#always next to Junho

[justwhiskeyonice]

[andaniellight]

finished watching D.P and then starting Weak Hero Class 1 is like a review of that precious theory from ATLA where the next avatar looks like the person they loved in the past live

[c4ndyle2jh]

My latest Edit

[gyuuberryy]

bro, you good?

pairing: loser!beomgyu x best friend!reader

synopsis: beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, clingy, and always in your space—flopping on your bed, stealing your snacks, and treating your personal bubble like it owes him rent. the worst part? he’s recently gotten hot. like, dangerously hot. and lately, messing with him has become your new favorite hobby, especially when a little harmless teasing leaves him red-faced and malfunctioning.

you were just having fun testing his limits. until you accidentally pushed too far… and he pushed back.

genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, comedy, suggestive content

warnings: heavy making out, suggestive content(no full smut), partial undressing, swearing, whiny!beomgyu, reader being a menace

note: first installment of my 2k celebration yayy! also this is based off beomgyu's part in "brain empty, just you". enjoyy!

word count: 4.6k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

2k event | next

the absolute worst part about having a crush on choi beomgyu is that he makes it impossible to not have a crush on him. which is ridiculous, because he’s also the most annoying person you’ve ever met. loud, clingy, and constantly in your space like a human shaped parasite. he flops onto your bed like he owns it, steals your snacks without remorse, and treats your personal bubble like it’s public property. and yet—here you are, stuck pining after your best friend like some tragic rom-com side character.

it’s a perfectly normal weekend afternoon, the kind meant for lazy reading or mindlessly scrolling through your phone, when your bedroom door flies open with a dramatic bang. you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.

"i’m dying," beomgyu announces, like he’s delivering breaking news, before collapsing face first onto your bed. the mattress dips under his weight, and you barely manage to save your phone from being crushed under his flailing limbs.

"you’re heavy," you grumble, shoving at his shoulder.

he doesn’t budge. instead, he rolls onto his back, arms spread wide like a starfish, stealing even more of your space. his hair is still damp from a shower, tousled and slightly messy, and—god, why does he have to smell so good? it’s unfair. like, illegally unfair. fresh soap and something faintly citrusy, mixed with that stupid cologne he swears isn’t for anyone’s benefit but his own. you hate that you notice. you especially hate that it makes your stomach do a stupid little flip.

"how’d you even get in here?" you mutter, trying to sound annoyed instead of painfully aware of how close he is.

"your mom let me in, duh," he says, grinning up at you like he’s won something. "she loves me."

"she has terrible taste," you shoot back, but there’s no real bite to it. beomgyu knows it, too, because his grin only widens.

without asking, he snatches your phone right out of your hands, thumb already swiping through your notifications like he has every right to. "who’s texting you?" he asks, squinting at the screen. "is this junho? since when do you talk to junho?"

you lunge for the phone, but he holds it just out of reach, laughing when you half-climb over him in your attempt to grab it. "give it back, you nosy loser—"

"make me," he taunts, wiggling the phone above his head.

you huff, resorting to digging your fingers into his side, right where you know he’s ticklish. beomgyu yelps, jerking away, but in the chaos, your fingers brush against the bare strip of skin where his shirt has ridden up.

the second you make contact, his whole body tenses like he’s been electrocuted. his breath hitches, just barely, and his cheeks go pink. not just a little flushed—full on, unmistakably red.

you freeze.

beomgyu, who’s always the one invading your space, who slings an arm over your shoulders without thinking, who leans into every casual touch like it’s nothing, just short-circuited because you touched him.

and oh.

oh, this is interesting.

a slow, dangerous grin spreads across your face. beomgyu’s eyes widen like he already knows what’s coming. "what?" he asks, voice slightly higher than usual. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?" you ask innocently, letting your fingers trail lightly over his waist again, just to see what happens.

he jolts, nearly falling off the bed. "hey!"

you can’t help it. you laugh, delighted by this newfound power. "what’s wrong, gyu? you’re always all over me. can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?"

"shut up," he mumbles, but he’s not meeting your eyes anymore, his ears still burning.

and just like that, a game is born.

because if there’s one thing you love more than anything, it’s messing with choi beomgyu. and if there’s one thing he apparently can’t handle?

it’s you.

it starts as a game—just harmless teasing, really. you don’t even mean for it to become a thing. but the way beomgyu reacts every single time your fingers accidentally brush his skin, or when you lean just a little too close under the pretence of looking at his phone screen—it’s addictive. like poking a sleeping bear and watching it startle awake, all clumsy limbs and flustered noises.

at first, you tell yourself you’re just doing it to annoy him. payback for all the times he’s invaded your space without permission, flopped onto your bed like he owns it, stolen bites of your food with that infuriating smirk. but then you notice the way his breath hitches when your knee bumps his under the table. the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach back whenever you "fix" his collar, your touch lingering a second too long. the way his voice goes just a little higher when you whisper something close to his ear, like you’re sharing a secret.

it’s fascinating.

beomgyu, who’s always been the clingy one, the one who drapes himself over you without a second thought, suddenly can’t handle it when you initiate contact. and the more you test it, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not just flustered. he’s affected.

so you escalate.

you start "accidentally" letting your hand rest on his thigh when you’re sitting side by side, pretending not to notice the way his entire body goes rigid. you lean against him more than necessary when you’re tired, tucking your face into the crook of his neck just to feel the way his pulse jumps under your lips. you play with his hair while he’s trying to focus on something, twirling the soft strands between your fingers until he groans and swats at your hand, his cheeks pink.

and the best part? he never stops you.

he complains, sure. he whines and calls you annoying and shoves at your shoulders halfheartedly. but he never actually pulls away. if anything he leans into it, like he’s trying to prove he can take it, like he’s determined not to let you win.

which is how you end up here: beomgyu sprawled across your lap like an overgrown cat, his head heavy on your thighs as he scrolls through his phone. you’re both supposed to be studying, but neither of you has opened a textbook in at least an hour. instead, you’re absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt.

he’s trying so hard to act unaffected. but you can see the way his fingers have slowed on his screen, the way his breathing has evened out like he’s fighting not to sigh.

"you’re like a dog," you murmur, grinning when he cracks one eye open to glare at you.

"shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.

you hum, dragging your nails gently down the back of his neck, and there—the full body shiver he tries (and fails) to suppress. you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "you good?"

"you’re the worst," he mutters, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t even try.

you’re about to tease him more, maybe poke his side, just to see him squirm, when suddenly, his hand shoots up and catches your wrust. your breath stutters.

beomgyu’s grip isn’t tight. it’s not rough or demanding. but the way his fingers circle your wrist, warm and firm, sends a jolt down your spine. your pulse jumps under his thumb.

for a second, neither of you moves.

then beomgyu tilts his head back to look at you, and—

oh.

his eyes are dark. not playful, not exasperated. just intense, in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"you’ve been messing with me all week," he says, voice low.

your throat feels dry. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

he raises an eyebrow. "really."

"really," you say, but it comes out breathier than you mean it to.

beomgyu holds your gaze for a long, long second. then, slowly, he tugs your hand down—not away, but closer, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, under your fingers.

"then keep going," he challenges, voice barely above a whisper. "since it’s nothing."

your brain short circuits.

because this—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. he’s supposed to blush and sputter and shove you away like always. not dare you. not look at you like that.

your fingers twitch against his shirt.

beomgyu’s lips curl into a smirk. "what’s wrong?" he taunts, echoing your words from earlier. "can’t handle it when i push back?"

oh, it’s on.

you lean down before you can second guess yourself, your nose brushing his as you stop just short of his lips. his breath catches. "who said i was stopping?" you whisper.

beomgyu’s grip on your wrist tightens.

and then—

your mom calls your name from downstairs, and the moment shatters.

beomgyu jerks back like he’s been burned, nearly rolling off the bed in his haste. you yelp, grabbing his arm to steady him, but he’s already scrambling upright, running a hand through his hair like he can’t believe what almost happened.

"i—" he starts, then stops, his ears burning red. "we should—your mom’s calling."

you stare at him. he stares back.

then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

beomgyu groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "don’t."

"don’t what?" you ask, all innocence.

"you’re insufferable," he mutters, but he’s peeking at you through his fingers, and his lips are twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

you kick his shin lightly. "you love it."

he doesn’t deny it.

the thing about beomgyu is that he's always been tactile—always reaching for you, always in your space, always treating your personal boundaries like mild suggestions rather than actual rules. lately it’s gotten worse, with every touch feeling like something more. like there's electricity humming just beneath his skin, sparking where your fingers brush against him. and you can't stop poking at it, can't stop testing the limits of this new, fragile thing between you.

it's been days since the almost-moment on your bed, days of careful avoidance and pointed teasing and lingering touches that neither of you acknowledge. and now here you are, curled up in your room watching some b-list horror movie because beomgyu had whined until you gave in, his eyes doing that stupid, pleading thing you've never been able to say no to.

"this is so dumb," you mutter as the protagonist on screen wanders into yet another obviously haunted room. "why would anyone—"

"shhh," beomgyu interrupts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you're ruining the atmosphere."

"the atmosphere of what? bad cgi and worse acting?"

he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've wounded him. "you take that back. this is cinematic gold."

you roll your eyes but don't protest further, settling back against your pillows. beomgyu shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours, warm and solid. you try to focus on the movie, you really do, but it's hard when he's right there, smelling like laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive cologne he pretends he doesn't carefully pick out. when he's close enough that you can see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dim light of your laptop screen.

then—

a sudden, earsplitting shriek comes from the movie, a grotesque face filling the frame, and you're lurching sideways before you can think, fingers digging into beomgyu's arm as you let out a startled yelp.

and beomgyu—

beomgyu squeaks.

it's high pitched and undignified and absolutely ridiculous coming from someone who spends half his time trying to act cool, and for a second, you're too stunned to even process it. then the sound registers, and you're turning to stare at him, mouth already opening to tease—

but the words die in your throat.

because beomgyu is frozen, his breath caught, his eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. your fingers are still wrapped around his arm, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your touch. the air between you is thick, heavy, the silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.

your own breath stutters.

beomgyu's gaze drops to your mouth, just for a second, so quick you might have imagined it—but you didn't. you know you didn't, because your heart is suddenly pounding loud enough that you're sure he can hear it, your skin buzzing where you're touching him.

then—

the moment shatters.

beomgyu clears his throat, jerking his arm away like he's been burned, his cheeks flushing pink. "you—you scared me," he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

you blink. then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face. "i scared you?" you echo, leaning closer. "beomgyu. you squeaked."

"i did not—"

"you did," you crow, poking his side. "like a—like a mouse or something—"

beomgyu groans, covering his face with his hands. "oh my god, shut up—"

"a tiny, terrified little mouse—"

"i will end you," he threatens, but there's no real heat behind it, not when he's peeking at you through his fingers, his lips twitching like he's fighting a smile.

you laugh, bright and loud, and something in beomgyu's expression softens, his shoulders relaxing as he drops his hands. "you're the worst," he grumbles, but he's leaning into you again, his arm pressing against yours.

