aeriikiessss

[aeriikiessss]

All He Ever Wanted

OneShot: Fem! Reader x Gwi Ma

Main Masterlist

LBH Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI! +18, Possesive! Gwi Ma, Creampie, P n V, fingering, choking, praise kink, manipulation, Dom x Sub dynamic, Gwi Ma in a human form, mention of mental illness, blood, size kink if you squint, squirting, pet names, nipple play, licking, shower sex, pure filth tbh.

Word Count: 2648

Author’s Note: This was so fun to write, i have seen tons of Gwi Ma related art on X and they’re all so beautiful! Btw credits to @/morphoiogist on and @/Artist_artibear for this masterpiece! Go support the artists! 🧑‍🎨

You’ve been married to Gwi Ma for over 10 years, you know his secrets, that he’s a demon king who thrives on the souls of humans to be free from the demon world into the human world, your world.

You were in huge debt when you met him, scared that you might not make it a day, you have no money, barely getting enough food, but then you started to hear these voices inside your head, you thought you’re just being paranoid because of stress and lack of food in your body, but you weren’t. One night, you were looking at yourself in the mirror, eyes full of dark circles, lips chapped from dehydration, you sighed to yourself as you sobbed uncontrollably, wishing for it all to end. Then you heard a voice, a warm and powerful voice, “Aren’t you tired from all of the suffering?” It echoed through your head as your eyes widened as you looked behind your back, no one was there, “Who– who’s in there–?” Your voice is trembling in fear, the voice speaks again, “Someone who might end your suffering,” you looked around—eyes widened, “I- show yourself!” You yelled as your voice echoed through your small apartment, “If that’s what you want, little one.” The mysterious man spoke again and then a sound of deep chuckle filled your head as a glowing flame appears in front of you, suddenly your heart skipped a beat—you couldn’t move, it felt like you were frozen, eyes widened as your pupils dilated as if you were staring into the abyss, “Happy now?” A tall man towered your figure, he slowly walked towards you—as if he’s walking to his prey, his eyes glowing, purple marks inked in his skin, “Who- who are you..?” You managed to speak, he didn’t answer, you hit the cold wall behind you as he continued to walk slowly towards you—closing the gap between you as he pressed his body to yours, he grabbed your chin between his digits, his nails sharp, it graze your skin like a needle, you hissed, “I’m someone who can help you,” he confessed, eyes never leaving yours, “someone who can get you out from all of the sufferings,” he continued as he traced his fingers on your cheeks as you dared not to look at him, “You’re safe with me, I’ll make sure of it, little one.” He added as he leaned down to place his lips on your jaw, “I’ll make you mine,” he muttered against your skin as he pressed his lips against it, “Mine to worship.” He muttered, licking your skin all the way up to your cheeks, you hissed, heart racing, “Please–“ you begged as a tear rolled down on your cheeks, the man chuckled as he tasted your tear, the sound of his chuckles sends shivers down your spine, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, “Mine to protect.” He muttered as he leaned back up, eyes never leaving yours, “Look at me, Y/n.” He growled as he clamped a hand on your throat, a force that was enough to catch your attention back to him, “Pl-Please—“ you choked a gasp, “Look at me when i talk to you.” He muttered, eyes still glowing orange, You were holding his hand, to let go of you—your eyes are getting blurry, you’re about to pass out when he lets go of your throat.

Your body collapsed on the floor, choking and gasping for air, he looked down at you smirking to himself, “You should be thankful, little one.” He scoffed, you glared up at him, eyes filled with tears, “Fuck you.” You spat on him, he grinned darkly, “As you wish.”

You moaned like your life depends on it as you ride the man who told you that you will be saved from all of your sufferings, Gwi Ma, as he said. His nails dug deep on the flesh of your hips as you cried out his name, “That’s it little one, such a good girl.” He praised you as you bounced on his cock, You were fully naked, your body displayed beautifully in front of him, his eyes trailed on your breast as it bounced perfectly, your skin, your soft skin that glows under the moonlight, he leaned down to suck one of your nipple, “Don’t you dare stop.” He muttered before biting your nipple as you gasp, he flicked his tongue as he looks up at you, his eyes glowing, you did as you told as your hips grind against his, the tip of his cock never fails to hit the spot inside you—it made you see stars, it made you shake uncontrollably, his hand found your throat as he leaned back up, watching you ride him, “Be a good girl and cum for me little one, make me proud.” He praised you as his lips crashed into yours, you gasp as you feel yourself getting closer, it feels so wrong but yet it feels good, his cock filled your velvety walls completely, “Gwi Ma..” you moaned in between kisses as Gwi Ma slid his tongue inside your mouth—exploring the depths of it, he moaned as your tongues danced on each others mouth, he thrusted his hips up to meet yours, “Say my name.” He moaned, “Say my fucking name when you cum, i want you to moan my name.” He begged, his cock twitching uncontrollably inside you, “Gwi Ma, Gwi Ma—!” You cried out as he hold on to your hips to fuck you completely, his thrust were rough, rough enough to make your eyes roll from the back of your head, “Gonna cum, Gwi Ma– please–!” You begged as his nails dug deeper on your hips, you wince in pain—his long sharp nails was now coated of your blood, “Fuck, Y/n, Little one–“ his thrust is now getting sloppy, “Want me to fill this pussy up, hmm?” He growled as he roughly cupped your chin against his hand, while the other was still digging on your hips, “Please–“ You cried out, “Please, what little one?” He mocked, “Fill me up, i- i need you, please!” He chuckled deeply, he groaned as one final thrust he painted your walls white with his seed, spilling every last drop he could give to you, he moans your name in repeat like a fervent prayer, while you—you were a shaking mess on top of him, you squirted around his member as your pussy walls clenched around him, he groaned, “That’s it little one, give me everything you have, that’s it—such a good girl.”

After that night, he promised that he would come back for you, and he did. You’ve been married to Gwi Ma for over 10 years, he left his life behind as a demon king as he vowed to you that he will never go back there since he already have you, his life, his woman, his to worship. He told you everything that you needed to know, how did he become a demon king, how old is he—which, by the way, shocked you the most, he's over thousands of years old. When he said that, you choked from the water that you were drinking. You can see that Gwi Ma loved you, he trusted you and you trusted him too. He gave you everything that you could ever ask for, hell—he will give you the whole universe if you ask him to, he will burn everyone who looks into your way, you’re his, only his.

——

Gwi Ma kissed you softly as the two of you lay comfortably in your shared bed, his hands trailing down on your stomach, “Hmm, Gwi Ma,” you whimpered, “Yes, little one?” He murmured against your lips, “I have to shower,” you confessed, “Later.” Gwi Mwa whispered against your lips, “I have to, I'll be quick.” You promised, as Gwi Ma nodded—a slight pout displayed on his lips as you chuckled playfully, how can a demon king be this clingy to his woman? You gave him one final kiss as you disappeared and went in the shower.

The warm water touched your bare skin, it made you calm and content, you took a deep breath as you savor the moment under the warm water, closing your eyes as you run your hand on your damp hair.

You were showering when Gwi Ma stepped in without a word, A warm water ran down your spine as Gwi Ma pressed his bare chest on your back, you jumped a little, “I told you i’ll be quick.” You muttered, his lips already trailing on your shoulder blades. ”I know,” his fingers already trailing down on your stomach, “I couldn’t wait, I missed you.” He confessed as he sucked your skin gently, earning a whimper from your lips, you felt him smile on your skin, his fingers found your clit as he circles middle finger on it, you pressed your lips together, “Wanna hear your sounds, little one, let me hear them.” He commanded, voice soft and gentle, “Let me hear how much I'm gonna ruin you.” His voice was now dark as his eyes glowed, you opened your mouth, letting your whimpers let out as Gwi Ma praised you in return, “There we go, such a good girl.” He teased your entrance with his digits, “Please, Gwi Ma–“ you begged for his touch, “Tell me what you want, little one.” He asked, his eyes focused on you, pupils dilated—“I need you, Gwi Ma, please, I want you,” you begged as he chuckled, “I love it when you say my name like that, so eager for me.” He said as he slowly inserted his finger, his middle finger, it filled you completely, He grabbed you on your nape as he swung you around to face him, hitting the cold ceramic walls behind you, you opened your mouth to moan but his lips crashed into yours, owning your moans like it’s his, he swallowed all of your gasp and whimpers as his finger curled up inside your tight walls, not long after—he inserts an another finger, groaning in his mouth as his tongue tangled to yours, your hands found his damp hair, Gwi Ma’s erection stood proudly, you can feel it rubbing on your stomach, tip angry red as it beaded with pre cum, “Cum for me, little one.” He said pulling away on your lips just enough for him to speak, “Soak my fingers with your juices.” He commanded, “Now.” With that, you let yourself completely go as you came around his digits, your body quivering as your walls clenched around his digits uncontrollably, “such a good girl for me.”

