anymore, and when you blink, he's dribbling the ball, not looking at you anymore. That makes you wonder if he really looked at you or if you just imagined it.

The idea of him feeling the same way about you crosses your mind for a second, and your brain laughs at you. It's impossible.

But then you feel it again — his gaze on you. And to worsen it, he's walking towards you with a smile. It makes you feel like something important and beautiful is happening, spreading around you quietly like soft snow.

“You look like you're freezing.”

You hear his voice close to you, and only then you acknowledge that he's indeed standing a few meters away from you. His eyes are so otherworldly, almost magical, like those constellations you saw in class, and suddenly you just want to be near him.

You shake your head, registering that your body indeed is showing signs of being cold. Before you know it, he holds your hand up and places a heat pack in your palm, gently pressing your other palm on it too. “You've been standing here for over an hour.” He looks up at you, a small smile blooming on his face. “Admiring me?”

Oh no no no.

You cannot let this happen. Your new spell is delicate and special. He cannot know about it. Hell, even you can't. You're almost afraid to even think about it in case it disappears.

You blink at him, clearing your throat and mustering the courage to speak. You want to say no, scream no, but what comes out of your mouth is the raw, honest truth. “Yes.”

Junhui’s smile is mesmerizing.

He cocks his head to a side, sheepishly grinning with a sprinkle of blush on his cheeks. “That's direct.”

You cannot stop yourself. Maybe you really are in a spell where you're being controlled like a puppet, because you can't really tell how your mouth is slipping words.

“Your question was direct too.”

His smile broadens, and it's a full blown chuckle now. He leaves your hands and you instantly miss his touch — the warmth he had spread throughout your body.

���Well, I noticed you looking at me for so long so I just asked. Didn't realize you would actually admit to it.”

“Can you hold my hands again?” Your mouth betrays you again, and your otherwise cold face feels warm now. “I mean, I'm cold.”

Junhui bites his lower lip, and takes a step closer. He looks at you for a second longer, as if making sense of something before he closes any space between you two.

His arms wrap around you perfectly, and you feel ashamed at the sigh that leaves you. He's so warm, and so soft. The flutters in your heart increase before calming down when he speaks. “Figured this would be better.”

Your brain short-circuits for a moment. Is this really happening? Can this extraordinary thing be real between you?

Your smile is stupid as you hum against his shoulder. “It is.”

And in that unexpected warmth, the unreal begins to feel real. His arms around you feel undeniably so. This impossible feeling is unfolding, and Junhui is a part of it.

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: jun

arranged marriage

'i looked into your eyes and wished all of this was true'

very few things can faze wen junhui - blank stares and emotionless facial expressions are on top of the things he mastered since childhood, because not letting anyone know what you're feeling proved to be an effective tactic in his family. which, he guesses, says a lot about his family but junhui is not someone who gnaws on the fate. it what it is, he's too self-aware of how many people would kill to be in his position to ever feel sorry for himself. but right now? when he stares at the name of his future wife neatly written next to his in a marriage contract? he thinks he's allowed to feel just a tad bit sorry.

'she's a lovely girl,' he hears his mother say. he then listens to multiple benefits this marriage is going to bring to both participants and while junhui is loyal and will never betray his family or the role they gave him in their business world, bitter taste in his mouth doesn't go away. he kind of wants to throw up or break something, but all he manages is a short: 'understood' and a curt nod to his driver, signaling him that they should go.

he meets you for the first time one week later and turns out that you are a lovely girl. obviously not thrilled at the idea of marrying someone your parents picked for you, but at least you're too polite and nice to lash it all out on junhui. he lets himself relax and open up a little, which then turns to a lot because there's something about you that makes him feel.. safe. secure. like he can actually say what he really thinks, talk about his feelings. it's equally freeing and scary.

'this doesn't have to become a nightmare for both of us,' you say quietly, looking up at him with serious eyes. 'we are both mature adults, we can work this out, right?'

junhui absentmindedly thinks that he hasn't seen you smile yet. he has a high suspicion that it suits you much more than this serious look and he suddenly really wants to see it. maybe be even the reason of it? 'i have no intention in making this horrible for you,' he answers sincerely. 'if anything, i'm really sorry that you've been dragged into this mess. i'll try my best to make it work for both of us, i promise.'

and ah, there is your smile. it does suit you way more and it did make junhui feel something funny in his chest. 'we have one week, wen junhui. let's make it count, yeah?'

and make it count you did. jun is nothing short of purposeful and he dedicated all of his planning to making sure this week before official wedding will be perfect. perfect in a way of it just being him and you without any distractions, learning more about each other. he watches you, listens to you, makes an effort to dig deeper and open up himself too and no one is more surprised than jun himself when week later he's actually excited to go and sign the papers.

'one ice latte and cinnabon bun for a beautiful girl with a sweet tooth,' he announces, carefully placing both items on the table in front of you. your eyes light up and light blush dusts your cheek and jun has never been more thankful for his attention to details and good memory. if he can make you smile like that just by doing such simple things, he's fine with doing them for the rest of his life. 'how are you feeling, my future wife? ecstatic?'

'almost fainting from enthusiasm,' you deadpan but smile you give him is real. 'what about you, my future husband? happy beyond belief?'

junhui pauses. answer comes out of his mouth before he can think it through: 'i am, actually.'

he watches your eyes widen at this and atmosphere changes from funny banter to something heavy and serious. and maybe he can take it back, but he doesn't want to. he is happy. god, he's more happy than he's ever been in his life, so excited of the prospect of having all this time to spend with you, to get closer to you, to maybe - just maybe, cause a guy can hope, right? - turn this arranged 'fake' marriage into something real. and it's probably so stupid to think this way, to be this attracted to the person you know for one week only, but he can't help it. you are good, and nice, and thoughtful, and funny, and oh so lovely - junhui is a strong guy, but he's not a robot, he couldn't not fall for you. his mind runs a mile in a second but it all quiets down when you reach out and take his hand in yours. slowly, like you're afraid to spook him, you interlace fingers together, clasping them in a tight lock. junhui stops breathing. could it be that you-?