"you love me," you sing-song, nudging him with your knee.

beomgyu doesn't answer. just rolls his eyes and turns back to the movie, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex against his thigh, the way his breath hitches when you shift closer.

the movie plays on, the tension between you easing back into something familiar, something comfortable. but beneath it all, beneath the teasing and the bickering and the easy touches, there's something new. something fragile and unspoken and achingly sweet.

and you can't wait to poke at it some more.

the moment your selfie goes up, you know it's trouble. not because there's anything particularly scandalous about it—just you in your favourite going-out top, hair styled a little more carefully than usual, lips shiny with that gloss beomgyu always says smells like candy. but something about the angle, the way the light catches your collarbones, the hint of a smirk playing at your mouth—it feels dangerous. like you're dangling bait in front of a very specific, very excitable predator.

your phone vibrates in your hand before you can even set it down.

beomgyu: ???? beomgyu: where are you going looking like that

the message burns through you like a live wire. you can practically hear his voice—that particular tone he gets when he's trying (and failing) to sound casual, the way his pitch jumps just slightly when he's flustered. your fingers fly across the screen before you can think better of it.

you: why? you wanna come with?

beomgyu: thats not— beomgyu: i was just asking bro

you bite your lip to keep from grinning. the three dots appear and disappear three times before you finally get:

beomgyu: ...are you meeting someone?

there it is. that tiny crack in his usual bravado. you're about to respond with something suitably teasing when your doorbell rings, an insistent, impatient buzz that could only belong to one person.

when you swing the door open, beomgyu is standing there looking unfairly good for someone who supposedly rushed over on a whim. his hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he just showered, and he's wearing that stupid tank top that shows off his arms, the one that makes your mouth go dry. in his outstretched hand dangles your charger—the one you're 90% sure you didn't leave at his place.

"you forgot this," he announces, pushing past you into your apartment and into your bedroom, like he owns it. the scent of his cologne, something warm and expensive that clings to all your hoodies after he wears them, fills the space between you.

you raise an eyebrow as you shut the door. "did i?"

"yes," he says, too quickly, already making himself at home on your bed. "you're so forgetful. it's a miracle you function without me."

you don't call him out on the obvious lie. instead, you lean against the doorframe and watch as he tries (and fails) to look casual, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. the neckline of his tank top slips slightly with every movement, revealing more of his collarbones than strictly necessary.

"so," he says, eyes scanning your outfit with poorly concealed interest, "where are you going?"

"nowhere special," you say, moving to sit beside him. the bed dips under your weight, forcing his knee to bump against yours.

"then why do you look like that?"

"like what?" you lean in closer, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches.

beomgyu's throat works as he swallows. "like... like you're trying too hard."

you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "rude. maybe i just wanted to look nice."

"for who?"

the question comes out sharper than he intended, his fingers twitching against the pillows scattered on your bed. something warm and pleased curls in your stomach at the possessive edge in his voice.

before you can answer, beomgyu suddenly flexes his arms, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of his sleeves. "you see this?" he says, grinning that stupid, cocky grin that makes you want to kiss it off his face. "this is what peak performance looks like."

you roll your eyes. "please. i could bench press you."

his eyes light up with that competitive gleam you know all too well. "oh, you wish."

"prove it."

the challenge hangs in the air for all of two seconds before beomgyu grabs the nearest pillow and smacks you square in the face with it. you shriek, more out of surprise than actual pain, and immediately retaliate by grabbing another pillow and swinging with all your might.

beomgyu blocks it effortlessly, laughing as you growl in frustration. "weak," he taunts, dodging your next swing. "come on, is that all you've got?"

in a flash of inspiration, you toss the pillow aside and lunge at him instead. beomgyu's eyes widen comically as you collide with him, sending you both tumbling across the mattress in a tangle of limbs. you end up straddling his hips, immediately going for his most vulnerable spots; his sides, just above his hips, where you know he's ticklish.

beomgyu shrieks, actually shrieks, his whole body jerking beneath you as he dissolves into breathless laughter. "s-stop—fuck—" he gasps, trying in vain to squirm away, but you've got him pinned, your fingers dancing mercilessly along his ribs.

"give up," you demand, grinning down at him.

"never," he chokes out between laughs, his face flushed pink, his hair a wild mess against your cushions.

you're both laughing so hard it hurts, the sound filling your apartment, and for a moment everything feels perfect. light. easy. like this is exactly where you're both meant to be.

then you realise.

your hands are splayed across his stomach, his abs flexing beneath your touch with every ragged breath he takes. his own hands have somehow found their way to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. the warmth of him seeps into you, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and suddenly you're hyper aware of every point of contact between you.

because—

oh.

oh no.

beomgyu is hot. like, stupidly, unfairly hot. the kind of hot that makes your mouth go dry and your thoughts scatter. his lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes dark and fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the muscles in his arms are taut where they bracket your thighs, and suddenly all you can think about is how badly you want him to choke you.

before you can finish the thought, beomgyu moves.

in one smooth motion, he flips you over, reversing your positions with embarrassing ease. your back hits the plush mattress of your bed, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your pulse skyrocket. then his arm slides around your neck in a playful, but surprisingly firm chokehold, his biceps flexing against your throat.

your mind whites out.

your mouth, unfortunately, does not.

"god, that feels so good," you moan, the words slipping out unbidden, your voice embarrassingly breathy.

beomgyu freezes.

you freeze.

beomgyu stumbles back like you’ve just set him on fire, his entire face burning so red it’s a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously combusted. his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, his hands flapping uselessly at his sides as he chokes on air. you’ve never seen him like this—beomgyu, who’s always so loud, so obnoxiously confident, reduced to a stammering, malfunctioning mess because of you.

your own heart is hammering so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t burst out of your chest yet, but the longer he stands there looking like his brain has short-circuited, the more the initial panic starts to melt into something dangerously close to amusement. because god, he’s such a loser. your loser. and before you can chicken out, before you can backtrack and play it off like a joke, the words are tumbling out of your mouth—

“i think i like you.”

beomgyu’s jaw drops. like, actually drops. his eyes go comically wide, his entire body freezing like you’ve just hit him with a stun gun. for a second, you’re terrified you’ve broken him completely, that he’s going to turn around and bolt out the door and never speak to you again. but then—

“what?” he chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed. “you heard me.”

“i—no, say it again.”

“no.”

“please.”

“beomgyu—”

he makes a noise that’s half-groan, half-whine, dragging his hands down his face before pacing across your room like a caged animal. his fingers keep tugging at his hair, his breathing uneven as he mutters to himself, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, smoke nearly coming out of his ears from how hard he’s thinking.

you should probably be more nervous, but mostly you’re just endeared. and a little annoyed.

“you’re freaking out,” you point out, trying to sound casual even though your palms are sweating.

“yeah, no shit,” he snaps, spinning to face you with wild eyes. “you can’t just—you can’t just say that and expect me to be normal about it!”

“i didn’t expect anything! i was just—”

“just what? just casually dropping the bomb that you like me after moaning when i choked you—”

“oh my god, shut up—”

“no, because what the fuck—”

you groan, flopping back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. this is a disaster. a nightmare. you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, should’ve played it off like a joke, should’ve—

“i like you too, idiot.”

your hands drop.

beomgyu is standing at the foot of your bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks still flushed but his gaze steady now. your breath catches.

“...what?”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “i like you. like, like like you. have for—fuck, i don’t even know how long.” his voice drops, softer now. “i just didn’t know how to deal with it. thought you didn’t see me that way.”

you sit up slowly, your pulse roaring in your ears. “...are you serious?”

“yes, i’m serious,” he mutters, looking away. “you think i’d be this much of a mess if i wasn’t?”

you stare at him. he stares back. the silence stretches between you, thick and charged, until—

you burst out laughing.

beomgyu’s face does something complicated, caught between offence and confusion. “why are you laughing?”

“because you’re such a disaster,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes. “all this time, and you were just—god, you’re pathetic.”

“excuse me—”

“you heard me.”

he growls, actually growls, before closing the distance between you in two long strides. his hands cup your face, rough but gentle, and then his lips are on yours—hot, insistent, perfect.

you melt into it immediately, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with all the pent up frustration of months of pining. beomgyu makes a noise low in his throat, something between a whimper and a groan, his grip tightening as he nips at your bottom lip. you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.

his hands roam your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are warm, calloused from playing guitar, and the way they dig into your hips sends shivers down your spine. you arch into him, pressing closer, and he lets out this noise—this pathetic, whiny little sound that goes straight to your core.

you freeze for half a second. “bro, you good?” you whisper, half teasing, half wrecked yourself.

beomgyu groans, hiding his face in your neck. “do i look good?”

“fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

beomgyu pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and shiny. “you—you’re killing me,” he whines, his voice wrecked already.

you grin, dragging him back down. “good.”

he kisses you again, messier this time, his hands sliding up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. he’s terrible at it, his fingers clumsy, and he groans in frustration when he can’t get it undone.

“help me,” he mumbles against your mouth, his cheeks burning.

you laugh, reaching behind you to undo it for him, and the way his eyes darken when he realises what you’ve done is priceless. his hands slide up your bare back, his touch hesitant at first, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice shaky as his fingers trace the curve of your spine. “fuck, you have no idea—”

you cut him off with another kiss, rolling so you’re straddling his hips. his hands immediately fly to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you grind down experimentally, and the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers dig into your skin—god, you could get addicted to this.

“please,” he whimpers, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “please, i—fuck, i can’t—”

you lean down to nip at his earlobe, grinning when he shudders. “can’t what?” you whisper.

“you know what,” he groans, his hands sliding up your thighs. “you’re evil.”

you laugh, kissing him again, slower this time, savouring the way he melts under you. when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged.

“fuck, fuck—” he’s babbling now, his usual eloquence completely gone as he kisses down your neck, your collarbones, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “you’re—shit, you’re so pretty, i can’t—fuck—”

you tug at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him properly, swallowing his desperate noises. his hands are shaking where they grip your thighs, his breath coming in ragged pants against your lips.

“beomgyu,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “you’re such a mess.”

he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “you did this,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin. “you turned me into this.”

you hum, running your fingers through his hair. “and you love it.”

he lifts his head just enough to glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it—just fond exasperation and so much want it makes your chest ache. “yeah,” he admits, his voice rough. “i really fucking do.”

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[burningembers91]

prompt 2 w daeho or junho? 👀

Prompt: "Just a little harder"

Kang Dae-Ho was always so gentle when he fucked you. Your pleasure was his number one priority, and he would never dream of doing anything to hurt you. He treated you like the most delicate flower, the finest china that could so easily break. You loved Dae-Ho’s softness, loved the tender, gentle way he made love to you, easing you through your pleasure while whispering the softest of sweet nothings in your ear. But sometimes you wished he’d be a little rougher, that he’d fuck you a little harder, unleashing the full strength you knew he possessed.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against your lips, his thrusts deep but gentle as his hands caressed your cheek. You whined against him, arching your hips further into him.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you smiled, “I won’t break.” Dae-Ho kissed a line from your jaw down your neck, his cock nestled inside your tight walls. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, thrusting gently into you again, almost teasingly softly. “You won’t, I promise. Please, just a little harder.”

Dae-Ho was torn between giving you what you needed and keeping you safe. But he could never deny you anything, and one look at the desperate expression on your face, and his resolve crumbled.

His next thrust was hard, the air punctuated by your loud moan as his cock hit a spot deep inside of you. “Just like that,” you breathed, entwining your arms around his neck. “Don’t stop.” Dae-Ho fucked into you again and again, your filthy, desperate moans awakening his most carnal desires.

Flipping you onto your stomach, he pulled your hips towards him, pushing himself roughly inside of you. The sound you emitted was heavenly, the shock of him entering you so suddenly a parallel to his usual gentleness. Your fists gripped the sheets beneath you, your head buried in his pillow as Dae-Ho slammed into you again and again. The sound of his hips meeting the soft flesh of your ass mixed with the slick sounds of your tight core swallowing his cock, your wetness coating your thighs as it dripped down. This is what you’d craved, and Dae-Ho could now see he’d been a fool to hold back.

“You’re so perfect,” he soothed, “You’re taking me so well. You’re doing good baby.” His soft words were a stark contrast to his harsh thrusts, He could feel you getting close, could feel the way your thighs shook against him. He reached his hand round, pressing the pad of his index finger against your sensitive clit.

“Come on, baby”, he whispered, “I want to feel you cum on my dick. Can you do that for me?” His words were your undoing, your shuddering cries as you fell apart for him the sweetest music to his ears. He felt your tight walls clench around him, your ecstasy his own undoing.