You did as you told as you let the fingers of Gwi Ma satisfy you as you let go and became a shaking mess against him, you quivered and moaned his name like it’s the only thing you could say.

“You’re not getting any sleep tonight, just so you know, little one.” He pressed a kiss on your temple, fingers still curling slowly inside of you, massaging the bundle of nerves inside of you, “So good for me,” he breathed out, “You always have,” he kissed you again, more gentle and calculated, “Ever since the day i laid my eyes on you,” he kissed his way down on your jaw to your throat, “I knew i have to have you. All by myself.” He growled as his mouth captured your hardened nipple—while the other pinched between his fingers, he flicked his tongue on your nipple—eyes never leaving yours—you moaned at his action, your hands grabbed his hair, “Gwi Ma, please…” you plead as you felt Gwi Ma smirked on your skin before his mouth left your nipple, “Tell me what you need, little one, i need your words.” He murmured, “I need you, all of you.” You replied, voice shaking as the warm water splashed the both of you.

Gwi Ma wasted no time as he ordered your to wrap your legs around his waist, pressing up your body against the cold ceramic wall of the bathroom, he aligned his length on your entrance, your slick juices coated his bulbous tip, “I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to thank me for it.” He growled as he roughly forced himself inside of you, you choked a moan as Gwi Ma breathes heavily, “Still so tight around me,” he murmured against your lips as you wrapped your hands around his neck—while his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, He moved his hips with such precision, it was gentle and soft, you moaned beautifully as the tip of his cock hits your spot senselessly, “Faster–!” You begged, nails digging deep on his broad shoulders, he bit your neck as you groaned, pain turning slowly into a burning lust. “Ask nicely, little one.” He commanded, as his tongue flicked on your sweet spot on your neck, you whine as Gwi Ma halted his hips, waiting for your please, “Faster, Please, Fuck me faster.” You begged, your eyes turned up to him, eyes looked so innocent. “Good girl.” He praised you, “Hold on to me.” He breathed out as he held on to your hips, nails digging deep—as the past mark of his sharp nails still ghosted against your skin, a reminder who you belong to.

He rammed his hips against your core, earning a moan after moan from your lips, “Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t get enough of you–“ he growled, “Gwi Ma–“ you whispered his name like a fervent prayer, “That’s it. Say. My name.” Each word is equal to each deep thrust into your core, you cried out as if you couldn’t take the pleasure anymore, “Don’t stop, Please, Don’t stop.” You whine as Gwi Ma chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving your gaze, “I’m not planning to, little one.” He said as your body shook against him, cumming around his length, “That’s it baby,” he praised you, his hips slowed its pace, letting you catch a breath, “Can you give me another one? Hmm?“ he asked as he kissed your forehead with such care, “I- I can’t, it’s too much, i feel sore–“ you begged as you felt his cock twitch in response inside of you, “You will give me another, I know you can.” He encouraged you, caressing the flesh on your hips, cock twitching inside of you as you cock warm him. “If you can’t, I’ll make sure you will.” He whispered darkly in your ear as he rammed his cock inside of you again, he looked down to see his cock splitting you open, a bulge shown in your belly, “Gwi Ma!” You moaned as he chuckled, “Shh, I'm right here little one, where I need to be,” he murmured as he pressed his other hand on your stomach, putting pressure on the bulge appearing in your stomach, “Inside you.” He growled, He didn’t stop fucking you as he pulled out an another orgasm out of you as your eyes hit the back of your head, making you moan his name louder than before, “Want my cum inside you, little one? Want me to fill you up?” He wrapped his hands on your throat, “Answer me!” He growled, eyes glowing orange, “Yes–!” You begged, eyes filled with tears as Gwi Ma looked at you with a lustful gaze, “That’s my Good girl.” He said as he thrusted his hips a few times before filling you up with thick spurts of cum, he groaned, growled, and moaned your name as if it’s the only thing he needed to do, you came around his cock, clenching your walls around his cock.

He stayed there inside of you, as if he belongs to be in there, inside your velvety walls where he feels warmth.

“You’re all I ever wanted, Y/n.” He panted as he ghosted his lips against yours.

Taglist: (if i mistakenly tagged you i’m sorry💔)

@mxriesss @thedreamingreaper @kimeungun114 @christmascoles @shynotded @xxmilkteaxx-blog @maah-sama @sylviavf

[aeriikiessss]

LBH Characters: What it’s like to be his wife?

LBH Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Eugene Choi

SFW

He gave you a promise ring when he went to war with Kyle, the ring serves as his dedication and a promise that he will come back in your arms and be with you for the rest of your life.

When you first met him, he had a nonchalant exterior, barely looked in your way nor acknowledged you, but when he got to know you, he started to give you small nods and smile from here and there, tease you a little, make you laugh.

He doesn’t know how to write his name in korean, but since you have knowledge in writing in korean alphabet, you teach him how to write his name, he would always ask questions and sometimes annoys you a lot when you don’t answer him right away.

Note: He once asked how to write your name, and you did tell him, the next time you went to see him, he gave you a paper full of your name written in korean.

Loves to give you forehead kisses

This man would catch a bullet for you (literally) he loves you so much he couldn’t even explain it.

Will shower you with tons of affection!

Loves to watch you cook dinner while he’s hugging you from behind, his hands holding on to your hips while he kisses your cheeks and tells you how he doesn’t deserve a woman like you.

Loves to give you flowers prepared by him, he would buy it from the shop and when he goes home he would simply trim the stem, remove the thorns, fix the petals, as he goes to you to give it, you would immediately kiss him and grab a vase to put the flowers in.

Note: Simply keep 1 flower for himself by putting it in a vase so he would know when to buy you a new flower.

Loves to give or leave you handwritten notes! He sometimes draws little doodles around the paper.

His hands are always wrapped around on your hips when you’re sleeping, caressing them to make you feel more relaxed.

Has your initials carved in his gun.

NSFW

Warnings: Kinks and Sex positions

Switch! He would be balance when it comes into the bedroom, if he thinks you need care and to be taken care of, he would take care of you, fucking you until you can’t breathe anymore. But, he sometimes submits himself to you, kneeling between his legs as you suck him off, pulling your head away when he’s going to cum, seeing his tear filled eyes look down on you makes you even more turned on.

Loves to bend you over on his office table, pulling your pants down and setting your panties on the side as he fucks you.

“That’s it baby, you’re so tight around me,” he growled, chest pressed on your back as he rutted his hips on you.

Fucking you while wearing his uniform, he would just simply let you ride him, or maybe fuck himself into your tight core while wearing his work uniform.

He’s good at giving oral, he would lick your pussy while his thumb is pressed on your clit, eyes never leaving yours as you moan his name.

“Fuck, baby, you taste divine.”

Loves to force feed his cock on you!

“Fucking take that dick baby, swallow it whole– fuck–“

“Shh, just take it, be a good girl for me and take my dick, that’s it, look at me y/n.”

Breeding kink!!

“I’m gonna fill you up baby, fuck– seeing you carrying my child turns me on so much– you’re so pretty full of me—“

“Fuck, y/n, please after this little one pops out– i’m gonna fuck a baby into you again, shit–“

Next LBH Character: Billy Rocks (The Magnificent 7)

< Previous Character: President Jin Hyun-Pil (Master)

[aeriikiessss]

big fan of his car pics 🫶🏻

[aeriikiessss]

⋆˙⟡ A Night to Remember

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

TAGS: mutual pining, prom!au, fluff, romantic tension

A/N: listened to “a thousand years” by christina perri and suddenly wrote this :’) this is kinda short but enjoyy

DIVIDERS: hyuneskkami, anitalenia

PAIR: hwang in-ho x reader

You were getting ready for your dance as your flowing off-shoulder gown in soft lavender and white tulle, layered with dreamy ruffles that shimmered like a fairytale cloud falls down and trains down to the stairs, Your curled black hair shimmered with white tinsel and crystal pins, crowned by a silver flower piece—magical, radiant, and perfect for prom. It felt like everything went slow as the background fades—lights turn on you as you walk down the ball aisle. Everyone watches your graceful walk down through as if you had a wedding ceremony as you walked down through the aisle.