'i am happy, too.' you say and you're serious and honest, he can feel it. 'i was so against this whole thing at first but then i met you and.. i'm happy, junhui. i'm happy that it's you.'

very few things can faze wen junhui - but you? you are the only one who gets past blank stares and emotionless replies, you get to see the real him and you somehow liked what you saw. just for that junhui is ready to give you the world.

'i promise we will work this out,' jun says, throat surprisingly tight with emotions. 'i promise this will not become a cage or a nightmare for you. i promise it'll grow into something...' beautiful just like you? lovely just like your smile? '..real.'

the smile you gift him is brighter than sun itself. 'something real?' you stand up and get closer to him. 'i'd like that very much, wen junhui.'

very few things can faze wen junhui - but you? his hand shakes when he signs the paper and for the first time ever he feels...hopeful. he takes one look at you and sees you already looking at him with a small smile on your face. with confidence, he reaches out and you meet him halfway, locking your hands together. for some reason, looking into your eyes, junhui is more than sure that this 'real' will work out just perfectly.

a/n: i know everyone is used to me being more poetic but my brain kind of shut down and this is what happened. hope you still liked it, let me know, come say hi! - nini

my other works can be found here

[hannyoontify]

quick ramble abt ikea shopping w jun as a couple

i rlly wanna turn this into a fic but i’m currently too lazy to get out of bed to grab my laptop so i’ll js type it out on my phone

ygs have a contest on who can find the ugliest piece of furniture (he wins almost every single time)

one time he tried to climb the showroom of a kid’s bedroom that had a bunk bed even though there was a piece of plastic that blocked off the ladder said ‘don’t climb’

he kept sliding off the ladder and plastic sign and got all pouty so you had to buy him two ice cream cones that day

insists on taking a nap in the armchairs department

jun will find the biggest armchair in the showroom and pull you into his lap and call for a ‘cat nap’

insists on ‘testing the beds’ by taking off his shoes and jumping on the beds

yells ‘parkour!’ and jumps from bed to bed until an employee tells him to get down

yeah ygs r really close to being blacklisted by your local ikea

says hi to every. single. baby. he. sees.

and he does that royal queen wave too like

forgets to pace himself and becomes overstimulated by the time ygs reach the end of the showrooms section so you have to basically drag jun through the entire marketplace and warehouse to check out

one time, jun tried to enroll himself into the kid’s daycare play area and got confused as to why they wouldn’t let a 28 year old in

‘my partner’s doing all the shopping! i’m js here to carry all the heavy stuff to the car so can i pleaseee go play in the ball pit’

but he also insists on doing all the heavy work

once ygs reach the warehouse, you’re not lifting a SINGLE finger

‘dont worry baby, your super strong, reliable boyfi- OOMF’

you end up helping him at the end but hey, it’s the thought that counts!

idk if this is a very specific childhood memory but there were these computers at the entrance of the warehouse, i think it was meant to help people find specific areas that had the furniture they were looking for

and idk if anyone knows what i’m talking abt but the unoccupied computers has a screen saver of a vide of a man in an ikea uniform waving at you and gesturing you to come over to use the computer

but every time jun sees those, he freaks out

‘he js waved at me’ ‘honey that’s a video’

‘NO BUT WHEN I POINTED AT ME HE NODDED’

tries pick a fight with the man on the screen (saying this from personal experience)

once ygs check out, ice cream cones are a MUST

ygs aren’t big on the dining hall tho bc jun insists that the meatballs make him gassy

so ygs always get a vanilla ice cream cone, and if you feel like it, a box of cinnamon rolls

[boba-beom]

･ﾟﾟ･｡ my beautiful girlfriend | WEN JUNHUI

pairing: idol/actor!junhui x ff!reader // genre: oneshot; hurt, comfort, angst(?) // warnings: petnames; (baby and love), misunderstanding, overthinking, crying, lowkey self-depricating, proofread quickly. // wc: 1.6k

a/n: merry christmas <3 @honajoong hii lex!! I'm your secret santa :> despite starting a little late, I wanted to be involved as well and I got you!! I will admit I struggled to write for junhui since he's the first seventeen member I've written about, but hopefully I think I managed to grasp his characteristics(?) 🥹 I hope it's okay!! also 'yn yln' is 'your name' and 'your last name' :>

Two years. Two whole years since jun asked to be your boyfriend. Two whole years since you started supporting him through his acting career. But never in your two whole years together were you jealous about his co-stars or fans. You've always been hidden away from the public, not going to any events together. Not even getting barricade tickets for his and his group's concerts for the sake of not getting caught somehow.

It's always been like that though. But that's because no one knew about your relationship, not even the rest of his group members.

Jealousy has never been an issue for you until you read an article regarding jun's new upcoming Chinese drama. See, this was new to you. Usually you'd be excited; treating him to order take out from his favourite place, or buying him small gifts to add to his collection of other things you got him within your relationship.

As you read article after article the majority published about how jun and his co-star make such a good couple. Some even published pictures of them together at the premier event they recently attended, while others are scene captures from the said drama.

There was this one picture you saw that made your heart drum disturbingly loud in your ears, not because of the photo itself but because of the comments regarding it. Your eyes dart from comment to comment, 'Wen Junhui and ____ have incredible chemistry', 'A new couple in made in the industry?', 'I hope they're dating in real life.'

Your breathing pattern becomes ragged from the thought of feeling like you're hindering Jun in his life. If you were just making things difficult for him since you were no one but a regular person who works a 9-5 job. In times like this, which was rare, you had no one but yourself to console you.