Dae-Ho fucked every last every last drop of his seed into you, before pulling back and watching as it dripped from your tight core, soaking your thighs and the sheets below. He knew now that you could take so much more than he’d realised.

From now on, Dae-Ho wouldn’t hold back.

[userluhna]

Since reader would hang out a lot with Junho and saw Inho as her big brother, it made me think, would the reader be close with Junho’s mom? Would she be like the mother she never had? What do you think she would think of reader and Junho being together?

(I love your work diva, pls don’t explode 🫶)

first, thank you so much for this :( ily sorry i took soooo long.

and YES OH MY GOD YES

࿔⋆ MOM?

this is part of this series

hwangjunho x f!reader

words: 1.2k

warnings: hurt comfort. healing. mention of grief. found family

enjoy! :)

because when inho asked you, “would it be okay if you stay here? with mom—” you nodded. maybe because you didn’t really have a choice, or maybe because it just felt right. on that first night, you slept in inho’s old bedroom. she had already changed the sheets—soft, clean, your favorite color.

and even if you were already old enough to not cry over sheets, it made you cry. just a little. just when it was quiet and dark and your thoughts were too loud. and junho, if he heard your sniffles from the other side of the door, he’d knock, then come in and hold you. not saying “you’re okay” because you weren’t. he would just hold you. like that was enough. the next morning, you found a glass of water waiting for you on the kitchen counter. a small note tucked beside it—not in junho’s neat handwriting, but hers.

“stay hydrated. it’s good for headaches.” even before everything. before the accident. before you were left alone. she left you little notes. because she cared, quietly. “leftovers for you. warm them up when you get home.”

“had too much dessert. take some with you.”

she always cooked too much—for you. she packed you lunch even when you said you weren’t hungry. refilled your water bottle before you left for school. and god, how gentle she was. the kind of gentle you never knew how to hold.

that first week living with her, she found you crying in the kitchen, barefoot in the middle of the night. she didn’t ask questions. didn’t crowd you. just stepped closer, slow, soft. “can i hold you?” she asked. she always asked—never just reached—because she didn’t want you to flinch. you nodded. and your head found her shoulder. one hand behind your head, the other tracing soft, steady lines down your back. she never shushed you. never told you to stop. just held you, quiet and warm, until the crying passed. “i’ve got you, okay? i’ve got you, sweet girl.”

she rocked you like that. slow. so slow it almost hurt. and even before that—before you lived there—she would always smile when she saw you. never asked, “are you okay?” but made you warm soup. never told you to go home when you lingered after dinner. always offered you a ride. always waited until you were inside. inho would drive you home most times. but sometimes, you just stayed over. sometimes it was easier. she told junho to be good to you.

“be patient. be careful. be quiet when she needs quiet. be loud when someone else is loud to her. hold her. let her cry.” even though he already was. even though he already did.

inho would come by on weekends—even weekdays, more than before. you’d hang out at his place, always checking with his wife that you weren’t intruding. but you never were.

your blanket was always tucked on the couch. your favorite mug in their cabinet. sometimes a new toothbrush waiting in the bathroom. and when she found out you and junho were together, she didn’t seem surprised. because that night—the first time junho saw you again—he called her on the way home.

“yeah. she’s back. just saw her.” he didn’t need to say who she was. because junho only used that soft voice for one person. he never told anyone about the times he saw you from across the street, but didn’t walk in. he didn’t know how you’d feel. but maybe she knew.

because when you left for england, he cried. not in front of you. not on the drive back. but later, alone in his room. maybe she heard the sobs through the door. but she didn’t say “love hurts.” she didn’t say “she’ll come back.” she brought him water. kissed his forehead. “cry as long as you need to, okay? i’ve got you, my boy.” junho cried every night for two whole weeks. not loud. not messy. just slow, soft tears that didn’t stop.

and last week, when you visited again—she made your favorite meal. set the table. hugged you like she hadn’t in years. brushed a hair from your face. smiled so big it almost made you cry. when junho said,

“eomma, we’re together.” she hugged you again. because she knew. she’d known from the way junho looked at you when he was sixteen. from the time he said, “nah, she doesn’t like that color,” while picking out your sheets.

she knew from that call two months ago. “she’s just—” and how he never finished the sentence. how the words never came because nothing was big enough to hold what he felt.

and before you left that day—before junho drove you home, before you unlocked your apartment door—she looked at her son and said, “you better be good to her, huh? she’s had enough. now she needs quiet. the good kind.”

and junho just nodded, that small, quiet smile tugging at his lips. and that night, on your couch, junho’s head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair—he showed you a text. from his mom.

“tell her i’ve got some leftovers. she can come pick them up after work.”

and you just knew—she was what you never had. the warmth of a mother.

tag list: @namgyucat @namsgyu @threerxcha

requests are open!

[insidekatmind]

Our little pet~Hwang In Ho, Cho Sang Woo, Masked officer and Hwang Jun ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap.

Request: yes!

You wake up in the accommodation they gave you, still wrapped in the strange feeling of belonging that you have accepted over the past few days. It has been a strange and disturbing journey, but also strangely comforting. You have been taken under the wing of those who until recently had seemed only mysterious and menacing figures.

The Masked Officer, with his enigmatic but reassuring presence, is next to you. The tone of his voice is softer when he speaks to you. Next to him, there were also Sang-woo and Jun-ho. Both seem to have grown fond of you, finding every possible opportunity to be close to you and offer you sincere and possessive affection.

"Are you okay?" asks Sang-woo, his voice warm. He caresses your shoulder gently, almost forgetting the role he should have in that merciless place.

"Yes, everything is fine," you reply, letting yourself go into that moment of calm.

Jun-ho sits down next to you and, with a careful but thoughtful gesture, hands you a warm drink. “You should relax. It’s going to be a long day.”

You nod, slowly sipping the comforting liquid. You don’t know how they broke down your defenses so easily, but by now you’ve accepted that they belong to you, and you belong to them.

The Frontman is busy talking to other guards, issuing orders with his firm and authoritative voice. You observe the scene from afar, surrounded by the reassuring presence of The Masked Officer, Sang-woo and Jun-ho. Their attentions are constant, a constant protection that makes you feel safe in a world where safety seems a distant concept.

Finally, the Frontman finishes his speech and approaches you. His stride is firm, yet you notice a hint of sweetness in his eyes when his gaze falls on you.

The Frontman's gaze lingers on you as he approaches, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good morning, my dear," he says, his voice warm and gentle. "I trust you slept well?"

He sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "You look beautiful, as always," he murmurs, his fingers trailing down your cheek.

Sangwoo's hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by the Frontman. "And it seems our little pet is well taken care of," he observes, his eyes flicking between the three men surrounding you.

You smiled and cuddled in between Sang woo and Jun ho. The Frontman's smile widens at the sight of you cuddled between Sangwoo and Junho. "It's good to see you so comfortable with them," he says, his voice warm with approval. "They've grown quite fond of you, haven't they?"

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "And I must say, I'm rather fond of you myself," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. "You've brought a certain... warmth to our little group."

Sangwoo's arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "She's perfect," he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

Junho nods in agreement, his hand resting possessively on your knee. "She's ours now," he says, his voice a low, possessive growl. "No one else can have her."

The Frontman chuckles softly, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "Indeed," he agrees, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Our little pet belongs to us, and us alone."

He leans back, his gaze sweeping over the four of you. "I must say, I'm quite pleased with how things have turned out," he muses. "You've all formed quite the... family, haven't you?"

His smile turns wicked, a hint of his true nature shining through.

The masked officer smiles and nibbles your neck. "How about a little fun before we get to the games?" the masked officer mutters, touching your breast.

The Frontman's eyes darken with desire at the Masked Officer's suggestion. "I like the way you think," he says, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Why don't we take our little pet back to my quarters? I'm sure we can find a way to entertain ourselves before the games begin."

Sangwoo's hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple. "I'm always up for a little fun," he murmurs, his voice husky with arousal.

Junho's grip on your knee tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Let's go," he says, his voice strained with desire. "I can't wait to get my hands on her again."

The Masked Officer's teeth nip at your neck, his hand squeezing your breast possessively.

The Frontman's eyes gleam with satisfaction at your moan, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "That's our girl," he murmurs, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Always so responsive to our touch."

Sangwoo's thumb circles your nipple, his touch gentle yet firm. "She's so beautiful when she's turned on," he observes, his voice filled with admiration. "I could watch her all day."

Junho's hand moves from your knee to your inner thigh, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin. "Let's take her back to my room," he suggests, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I want to hear her scream my name."

The Masked Officer's teeth scrape against your neck, his hand squeezing your breast roughly. "I want to see her fall apart," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "I want to watch her come undone beneath us."

The Frontman stands, offering you his hand. "Come, my dear," he says, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Let's retire to my quarters. I have a feeling it's going to be a very... pleasurable morning."

Sangwoo and Junho rise as well, their eyes never leaving your body as they wait for you to stand. The Masked Officer's hand slides down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he guides you towards the door.

As you walk, the guards' hands roam over your body possessively, their touches leaving you tingling with anticipation. The Frontman leads you through the corridors, his stride confident and commanding. Finally, you arrive at a large, ornate door, which he pushes open to reveal a lavish bedroom.

The room is dominated by a massive fourposter bed, draped in rich, red velvet. Candles flicker on every surface, casting a warm, inviting glow.

The Frontman turns to face you, his eyes burning with desire. "Welcome to my private quarters," he says, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "This is where we'll be spending the next few hours... entertaining ourselves."

He gestures to the bed, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Gentlemen, if you would please... undress our little pet for me."

Sangwoo and Junho step forward, their hands already reaching for your clothes. The Masked Officer stands back, his eyes fixed on you as he watches the scene unfold.

Slowly, carefully, the two men strip you bare, their fingers brushing against your skin with each article of clothing they remove.

As your clothes fall away, the Frontman's gaze rakes over your naked form, his eyes darkening with lust. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Simply beautiful."

Junho's hands slide up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts. "So perfect," he agrees, his voice a low, possessive growl.

Sangwoo's fingers trail down your stomach, his touch featherlight. "I could spend hours just looking at her," he says, his voice filled with admiration. "She's like a work of art."

The Masked Officer steps forward, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "And she's all ours,"You smiled and kissed the masked officer.

The Masked Officer's breath hitches as your lips meet his, his eyes fluttering. For a moment, he seems almost vulnerable, caught off guard by the gentle gesture.

But then he snaps back to his usual dominant self, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, gripping tightly. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth possessively.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are blazing with desire. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I like that."

The Frontman chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Our pet is quite the affectionate one," he observes, his gaze sweeping over you. "I think she deserves a reward for her enthusiasm."

He turns to the other two guards. "Junho, Sangwoo, why don't you two show our little pet just how much we appreciate her?"

Junho and Sangwoo exchange a glance, a silent communication passing between them. Then, with a predatory grin, Junho steps forward, his hands reaching for your hips.

"With pleasure," he growls, pulling you flush against him. His lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger that steals your breath.

Meanwhile, Sangwoo's hands slide up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair. He tugs your head back, exposing your neck to him. His lips trail along your pulse point, his teeth grazing against your skin.

The Masked Officer watches with a satisfied smirk, his eyes never leaving your face. The Frontman leans against the bedpost, his arms crossed over his chest, a look of smug pride on his face.

You're caught between them, Junho's kiss stealing your breath and Sangwoo's lips leaving trails of fire on your neck. The Masked Officer's gaze burns into you, his eyes filled with dark promise. The Frontman's smug smile only adds to the intensity of the moment.

Junho's hands roam your body, his touch possessive and demanding. Sangwoo's fingers tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he marks your neck with his teeth. Together, they overwhelm your senses, drowning you in pleasure and desire.

Suddenly, Junho lifts you, his hands gripping your thighs as he wraps your legs around his waist. Sangwoo takes the opportunity to explore further, his lips trailing down to your breasts, his tongue circling your nipple before drawing it into his mouth.