Though, everyone already had their dance partners as you stood there in the middle of the crowd as you looked around at the fancy, flowery, white and cream colored decorated of the ball. You felt a sense of loneliness as you put your head down, frowning that no one has asked you for prom since you were very quiet and had a lack of communication with anyone, except for a particular person, Hwang In-ho. You wondered where he was, probably dancing with someone and that made you even feel more down and had a sense of envy that he was probably dancing with someone and not with you.

As your eyes wandered around, you stumbled upon him, realizing that he also had no one to dance with. He wore a crisp white tailcoat suit, adorned with layered silver chains and detailed buttons. The sharp lapels and lace-trimmed cuffs gave it a regal, vintage touch—elegant and striking, like a prince from a bygone era. His hair perfectly slicked back with a strand of his hair on his forehead—his facial features being debonair and striking through the light of the venue. He saw you through the crowds and smiled as he walked over.

“Oh, hey..” He said, tensing. “Oh, hey…You look..” You stop for a moment, thinking about what you were about to say, “Handsome.”

His face brightened up and smiled at you, “Thanks, you look alluring yourself too.”

You smiled softly as you glanced away briefly before meeting his eyes again. “So, um… I suppose you don’t have a dance either?” Your voice was gentle, tinged with a hint of nervousness, and you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying to steady your racing heart. “Oh, yeah, i don’t…I’m not the type to ask out first but..Well, you know.” He says, looking at you as if you put him in a trance with your ethereal, and alluring beauty. “I guess you look perfect to be my partner for prom.”

Heat rushed in your face as you tried to find words but you were literally at loss for words, “I- uh..Wow. A guy like you? Asking me out for prom? I- i could never..” Your voice with a visible tension as your hands trembled for his answer. “But im not even kidding when i say that. I mean, i saw that you have no dance partner and so do i.” He replied, handing out a hand to you. You both stood there in a room full of dancing people as everything fades except the two of you—The music swelled around you, but it may as well have been silence. For a moment, the entire room—its glittering lights, chattering voices, and swaying bodies—blurred into nothing. Just color and sound in the background. Faint. Distant.

Then finally, it hit you. You nodded, unable to find words. The crowd didn’t exist anymore. The lights dimmed to a warm haze. Even the DJ’s slow ballad felt like it was playing only for the two of you. He stepped closer, his hand gently finding yours, the other resting lightly against your waist. You could feel the tremble in his fingers, the same kind of nervous excitement pulsing in your own chest. Time softened. Breath slowed. You moved in rhythm together—not to the music, not to the beat, but to something more private. A language only your eyes, your touches, and your unspoken hopes could translate. The world hadn’t disappeared. But it had stepped back, just long enough to let love have the spotlight.

You both danced as if you two were under the moonlight, everything around you fades away except for the voidness and the magical spotlight for the both of you, The music was slow, delicate—like soft rain on a quiet night—and your bodies moved to its rhythm without needing to think. One of his hands held yours gently, fingers interlaced, the other resting lightly against the small of your back. Your free hand settled on his shoulder, trembling just slightly with the weight of the moment.

You swayed together in time, a slow step to the side… then another… as if the whole world had slowed to watch. Your eyes met now and then—a flicker, a glance—like a question lingering between heartbeats. Every so often, his thumb brushed the back of your hand in a comforting circle, grounding you. There was no complicated choreography, just quiet closeness. Each movement was fluid, unhurried—step, pause, breathe. A soft turn, the rustle of fabric, the faintest smile shared in the dim lights. When he guided you gently into a spin, you let yourself go—not out of confidence, but trust.

And when you settled back into his arms, closer than before, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest—not quite matching the music, but perfectly in sync with yours. Your steps slowed even further, barely more than a sway now, like the two of you were dancing inside a dream. The rest of the world had already disappeared, blurred into lights and shadows. All that remained was the soft warmth of his hand in yours, the gentle weight of his touch at your back, and the closeness of his gaze. He looked at you like there was no one else in the room—like there hadn’t ever been.

His hand gave yours a subtle squeeze, and when your eyes lifted to meet his, everything stilled. The music, the movement, your thoughts—all quiet. “I’ve been wanting to do this,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the melody. And then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in. You didn’t pull away.

Your heart caught in your throat as his lips brushed yours—feather-light, almost unsure, like a question he hoped you’d answer. And when you tilted your face just a little closer, your answer came in the way your lips met again—warmer, steadier this time. You kissed like you were still dancing. No rush, no show. Just rhythm and feeling.When you finally pulled back, your foreheads touched, your breath mingled, and his smile was small, awestruck—like he couldn’t believe that kiss had actually happened. And still, you kept swaying. The dance never stopped. The song faded into its final chords, and the lights dimmed just enough to make the world feel quieter, more intimate. But neither of you stopped moving. Not yet.

You stayed there in his arms, swaying gently in the silence, as if the music still played somewhere between your heartbeats. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “That… might’ve been the best dance of my life.” You laughed, barely louder than a whisper. “Mine too.” A few more moments passed — no rush, no need for words. Just the warmth of shared breath and the steady rise and fall of two people who knew something had changed between them.

Finally, he took a step back, still holding your hand. “Come on,” he said with a smile. “Let’s make the rest of the night ours.”

And as the lights flickered into something brighter and the next song began, you realized: The night had been unforgettable. But it was the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world—that you’d remember forever.

[aeriikiessss]

⋆˙⟡ DELICATE

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

TAGS: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, inspired by the song “delicate” by taylor swift, quiet vulnerability, mutual healing, first kiss

A/N: since taylor swift got back her og albums, i can finally listen to delicate in peace with no problem !! delicate is my fav song out of all songs in reputation so why not make a fanfic out of it?

DIVIDERS: chachachannah, enchantings

PAIR: hwang in-ho x reader

The dress still clings to your skin when you close the door behind you, muffling the world with a soft click. Another event, another camera flash, another version of you curated for people who never really see you.

You kick off your heels, leaving them where they fall. The room smells faintly of roses and something clean—laundry detergent maybe. Or maybe it’s him.

In-ho’s already here. Sitting on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it too many times. He looks up when you enter, and for a moment, his eyes flicker with something soft. Unspoken.

But he doesn’t say anything yet.

You don’t either.

You cross the room and sit beside him. Not too close. Not yet.

The silence is gentle, not awkward. It’s the kind of silence you’ve come to crave—quiet, but full of everything you’re too scared to say.

Finally, he asks, voice low, almost like he doesn’t want to break the moment.

“Rough night?”

You let out a small breath. Almost a laugh. “Just… loud.”

He nods, like he understands more than he should. “You looked beautiful.”

You glance at him. “Everyone always says that.”

“But I mean it.”

You stare at your hands for a moment, fingers twisting in your lap. There’s a knot in your chest that’s been sitting there all week, growing tighter with every headline and every room full of eyes that see your name, but not you.

“Do you ever wonder,” you whisper, “if people only like the version of you they think they know?”

He’s quiet for a second, then turns to face you fully. “All the time.”

You look up, surprised.

“People make me out to be the ‘quiet guy’ or the ‘good guy,’” he says with a half-smile. “Sometimes I’m scared if I mess up once, that whole idea will disappear and no one will stick around for the real me.”

You blink, throat tight. You hadn’t expected him to say that.

“I don’t know how to be around you,” you admit, voice cracking. “I want to let you in, but everything feels so… delicate. Like if I say the wrong thing, I’ll lose you.”

In-ho reaches out slowly, brushing your pinky finger with his. “I’m still here.”

You meet his eyes. “For how long?”

He moves closer now, the distance shrinking until you can feel the heat of his body next to yours.

“As long as you want me.”

Your voice drops. “Even if I’m not what people say I am?”

“Especially then.”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You don’t know if it’s from fear or relief, but when he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, you let yourself believe—for one night—that maybe love doesn’t have to be loud to be real. Maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect to last.

“Isn’t it delicate?” you whisper.

He answers by lacing his fingers through yours and holding on like he means it.