A single tear runs down your cheek which has you vigorously wiping it off your face, refusing to let yourself become so weak because of this.

You see a text appear from the top of your phone, a text from your boyfriend asking how you were and letting you know when he'll be home, but a part of you felt like you were sinking inside. All these comments getting to your head about Jun and his co-star, but you know you shouldn't think that way. Besides, you never used to think that way initially.

Thinking that it's best to sleep off the thoughts gathering in your head, you grab the folded blanket beside you on the couch, splaying it over you as you play music from the t.v, hoping that would help you get your mind off it.

Hours pass, the living room dim from the lack of light but only from the t.v itself. You pick up your phone to check the time, and while you were asleep, you received multiple texts and a missed call from Jun; all the messages asking if you've eaten, what you want to watch later in the evening, and so forth.

However, you didn't feel like messaging him back, or even calling him back either. You thought your nap would rid of the uncomfortable overthinking, but it just has you questioning, 'why is he even with me?' He could pick any other girl, but why did he choose you. He has a beautiful co-star with incredible chemistry, why doesn't he just ask her to be his girlfriend instead—

"Yn?" Jun's voice echoes in the room and cuts off your trail of thoughts.

You refuse to turn your back and greet him, instead, you pick up the remote and search through films to watch as if he wasn't calling your name again.

"Hey, did you get my texts? Have you decided what you wanna eat tonight?" Jun asks again, caressing the top of your head and missed as he tried to kiss the top of your head, but you flinched away.

"Not hungry." You reply curtly.

He could sense something was off, not wanting to think too much into it, he lets it slide as he goes into the bedroom for a quick shower and change of clothes. He hasn't seen you behave this way before, wondering what possibly could have happened recently to tick you off. His mind was thinking of every possibility but to think of articles since his shoots for the drama were quite a while ago.

As he walks back into the living room, you're still sitting in the same spot on the couch. He walks around the couch to sit beside you, lifting the side of the blanket to share, but you take it off and let him have all of it instead.

Jun turns his head to look at you, a questioning expression on his face yet you don't turn to look at him. A straight, unbothered face is what he sees as your eyes are stuck on whatever movie you put on the t.v.

"Is everything alright? I feel like I've done something wro-"

"Everything's fine." You lie, cutting him off and not wanting to think about it anymore. For the first time in a while you almost didn't want to be in his presence for the sake of keeping sane.

"Well it doesn't sound fine." He turns his body, attempting to test the waters as he places a careful hand on your lap. This time you don't flinch.

You sigh. Pausing before you answer him honestly, "Because it's not."

"Love, how am I supposed to know what's bothering you if you won't tell me straight?" Jun's hand starts caressing your thigh in attempt to comfort you and allow you to open up to him, like you usually do.

You try to gather your thoughts and stare at one spot, but nothing in particular, on the t.v as your breathing becomes uneven. It's difficult talking about a feeling you never thought you had to ever talk about, but it was bound to happen at least once in your life. And that was this current moment in time.

A stuck, choked up feeling in your throat starts to erupt as you struggle to find the words to say, leading to you struggling to stop yourself from tearing up out of frustration.

You explain about the articles you've read about him and his co-star, the ones headlining and the comments you've seen. Your breathing hitches a little while you're talking, and Jun couldn't help but scoot closer to you with his arm around you.

"I tried my best to not let it bother me, but it was a lot to take in. I'm sorry." Jun wipes away at your tears, listening intently as you continue, "I know it's your job, I understand if I'm being unacceptable and if you don't want to be with me anymore."

Tears are non-stop streaming down your face, also because you're mad at yourself for becoming so weak and letting this get to you in the first place. You feel Jun's hand resting on the middle of your back, rubbing it with comfort.

You continue letting out your hushed cries, burying your face into his chest with muffled sorries leaving you. Jun's never seen you cry so much and his heart drops at the sound of your irregular breathing pattern in attempt to stop yourself crying. How could you stop when he hugs you tight momentarily, slowly swaying you side to side as he rests his cheek by your temple.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." He cups your cheek, pulling back to hold your face close to his. "You know you're always going to be the one for me. I'm sorry that hiding our relationship has been difficult, I know. I want to let everyone know that I'm yours, but right now it's a little tricky, and I know that's no excuse but I swear I will let people know. Sooner than later, I promise."

Your sobs quieten down, a little exhausted from the thoughts occupying your mind the whole day. But you respond with a slow nod and a tight lipped smile as you both shuffle on the couch and lay your head on his chest as his hand finds its way to skim up and down your back once again.

･ﾟﾟ･｡ ･ﾟﾟ･｡ ･ﾟﾟ･｡

It's been a few days since Jun had comforted you. Your phone pings from a notification about another article that had just released with the headline reading, 'Wen Junhui breaks rumours about dating co-star and is a relationship with Yn Yln"

You read it once more. And another time, expecting there to be hate thrown at you, but there was nothing but love and support from Jun's fans. It was entirely different to how you thought they would take it, but you're just grateful that it didn't go that way at all.

Your boyfriend's tall figure walks through the door with a bouquet of flowers, not even a couple of minutes after you had read the article, and he's making his way to you sat by the breakfast bar.

His subtle smile curves his lips as he holds the bouquet out for you. While you, on the other hand, are pouting; worried that it might ruin his career and receive potential hate, but Jun was unbothered. He was certain about it.

"You didn't have to do that, Jun." You insist, receiving the flowers from him. "I don't want this to affect your career."

He stands by your knees as you face him, towering over you ever so slightly.

"I wanted to let them know. I can't keep hiding this relationship forever," he kisses your forehead as his hands plant on your shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze. "And honesty, as much as I love to keep you to myself, they need to know that you're my beautiful girlfriend."