Junho carries you to the bed, laying you down gently. He crawls over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles between your legs. Sangwoo follows, kneeling beside you, his hand still playing with your breast.

The Masked Officer approaches the bed, a wicked glint in his eye. He climbs onto the mattress, his hand reaching out to grasp your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Open your mouth, pet," he commands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

As you obey, the Frontman moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take him deep, little one. Show us how well you can please us."

Junho's length presses against your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your folds. Sangwoo's fingers pinch and twist your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. The Masked Officer's length slides past your lips, his taste flooding your mouth.

You moan around the Masked Officer's length as Junho pushes into you, his thickness stretching you deliciously. Sangwoo's fingers continue their torturous teasing of your nipple, the pleasurepain sending shockwaves through your body.

The Masked Officer's grip on your chin tightens as he begins to thrust, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. "That's it, pet," he murmurs, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take my cock like a good girl."

Junho's thrusts are slow and deep, each movement designed to draw out your pleasure. His lips brush against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good," he groans, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "So tight, so perfect."

Sangwoo leans down, his lips closing around your other nipple. He sucks hard, his teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh.

In the meantime you look at the frontman and bring your hand to his crotch and touch him. The Frontman's eyes widen slightly in surprise as your hand reaches for him, a flicker of approval crossing his face. He leans into your touch, his hips pressing forward slightly.

"That's it, my dear," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Show me how much you want to please me."

His hand reaches out, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guides your head back to the Masked Officer's length. "Keep sucking, pet," he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. "I want to see you take him deep while you touch me."

Junho's thrusts become more insistent, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. "Fuck, she's so tight," he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. "I can feel every inch of her."

Sangwoo's mouth leaves your nipple with a pop, his hand replacing his lips as he squeezes the tender flesh. "She's perfect," he agrees, his voice husky with desire.

You continue to stroke the Frontman's length through his pants, feeling it harden under your touch. Meanwhile, you take the Masked Officer deeper into your mouth, relaxing your throat to accommodate his size.

The Frontman's fingers tighten in your hair, his hips rolling against your hand. "Just like that," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Keep touching me, pet. Make me feel good."

Junho's thrusts become erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm getting close," he warns, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Fuck, I'm going to come."

Sangwoo's hand squeezes your breast painfully, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Fill her up with your cum" he encourages, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

The Masked Officer's grip on your hair tightens, his hips thrusting forward as he nears his own release. "Take it all, pet," he commands, his voice strained with pleasure. "Swallow every drop."

With a final, brutal thrust, Junho buries himself deep inside you, his length pulsing as he releases his hot seed. "Fuck, yes!" he roars, his hips jerking against yours as he fills you with his cum.

Almost simultaneously, the Masked Officer's grip on your hair tightens to the point of pain, his length throbbing against your tongue as he finds his own release. "Swallow it all, pet," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure as he pumps his load down your throat.

The Frontman's hips buck against your hand, his length hardening even further beneath your touch. "That's it, my dear,"You try to unbutton the frontman's jeans.

The Frontman's eyes darken with desire as your fingers fumble with his jeans, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr.

He leans back slightly, giving you better access to his pants. "Go on then, pet," he encourages, his voice thick with anticipation. "Release me from these confines. Show me just how much you want me."

Junho and the Masked Officer watch with keen interest, their eyes fixed on your hands as you work to unbutton the Frontman's jeans. Sangwoo's hand slides down your stomach, his fingers teasing your folds, coated with Junho's release.

"Look at her, so desperate for him," he observes, his voice filled with amusement. "Our little pet is quite the greedy one, isn't she?"

The Frontman's jeans finally give way, his hard length springing free. He's long and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. "There we go," he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "Much better."He reaches out, his hand gripping your chin firmly. "Now, pet, I want you to show me just how grateful you are," he commands, his eyes burning into yours. "Take my cock into your mouth and suck it like your life depends on it."

Junho's fingers slide through the mess between your legs, gathering some of his own release. He brings them to your lips, painting them with his essence. "Open up, pet,"You obediently open your mouth, allowing Junho's fingers to slide inside. You suck them clean, your tongue swirling around the digits as you savor his taste.

Meanwhile, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the Frontman's length. You take him deep, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. You begin to suck, your head bobbing up and down as you pleasure him.

The Masked Officer watches with a smug smile, his own length already hardening again. "Look at her, so skilled," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Our little pet is a natural at this."

Sangwoo's hand continues to explore your body, his fingers teasing your folds, slipping inside you occasionally. "She's so responsive," he observes, his voice filled with admiration. "I can feel her getting wetter by the second."

The Frontman's hand tightens in your hair, his hips thrusting forward as you suck him. "Fuck, yes," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "Just like that, pet. Take my cock deep."

Junho's fingers trailing down your neck and chest. He pinches your nipple hard, sending a jolt of painpleasure through you. "Look at her, so focused on pleasing him," he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Our little slut loves having her mouth full, doesn't she?"

The Masked Officer moves closer, his length pressing against your cheek.

Sangwoo's hands grip your hips as he enters you from behind, his length sliding into your wet heat. "Fuck, she's so tight," he groans, his hips rolling against your backside.

Meanwhile, you jerk the Masked Officer's length, your hand moving in a steady rhythm. He grunts in approval, his hips thrusting forward to meet your strokes.

The Frontman's grip on your hair tightens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "That's it, pet," he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. "Keep sucking. Make me come in that pretty mouth of yours."

Junho's fingers twist your nipple painfully, his other hand sliding down to your clit.

Junho's fingers find your clit, circling the sensitive nub with a teasing touch. "Let's see how many times we can make her come," he suggests, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I bet she can take us all multiple times."

Sangwoo's thrusts become more forceful, his hips slamming against yours with brutal intensity. "I'm going to fill her up," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "I'm going to mark her as ours."

The Masked Officer's length throbs in your hand, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Fuck, I'm close," he warns, his hips jerking forward. "I'm going to come all over her face."

The Frontman's grip on your hair is almost painful, his thrusts erratic as he nears his own release. "That's it, pet,"The Frontman's length pulses in your mouth as he reaches his peak, his hot seed flooding your throat. "Swallow it all, pet," he commands, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take every drop."

Almost simultaneously, the Masked Officer's length throbs in your hand, his release coating your fingers and splattering across your face. "Fuck, yes!" he roars, his hips jerking forward as he comes undone.

Sangwoo's thrusts become erratic, his grip on your hips tightening to the point of bruising. "I'm coming," he pants, his voice a low, guttural growl. "I'm filling her up."

Junho's fingers press against your clit, his touch firm and demanding. "Come for us, pet," he orders, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Show us how much you love being filled with our cum."

You moan with the frontman's cock in your mouth as you come. Your moan vibrates around the Frontman's length as your orgasm crashes over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. "Fuck, yes!" the Frontman roars, his hips thrusting forward as he pumps his release into your mouth.

Junho's fingers continue to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure as Sangwoo's length throbs inside you, filling you with his own hot seed. The Masked Officer watches with a smug smile, his own release dripping from your face.

As the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto the bed, your body spent and satisfied. The men surround you, their hands roaming over your skin possessively.

"That was incredible," the Frontman murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on your stomach. "Our little pet is a true gem."

Junho nods in agreement, his hand squeezing your breast. "She's perfect," he says, his voice filled with admiration. "I can't wait to see what else she can do."

Sangwoo's hand slides down to your thigh, his fingers brushing against your folds. "She's so responsive," he observes, his voice husky with desire.

The Masked Officer leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "And the best part is, we get to keep her," he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "She's ours now, forever and always."

The Frontman's hand slides up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a gentle, yet dominant grip. "That's right, pet," he agrees, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You belong to us. Body, mind, and soul."

Junho's lips trail along your jaw, his teeth grazing against your skin. "We'll take care of you," he promises, his voice a low, possessive growl. "We'll give you everything you could ever want... as long as you obey us completely."

Sangwoo's hand squeezes your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh. "You'll never want for anything again," he declares, his voice filled with sincerity. "We'll provide for you, protect you, and pleasure you in ways you've never imagined."

The Masked Officer's lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively.

The Masked Officer's lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. The other men's hands continue to roam your body, their touches filled with a mix of tenderness and dominance.

As the kiss deepens, the Frontman's grip on your throat tightens slightly, a subtle reminder of who holds the power in this relationship. Junho's teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Sangwoo's fingers slide into your folds, stirring up the mess of cum already present.

When the Masked Officer finally pulls away, his eyes are dark with desire. "You're ours now, pet," he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Forever and always. And we're going to make sure you never forget it."

[makeitworse]

VICE

contains: dark themes. fem reader x junho. crushing on ur older brother figure. age gap. taboo / weird dynamic. suggestive. 18+

notes: requested. drabble / indent format :p

growing up, jun-ho was the boy next door. your neighbour’s kind-eyed, gentle voiced son. the youngest in his family, yet far older than you. he was supposed to just stay that.

your families were close; his mother, ms. park, often looked after you when your parents worked late hours. eventually that became routine— you had a seat saved at their dinner table each night. ms. park would fix you up lunch for the next day. there were even chores delegated to you.

jun-ho was someone you admired and trusted, and yet he always seemed just out of reach. there’d be nights after dinner where you were both curled up on the couch, stifling your laughter at some old classic playing on the tv— his mother having long gone to bed.

he’d turn to you with jokes, and you’d swat his shoulder with barely contained giggles. he’d never hold your gaze for more than a second. he’d let you touch him, but after he would inch away on the couch. you always noticed, of course. and you never got used to how it stung each time.

your ages were on opposite ends of the term “teenager”. you considered yourself grown, though— mentally at his level. it’s why you always challenged him. why you’d intentionally brush past him just to feel him freeze up. you always resisted the impulse to ask what his problem was.

you meet again later in life. since his family moved away, you hadn’t heard anything from jun-ho. it’s not like he was going to maintain a connection with a girl much younger than him anyways, when he was basically an adult— you see that, now that you’re grown too.

it’s like he never left— you clicked almost instantly, as if you grew up side-by-side, not knowing each other in intervals. he’s always seen you as part of his extended family. even now, he feels an obligation to protect you. and it makes his evolving feelings deeply unsettling to him.

despite your maturity, he’s finding it difficult to treat you like an equal. it irritates you that he’s still seeing just that “kid next door” he’d babysit on occasion. you try to balance showing him that you’re grown while reminding him that you’re not actually family.

and he knows this. you’re not related, but the history, the age gap— it’s an unspoken taboo. he was raised to respect you, not desire. his mother would disapprove. so would your parents. and that’s not out of law or morality; it just didn’t feel right.

in terms of your dynamic, jun-ho holds the emotional upper hand— he’s older, more experienced, used to being the one in control. you’re drawn to his discipline, but you tend to butt heads over your independence. you challenge his way of thinking. you make him second guess what he thought was fact.

tension builds unmistakably in every moment you spend together. quiet dinners, invading personal space, brushing touches and lingering gazes. once, you’d both had far too much to drink, and a there was a near-kiss incident. both of you pretended it didn’t happen.

yet, it very much did, and that tension festered in every following interaction. eventually, jun-ho gives in. he’s tired of running circles in his brain, justifying it, berating himself for considering it— rinse repeat.

your first true kiss is slow, hesitant. it happened one evening in his apartment. jun-ho had pulled you to him by the wrist without words, and taken your lips with his. it was deeply charged with unsaid words— and it was over as soon as it started. you both pulled away at the same time.

intimacy progressed slow and as sure as you were born. kisses were brief, hands never stayed long enough for the warmth to last. his every action was shadowed by doubt. jun-ho’s torn between desire and duty— wanting you and hating himself for it. you deserved someone your own age, someone you had genuine feelings for, not just some coming-of-age awakening.

your physical relationship remained stop-start— guilt on his behalf, bravery on yours. that sweet moment he finally touched you, it’s with the reverence of a man cursing every second of it. jun-ho’s hands were steady, practiced, but his breath bated. you felt like a kid again with how he could barely keep his eyes on you.

he whispered your name like a prayer and a warning— eyes dark with want and guilt, his forehead resting against yours as if proximity might absolve him. he murmured that he shouldn’t, but he does. it all floods to the surface. it’s not just lust, it’s surrender. the man beneath the badge.

jun-ho felt two clashing forces: what feels wrong and what feels real— because with you, he feels seen in a way no one else manages. he’s deeply protective of that, it borders on possessive— but he’s tactful at justifying it with logic and care.

because despite it all— he doesn’t want to see you with anyone else. he knows there’s no one else who can look after you how he can.

idk how i feel ab the quality of this LMFAO

tags: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @bcfcpsh @avsarchivez @frontwomann

[itsnesss]

taking care of junho after he returns with a gunshot wound??? (in s2)

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, romance, a little angst, physical harm, care, vulnerability

word count | 1.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The early morning is calm when the phone rings. The sharp, piercing sound makes you jump out of bed. You grab it quickly, feeling a weight press down on your chest. Without thinking, you answer, still half-asleep.