You don’t pull away. You just breathe—slow, shallow, uneven—like your ribs forgot how to hold anything but fear. And still, he holds your hand like it’s not fragile. Like it’s not something he’s afraid to break.

“You don’t have to say everything tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow lines across your knuckles. “But I’ll listen. Whenever you do.”

You close your eyes. Because his voice is steady in a way yours hasn’t been for weeks. Months. Maybe longer.

The world outside that hotel room is a blur of red carpets and judgment, interviews masked as ambushes, and people asking about your “comeback” as if you ever left by choice. But here, in this moment, your name isn’t a headline. It’s just a sound he says gently.

You whisper, “You don’t know everything about me.”

In-ho’s hand tightens around yours. “I don’t need to.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But doubt claws at the back of your throat like it always does, bitter and constant. You swallow hard.

“There’s a version of me out there,” you say. “One I didn’t choose. One they built out of half-truths and mistakes. What if you fall for her instead of me?”

He finally speaks after a pause—quiet, but with that same unshakeable softness.

“Then I’ll fall again. For the real you, this time.”

Your chest trembles. You laugh, sort of—dry, broken, like the echo of something once whole. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow too,” he replies. “And the day after that. For as long as you’ll let me.”

And for the first time in months, you feel it: stillness. Not the forced stillness of holding your breath under scrutiny, but the kind that lives in quiet kitchens, and lazy Sunday mornings, and someone memorizing the shape of your silence.

“You scare me,” you admit.

He smiles like he understands exactly what you mean.

“Because I see you?”

You nod.

“Then I’m scared too,” he says. “Because I don’t want to unsee you.”

And suddenly the weight of the world shifts, just slightly. Not gone—but lighter, because he’s holding part of it with you.

You lean your head on his shoulder, careful but sure. And when he doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t ask you to be more or less than what you are—you let yourself believe it.

Just for tonight.

Maybe this is delicate. But maybe that’s what makes it real.

The silence settles around you again, but it feels different now. Less like a wall and more like a blanket—thin, yes, but warm. Something to tuck yourselves under while the world remains outside.

You don’t lift your head from his shoulder. His shirt smells like cedar and soap and just enough cologne to feel intentional. His heartbeat is steady. You wonder if yours is loud enough to match it.

“I don’t want this to get ruined,” you say, barely above a whisper.

You don’t have to say what this is. It’s not labeled, not defined, but it’s there. Floating between your fingers, between your eyes when you look at him and he doesn’t look away.

“It won’t,” he answers.

You pull back, just enough to look at him. You study the way his lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, the way he meets your gaze without hesitation. It feels unreal. Like maybe he’s pretending not to be afraid too.

“You can’t promise that.”

A breath. Then, quiet:

“I know.”

He lifts your hand again. Holds it between both of his like something rare. Not precious because of how flawless it is—but because of how imperfectly it survived everything.

“But I can promise I won’t run the second it gets complicated.”

You want to tell him you’ve heard that before. You want to tell him that people say things like that all the time—right before they vanish. But the words catch in your throat and never make it out. Because some part of you—small, trembling, hopeful—wants to believe that he means it. That maybe this time is different.

Your fingers shift, brushing over his. You say:

“I think I’d let you see the real me.”

He doesn’t react like it’s something grand. He doesn’t smile wide or say anything sweet. He just nods, eyes soft, grip steady.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

And you believe him.

You sit there together in the quiet for a long time, your bodies barely touching, your hands loosely entwined. No grand confessions. No rushing to make sense of what you are or what this could be. Just stillness. And honesty. And the sound of the city humming faintly through double-paned glass.

Eventually, your voice breaks the silence again—sleepier this time, but certain.

“Can you stay?”

He turns his head, just slightly, resting his cheek against your temple.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

You close your eyes.

You’ve never felt so seen without being exposed. Never felt so wanted without being demanded. It’s terrifying. It’s beautiful.

It’s delicate.

And maybe that’s exactly why you hold onto it a little tighter.

You stay like that, pressed shoulder to shoulder, hands nestled together, his cheek resting lightly against your temple.

There’s no pressure to move. No urgency to turn this moment into anything other than what it already is—soft, real, and terrifying in its honesty.

But then something shifts. It’s small. Barely there.

Your pinky hooks tighter around his.

His breath catches.

And so does yours.

You turn your face toward him—slowly, cautiously, like you’re asking permission with every inch. His nose brushes yours, barely, and he doesn’t move away. His eyes flick down to your lips and back again.

Still, he waits.

Your voice is fragile.

“If we do this…”

You don’t finish. You don’t need to.

His thumb grazes your cheek.

“Then we do it knowing exactly what it means.”

The space between you disappears in that one quiet agreement.

He leans in—not fast, not desperate. Just deliberate, tender. You meet him halfway.

The kiss is soft. Hesitant. His lips are warm, careful, as if he’s afraid to press too hard and watch you crumble. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t try to take more than you’re willing to give.

Instead, it feels like an answer to everything you didn’t say.

Yes, I see you.

Yes, I want you anyway.

Yes, even this—especially this.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. He moves just a little closer, kissing you again—still slow, still reverent, like this is something sacred.

And maybe it is.

When you finally pull apart, barely an inch between you, your forehead rests against his again. Your breath is shaky, but your heart feels quieter than it has in months.

He smiles—not the kind people pose for, but the kind that makes you want to stay.

“Still here,” he whispers.

You close your eyes and whisper back,

“Me too.”

Your forehead rests against his. His thumb is still brushing lazy circles against your hand, and even in the hush of the hotel room, something between you feels wide open now—like you’ve both stepped through a door you can’t close again.

“So,” you murmur, barely louder than the air between you, “what happens next?”

You mean it—not just about tonight, but everything. The feelings. The risk. The fact that you’ve let him in, even just a little, and now everything feels tilted toward something you’re not used to: hope.

In-ho leans back a little so he can look at you properly. His expression is careful—not cold, just serious. Thoughtful.

“We don’t rush,” he says. “Not this.”

You nod. That sounds right. Maybe even safe, though you’ve forgotten what that feels like lately.

“We go slow,” he adds. “We talk. We stay honest. And we don’t pretend this is simple, because it isn’t.”

You swallow hard. “My life… isn’t quiet. You know that.”

“I don’t need it to be quiet,” he says gently. “I just need it to be real.”

The words slide into your chest like balm over a bruise.

“I’ve spent so long,” you whisper, “trying to be what people wanted from me. Or… what they feared. I think I forgot how to be myself without flinching.”

“Then we find that person again,” he says. “Together.”

You blink quickly. The tears aren’t dramatic—they don’t fall down your cheeks or shake your body—but they gather there anyway, warm and quiet in your eyes.

“And when they start talking again?” you ask. “About us?”

His fingers thread with yours.

“Then let them. We’re not building this for them.”

That makes something shift in you. Something steady. A kind of courage that feels unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

“So we don’t hide?”

He hesitates, then says, “We protect it. That’s different.”

You breathe in. The air smells like him. Like comfort, and warmth, and something you’re scared to name just yet.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Okay,” he repeats. Then smiles faintly. “We take one step. Then another.”

You smile too. It’s small, but it reaches your eyes.

And in that moment—just two people tangled in an unmade bed, with all their fears and flaws still between them—you feel it:

This love isn’t loud.

It’s not the kind that burns everything down just to be seen.

It’s channeled. Patient.

Delicate.

But it’s real.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s more than enough.

———

Later, the city outside the windows hums low like a lullaby.

The curtains are half drawn, letting in just enough light to cast gold shadows on the sheets. Your dress is folded carefully over a chair now, and his shirt is loose, untucked, the kind of soft disarray that happens when two people stop pretending and start simply being.

You lie beside him, not quite under the covers, legs tangled, your head resting on his chest. In-ho’s fingers draw slow patterns across your spine like he’s memorizing the shape of your calm. His breathing is steady—each rise and fall of his chest grounding you more than any promise ever could.

There’s no need to fill the silence anymore. It doesn’t stretch; it wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re not going to disappear in the morning, are you?” you ask, half-teasing, half-aching.

He turns his head, lips brushing your hair.

“No. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

You close your eyes.

His arm tightens around you, like the conversation’s already over. Like there’s nothing left to prove. And maybe there isn’t.