© BOBA-BEOM ; do not repost, alter, translate, or claim as yours on here or any other platform.

tags: @lovejoshua @junniieesbby @flwrseon

permanent taglist: @choiwrld @yjusei @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @ttyunz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @ja4hyvn @yunkiwii @aprilisque

[eoieopda]

in limine (teaser) | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 1.2k (teaser), est. 11-15k (fic) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content. reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer. a/n 1: this fic will be posted by 2/17/25 as part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 update: as of 2/13/25, she’s live here! a/n 2: it took me *checks watch* over two (2) years for me (an attorney) to write a fic about attorneys — and it’s not even the area of law i practice. asdfghj. everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust. 

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed. 

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing. 

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly. 

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press or where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further. 

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go. 

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though. 

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along. 

Fuck. 

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true. 

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

the full fic is now available here, as of 2/13/35!

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ maybe... a little bit sick?

requested by anon: "Hii can i Pls request taking care of Junhui when he’s sick (like maybe he has the stomach flu or smthn) and calls you to come over and be there with him"

pairing: junhui x gn!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, sick fic, junhui is an adorable baby

word count: 1607

warnings: pet names (baby, love), junhui exaggerates his cold by saying he's "dying", mentions of burning up (not literally tho)

notes: this is really cute actually. i think i love writing for silly soft jun a lot <3

Junhui is not a person that falls ill. 

It's just not something he does. He's proud to admit that he's probably fallen ill a maximum of ten times in his entire life, and his immune system is so good that it could probably enter a competition against other immune systems and come out on top. The immune system olympics, if you will. 

But the main point is, Junhui doesn't get sick. He doesn't get hay fever, doesn't catch colds all that easily, could probably go out in the winter without a coat and still be fine the next day (albeit with a mild loss of feeling in his nose). 

Right now, though, as Junhui rubs his nose and tries to stop his eyes from constantly watering, he thinks that perhaps, perhaps, he could be coming down with something. 

It's a horrible thought. Unthinkable, in fact. Besides, it's the middle of summer! Who falls ill in July? 

"Y/N?" Junhui croaks, and then blinks, startled by the sound of his own voice. "Y/N?"

He has to stop, then, because his throat feels like sandpaper. Plus, one of his nostrils is running, and the other feels so blocked up that it's like it was replaced with an impenetrable brick or something. 

He's not sick, though. Junhui doesn't get sick. 

The sun is filtering brightly through the curtains, and he guesses that it's late morning by now. He hasn't been able to get out of bed since he woke up some hours ago, his head throbbing and protesting with every move he makes. He hasn't even been able to check his phone. 

Junhui coughs, then, a wet, uncomfortable cough that makes his body shudder and his brain rattle around uncomfortably in his skull. He sniffs, a little pathetically, and squeezes his eyes shut. Everything hurts. 

But he's definitely not sick. 

"Y/N…" he mutters, his hair feeling sticky on his forehead, his tongue cumbersome and rubbery in his mouth. Vaguely, he remembers that you're going out with friends this morning, and won't be back for a while. The very thought makes him whine internally, upset. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is a little sick. 

Centuries pass as he lies there in bed, admitting defeat, admitting that he really is sick for once and that being sick is horrible and all he wants is for you to come help him. Why are you taking so long to have brunch with your friends, damnit? 

He's drifting off into a hazy sleep once again, his entire body feeling like it's on fire when the front door finally, finally clicks open and he hears your voice. 

"Junhui?" you call, taking off your shoes. "Junhui, baby, are you up yet?"

It's around one in the afternoon when you've finally managed to come back home after meeting up with your friends, and normally your boyfriend would be bounding towards you and engulfing you in a hug, eager to hear how your outing had been. But the apartment is, oddly, silent, and there's no sign of a hyperactive Junhui anywhere. 

"Junhui?" you call again. 

And that's when you hear his voice, coming from his closed bedroom door. 

"Y/N… in here…"

He sounds weak, like he's on the verge of dying, and you gasp when you open the door and look at him. 

"Oh, darling!" You walk over to his bedside to place a hand on his forehead, sighing when he whimpers softly at the cool sensation on his burning skin. "Look at you, you have such a horrible fever. Wait here, I'll go get a cold towel," you say, and then hurriedly leave the room again. 

Junhui coughs pathetically again. "I can't really go anywhere… but okay."

You come back in a few seconds later, equipped with a cold compress, medicine and a glass of water. The kettle whistles in the distance. 

"How did this happen?" you scold lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand worriedly over his forehead again. "How did you manage to get yourself so ill?"

Junhui opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head. 

"Wait, don't answer that. You probably have a really bad headache right? Talking will make it worse." 

He closes his mouth again. 

"Poor Junhui," you murmur, wiping down his face and his sweat with a damp cloth. "It must really hurt, right?"

Junhui nods sadly, eyes half closed, as you put the cold towel over his forehead. "Hurts so much. I feel like I'm dying."

You laugh softly. "I can imagine. Can you sit up for me, baby? You need to take some medicine."

"No." He turns his head away when you offer him the pills and the glass of water, accidentally dislodging the towel from his head. "Don't wanna."

"Junhui, come on, it'll help," you wheedle softly, trying to encourage him. "You don't want it to hurt, do you? This'll help make it better, I promise."

"I can't," he whines, looking at you, and now there are tears pooling in his eyes. He coughs, then, so hard that the tears well up faster and end up spilling over slightly. Then he groans, head thumping, while you lean over to gently wipe his tears. "Everything hurts. I don't like it."

"Junhui, please?"

"No."

"Junhui, baby, it'll make everything feel a lot better."

"No."

"Junhui…"

Junhui, when he falls ill, becomes a little like a toddler. He doesn't get sick often, so when he does he always suffers terribly. He ends up throwing mini tantrums, pouting and resisting taking the medicine that will make him better purely because he doesn't want to. 

You may not have had to deal with a sick Junhui often, but really, it's about the same as dealing with a small child, so it's not that difficult. 