"Hello, who is this?"

The voice on the other end is firm, somewhat worried, but clear.

"Are you Jun-ho's girlfriend? This is his mother. He's had an accident. He's hurt, but he's stable now, but I need you to come to the hospital. There are some things I need you to sign."

Fear settles in your chest, and your hands begin to tremble as you listen. The woman's voice keeps speaking, but the words fade into a background noise. Jun-ho is hurt. Seriously hurt. The image of him, his smile, his laughter, his warm eyes, starts to fade, replaced by a nightmare.

You dress quickly, fear blocking all rational thought. Time seems to slip away as you rush to the hospital. In your mind, there's only one image: Jun-ho. You just want to see him, be with him.

When you arrive at the hospital, the hallway feels strange, empty. The cold lights reflect the anxiety you feel with every step. In the emergency room, his mother is waiting. You don't know her well, but her eyes reflect the same anguish as yours.

"Hwang Jun-ho is here, he's stable. They took him to a private room after the procedures, he's awake but exhausted. I can let you in, but if you need to rest, you can do so as well."

You don't respond right away. You just nod, grateful that he's at least alive, breathing. You follow the woman to the room. When you enter, you see him there. Lying in bed, with bandages around his torso and an IV in his arm. His face looks paler than usual, but when he sees you, his eyes slowly open. A small smile forms on his face, though he seems in pain.

"You look... good, though it’s hard to believe," he whispers. His soft, raspy voice makes you feel a wave of tenderness, protection, and love.

You simply approach and gently take his hand. The warmth of his skin is a comfort. You stroke his hand, noticing how weak he is, how fragile he seems in that moment.

"How do you feel?" you ask, trying to stay calm.

"Not so bad," he replies, his smile widening slightly, but his eyes reflect deep exhaustion, as if he still can't believe what's happened.

The following days are slow. Jun-ho's recovery progresses, but slowly. Every day you care for him with more tenderness. You bring him water, prepare his meals, make sure he's comfortable at all times. Sometimes, you just sit and watch him sleep, waiting for him to wake up, waiting for him to see in your eyes all the love and concern you feel for him.

Nights are the hardest. As the silence deepens, so does the stillness of the room. Jun-ho seems relaxed, but there are still moments when his face twists in pain. You make sure he's always comfortable, that his medicine is within reach, that nothing is missing. And when you can't do more, you curl up next to him, pressing your body against his, seeking comfort in his presence. The warmth of his body reminds you that he's alive, that he needs you, that there's still hope.

A couple of days later, the doctors say he's well enough to go home. You take care of the paperwork and the formalities, hoping everything is in order. You take him home, to his apartment, the place you both know so well. He's weak, but his hand never leaves yours as you guide him to the sofa. You carefully settle him, making sure he's as comfortable as possible. Jun-ho's eyes are tired, but when he sees you, he smiles weakly.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice trembling from exhaustion.

You sit beside him, stroking his hair. The simple contact with him fills you with calm, though you can't stop worrying. You observe him closely. His eyes, the shadows under them, the paleness of his face... You know he's still weak, but the most important thing is that he's here, by your side.

"You don't have to thank me. I'll always be here," you say, kissing his forehead softly. The expression on his face changes, softening, as if the weight of what has happened is beginning to fade.

The following days pass, and the routine of taking care of him becomes easier, though no less important. You make his meals, make sure he does his recovery exercises, give him his medications. Even when he resists, when his pride gets in the way, you let him know with a smile that he has you, that he needs you. And though he knows it, he can't help but feel grateful for your care. Sometimes, when he feels stronger, he asks you to help him get up, walk a little, not feel so weak.

The love you share deepens with every moment, every gesture. He looks at you with a tenderness you can't describe, and you return the same look, feeling that words are no longer necessary. You love each other with the simplicity of everyday life, with the certainty that you will always be there for each other.

One night, after you've fed him dinner and placed him in bed, you curl up next to him. You're exhausted, but being with him, in his arms, everything seems to fall into place. He wraps his arms around you, holding you gently, carefully, as if afraid you might disappear. His warm body gives you a peace you can't find anywhere else.

"Do you feel better?" you whisper, brushing your lips against his neck.

"Much better, now that you're here," he replies, his voice still deep and raspy, but full of affection.

You look into his eyes, and in that moment, everything you've feared fades away. You see him, with that weak but loving smile, and you know everything will be fine. No matter what the future holds, there will always be time for the two of you, there will always be space for love between you.

"I'll always be here," you whisper softly, your hands caressing his face, tracing the lines of his jaw.

"I love you," he says, his words soft but firm. And you, with your heart full, return that love in a deep kiss, one that reflects everything you can't put into words.

The kiss is soft at first, as if time stopped, as if the whole world disappeared around you. Then, it intensifies, as if both of you were searching, through that kiss, to heal any remaining wounds. The embraces become stronger, more constant, as if you never want to part.

[sombrashe]

Hey

Can I request a Jun-ho with a chubby reader(with toe curling smut 🧑‍🦽🧑‍🦽) I can't stop thinking about that man !!!!!!

perfectly crafted angel ∿ junho x reader

smut

content soft!dom junho, reader has a vagina, age gap (reader is early 20s and junho is early 30s), unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, not edited

notes this is 2k words, i'm sorry

your ears perk up as your front door is slammed shut. the loud bang makes your skin jump, but you simply turn towards your angry boyfriend. watching closely, he goes about his routine; shoes are shoved into their respective cubby, jacket is haphazardly flung onto the counter, the fridge is ripped open, and a bottle of water is chugged before being thrown into the sink. you let him do what he needs to do. long grueling days searching for his brother, always forcing him into a tizzy. peering over the side of the couch, you lazily blink at him. when he finally notices you, his face relaxes, and he gives you a lazy smile. all dimples and teeth. you smile back and rest your chin on the edge.

"No luck?"

"None. Fuck."

you purse your lips before chewing on the bottom one.

"Do you want me to start dinner?"

"No, I just need to let off steam."

you nod and shift. sitting up, you stretch your back out. the gym at this hour wasn't uncommon for him. you mentally think about whether you want to wear sweats or elastic shorts.

"You can stay there, just take off your pants."

oh! you slip out of your sleep shorts, your underwear going next. folding your clothes, you place them on the coffee table. sitting back down, you feel a little awkward as you wait.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Um, like... 1 pm.

"It's nearly 5."

"Jun-ho, I'm sitting here half naked. Food is not important to me right now."

he shakes his head and roots around the kitchen. he spends a few minutes collecting, cutting, and plating fruits and little snacks. he brings two bottles of water in his other hand and sits snugly beside you. smiling, he plants a kiss on your forehead. you press yourself against his lips before taking the plate from him. huffing, you start eating. here he was teasing you. he turns the tv on and flips through the channels as you chew. you try not to eat fast, but honestly, you are starving. finishing the plate, you place it next to your clothes.

"Can I have a napkin?"

"Here."

he takes your hand in his and gently licks your fingers clean. heat washes over you as you watch. when he feels satisfied, he places your hand on his thigh. you press your fingertips into the muscle. turning you to face him, he licks at your lips, cleaning you off. balling your fists, he finishes with a gentle smile.

"All clean."

you nod and blink up at him. your pupils dilate, and you patiently wait for his next move.

"Open your mouth."

you follow his instructions, and he places two fingers on the back of your tongue. trying to relax, he presses down and watches as your throat constricts. sliding his fingers further back, his ears twitch as you gag harshly. pulling out, he dips his fingers in the saliva that pools in your mouth. tapping your thighs, he watches as the fat there jiggles with each gentle tap. hooking your legs over his, he stares at the wetness staining your inner thighs.

spreading you open, he takes a wet finger and starts circling your clit. chowing down on your bottom lip, you stay quiet. he dips his finger lower and rubs at your dripping hole. pushing past the initial resistance as you get used to the feeling, he slowly adds two more fingers. eyes watch his every movement, and you blink rapidly as he toys with your clit. both hands are on you, but it's not enough. he gives you a few more moments of pleasure before pulling away entirely. you fight the urge to groan and whine. taking a deep breath, you play with the hem of your shirt. he gives you a soft kiss, lips moving in sync as he moves. kneeling in front of you, he breaks the kiss.

"Take off your shirt for me."

you frown but do as he says. your stomach folds over itself as you sit there for him. he smiles at your willingness and rewards you with a long swipe of his tongue from your clit to your hole. your mind soon becomes foggy, and all you can focus on is his hot breath fanning over you. his tongue lapping at you from the inside. how his fingers, wet with your essence, glide smoothly against your clit. your moans are soft as you test the waters. sometimes he likes to listen to you struggle, staying quiet as the sounds of your wet cunt fill the air. right now, he was to hear you moan, cry out for him as you rise and crash.

"Let me hear you."

you nod a few times as your dam is broken. whining, you pant and throw your head back. moaning loudly, you cry out his name as he groans into you. holding your breath, you can feel the knot in your stomach unravel as you cum against his tongue. your orgasm is amazing as you're left with closed eyes and heavy pants. he straightens and silences your breathing with a strong kiss. you tuck your hands against his neck and move your lips in sync with his. when he pulls away, you're left with nothing but the taste of yourself. staring at him, you know that if possible, you'd have hearts swimming around your head. giving you another quick peck, he stands and offers you his hand. you take it and float behind him. he settles you on the edge of the bed and makes sure you're nice and comfortable.

"Gonna be good for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir, I promise."

he smiles and pinches your cheek. his hand sliding over your jawline and down your neck, where he tightens his hold. the skin on your arms stands up, but all you can do is squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. he notices your reaction and gives you a knowing smile. pulling away. he spreads your legs just enough for him to settle in between them. taking your hands in his, he doesn't need to direct you before you’re undoing his belt. while your focus is on his jeans, he spends the next few seconds removing his button-up. only when you have his cock in your hand does he start to pay you attention again. looking up, you release him with a sad look brewing in your eyes. he spares you a quick kiss before slowly pushing you to a lying position. settling back, you feel your thighs squish against his hipbones. you peek over yourself to watch him lining himself up. sighing, he slowly slips in. while you were lying there, toes curled, and stomach clenched waiting, for him to hurry up, he maintained his slow and steady approach.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. I can take it, promise.”

his resolve crumbles, and the last few inches are shoved into you with a quick snap of his hips. reaching down, you let out a whine. you hand meets his abdomen as he stays flush against you. raking your nails up, you have to lift yourself slightly to maintain your actions. your stomach folds in on itself, and he watches every little movement. the way your thighs squish as you tighten your hold on his waist. how your stomach folds and jiggles with his thrusts. he especially loves the way your chest falls, each one falling in the opposite direction as he yanks your bra down your body.