Maybe this is what love looks like—not some grand confession under fireworks, but this: a borrowed bed, a steady hand, the rhythm of two hearts finally learning to beat in time.

The last thing you hear before sleep takes you is his voice, quiet, steady, and closer than any dream:

“You can rest now. I’ve got you.”

And you do.

You rest.

You fall asleep in his arms with the weight of the world no longer on your shoulders—but in the space between your bodies, held together, carefully, tenderly…

Delicately.

[aeriikiessss]

It’s Always Everyone Else But You

Pairing : Hwang In-ho x Reader

Word Count : 1,546

Tags/Genre : Highschool setting, Mutual pining, emotional tension, fluff, mutual obliviousness.

A/N : There’s changing of POV’s hehe Anw, I miss Hwang In-ho :((

START

“You know who might be your type?” you say casually, spearing a slice of apple from your lunch tray and chewing like it’s no big deal.

Across the cafeteria table, In-ho doesn’t even look up from his soup. “Minji. From gym class,” you go on, tapping your chopsticks against your tray like you're thinking.

 “She’s into basketball. You like that, right?”

 “No,” he says flatly, not missing a beat. You shrug like it’s whatever.

 “Alright. Then what about Jiwon from Class 2? She’s super pretty. Like the quiet type but secretly funny.” 

“No.” You laugh a little, nudging your tray toward him. “Okay, picky. Who do you like, then? Give me a hint so I can help.” 

That’s when he looks up. He meets your eyes with this unreadable expression—half tired, half something else—and it stirs something uncomfortable in your chest.

 “I don’t want your help,” he mutters.

You blink. 

“Stone heart.”

 “I’m not—” He cuts himself off and sighs, sets his spoon down like it suddenly weighs too much. “Can you just stop trying to set me up?”

You tilt your head. “Why? I’m doing you a favor.”

And then he says it, voice low and sharp like he's been holding it in for far too long: “It doesn’t feel like a favor.” 

The words hang in the air like fog. You break eye contact first, going back to poking at your lunch like nothing happened. But your heart’s not in it anymore. 

You’ve been doing this for months—dropping hints, tossing out names, talking about every girl who watches him walk by like he’s someone out of a dream. 

All to distract yourself. All to keep him at arm’s length. Because if you pretend he belongs with someone else, you won’t have to admit the truth. 

That every time he laughs at one of your stupid jokes, your stomach flips. That you’ve wanted him since you were fifteen. That you’re just too scared to lose him to ever say it out loud.

 So you swallow the silence, like you always do, and change the subject. But he doesn’t say anything for the rest of lunch.

⋆˙⟡

 He wished you’d stop. 

Every name you tossed out made something inside him coil tighter. Minji. Jiwon. Whoever else you thought was good for him. Like he wasn’t sitting right there, like he wasn’t breathing you in every second you shared a bench. 

You were doing it again, talking like he belonged to someone else. Like he was a puzzle to be solved with the right match. But he didn’t want a match. He wanted you. 

He stared into his soup, not tasting it, just trying to keep it together. Because if he looked at you, really looked— he was afraid the truth would fall out of his mouth in the middle of the cafeteria. 

So he swallowed it. Again. 

But this time, it hit harder. The way you smiled like this was all a joke. The way you didn’t notice how quiet he’d gone. When you asked what his type was, he wanted to say: You. Loud, messy, late-for-everything, beautiful you. But you weren’t ready to hear it. And maybe he wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet.

⋆˙⟡

He’s waiting again. You catch a glimpse of him through the small glass window in the classroom door.

 Same spot as always—leaning against the pillar just across the hallway, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling lazily through his phone. Your stomach does that annoying thing it always does when you see him like that. Like the rest of the day can finally exhale. 

You sling your bag over your shoulder and wave off your friends as they tease you on the way out. “He’s always waiting fkr you,” someone snickers. “You sure he’s not your boyfriend?”

You smile like it’s nothing and say, “He’s just waiting so we can walk home together.” But your heart isn’t as chill as your mouth. 

You walk out to him, and as always, he straightens at the sound of your footsteps, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You took long,” he say with his same easy tone you’ve grown too fond of. 

“Blame Mr. Jang. He went on a ten-minute extend about his miserable life  again.” He huffs a soft laugh, then gestures. “Let’s go.” 

The two of you fall into step as you leave campus. It’s muscle memory by now—out the back gate, through the path behind the gym, then down the trail that cuts on your way home. 

The air is cool, fresh from rain earlier in the day, and you can hear the squelch of mud under your shoes in some places. Everything smells green. It should be perfect. But you can’t stop your mouth from moving. “So,” you say, glancing sideways at him, “Jiwon’s still single.” 

In-ho doesn’t react. Not a blink, not a twitch. You keep going, pretending you don’t see how his jaw clenches slightly. “She was asking about you during study hall. Said you looked cool when you were fixing the projector.” 

Still nothing. “Come on,” you nudge his arm, forcing a light laugh. “She’s cute. And she’s into jazz stuff, like you. You’d get along.” That’s when you feel it. The air changes. In-ho stops walking. You take a few more steps before noticing, then turn back, confused. “What—?”

⋆˙⟡

“I like you, isn’t it already obvious?!” The words burst out of him louder than he meant, sharp enough to startle a bird from a nearby branch. 

You froze, mid-step, lips parted in shock. He hadn’t meant to yell. He really hadn’t. But he’d been holding it in so long, it felt like a dam finally cracked. 

He took a breath, lowering his voice, but not the emotion. “I like you. Not Minji. Not Jiwon. Not some girl you think would match with me. I don’t want them!” His heart pounded in his chest, painfully loud. Still, he pressed forward.

“I want you. I’ve only wanted you. And every time you suggest someone else like I’m some puzzle you’re trying to solve, it just—” He broke off, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“It makes me feel like I don’t exist to you in the way I want to.” You stared at him like you’d never seen him before. Slowly, your hands tightened around the straps of your bag.

 “I…” you began, voice barely there. “I didn’t think…” Of course you didn’t. How could you? When he’d been so careful all this time, walking beside you, waiting after class, sharing dumb jokes and split snacks, but never saying it. Never showing his cards.

“I didn’t think I was allowed to want that,” you said finally. “I thought if I admitted it, you’d go away.” His eyes softened instantly.

 “You really thought I’d walk away?” You let out a dry laugh, half-broken. “I’ve seen how many people look at you. You could have anyone, In-ho.” 

“I don’t want anyone,” he said again, taking a step closer. “I’ve waited on you every single day for three years. I memorize your schedule better than mine. I know you pick the pickles out of your lunch and give them to me because you hate them but pretend you don’t. I know you. And you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to walk home with.” 

You took a shaky step toward him, eyes never leaving his. “I was scared,” you whispered. “I still am.” 

He didn’t smile, not yet. But his hand reached out, slow and steady. “I’ll stay,” he said. 

“Even if you’re scared.” You looked down at his hand, then slipped yours into it like it belonged there. It was warm. Grounding. Real.

 The tension between you broke, not in a dramatic crash but in a slow, trembling breath. And then you laughed softly, wiping at your eyes. “So… Minseo’s a no?” His laugh cracked out of him instantly, full and real this time.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, pulling you gently forward by the hand. You grinned as the two of you began walking again—closer now, your shoulders brushing, your hands still linked. 

END

[aeriikiessss]

Mine, Anyway. ⟢

Pairing : Hwang In-ho x Reader

Word Count : 1,167

Warnings : Nothing much, age-gap relationship, mention of alcohol, lmk if I missed any!

A/N: First story uploaded :D Enjoy lol

⋆˙⟡

Rain tapped gently against the tall, glass windows of the estate. You stared at the droplets as they chased each other down the smooth pane, one palm pressed against the cold surface. Behind you, the house stretched on—silent, sterile, luxurious. Like always. Marble floors that echoed with emptiness. Chandeliers that sparkled with no audience. Staff who bowed without truly seeing you.

Your parents were in Taipei. Or was it Zurich this time?

Did it matter?

They weren’t here.

The only voices you heard belonged to distant assistants on phone calls or chauffeurs asking where you’d like to be dropped off. So you learned to disappear in your own house, in your own life. Until one night, on an impulse, or perhaps it was fate—you walked into a bar.

It wasn’t one meant for someone like you. It was dim and smelled faintly of smoke and aged wood. But that was what you liked. It didn’t pretend. It was honest.