Several more minutes of wheedling later, you manage to get Junhui to sit up and drink the water along with his medicine. He ends up spilling half the glass all over himself and whines, looking at you with glassy eyes as if wanting you to tell him what to do. 

"Don't worry, it's just water," you tell him, stroking back his hair and adjusting the towel on his forehead to make sure it's in place. "Wanna have something nice to drink?"

In the kitchen, the kettle is beeping, signalling that it's finished boiling water. Junhui rapidly shakes his head, though, before wincing at the movement. 

"No. Don't wanna drink anything."

"Are you sure?" You tuck a damp curl of hair out of his face, noting that he's still sweating. He's really ill, the poor thing. "Have you eaten today?"

"Don't wanna eat anything."

"You've lost your appetite?" you ask worriedly. "What if I ask Minghao to come over and help make you some wonton soup? Would you like that?"

Junhui squeezes his eyes, once, and then coughs again. "No."

"I'll call him anyway," you say, getting up. "And I already boiled the water, so I'll make you some tea for your throat as well, okay? I bet you have a sore throat too."

He blinks, eyes a little glassy and confused. "Wait… how did you know?"

You chuckle softly, leaning over to pinch his cheek lightly. "Magic. Rest now, alright? You should try to sleep, let your body recover."

You back out of the room, watching his weak frame as he lies in his dim room, the curtains still drawn, eyes watery and half-open and a wet towel over his forehead. He looks so sad and forlorn, like a dejected kitten, and it would make you coo if a bigger part of you wasn't worried at just how ill he looked. 

You're just closing the door when he croaks out your name again, thin and warbly.

"Y/N?"

Pausing for a moment, you open the door again, poking your head in. "Yes, baby?"

He looks at you for a long moment, squinting out of puffy eyes, before giving you a small smile and lifting his arms. "Hug?"

Obviously, you really oughtn't. He's sick, after all, horribly so, and it would be much better for both of you if you stayed away. But his hair is all messed up and his cheeks are all flushed from his fever and he just looks so small swathed in all his blankets and really, how were you meant to refuse? 

He's warm, as he always is, and maybe he's a little warmer than usual but you let him hug you tightly, his head tucked under your chin, fingers gripping your shoulders while you bend over him and thread a hand through his hair. Junhui hums, pleased, when you lightly knead your fingers into his scalp, making little rumbly noises of contentment when your hand slips down his back, rubbing firm circles into his shirt. 

"Love you," he mumbles, his words a little drowsy but still soft and warm. 

You smile, kissing the top of his head. "I love you too."

There's silence for a moment as he continues to cling to you while you kneel awkwardly on the bed, one knee on the mattress while your other foot supports your weight from the floor. And then Junhui speaks up again. 

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Junhui?"

"Instead of wonton soup, could you make me hotpot? A really spicy one?"

That makes you smile a little, endeared, and kiss his head again. His forehead is unnaturally warm still, and you disentangle him from your arms to rest him down on his pillow again, feeling vaguely like a prince lowering his princess to sleep. 

You brush gentle fingers over his cheek, fond. "Of course. Anything to make my kitten feel better."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride

[junkissed]

something spicy, something sweet

member — junhui x f reader genre — smut, fluff/comfort word count — 2.1k synopsis — the last few days you've been coming home from work exhausted, but now that you finally have a day off you have time for a little something sweet from your boyfriend. content warnings — established relationship, mentions of food (jun makes soup for dinner), there's one (1) screenshot of text msgs at the very beginning smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, praise, it's very vanilla but it's soft and sleepy and romantic notes — requested by @foxdaisy — i looove writing soft cute fluffy stuff like this so i was very happy to see this request hehe. i hope you enjoy!

jun sets his phone on the counter, leaving it face up as he goes to start making dinner. you’d been staying late at work the past couple days to finish a big project, and he hated seeing you come home so exhausted and worn out. 

he sighs and turns the stove on with a click, setting a pot over the burner. the least he could do is have your favorite meal ready for you when you get home. he loves cooking for you, especially on nights when you’re much too tired to.

he’s so caught up in the recipe, making sure that everything will be perfect for you, that he doesn’t even notice how much time has passed until he hears your keys jingling in the front door and your soft footsteps coming into the kitchen. he turns around excitedly, waving at you as you walk towards him. “hi, sweetheart! i made dinner.”

you give him a tired smile, wrapping your arms around his stomach. “thank you, junnie. i appreciate it.”

he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, grinning when you laugh a little. “of course.”

you kiss his cheek, then walk away to wash your hands in the bathroom while he dishes up the soup he made. he pours a generous amount into your favorite bowl, the red one with flowers on it, before setting it on the table at your spot and taking his own bowl to sit down at his spot while he waits for you.

you come back in and sit down, eagerly digging in. “this is delicious, junnie,” you say in between spoonfuls.

he smiles and reaches out to hold your hand. “i’m so glad! i put those new spices you got in it, i was afraid it might be too much.”

“no, it’s great. i needed something spicy.”

he giggles and takes a sip from his spoon. “so how was your day?”

“it was alright,” you shrug, wiping your napkin across your chin from where little bits of soup dripped. “we finished the project we were working on, though. i’m happy it’s finally done with.”

jun claps his hands. “yay! do you think you’ll get a break now?”

“probably not,” you laugh. ‘but i took tomorrow off anyway. i need a day to just sleep.”