“Touch yourself. Let me see it.”

you follow instructions perfectly. reaching down, you spread your lips and find your clit with the opposite hand. starting slow, you rub small circles around it. something he would do, and he seems to approve. grunting out a good job as he slams his hips against you, plush thighs keeping him from grinding bone against bone. watching your face contort as your hand picks up pace. rubbing your clit directly, you lose yourself in the feeling. his eyes never leave you. sharp thrusts turn to slow grinding just to watch your face change. your soft noises turn to loud moans.

“Oh my god, yes, yes, oh~”

who needed porn when all he has to do is lay down some good dick. and, god, you sound downright delicious. gliding his fingertips up and down your sides, he tickles you slightly. giving him a soft laugh, you then frown and smack his hands away.

“Don't tickle me!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You better be.”

he smiles softly and pinches your hip. he leans down and whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Next time, watch your tone.”

you feel your cheeks heat up, but give him a soft yes, sir. he presses soft lips to your temple before pulling back again. he must be getting close because his nose crinkles up. reaching low, he grabs at the accumulation of fat within your lower abdomen.

“Ah!?”

your surprise is loud. he simply ignores your sudden noise and uses your abdomen as an anchor to keep himself snug inside of you. pulling out nearly fully, he slams his hips forward and starts to really fuck you. there is nothing soft about his movements, and you forget any upset you may have had a few moments ago. whining out, you listen closely to his hard breaths and quiet moans. arching your back, you start to feel the coil inside your abdomen get tighter. his thrusts soon become sloppy as his own coil finally snaps. you shout out his name with loud moans as you feel him shoot ropes of warm cum into your pulsating core. he grinds his hips against yours with lazy abandon.

leaning down, he covers your face in soft kisses as he takes over rubbing at your clit. with both hands-free, you dig nails into his shoulder blades. it doesn't take much longer for you to orgasm. completely going limp, you gush around his soft cock and smear wetness against his abdomen. leaning down you, pull his lips against yours. moving in sync, you whine and rut against him. he lets out a shaky breath against your eager lips before starting to grind his hips forward. smiling to yourself, he pinches and rubs at your clit while he works you towards another orgasm.

his face is pinched as he works through the feeling of his soft cock being squeezed by your perfect cunt. your face contorts, and your toes curl tight. this orgasm is much smaller but much stronger, and you’re left whimpering. immediately after overstimulation, takes over, and you’re whining out a please, stop. pulling out, your ears flush with heat as a slick sound fills the quiet room. he spends a moment keeping your legs open. your labia is spread open so he can watch your clenching cunt grab at nothing. his cum spills out of you in a steady stream, and he has to hold himself back from fucking it back into you. your swollen lips and puffy clit deters him from overstimulating you into another orgasm.

that doesn't stop him from fantasizing about it as he leans down and gives that puffy little bundle of nerves a nice, soft kiss. he darts his tongue out and gently pushes against it, leaving you gripping the sheets. a few more soft kisses, and he’s pulling away with a satisfied smile. kissing you softly, he helps you into a sitting position. kissing along your jaw, he whispers about running you a bath and letting you soak if you promise to keep his cum in you. you scoff that he would even ask you for such a thing. you frown and look up at him with a pout. he sighs, presses a single kiss to your pout, and pulls away with a hum. the idea of his cum resting deep in you has your cunt clenching around nothing again.

“Hurry up and run that bath before I lose anymore.”

He gives you a flash of a grin before mellowing his face to a laid-back smile. Pulling away from you, he picks up a few belongings on the way before you hear the water start. Hopping off the bed, you waddle your way over to the dresser and collect a few clothing items. Soft shirt? Check. Comphy underwear? Check. Fluffy socks for after the bath? Check. Holding the clothing to your bare chest, you walk into the bathroom. Watching from the doorway, he puts an oatmeal buttermilk bath bomb into the water, and your eyes light up. He has lotion and skincare products waiting for you after the bath. Laying your clothes neatly on the counter, you allow him to help you into the bath. Resting your arms on the side of the bath, he shuts off the water and intends to leave you alone for a while.

“Will you join me?”

“I was going to ask.”

You smile and scoot forward enough to allow him space behind you. He slides into the water behind you and a little splashes onto the floor with the sudden movement. Leaning into his chest, you smile and relax into his gentle hold. The quiet oasis doesn't last long before your leg is thrown over the edge of the tub, and more water splashes onto the tiles.

[justwhiskeyonice]

it's Guwon's ✨ little things ✨

[inotaku-talkz]

Hi

If it's not much of a bother would you write a Hwang Jun-ho x plus size reader where they are childhood best friends and he has a huge crush on her but doesn't have the courage to do anything about it and one day she feels really insecure about herself (because her date was very rude) and he reassures her and confesses his feelings and it ends with smut

(i hope this is not too much)

I wanna ruin our friendship! We should be lovers instead! (I don’t know how to say this, ‘Cause you’re really my dearest friend!)

Banners by @cafekitsune

warnings: smut, self-hate, simp jun-ho, lil angsty, fluff, Junho is two years older than reader, fem!reader, I skipped the rude date part bc it’s too damn cliche

words: 1.5k (DAMN‼️)

a/n: WOOOOOOOOO I LOVE JUNHO I SO HAPPY TO HAVE A REQUEST FOR HIM!!!!

At 2 years old,

Jun-ho met you when he and his family moved in next door. His mother grew close to yours, your mother would watch Jun-ho while his parents were working and his older brother, In-ho, went to school.

Jun-ho would play with you, help feed you, and help read you stories.

He would often be found taking a nap with you also napping curled up beside him when his mother came over to pick him up. 

When you woke up and Jun-ho wasn’t anywhere near, you would cry until the dogs came home.

At 6 years old,

Jun-ho was waiting for the bus to pick him up for school. 

“Jun-ho, Oppa!” Your squeaky voice reaches his ears and he turns around. He watches as you waddle out of your house and to his side.

“Where are you going, Oppa?” You take his hand into yours.

“To school. I must learn new things.” Jun-ho looked down at you and saw the confused expression on your face.

“What’s school? Sounds yucky! You should stay and play games with me!”

You smile, starting to pull him towards your house. Only for him to apply pressure on his foot to prevent you from dragging him along.

“I will play later. When I finished my homework.”

Then his school bus shows up.

He softly prys your hand off of his, he pats your head and promises to play later.

Jun-ho at 6 years old would never comprehend why your cries whenever he stepped foot on the school bus hurt him so much back then.

At 10 years old,

Jun-ho would always carry ten dollars on him every day.

You and him would stop by the ice cream shop every day for ice cream and juice on the way home.

And as always, you manage to get ice cream on your face. He wipes some ice cream caught on the corner of your lips. 

His fingers graze the swell of your plush, soft cheek. His touch lingers longer than normal. You shy away from his gentle touch.

“Are you worried about your appearance again?” He hands you a napkin. 

“I will never be beautiful.” You looked down to avoid his gaze.

“You will always be beautiful to me, Jagiya.” Jun-ho slings an arm over your shoulders. A smile worms its way to your face. 

Your smile made his stomach flutter and his heart beat faster.

At 20 years old

Jun-ho sat on the couch with a frustrated look scorning his face.

He was studying for his police exam, his mind was warped and clouded by a strong storm of doubt.

You hated this look on him, it was foreign. It wasn’t him.

“Jun-ho, maybe you should take a break?” You bring him a cup of tea. Setting it down in front of him, you glance up at him when you hear a heavy sigh.

“I could use one.” He runs a hand through his hair.

You take a seat next to him while he scrolls through his phone.

“Hey, look at what my mom sent me the other day.” He flips the phone to face you.

You take the phone while he leaves to use the bathroom. 

It was a picture of you and Jun-ho when you were 3 and he was 5. You stood on your tip toes trying to give Jun-ho a kiss on the cheek, and he had his arms around your upper back. 

You giggled at the silly, poofy, dress your mother had you wear. You take a closer look at yourself, no a single hint of chubbiness on you.

The phone shuts off, showcasing your reflection on the back screen. You eyed your plump cheeks and your big tummy, your eyes stung with tears fueled by self-hatred.

You lost yourself. You were perfect, but then you started gaining weight.

You still remember the judgemental side glances of your older, much skinnier peers.

How they would berate you, push you, tease you, and leave horrible notes in your locker. 

You ruined yourself, you ruined yourself, you destroyed your—

“Hey. Get out of your head.” Jun-ho kneeled down in front of you. You feel his big, warm hands wipe the tears falling from your eyes.

“Junnie—“ He cuts you off.

“Listen. You are beautiful, Jagiya. You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever known.”

“But—“ Again, he doesn’t let speak.

“You have heart and soul. You may not be the world’s perfect girl to the world but you are to me.”

“Jun-ho…” You caress his cheek, he leans into your warm, sweet touch. 

“I love you, I loved you since that day. That day when I waited for the bus and you tried to get me to play with you.”

You press your forehead against his, sobbing as your best friend confesses. As he confesses his soul to you. 

“Jun-ho, I love you. I’ve always had you in my corner. Will you let me have you?” You felt his hand cup the back of your neck and pull you forward for a tender kiss.

Pulling back, he whispers with a soft, slow tone. “Only if you will let me have you.”

At 28 years old 

Jun-ho poured two glasses of champagne. One for him and the other for his wife, you.

You sat so prettily with your legs tucked underneath your gorgeous thighs. You’re adorned with a beautiful red, silky nightie that perfectly compliments your soft body. 

He brushes some stray baby hairs away from your forehead. You giggle, feeling ticklish from his featherlight touch from his rough, calloused hands. 

You took a sip from your champagne glass, watching as Jun-ho sank to his knees in front of you.

He places a soft, open-mouthed kiss where your knee meets your thigh. His hands trail upward, slipping underneath your nightie. 

He hooks each side of your panties, slowly dragging them down your detangling legs. You lean back after setting down your glass, he hovers over you for a minute.

“Junnie, you’re so handsome.” You whispered, softly pulling him down towards you. Your lips meet in a gentle kiss at first. Slowly, his tongue finds its way into your mouth. You moan as his left-hand trails alongside your slit. 

“Jun—!” He plants a soft kiss on the shell of your ear.

“Too much?” His hand starts retreating away, you panic and catch his wrist. He smiled softly, his hand returned to parting the fat lips of your cunt. 

He stretches you for a bit, two fingers reaching deep at a simple pace.

“Junnie, please—! I need your cock, please!” You breathlessly squealed, wanting to cum with him inside of you.

Jun-ho lifts your nightie past your breasts, watching as they spill out before him. 

He groans, rushing to pull off his shirt and his shorts with his boxers. Jun-ho captures your lips in a rushed, fiery kiss while slipping out of his boxers.

You gasp out as he presses your legs into a mating press flat against your chest. Jun-ho inches himself into you slowly, he groans as he feels your nails drag down his back.

He’s now settled nicely and deep inside of you. Your legs quiver ever so slightly under his grip.

Jun-ho doesn't fuck you. He just makes love to you. Hard. 

He sets that perfect pace that you love so much, the one that gets you squirmy and so loud for him.

You reach up for a kiss, guiding him down to connect your lips with a kiss matching the pace of his thrusting hips. 

He moans, pulling away from the kiss and buries his face in the junction of your shoulder and neck. 

“Ah-fuck, my beautiful wife…” you barely register his words in your mind. The plap of his balls slapping against your ass drives you crazy.

“Baby—! Want o-oneee—!”

His hips drive in faster, harder. “Jagiya wants a baby?” A slightly cruel and endearing smile made its way to his face as he pinned your knees on either side of your head.

“If my jagiya wants a baby, I’ll give her one.”

Jun-ho takes your left breast into his mouth and drills into your core. His every action sets your body ablaze. You fists the sheets set on either side of you, knuckles turning pale white from your grip. 

His mouth alternates between your nipples, making sure your breasts feel equally loved.

“Junnie—! Ha—cumming!” You squeal, cumming on his cock inside of you.

He releases your legs from his hold and locks up against his shoulders. One hand flat against your tummy and the other rubbing fast, tight smiles on your clit. 