That’s where you saw him.

Hwang In-ho.

He sat alone, a half-finished glass of something dark in his hand, his coat tossed beside him. Hair slightly tousled, eyes speaking for him, the kind of man who looked like he’d seen too much and stopped pretending otherwise. There was a weight to him. And yet when your eyes met, even just a glance—it lit something under your skin.

He noticed.

That fire. He would later say it was the way you didn’t shrink under his gaze. 

He bought you a drink. You talked. You didn’t tell him who you were—at least, not the family name that he didn’t bother to ask.

That night was the first of many.

⋆˙⟡

You started seeing him in quiet places— by the river, in second-rate diners at midnight, in the older, dustier parts of the city. He never asked why a girl like you wanted to be around a man like him.

He just let you talk. And when you didn’t, he just... stayed. It was comforting.

There was no pretending with In-ho. No masks. No fake smiles. He told you he used to be someone, once. Something in politics, or maybe law. But something happened—he never said what that made him step back. And now he just lived quietly. 

You made him laugh again.

He made you feel real.

It started slow. A brush of hands. A shared cigarette. A scarf he wrapped around you when it was cold. A few months passed before he kissed you the first time—late at night on a park bench, when the moon was full and the world felt far away. His lips were warm and unsure, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to want again.

You had already fallen.

⋆˙⟡

Your body was still humming, the room was in the afterglow of something intense that had happened. The sheets were damp with sweat and heat, your limbs loose.

He hadn’t said much during—just breathed your name like it hurt to let it go, like it tethered him. His hands were rougher tonight. His lips, urgent. And you let him, every rough kiss, every desperate pull.

You knew why.

"You were quiet all evening," you murmured, tracing a lazy circle on his bare chest.

He didn’t look at you. Just laid back against the headboard, jaw clenched.

"He’s always calling you," he said finally. "That friend of yours. Ha-yoon."

You blinked. "He’s just a friend."

In-ho gave a slow, humorless smile. "That’s what makes it worse. Friends talk. They know things. They see sides of you I haven’t."

You sat up a little. "What, you think I’d leave you for him?"

He reached out, curling a hand around the side of your neck, not to hurt, just to hold. Thumb brushing your jaw, eyes locked onto yours.

"You wouldn’t," he said. "But I hate that I had to wonder."

His voice was low, quiet, but full of steel.

"You want to know why I took you like that tonight, darling?" he whispered. 

You swallowed.

"Because the thought of him just knowing the sound of your laugh... the way your lips look when you pout... it made something in me burn."

Then his hand dropped from your neck to your waist, locking you to him.

"But I know," he said. "You’ll still crawl into this bed. You’ll still choose me."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He watched your face for a long second before adding, voice like smoke:

"I’m forty-eight."

You blinked.

He said it so calmly. No shame. No question. Like he owned the years.

You just stared at him, breath shallow.

He smirked. "You’re not gonna run."

You leaned down and kissed him. "Why would I? It’s obvious your older. I like that."

He chuckled once. "And that’s what I like about you."

⋆˙⟡

The rain hasn’t stopped.

Now you're lying in his bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of the lamp. Your eyes are heavy. Your body warm and full of him. The silence is soft, but thick.

He sits beside you on the bed, brushing your hair back.

"Your not like this with anyone else, right?" he murmurs, voice almost fond.

You hum softly. "Only with you."

That does something to him. His lips curve faintly.

He leans down and kisses you—slow, claiming.

“I know. Just making sure of it.” he says.

He tucks you in gently. Pulls the blanket to your chin like you’re something rare. His fingers linger on your cheek.

You’re half-asleep when he speaks again, soft and low.

“Even if they begged you to leave me... you wouldn’t, would you?”

Your lips part, but no words came.

Only a faint smile.

That’s enough.

He watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

Then he whispers,

“You’re so mine.”

And turns out the light.

END.

[aeriikiessss]

⋆˙⟡ The Way I Loved You

WORD COUNT: 2,689

TAGS: rebound relationship, emotional cheating, angst

A/N: sorry this is kinda horrible cause im trying to avoid writers block so enjoy!

DIVIDERS: enchantings-a, dollywons

PAIR: hwang in-ho x reader

Kang Hye-won smiles at you across the café table, calm and content, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He stirs a little honey into his tea, then reaches over to gently squeeze your hand.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hye-won hums in understanding. He never pries. He trusts your words, takes them at face value, gives you space to breathe. He’s everything your friends say you deserve. Thoughtful. Dependable. Gentle.

He picks you up on rainy days so you don’t have to take the bus. He asks about your deadlines. He compliments you when you’re in sweats and no makeup. He’s good to you — good for you.

And yet, you feel like you’re suffocating in the silence between heartbeats.

⸻

Later that night, after he drops you off with a forehead kiss and a soft reminder to rest well, you lie on your couch with the lights off and your phone glowing in your hand.

And you see it.

Hwang In-ho liked your story.

Just a little red heart on an old sunset photo. It shouldn’t mean anything. You haven’t spoken in nearly a year. But the moment you see his name, everything inside you flips — your stomach, your chest, your breath.

Suddenly, you’re twenty-four again, sitting on the back of his motorbike with your arms wrapped tightly around him, the wind in your ears and his laughter echoing in your bones. You remember the way he’d argue with you about everything — where to eat, what to watch, who loved who more. And then he’d grab your face and kiss you like he was scared you’d vanish.

In-ho was chaos. Loud, unpredictable, wild-eyed and broken in ways he never tried to fix.

He’d slam doors and kiss you against them minutes later.

He’d text you at 3 a.m. asking if you wanted to drive to the beach — and when you said yes, he was already outside, engine rumbling.

You fought with him. God, you fought like you were on fire — yelling in stairwells, crying in elevators, pulling away just to fall back harder.

But you loved him like a storm.

And he loved you like you were the only thing that ever calmed him down.

⸻

Now? Everything is measured. Clean. Quiet.

Kang Hye-won makes tea with honey. Hwang In-ho used to take whiskey straight from the bottle and grin when it burned.

Kang Hye-won holds your hand with both of his. Hwang In-ho grabbed your waist like he couldn’t live without the contact.

You stare at the screen until the light fades. You don’t like the post back. You don’t message him. But the ache in your chest is undeniable, gnawing at the corners of your happiness.

You know what everyone would say.

Hye-won is safe. Hye-won is kind. Hye-won is what you need. But they never saw the way In-ho looked at you like you were art and disaster all at once. They never heard him whisper “stay” into your hair at 4 a.m. They never knew what it was like to be kissed like a secret, like a sin, like salvation.

And as much as you try to love Hye-won with the same fire—You can’t forget the way you loved In-ho. Or the way he loved you back.

Even if it almost destroyed you.

——

Your phone buzzes at 12:47 a.m.

You shouldn’t be awake. Kang Hye-won kissed your forehead hours ago and told you to sleep early. You tried. You even curled into bed, counted backwards from a hundred, let some rain sounds play from your speaker.

But there was no thunder.

No heartbeat louder than yours.

No voice whispering I’m sorry and please stay.

So you’re still up, scrolling through nothing, when his name appears again.

Hwang In-ho

“Did it feel real?”

That’s it. Just a message, small and weightless — and yet it lands on your chest like a brick through stained glass.

You stare at the screen, your breath catching between your ribs. You could ignore it. You should. But your fingers betray you, and before your logic catches up, you’re typing.

You:

Did what feel real?

The typing bubble appears instantly.

In-ho:

Us. Back then.

I know it was messy. But I keep remembering you laughing into my jacket like you were drunk on it all. I’ve been trying to forget you quietly. And failing loudly.

Your throat goes dry.

Outside, it’s raining. A soft drizzle against the windowpane, but somehow, the storm feels louder inside your chest.

In-ho:

I tried seeing someone new. She was sweet. She wore her pain like perfume — invisible but always there. She asked me once who I wrote about in my notebooks. I lied. Said no one.

But it was you.

It’s always been you.

You blink back the sting in your eyes.

Hye-won would never say things like this. He communicates in thoughtful actions, in gentle words. You love that about him. You do. But it’s not this.

This ache — the raw, bleeding poetry of In-ho’s words that make you feel like you’re being pulled backward through time. Through every night you screamed at each other just to feel something. Every moment you thought this is love, this is madness, this is mine.

You:

Why now?