“oh, that’s good!” jun grins. “we can sleep in for once! my boss told everybody not to come in tomorrow.”

you finish the rest of your dinner slowly, talking here and there about your day and laughing when jun gets soup all over his face when he bends down to slurp it from the bowl.

you stand up to wash your dish but jun waves you away, taking it from you instead and putting it in the dishwasher. “i’ll do the dishes later,” he says with a smile. “but now i wanna spend time with you.”

your cheeks warm but you let him have the bowl, giving him another kiss before heading upstairs to get ready for bed. too many nights you’ve come home and gone straight to bed, though jun always waits up for you because he likes going to sleep together. tonight you’ve got a little more energy than usual, still riding the high of finishing your work and having a well-deserved break.

by the time you’re done washing your face and putting on your pajamas, jun is already sitting on his side of the bed waiting for you, the soft glow of the lamp filling the room. you walk over and climb in next to him and when you nod he turns off the light, adjusting himself in next to you.

you lay on your side facing him, and you can still see him in the light of the streetlight shining in through the window.

“i missed you,” jun says with a smile. “i’m glad you’re home.”

“me too,” you sigh, relaxing into the mattress. 

jun slips his arm around you, scooting a little bit closer to you. it’s quiet for a few seconds, and you frown, thinking he’s already wanting to sleep. you’re finally home with time off, and you don’t want to go to bed quite yet.

“‘m not that sleepy yet,” you whisper, and he tilts his head to look over at you. you reach out and gently run your fingers along his chest, feeling how soft and smooth his skin is beneath your fingertips. goosebumps prickle on your body as you think about all the times you’ve seen him like this, his bare chest sitting in front of you as he holds you.

“you wanna snuggle some more?” he asks, and his voice sounds so gentle that you don’t know how to tell him you aren’t really in the mood for cuddling.

“maybe… more than snuggling,” you answer shyly, resisting the urge to hide your face in the pillows in embarrassment.

a knowing look spreads across his features, and he rolls over to get closer to you. “oh, really? like what?” he teases. he knows exactly what you want, but he likes hearing it from you.

“want—you,” you sigh out as his hands slide down your side, squeezing your hip encouragingly.

“i’m right here, baby,” he giggles, and you swat at his arm. “all you have to do is tell me.”

"missed you," you start as your hands begin to explore his body. "missed… having you inside me."

jun moans, and the sound goes right through you as his hand slip beneath your shirt, running along your skin, touching you everywhere. "missed it too, baby. god, i missed all of you."

you sit up on your elbow so he can carefully slip your shirt up and over your head, letting it fall to the floor behind you. he rolls over as you fall onto your back and he shifts on top of you, slotting his leg between your thighs as his lips find yours.

you exhale against him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you as his kisses deepen.

he moves his mouth away from yours and begins kissing down your body, attaching his lips to your neck, your collarbones, your chest, anywhere he pleases. you giggle when he pushes his face into your boobs, feeling his smile against your skin. 

he readjusts so that he's laying fully on you, balancing his weight on his elbows on either side of your body. he leans down to kiss you again, and you thread your fingers into his hair the way he likes.

you can feel him starting to grind against your thigh, growing harder the longer he kisses you. he reaches down in between your bodies to pull his cock out of his pajama shorts, pushing them down his long legs until they pool around his knees.

you moan when you feel him tap his cock against your abdomen, guiding it with his hand up and down through your folds, collecting your wetness.

"jun—" you whine out his name, tugging on his hair to tell him that he's taking too long. it's been too long since you've had soft, sleepy sex like this, and you're needier than you usually are. 

he grins and kisses the side of your nose, resting his cheek against yours as he holds the tip of his cock at your entrance and begins pushing into you. 

your breath catches in your throat, the stretch burning at first before it starts to melt into pleasure.

once he's fully sheathed inside you jun captures your lips with his, swallowing all your whines and little noises.

he stays still for a long time, even after you tapped his shoulder to let him know it's okay to move, but he just shakes his head and kisses you again. it's nice, so nice, just being with him again, and you won't complain even if he just wants to cockwarm with you for the rest of the night.

"just let me take care of you, baby," he coos, and you whimper at how soft yet gravelly his voice sounds.

you can hear both the sleepiness and the lust laced in his tone, and you clench around him involuntarily. his hips jerk a little, and you whine at the movement, feeling so perfectly full you don't know how it could get any better than this.

after a little while longer neither he nor you can stand it any more, and he shifts his weight so he can slowly start rutting into you.

you let out a sigh that you didn't realize you'd been holding in, and jun kisses your cheek again, brushing his nose against yours.

he slips his hand back down under the sheets to rub gentle circles around your clit, and you gasp and arch into him as his thrusts begin to pick up speed.

"does that feel good?" he asks, voice low, and you whine out a "yes". he grins, brushing your hair away from your face with his other hand. "my good girl, you needed this so bad, hm? needed me to take care of you."

"yes, jun—please," you rasp, gripping tighter onto his broad shoulders. "love you, love you so much."

he moans and his fingers speed up their languid pace, fucking himself into you more roughly but still just the right pace. "i love you too, baby. missed you always taking me so well, missed feeling you like this."

all you can do is stutter out his name, moaning a broken string of pleas and promises as you clench around him, feeling him bring you right up to the cusp of your orgasm.

he presses his lips to you, his teeth clacking with yours just a little from the way his body moves up and down, rocking into you and filling you up so perfectly. 

he mumbles another "i love you" against your mouth, and with one more strong thrust you come undone around him, repeating his name over and over again. his hands caress your skin before stopping at your waist, giving him more leverage to fuck himself into you as you struggle through your orgasm.

it feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders as you start to come down from your high, floating in pure bliss as the tension and stress melts away from your body.

“where do you want me, baby?” he pants, his hands tightening around your hips as his strokes become more and more erratic as he approaches his orgasm. 

“on me— wherever,” you groan. though you always love it when he cums inside you, tonight you don’t have the energy for much clean up, so the easier the better.

jun seems to understand that, because just seconds later he pulls out of you and frantically jerks his cock over your stomach.

you reach up to hold his face with your hands, and he releases onto you with a whine as his high overtakes him.

gasping, he falls onto the bed next to you, his chest heaving a little with each breath. you let your eyes close, feeling your heart begin to slow down as you clasp your hands together over your chest.

the room is quiet for a minute before you feel jun shift off of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight as he shuffles off to the bathroom.

you open your eyes and watch him walk back into the room, a washcloth in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.

he leans onto the bed, wiping the cloth over your stomach as you stare up at him.