He’s cumming from the vice grip your pussy has him in. Jun-ho fills up his beautiful wife, watching her soft tummy bloat with his cum.

He’s coming down from his high as he pulls out to clean you up.

You catch his wrist. “Cuddle me, clean later.”

Jun-ho smiles softly, slipping underneath the blankets to press his chest against yours. 

“I love you, Jagiya.” He whispers into your ear as he strokes your hair. 

You hum softly, drifting into a blissful, comfortable sleep.

[idyllicidols]

Cheat Day.

Another request. I forgot if the person wanted to stay anonymous so I'll leave them out to be safe. Something different with it being third person, but it felt needed with the content.

TW: gangbang

***

Wonyoung was always expected to be perfect. Her days were filled with endless rehearsals, rigorous diets, and sleepless nights. She yearned for a life of freedom, where she could make mistakes and be herself. Her long awaited day off was under commencement–and mistakes were definitely going to be made.

Three of her most dedicated fans, handpicked by the dollesque idol herself, received a private DM from an unknown account with a time and address. They were apprehensive about the message, but the never before seen photos piqued their curiosity.

The room was dimly lit, the only sound being the soft hum of the city outside. Wonyoung, clad in a silk robe, stood before them, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She took mental notes on each one as they introduced themselves.

"Donghyun." She recognized him as a man who had been to nearly every concert and fan meet–his loud screams often heard over all the other fan chants. The messy haired boyish man looked like he just got off work. A disheveled suit with his tie loosely knit. Now that he was in such a private setting, he looked at her with an innocent admiration.

"Minsoo." The hottest of the bunch. His right arm covered in tattoos, his hair perfectly sculpted, but not greasy. He gazed upon her as if he already knew what she had planned. If the other two failed, she could depend on him for a good time.

"Junho." A recognized community member. Almost her whole fandom and group members knew of him. Her most dedicated fan. At every event, making sure to capture her in the perfect light. His fancams were the most popular, some even doing better than official recordings. A casual friendship had grown, and this was her way of showing her appreciation.

Her voice was steady and confident as she spoke, "Tonight, I'm not an idol. I'm not a performer. I'm yours, to do with as you please."

Junho and Donghyun exchanged astonished glances, their minds racing with the implications of her statement. They couldn't believe the woman they had idolized for so long would offer herself so freely. But Minsoo smirked expectedly.

Junho spoke up, "Wonyoung, we can't take advantage of you like this. You're an idol, and we're just fans."

Wonyoung's expression turned determined. "You can't deny me this. I've been living this life..always holding back, always being the perfect idol. Tonight, I want to be something else."

Donghyun joined in, "But you could ruin your reputation."

Wonyoung's voice hardened, "I don't care about my reputation. I want this. I want to be used, to be fucked."

She looked to Minsoo, her eyes pleading. She was right, she knew she could depend on him to get things rolling.

"If you're sure, Wonyoung, we can't deny you anything."

With a sultry smile, Wonyoung nodded, "I'm sure."

Minsoo undressed her slowly, untying the knot to her robe. She let it fall off her shoulders, the light from the window acted as a spotlight to her perfectly slender naked body. She was a tiny, delicate thing, but one with fire burning within her. The other two watched in awe as his hands roamed her body while his tongue explored her mouth.

He easily lifted her up and tossed her on the bed, his kisses trailed down from one pair of lips to her other. His hands were rough, their movements urgent and demanding.

"You cucks going to just watch or join in?" Minsoo aggressively berated the other two men into action.

Donghyun was the next to act, seizing this rare opportunity, kissing and touching wherever he pleased. Wonyoung moaned in pleasure as the two men grasped at her body. But she couldn't help but feel bad for Junho.

"Join us sweetie…" She called out to him. "... You can record this too if you like, just make sure you keep it to yourself…" flashing a sly smile.

That was all it took. Junho set up his camera, then joined in on the fun. He knew he would never get a chance like this again, and wasn't going to miss out.

Without another word, the three men moved in unison, Minsoo between her legs, Donghyun and Junho each taking one of her breasts in their hands and began to fondle them gently. Their thumbs brushed over her already sensitive nipples, sending shivers down her spine.

"Oh, god," she gasped, her head falling back as she felt a sudden rush of pleasure wash over her.

"Is that good, baby?" Junho asked, his voice filled with concern and desire.

She nodded, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Yes, it's so good."

As the men continued to pleasure her breasts, their hands moved in a rhythmic pattern that had her on the edge of ecstasy. Minsoo was gifted at his craft, his tongue danced against her wet folds.

"Oh, God," she cried out, her body trembling with pleasure.

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure building with each pass. Wonyoung's breath caught in her throat as she felt the pleasure growing, spreading throughout her body until she was sure she couldn't take any more.

And then, suddenly, the pressure was gone, and she was left feeling empty and wanting.

"Please," she begged, her voice pleading. "I need more."

Minsoo smirked, knowing he had Wonyoung right where he wanted. He spread her legs wider, revealing her sensitive, throbbing clit to his waiting mouth.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her hands clawed at the sheets as pleasure washed over her once more.

Minsoo began to suck on her clit, his tongue moving in rhythmic, deliberate motions that had her body convulsing in pleasure. Then the final nail in the coffin, his middle and ring fingers dug into her wet quivering pussy. Squelching sounds echoed out with his fingertips constantly brushing her g-spot.

"You're gonna make me cum!" she screamed out, her voice strained and desperate.

Her body tensed; involuntarily trying to fight off the pressure that was overwhelming her system. But the other two held her down as they continued to explore her body. The pressure built in her stomach had nowhere else to go, a stream of sticky clear fluid shot out of her, her strongest orgasm in months taking over.

"Oh, god," she gasped, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own pleasure. "It feels so good."

An orgasm that intense should've left her helpless, but this was her only night of escape. Her animalistic desires insatiable, she rose from the sheets, her thin body covered in sweat.

"I'm gonna ride your fucking cock."

Wonyoung demanded as she pushed Junho on his back. He watched as the idol he's fantasized about so many times slowly lowered her mess of pussy onto his cock. It was better than he could ever dream, so tight and so warm, he never could have imagined how good she felt.

"You're so tight." Junho cried out.

He had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. But it got even better, she planted her feet and started bouncing up and down. Her sopping wet pussy glided easily-massaging his shaft with her moist caverns. She screamed in ecstasy, the first real cock inside of her in months felt better than any toy–it was a living thing, with its heat radiating inside of her.

It was hard to know who was having a better time - Wonyoung finally letting loose or Junho feeling the tight walls of his dream girl squeezing his cock. She was lost in ecstasy, the feelings of hands on her body almost forgettable.

Minsoo was there to give her a stark reminder. Wonyoung gasped when a strong force pushed her forward, making her turn around in surprise. Then she felt something hard pressed against her asshole, the tight ring on her virgin hole clenched in resistance.

"What are you – AH!" Wonyoung cried out before she could finish her question. A predictable result. There were three men and she had an accompanying hole for each. But what she didn't expect was for it to happen right off the bat. No preparation; no fingers or toys - just Minsoo's hard, massive cock breaking past her defenses in one fell swoop. Drool started leaking from her mouth, the intense feeling of getting fucked from both ends beyond her wildest dreams. Cries of pain filled the room, Wonyoung stretched out further than she ever thought possible. You would think she begged for them to stop, that the pain was too much to bear...

"Fuck me harder!" She screamed out, the pain of being fully engulfed by cock reminding her that she was alive–washing away months of the stressful idol life.

It was a sight to behold, Minsoo aggressively fucked the blabbering idol. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he drove into her with relentless force. It was a stark contrast to Junho, feebly thrusting upwards trying to keep pace. Wonyoung moaned, her head flailing as she felt her insides being stretched and filled. But soon they got in sync, fucking and stretching out Wonyoung's body at perfect intervals.

"Is this what you want, you filthy whore?" Minsoo growled in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

"Yes," she gasped, "Fuck me."

"Hey Donghyun, why don't you keep her quiet before the neighbors complain."

Donghyun was like a perfect little pet, listening to everything anyone told him. As he stood up and pressed his cock against her lips there was no hesitation. Wonyoung opened up her lips and sucked like it was a popsicle. Now she was truly filled, a cock in each orifice, her body being used for greedy desires. It was only right, she worked so hard to stay fit, it would be a shame to keep it hidden away and locked up.

Donghyun was perfectly content standing there while she sucked and licked. Wonyoung however was not, grabbing the back of his thighs and taking him deep in her throat–a jolt of pleasure blasting through him every time she let a muffled moan vibrate against his cock. Actions spoke louder than words, her desires clearly obvious. His hands tangled in her long hair, thrusting his hips, fucking her face with the intensity she craved.

As the men continued their relentless onslaught, Wonyoung felt her body being torn apart, her mind filled with pleasure and pain. She could feel the cocks pounding into her, stretching her, filling her completely. Her moans and cries filled the room, echoing off the walls as the men continued to use her.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum!"

Wonyoung was in no place to protest, a cock in her throat keeping her from replying. Nor did she want to, wanting nothing more than the feeling of hot cum filling her up.

"That's it," Minsoo grunted, "Take it all."

Minsoo was the first to concede–a thick stream of hot cum painting her insides. He slid out from behind her, her gaping ass leaking down to the sheets. He grabbed Donghyun, pulling him away. Wounyoung heaved in relief, finally able to breathe without a cock pounding her throat.

"Clean up my mess." Minsoo demanded. Wounyoung's relief was short-lived–opening up her mouth, happily sucking the cock that just took her anal virginity. Donghyun stared at her asshole with intrigue, kneeling down behind her. She smiled in response, feeling him pressed against her puckered hole. While her mouth was amazing, Donghyun longed to fuck something much tighter, and there was nothing tighter than Wounyoung's ass.

Junho had surprising stamina, his fingers biting into her sensitive flesh as he pinched and twisted her nipples. Wonyoung writhed above him, her body on fire with pain and pleasure. She could feel her own orgasm building, the pressure in her pussy and ass growing unbearable.

"I'm going to cum," she gasped, "Oh, God, I'm going to...ahhh!"

Her body trembled as the orgasm ripped through her, her muscles contracting as she was filled to the brim. That set off a chain sequence–her contracting body milking every shaft inside of her. Luckily for her, all the fans were just as insatiable as she was–knowing this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

She was tossed around like a ragdoll, her tiny body fucked in every position possible, her tight holes nothing but a dumping ground for cum. They were like a well oiled machine, switching positions and holes, making sure that she always experienced something new. The only time one of her holes wasn't being fucked was when they needed to recover. Donghyun and Junho grew bolder as the night went on, fucking her with a ferocity that almost matched Minsoo.

The men continued their assault, their grunts and groans filling the air as they emptied themselves into her. Wonyoung's cries echoed in the room, a plethora of hands and tongues covering every inch of skin–three cocks stuffed in her holes, giving her everything she could ever ask for. She was reduced to nothing more than a living, breathing, screaming orgasm.

The sun was starting to rise, and the men pulled out, their spent cocks dripping with cum. They stepped back, leaving Wonyoung sprawled on the bed, her body covered in sweat, her mouth, pussy, and asshole leaking with cum.

Donghyun was the first to leave, he had to return to work within the hour. Junho turned sheepishly shy, embarrassed at how he lost control fucking his bias, collecting his camera. She smiled at him knowing he would forever cherish that footage. Donghyun and Junho bowed when they left. Forever grateful for this experience their faces flushed with pleasure, their hearts filled with gratitude. They had experienced something that most could only dream of.

Minsoo stuck behind, his fingers buried inside Wonyoung until she forced him to leave. She thanked him for starting things right, pulling him in for one final kiss before he left.

Wonyoung laid there, panting and trembling, her body sore and aching. Forget dance practice, she would be lucky if she was even able to walk. But as she stared up at the ceiling, she couldn't help but smile - she had found a release she had been longing for, a release that would fuel her performances, her passion, and her life. She couldn't wait for her next day off.