He takes a moment.

In-ho:

Because I saw that photo. The one with the ocean in the distance. You used to say the sea made you feel honest. And you looked… gone. Like you were there, but not really. Like your soul was somewhere that tasted like salt and memory and maybe me.

So I had to ask.

Did it feel real? Or did I imagine it all?

You exhale shakily. You remember that photo. Hye-won took it, hand warm on your back, steady voice telling you to “relax.” You smiled. The sea was blue, endless.

But in your mind, you were somewhere else.

Backseat. Rain. Cigarette smoke. Mouth on mouth.

Back when love was feral. When you didn’t feel safe, but you felt alive.

You haven’t replied, but In-ho types again.

In-ho:

I’m not asking you to come back.

I just need to know if I was ever home to you, even for a moment.

The tears come then, hot and silent.

Because you did feel at home with him — in a house made of splinters, yes, but god, how you ran through it barefoot.

Kang Hye-won loves you gently. But Hwang In-ho still loves you loudly. And you don’t know which one your heart wants more — the peace, or the love he had for you.

It starts as a coincidence.

Or maybe fate is cruel enough to wear the face of chance.

You’re leaving a bookstore with Kang Hye-won, your hand tucked into the crook of his arm, your tote bag heavy with new stories you pretend you’ll read. He’s smiling, talking about dinner plans, about making kimchi fried rice the way your mom used to — and then his voice trails off.

You feel it before you see it. The air shifts. The air knows.

And then you look up.

Across the street. Leather jacket. Black hair still messy, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. That familiar crack in his posture — like he’s constantly ready to run or collapse, and never sure which one it’ll be.

Hwang In-ho.

He sees you. Of course he does. And for a second — just one brutal second — he smiles like nothing ever went wrong.

Your heart forgets everything else. You don’t hear Hye-won call your name. You barely notice the traffic that separates you.

You just stare. And so does he.

⸻

You meet him again alone, days later.

You don’t tell Hye-won.

You say you’re meeting a friend for coffee. You even wear a soft sweater he complimented once, just to bury yourself deeper in the lie.

In-ho is already there when you arrive. Seated by the window, fingers tapping a beat against his paper cup like he’s still trying to outrun his own heartbeat.

When he looks up, he doesn’t smile this time. His eyes hold storms you remember too well.

“You came,” he says quietly.

You sit across from him. You can barely meet his gaze. “I shouldn’t have.”

He nods. “But you did.”

Silence settles — not peaceful, not comfortable. It’s the kind of silence you only share with someone who’s seen you collapse in a stairwell and still kissed you like a prayer.

“I didn’t know you’d be there,” you whisper, fingers wrapped tight around your coffee cup. “The other day. With Hye-won.”

In-ho lets out a sharp breath, more sigh than laugh. “I know. I wasn’t trying to mess anything up.”

“I know.”

He leans back, eyes still on you like you’re a memory he can’t put down.

“Does he make you happy?” he asks.

You flinch. You hate how easily the question cracks you open.

“He’s good to me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You meet his eyes then. The same eyes that once looked at you like you were both salvation and ruin.

And you say nothing.

Because what are you supposed to say?

He makes me calm, but you made me alive.

He makes me laugh, but you made me scream and sob and feel like I was made of lightning.

He makes me feel safe. You made me feel like I was on fire — and I miss the burn.

⸻

Later that night, Hye-won traces circles on your back while you lie in bed beside him.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he says softly.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply.

“About what?”

You hesitate. Then: “About how different love can feel. With different people.”

His hand stills. “Is that a bad thing?”

You roll over and kiss his chest, try to bury the guilt. “No,” you lie. “It’s just… different.”

You think about In-ho.

About the cigarette smoke on his breath.

About how he used to say your name like it was bleeding.

You wonder if he’s still awake, thinking of you too.

⸻

Three lives.

One perfect.

One broken.

And one — yours — stuck between the two, holding hands with a good man while your heart still bleeds for the one who ruined you with love and left you addicted to it.

You start dreaming in two voices.

In one, Hye-won calls your name softly, like a promise. In the other, In-ho laughs through his teeth, eyes on fire, telling you to run faster, hold tighter, scream louder.

You wake up tangled in blankets and guilt.

Hye-won isn’t stupid.

He watches the way your eyes stay too long on your phone. The way your smile falters when he touches your waist. The way you stop humming love songs in the kitchen.

He doesn’t confront you. Not yet. But he feels it. The weight of someone else’s name in your mouth — even if you never say it.

One night, he brings you dessert from your favorite bakery. You thank him, kiss his cheek, and eat half of it while pretending everything’s okay.

But Hye-won watches you from across the table with that quiet, devastating knowing in his gaze.

“You don’t talk about him,” he says, out of nowhere.

Your fork freezes midair.

“Who?” you ask, like an idiot.

“Hwang In-ho.” His voice doesn’t rise. It’s steady. Wrecked. “You never said his name. Not once. Not in the two years we’ve been together.”

You open your mouth to deny it. You want to lie. You should lie. But your throat closes around the words, and you just sit there — caught.

And that’s enough.

That’s the confirmation.

Hye-won leans back, rubbing his eyes like he’s already exhausted from fighting a battle he hasn’t even started yet. “I saw the way he looked at you that day. And the way you looked back.”

“Hye-won—”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought… maybe you were just shaken. But I see it now. You’re not here anymore. Not really.”

He stands. Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t cry. Just leaves your favorite dessert half-eaten on the table.

And walks out of the room like you’re already gone.

⸻

You meet In-ho again. This time, you choose to.

A different café. Dim lighting. No more accidents.

He’s seated by the window again, a worn-out book open in front of him. You recognize the spine — The Stranger, Camus. He never finished it back then.

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him.

He looks up. His smile is hesitant, but warm. “Hey.”

The silence is comfortable this time. Familiar. Like the air between two storms.

“You remember that time we fought in the middle of the train station?” he says after a while.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Which one?”

“The one where you cried into my jacket and said you hated me. And I said ‘good,’ because I didn’t know how to say I loved you without ruining it.”

You go quiet.

He leans forward. “I was an idiot. I know that now.”

“No,” you whisper. “You were just… more broken than me.”

He exhales slowly. “I never stopped writing about you.”

Your eyes sting. “I never stopped reading into everything.”

He doesn’t touch your hand. Doesn’t ask you to stay. He just looks at you like he’s been starving and you’re still his favorite sin.

Hye-won is sitting on the couch, staring at the floor.

“I don’t want you to lie,” he says before you even set your keys down. “Just tell me. Are you in love with him again?”

You freeze.

He finally looks up, eyes glassy but brave. “Because I’m still in love with you. Even now. Even if it hurts.”

You stand there in silence. Not out of cruelty — but because you don’t know the answer.

You love Hye-won’s goodness.

But you crave In-ho’s chaos.

And somewhere inside you, two different versions of love are tearing each other apart.

——

The park is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and your ragged breaths.

You stand facing Hwang In-ho, the space between you charged like a live wire. Neither of you wants to be here, but neither of you can walk away.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you say, voice sharp, trying to sound stronger than you feel.

He snorts, bitter. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Your eyes flash. “So why are we standing here, then? Wasting time pretending we’re strangers?”

He steps closer, fists clenched at his sides. “Because I’m tired of pretending. You don’t love him. You never stopped—”

“No!” You cut him off, voice rising. “Don’t say that. Don’t make this about love.”

His jaw tightens. “What do you call it then? What was all of it if not love? The fights, the nights you ran to me because you couldn’t breathe without me?”

You laugh, hollow and broken. “That was chaos, In-ho. Not love.”

“Maybe chaos is the only love you know.” His eyes blaze into yours. “But you can’t lie to yourself. I know you still want this. Want me.”

You shake your head, backing away. “I’m not that person anymore. I’m not the reckless girl who burned everything to feel alive.”

He grabs your arm, spinning you back. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself. You’ve been running from this for years.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable.

You stare at him, heart hammering, breath ragged.

And then, without thinking, without permission, his lips crash against yours — fierce, demanding, maddening.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

The kiss is everything you denied: angry, desperate, hungry.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as if letting go would shatter you both.

You bite and groan and lose yourself in the storm of him — the fire and the ache and the reckless, raw love you buried deep inside.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he admits, voice rough with pain.

You close your eyes, trembling. “Neither did I.”