"hi," you giggle, your head still fuzzy and pleasant from your orgasm.

he grins and bends down to kiss you. "hey."

he hands you the shirt as he leaves again to put the washcloth in the laundry, and you slip it on, forcing yourself to sit up despite how your body aches and begs for sleep.

but just how jun always waited up for you, you wait for him to come back, sliding back into bed and pulling you close into his side.

his arms wrap around you and you nestle your head into his chest, his skin still a little sweaty but you don't care. you're just glad to be home and glad to be back in his arms, cuddling after too many long days at work.

he tucks your hair behind your ear, gently patting the top of your head as you struggle to stay awake.

"goodnight. i love you, junnie," you yawn, closing your eyes again and resting your head against him.

the last thing you remember before you fall asleep is him saying, "goodnight, my love", as he pulls the covers up around your neck just the way you like them and kissing your forehead one last time.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[trblsvt]

wait, what? | wen junhui

summary | it was so stupid. soonyoung insisted your best friend was in love you. no way. wen junhui didn't like you that way, and you definitely didn't like him that way either. right? genre | fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining warnings | swearing (i think maybe once or twice) word count | 1.6k words pairing | wen junhui x gn!reader minli | lowercase intended thank you for the request, it was so cute :) @g00dtimenotlongtim3

"you do realize our good friend wen junhui is hopelessly in love you, right?" jihoon said casually before taking a sip from his cup. you practically spat out your water. what an insane idea. "i have no idea what you're talking about," you rolled your eyes. your friends all glanced at each other. "what's with that?" you asked, noticing the way they were now silent.

"you two are the most oblivious people i know," minghao frowned. you still didn't understand where they were coming from with all this. sure, you liked jun, well more than like, but you were absolutely positive he felt nothing more for you than a best friend. you had quietly been living out your life in the friend zone, and you much preferred that over potentially losing him altogether.

"you guys are crazy," you frowned.

"and you're blind," jihoon shot back. "you both are."

"what?"

"nothing!" he said quickly leaving the room.

minghao was annoying. jun didn't know why, especially since his friend usually kept to himself and didn't try meddling in his business. that was his job. jun had just about enough of his friend's whining and complaining about jun's "non-existent" love life. "it's just really sad," minghao shrugged.

"what exactly is so sad about my love life?" jun asked.

"well the fact that you won't admit to being in love with ___, and that you'll die alone because you won't ever admit it."

jun stared at him. minghao was once again delusional. "okay, harsh. i'm not going to die alone because there's nothing to confess. i am not in love with ___," jun insisted, though something in the way he felt his ears heat up at your name told him differently.

"that's too bad, because they're definitely in love with you."

"no, ___ is definitely not in love with me."

"keep telling yourself that," minghao huffed and left jun to his own devices. jun fiddled with the trinkets on his desk and looked out the window. minghao was delusional, he told himself (although he knew minghao was one of the most logical people he had ever met).

jun didn't know what he was hiding. he expected minghao would've picked up by his crush by now. he also figured the rest of the guys had an idea of his pining for you. he wasn't sure how long he would continue to pine for you, but he would rather die then mess up the friendship you had. he was well aware that idea was cliche, but it was a valid fear in his mind.

he just chose to not do anything, for now at least.

"it's really just painful," soonyoung whined.

"what is?" you asked, rolling over to him on the couch.

"your chronic blindness to love." you groaned and punched his arm. "well now my arm actually hurts, thanks."

"what is up with everyone lately?" you sighed, scrolling through your phone. jihoon and now soonyoung. your friend even texted you about jun, she didn't even know him. "maybe we're all tired of you and jun being blind to your mutual feelings for each other," soonyoung rolled his eyes.

"jun does not like me," you insisted.

"but you like him."

"no."

"yes."

"fine, yeah i like him. what's the big deal?" you admitted exasperatedly. soonyoung got up from the couch and straightened out his shirt. "well, that means the feeling is mutual, so you should probably do something about," he said it like it was apparent.

"tell me, how do you know that jun likes me?" you pushed. soonyoung glanced at you, almost looking tired. he sat back down and crossed his legs. "well for one, he never stops talking about you. two, when he's not with us, he's usually with you. three, he buys your favorite snacks for no good reason. you literally have his card saved in your phone. four, he's always concerned about whether he looks good when he's going to meet up with you. five, he's painfully obviously in love whenever he looks at you. six-"

"okay! i get it!" you cut him off before he can continue. "okay, well, okay i see how that could look like he likes me, but isn't that what friends do?"

"well, i'm not overly concerned about how i look when i visit you and i certainly would not let you save my credit card information."

you had to admit what he was saying seemed to add up, but you were still having a hard time believing it. you know your friends wouldn't purposefully tell you this to get your hopes up if it wasn't true.

you just weren't sure when you should act on it.

funny enough, jihoon and minghao had walked jun through every sign that you were just as into him as he was into you. with enough convincing they got him up and out of his room to finally go confess. "is he coming or not?" soonyoung asked through the phone.

"he's on his way now, so you should probably leave before he shows up," jihoon insisted.

"okay, got it. can't believe we got this plan up and running."

"well they obviously weren't going to get anything done."

"so true, i'm leaving now. hopefully jun doesn't run into me. we don't want him catching on."

"even if he did, he was so blind to his own feelings i doubt he would put two and two together."

"also so true. see you later."

jun shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for your building's elevator to come down to the ground floor. minghao had somehow convinced him to go to your apartment and confess his feelings for you.

this wasn't exactly how he imagined his thursday afternoon to go, and this certainly wasn't the way he was planning on telling you, and he made sure minghao knew that. "just for your information, i had a plan," jun insisted.