[hwang-456]

i actually really really love the scene where inho messes up and calls gihun by his name bc it shows many things about both of their characters.

inho - he’s not the perfect mask he puts on. he’s a human, and humans do mess up. his humanity isn’t completely gone, although it’s definitely overshadowed by his skewed mentality & morality.

at the same time, it also shows how into he is at playing his part next to gihun. he is constantly changing and challenging gihun’s morality & motives. he’s so enamoured by gihun and his own performance that he momentarily forgets he’s not meant to know gihun’s name. (i’m not sure if enamoured is the word that makes more coherent sense, but the point still stands).

for gihun, and the way he relatively quickly glosses over the fact that this man, this stranger, knew his name — i truly think it’s because he’s starved for affection and closure, even of the smallest kind. someone knowing his name, beyond his number and therefore beyond the games, would be the sort of thing gihun is staving for.

we know both gihun & inho have been very isolated from their loved ones, especially for gihun who at the beginning we have always seen surrounded by people of all kinds (his mother, jungbae, gayeong, sangwoo’s mom & even the loan sharks, arguably). so to see him in season two so very isolated — we only see him personally interact with mr kim and then only later do we see him interact with junho & wooseok — is such a drastic change that he must also feel.

which is why inho’s mistake doesn’t spark up any heavy red flags and why inho is able to recover from his mistake so quickly, pushing himself further into the narrative and into gihun’s heart.

[jude457]

feeling emo again and thinking about how inho is aching and definitely touch starved. he is so alone it’s cellular. his wife died. his unborn child. he lost them both in some slow, private grief we don’t even get to see. and then he is forced to shoot junho off a cliff—junho. his little brother. his baby. the one person who still thought of him with softness. and after that? mask. always the mask. front man. weapon. a monster.

and no one touches monsters.

years go by where no one meets his eye, no one brushes his arm in passing. no one comforts him, no one holds him. inho doesn’t even touch himself unless it’s mechanical. transactional. like he doesn’t deserve warmth. because monsters don’t get held. they don’t get comforted. they don’t even get witnessed. he forgets what it feels like to be seen and touched and not hurt.

and then gihun happens.

and okay, gihun thinks he has a plan. he’s gonna pick inho apart, psychologically. he’s gonna dismantle the mask. he’s gonna find the cracks, get revenge, whatever the hell it is he’s chasing now. and he assumes it’s gonna take violence. mind games. cruelty.

but you know what undoes inho? tenderness.

inthe thick, simmering aftermath of yet another argument—one of those low, vicious exchanges where every word sounds calm but lands like a blade drawn just beneath the ribs—gihun does something inho doesn’t expect, something that makes the air shift from combative to charged in a way inho doesn’t yet know how to survive. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t reach for another insult, doesn’t strike back with rage the way he could, the way inho deserves—he just steps forward, eyes dark with something quiet but resolute, and lifts a hand to inho’s face with a kind of focused gentleness that feels more like a verdict than a comfort.

gihun’s fingers come to rest along inho’s jaw—not tentative, not asking permission, but not cruel either. it’s the kind of touch that carries command without needing force, the kind that says i’m not asking you to stop, i’m telling you to be still. his thumb drags slowly across the uneven slope of inho’s lips, tracing the tension there like he’s reading it, not erasing it. “look at me,” he says—low, steady, not angry but firm enough to override every defensive instinct in inho’s body. and the truly damning part is: inho does. he meets his eyes not because he chooses to, but because he can’t not—because in that moment, under that hand, everything he’s built himself into feels too fragile to hold up against being seen this clearly.

gihun watches the flicker of confusion ripple through him—watches how his mouth opens like he’s about to speak, to argue, to deflect, and then closes again without a sound, like even his words have slipped out of reach. and it’s not the silence that stuns gihun—it’s the stillness. because for all his cold control and calculated composure, inho is never still. he’s always managing, always anticipating the next blow, the next move, the next game. but when gihun touches him like this—not with pity, not with anger, not with the intention to destroy, but with that terrifying, unbearable softness—inho doesn’t retreat. he just stands there, completely unarmed, held in place by the simplest thing: someone else’s warmth.

gihun starts to realise that this is the crack in the mask, the one no one else ever thought to look for. that inho can spar all night, can talk in circles, can build fortresses out of philosophy and guilt, but the moment someone reaches for him without cruelty, he falters. the instant someone touches him carefully, he stops knowing how to breathe. and so gihun begins to touch him deliberately—not to manipulate, not to win, but to understand, to map the pattern of where inho breaks open and why.

when inho lashes out, says something something meant to wound before it reveals too much of his own trembling centre, gihun doesn’t flinch or respond in kind. instead, he takes a step forward, presses inho back carefully against the wall, not with force, but with presence, crowding him into submission. one hand finds the middle of inho’s chest, palm resting flat over his heart, while the other comes up to the side of his neck, fingers curling just slightly, thumb brushing against his pulse. “say that again,” gihun murmurs, unhurried, almost intimate in how unbothered it is. “say it with my hand here. if you really believe it.”

and inho—who has stood eye to eye with death, who has carried the weight of murder and sacrifice and unspeakable loneliness like armor—finds he can’t say anything at all. his throat works silently beneath gihun’s touch. his hands hover uselessly at his sides. there’s a tremor in his exhale, one he doesn’t notice until it’s already left his lungs.

it’s not a victory. it’s a revelation.

because inho doesn’t know how to fight this—not tenderness as confrontation, not warmth wielded with the calm, merciless authority of a man who knows exactly where to place his hands. he knows how to hold the line against cruelty. he knows how to armor himself in silence, how to disappear behind data and moral scaffolding and the long-forgotten sound of his own name. but he has no defense—none—for the way when gihun steps behind him, hand finding his lower back, mouth close to his ear, voice like a knife dulled in honey: “you’re deflecting again. try telling me what you actually feel.”

he doesn’t know how to function when gihun pulls his hands into his own during a tense exchange, fingers threading between his and holding them tightly in his lap, and says—calmly, with that quiet command that cuts deeper than fury ever could—“i’m not letting go until you stop lying.”

gihun doesn’t conquer inho with fury. he doesn’t unravel him with threats. he tames him—carefully, relentlessly, with touch that’s steady and warm and impossibly precise, with a presence so unwavering it becomes impossible for inho to retreat into the cold, hollow space he’s called safety for a decade.

and the most devastating part of all isn’t that inho yields. it’s that he yields easily, instinctively, like some part of him has been waiting—aching—for this kind of touch for so long that when it finally comes, when it’s finally offered without strings or punishment, all his resistance collapses under the weight of it without a sound.

[userluhna]

࿔⋆ FAMILIAR SMELL

hwang junho x f!reader

words: 1.2k

warnings: none! english isn’t my first language

enjoy :)

it was the next morning after that night when you first noticed it—his shirt—left on the couch. your cat was curled up on top of it, her black fur blending perfectly with the fabric. junho had left early. you saw him in the kitchen before he left, making him coffee, as always.

“you always make the best coffee,” he had said, leaning against the counter, watching you.

“come on, it’s my job, you know that, right?” you teased, handing him the cup.

it was a bright morning, so he had just thrown on a t-shirt with his jacket over it before rushing out. his schedule was lighter now compared to when he was a detective, but he was still busy. for the past two months, he’d been opening up more—telling you bits and pieces about the games, how he went to the island looking for inho, how he woke up in a hospital bed with no real answers. but he never told you who shot him. who had been standing in front of him.

right now, he was still searching, still taking the boat out, trying to find that place again. as you got dressed, you grabbed the shirt without thinking, just because it matched the rest of your outfit. you didn’t realize it was his until later that morning, when the familiar scent hit you.

“new shirt?” your coworker teased, nodding at it as she wiped the counter. “guess so,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “you two are close, right?” she didn’t need to say who she was talking about. you had other friends, but no one showed up at your café five times a week.

“we always have been,” you said simply. “we just lost contact for a while.” she smiled knowingly. “you’d make a cute couple.”

you opened your mouth to argue—not because it wasn’t true, but because you didn’t know how to explain it—but the bell above the door chimed, and junho walked in. he was still in uniform, his cap slightly loosened.

“hi, officer,” you teased, raising your hand in a little salute. he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “stop calling me that.” he nodded at your coworker in greeting before turning back to you. “ready to go? i made sandwiches.” you nodded, untying your apron. but as you pulled it over your head, you saw junho’s smirk start to form.

he didn’t say anything yet—just waited until you were outside, walking beside him. then, finally:

“nice shirt.”

his voice was full of amusement, his dark eyes flickering down to the fabric. “it’s new?” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know. found it on the couch this morning.”

he let out a small laugh. “suits you. i wonder who left it there.”

you scoffed, shoving his shoulder.

he grabbed his arm dramatically. “ah, so strong. i don’t know if i’ll recover.”

“maybe you should work out more, then,” you shot back, grinning. he nudged you playfully as you walked, the weight on his shoulders seeming a little lighter than yesterday.

you found a spot in the park to sit. the spring air was crisp, the sun warm against your skin. junho told you about work—some ridiculous thing a coworker said, how he had to stop an old man from yelling at a kid on a bike. you told him about the café—slow morning, same regulars, your coworker being nosy. after a pause, you spoke.

“about last night…” his expression shifted slightly, shoulders tensing just a little. “we can talk about it,” you said gently. “you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here.”

he looked at you then. just for a moment. “i know,” he said quietly.

you hesitated, choosing your words.

“i don’t want to push you. but just know that i’m here. and so is my apartment.”

his lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that. for years, your apartment had just been yours. now, it was becoming something else. after a moment, he nodded. “thank you.” his voice was softer now. “i’m glad i have you.”

something twisted in your stomach at his words.

“i’m glad i have you too.”

his gaze lingered on you. then, almost as if to break the moment, he glanced at your shirt. “you should keep it,” he said. “looks good on you.”

you blushed slightly, looking away.

“thanks.”

he noticed. but this time, he didn’t tease you for it.

after finishing lunch, you both went back to work. junho had to take the boat out later, so he didn’t meet you when you closed the café. you walked home alone, the sky shifting to soft shades of orange and pink.

when you stepped into your apartment, your cat was waiting for you—curled up on the same spot where junho had been last night. you sighed, dropping your bag by the door, bending down to scratch behind her ears as she stretched and blinked up at you. you filled her food bowl, then leaned against the counter, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of junho’s shirt. it was just a shirt. but it was warm. familiar.

your phone buzzed on the counter. you hesitated before picking it up.

you: anything new?

you weren’t expecting a quick response—he was probably still on the boat—but your phone vibrated almost immediately.

junho: not tonight. the water was calm.

you: okay. stay safe.

he didn’t reply right away. but when he did, it was simple.

junho: always.

you should shower. go to bed. but instead, you stayed in the kitchen a little longer, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt. maybe you were getting used to him being here more than you thought.

junho didn’t come over that night. you knew that. but a small part of you had hoped. the next morning, you caught yourself checking your phone more often than usual at work.

“waiting for a text?” your coworker teased, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“no,” you said too quickly, tucking your phone into your pocket.

“and no one’s waiting for you, right?”

“no one’s waiting for me,” you muttered, focusing on wiping down the espresso machine. but later that afternoon, you saw him through the café window. he wasn’t in uniform today—just regular clothes. your coworker smirked. “your ‘not waiting for anyone’ is here.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. you grabbed your bag and headed outside.

“hey,” you greeted.

junho glanced at you, eyes flickering down to your shirt again. his shirt. his lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything this time.“let’s go,” he said simply. you fell into step beside him.

“you okay?” you asked.

he exhaled softly. “just didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

you nodded. “me neither.” he glanced down at you then, expression softening for just a second. he didn’t say anything. but he didn’t have to.

when you got home, the apartment didn’t feel so empty anymore.