"yeah, yeah," minghao grumbled flipping through a magazine.

"i did! a grand plan! with flowers and music and chocolate!"

"music?"

"maybe no music. but flowers and chocolate, yes."

"what if they said no?"

"aren't you the one telling me that ___ is in love with me and i should confess my feelings because the feeling is mutual?"

"yes, but i'm talking about this hypothetical plan."

"yeah whatever. i'll just go, but it will be way less romantic," jun called as he left to go. minghao rolled his eyes at his friend's antics.

"jun?" you answered the door, honestly confused why he was here. though, you did let him without a second thought. his hands were shoved into his pockets and he kicked off his shoes in the doorway. "hi," he said.

"do you want something to drink?" you asked making your way to your kitchen.

"actually i wanted to talk to you," he stopped you. you were hoping that he would sit down so you could compose yourself, but seeing him here after everything soonyoung said had you second-guessing everything. maybe he caught on, perhaps he knew how you felt and was here to tell you to knock it off. "oh okay, yeah, go for it," you mumbled.

"so i heard from someone that you like someone," he said.

oh god, he knew. "well yeah, i guess, yeah i do," you scrambled.

"and you didn't tell me?" he asked quirking an eyebrow at you. he definitely knew. "it never came up in conversation," you defended yourself.

"aren't i your best friend though? don't best friends tell each other everything?" he continued.

"yes. i suppose so."

"well, i guess i'm not being a very good friend either because i failed to mention that i also have a crush on someone."

your heart dropped. what was going on? "that's nice, jun. i'm sure whoever they are, they would be very lucky to have you," you sighed.

"don't you want to hear about them?" he asked. not exactly, "yeah sure."

"well for one, they're beautiful. another they already know me super well. they also like taking my hoodies and my credit card to pay for things. not to mention, our mutual friends opened my eyes to how much i love this person. they told me i should tell this person how i feel as soon as possible," he rambled so eloquently.

"that's really nice, jun. i think you should definitely go tell them," you encouraged him trying to make sure he couldn't hear your heart falling to the pit of your stomach. "oh i already did," he shrugged, a smile gracing his lips.

"really? when?" you were so confused. did he come all the way here just to tell you his new relationship status? "yeah, i did. just now."

oh just now. wait. just now? he laughed when he saw your head whip up at him. "me? you have a crush on me?" you asked, dumbfounded. he took a step closer to you. you could smell his cologne and felt his clothes brush against your skin. "who else, silly?" he asked. "please tell me that you like me too."

"i-" your words died on the tip of your tongue when you opted to kiss him instead. his hands cupped your face and he kissed you back softly. when he pulled away he laughed, "i'm taking that as a yes." you nodded. "for your information i was planning on a romantic confession with flowers and chocolate and a song maybe," he clarified.

"then i guess you owe me," you said. he smiled. maybe your friends were right, the two of you were blind, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

min | not proofread yet! oh no i basically just wrote dialogue! i have to work on my descriptions. also if you want to be added or removed from my taglist let me know, i don't have specific taglists for members or fic types... so let me know if you have a specific preference if any!

tagging: @a-wandering-stay @cinnamoroxie @wonwoosthetic

[2lut4u]

WEN JUNHUI

psycho by @wheeboo

meet cute: the pottery class by @wheeboo

concerto by @wheeboo

the secret life of jun by @wheeboo

[22:32 PM] by @fairyhaos

Junhui+castle by @fairyhaos

maybe… a little bit sick? by @fairyhaos

jun. (Oneshot smau) by @yuusworldd

Do Re Mi (70;teen Collab) by @onlymingyus

taste of love by @wooahaes

lucky by @leewonkyeom

[15:11 pm] by @babyleostuff

BLANKET FORT by @babyleostuff

i wanna be a rock! by @wqnwoos

“i’ll hold you” by @wqnwoos

you need to get some help idk (oneshot smau) by @hanggarae

Tatsächlich Liebe (Love, Actually) by @haet-sal

jun + biting his pecs by @onlyhuis

jun + reader wearing a skirt by @onlyhuis

bedroom exclusive by @onlyhuis

after dark by @onlyhuis

match of the season by @1-800-hwahui

sounds of the season by @junkissed

happy ending by @junkissed

1:08 am by @angelwoozi

again and again by @kittyhuii

Lavender Haze by @kittyhuii

first kiss with seventeen: Junhui by @etherealyoungk

[stay here with me] by @thepixelelf

wait, what? by @trblsvt

in a daisy for you by @httphannie

SAY SO (oneshot smau) by @suhnshinehaos

SETTING THE RECORD (oneshot smau) by @suhnshinehaos

wen junhui’s guide to taking breaks by @cheolism

fucking in your childhood bedroom (m) by @toruro

[19:44] by @toruro

like crazy by @toruro

remember us (series) by @viastro

in full bloom (smau series) by @wondernus

I Flower You by @robinhobiii

moon cat cafe by @alsktudy

newrelationship!jun by @hannieehaee

jealous!jun (f2l!jun) by @hannieehaee

The Yo-Nut Slasher by @milfgyuu

cookies and glances by @rubywonu

edward scissorhands by @seungkwansphd

swept off his feet by @seungkwansphd

The Heat of the Moment by @leejihoonownsmyheart

till death do us part by @haoboutyou

Soft launching with . . . JUN !! by @haecien

[yuusworldd]

jun.

twitter au;

in which you HAD to have a partner to be able to attend doyoung's stupid party. your bestfriend, kun rejected you and even boo seungkwan couldnt partner with you but thankfully, kwan is a social butterfly and is willing to hook you up with his friend. more specifically, the love of his life, the sun to his world, his baby, his favourite hyung, wen junhui.

warning: hinted corruption kink, mentions of selfcest

psst! pt 1 over here

note: um surprise!