[aeriikiessss]

hear me out on Inho fucking us in a stall during night time🌚

IS IT CASUAL, NOW? — HWANG IN-HO

Pairings: In-ho x wife!reader Warnings: Smut, quickies, AFAB!reader, bathroom sex, light angst

It wasn’t easy keeping up a facade. Even more so, when your husband was the frontman and hiding amongst the players. Yet, you did your best to pretend you didn’t even know the man during the games—but it was just too hard.

Tonight, you couldn’t handle being near such a large group of people and had decided to hide in the bathroom, staring at your tear stained cheeks through the now cracked mirror, as you hear distant footsteps. Maybe it was your beloved husband, you thought—but it was probably just wishful thinking.

You lean down to the sink, throwing cold water onto your face. You didn’t have the luxury skin-care products like you did back before you joined the players. And how you hated it. Yet, when you looked back up from the mirror, you saw a very familiar face. His hair is now messy (unlike his usual slicked back style) but you would always recognize your husband, your In-ho.

In-ho slowly approaches you, his eyes locked onto yours in the mirror. He reaches out and gently wipes the tears from your face with his thumb, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He says nothing, just stands there, studying your reflection in the mirror.

“I want to go home.” You cry into his embrace. “I hate pretending like I don’t know who you are.” You sob, nearly choking on your own tears. His arms wrap tightly around you, one hand cupping your face tenderly, while the other strokes your hair gently. For a brief moment, all the ruthlessness of the frontman disappears, leaving only the man who loves you. His lips press against your damp hair "I know."

“Please.” You beg, as you feel his hand gently slide up and down your waist. For the first time since becoming the frontman, he feels his composure crumble. Seeing you so broken makes his hearts ache - the cold heart he's cultivated for this game, and the loving heart that beats only for you. His hand moves to hold your chin, tilting your face upwards. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

You immediately feel In-ho pull down the green track sweats you were required to wear, feeling the heat rise. He slowly removes his own mask, revealing his handsome face, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands roam over your body possessively, as if trying to memorize every curve. He breaks the kiss only to whisper huskily "Mine."

Just then, your husband pushes you into one of the bathroom stalls and locks the door, before pulling down his pants and boxers and ramming his length into you. He pounds into you relentlessly, his hips moving with a desperate urgency. Each thrust is a silent apology, a silent ‘I'm sorry’ for making you suffer. His hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries and moans as he takes you hard and fast in the cramped stall.

You feel your eyes roll back in ecstasy. “It’s to much f’me.” You babble. In-ho growls softly as his thrusts become deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you. He's not being gentle—he's releasing all his pent-up stress and aggression from running the games into this quick, dirty bathroom sex with his beloved wife. "Spread wider."

You can feel yourself quickly hitting your climax as you moan out your husbands name. “In-ho!” You scream. His pace quickens, driving into you one last time as he follows your climax with his own release, his body trembling against yours in the pastel colored stall.

He leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily "Yeobo…" The intimacy of this moment contrasting sharply with the harsh reality of your situation. “One more day, and I promise we can leave.” He whispers into your ear as he puts his forehead to yours. One more day, huh? You could live with that.

[aeriikiessss]

⋆˙⟡ #SecretHusband

lee byung-hun x wife reader, social media!au

yourusername

yourusername me n who?

Liked by wi_wi_wi and others

August 12, 2023

view comments

fangirlforever 5h

YOU N WHO???

softdramalover 1h

is that a MAN???

kdramaaddict 3h

soft launch??? bestie drop the @.

hoooooyeony 6h • Liked by creator

🤍🤍🤍

yourusername

yourusername he takes me out in resto’s like these. who else is winning?

Liked by byunghun0712 and others

August 20, 2023

view comments

eunoiary 7h

who’s that soft giant..

lbhpix 6h

BYUNG-HUN LIKED??

leebyungiee 7h

i swear his hands look like lbh’s…🫠

from_jjlee 7h • Liked by creator

Enjoy!! 그것들은 정말 사랑스러워 보인다~~ (They look so lovely~~)

yourusername

yourusername you look so handsome, 자기이. @/byunghun0712 🤍

Liked by byunghun0712 and others

August 28, 2023

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byunghun0712 12h • Liked by creator

love you more, 자기이. you take absolutely nice photos of me.

detectivekpop 11h

IMAGINE GETTING MARRIED TO THE LEE BYUNG-HUN

kdramaspoilerz 12h

GIRL MARRIED THE DAMN FRONTMAN FROM SQUID GAME??

iluvoldermen 6h

…im jealous.

boxabum 12h • Liked by creator

💝💝💝

hoooooyeony 11h • Liked by creator

love you both 💞

[aeriikiessss]

࿔⋆ QUIET PLACES

hwang inho x deaf!reader

based on this request

words: 1.8k

warnings: reader is deaf. no squid game references. inho being soft.

a/n: sorry if anything i wrote comes off as offensive—it wasn’t my intention, and i really tried my best to be respectful.

enjoy! :)

you met at a quiet library, the kind where the air smells like old paper and dust. it was a place inho frequented so often that the staff knew him by name. he was perusing the shelves, looking for a new book to dive into. the wooden floor creaked softly under his footsteps, the only sound breaking the otherwise calm atmosphere. that’s when he noticed you.

you were standing in front of the very shelf he was eyeing, your gaze flicking between the titles as if searching for something specific. you looked a bit lost, maybe unsure of what you wanted, or maybe just unsure of how to get it. when you turned around and caught his gaze, there was a brief moment of hesitation. you apologized, your hands moving gently in the air to signal that he could go ahead.

he smiled softly, a little embarrassed, and stepped forward to grab the book he had been looking for. you watched him with interest, his easy confidence striking you. there was something calming about the way he moved.

you weren’t born deaf, it had happened in your teenage years. sometimes you still used your voice, mostly when you had to. but in public, you usually wore your implant, using it only when you needed to interact with others. it was a choice you had made, when you were at home you would usually take it off.

“need anything?” inho asked, his voice a bit cautious.

you hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should respond with your voice or if you should just sign. after a moment of silence, your lips parted slightly, and you began to sign, your voice low and not very clear. you could hear yourself with the implant, but it still felt foreign. your voice didn’t feel like it was yours anymore, it was distant, like you were hearing someone else speak.

he looked at you, trying to figure out if he should speak or write. his hands moved a little, unsure. you noticed that he was trying, though, which made you smile.

thank you, you signed, a simple gesture that made his eyes light up. in response, he took out a small piece of paper from his coat and wrote: it’s a good one, before handing it to you. the next week, you returned with the same book, and when inho saw you, he smiled softly. you held up the book he had recommended, raising an eyebrow playfully. you signed, not bad, in a simple but clear way so he could understand.

“you didn’t like it?” he asked, his voice soft.

you grimaced and pulled a notebook from your bag, scribbling, too many metaphors, before adding, but i finished it. he leaned forward to read it, grinning. “harsh critic.”

from there, your meetings became more frequent. sometimes he’d recommend new books, other times you would. as the weeks passed, you noticed that inho was picking up a few signs, the simple ones like hello, how are you, and thank you. it was simple, but for you, it was more than just words—it was effort. it was him trying to step into your world, not expecting you to adapt to his.

his movements were still a little stiff at times, but careful, attentive. you smiled at the gesture, your heart warming at how hard he was trying. getting better, you signed back, slow so he could catch each motion.

“that’s the plan,” he said —one time when you asked about him signing— rubbing the back of his neck. “i figured it’d be easier than making you read my messy handwriting forever.”

you laughed softly, a small sound escaping your mouth. you opened the notebook where you kept all of your conversations, a mix of your handwriting and his. you pointed to his handwriting, giving it a thumbs up.

“you kept that?” he asked, his heart swelling a little, though he wouldn’t say it out loud. you nodded, “i like them,” you said softly.

after that, the two of you grew closer. you’d meet at the bookstore, then take a tea or coffee at the back of it because they served some. every week, he would learn new phrases, testing them out with you. when he got them right, you would smile, applauding him, and if he failed, you would gently correct him, guiding his hand, adjusting his movements.

when he asked you out for the first time, it was through signing. his movements were slow, careful—he had been practicing, you could tell. do you want… coffee? with me? not here, his hands asked, and you smiled in return.

you waited for a beat before teasing him, signing back—yes.

the first date was a little overwhelming. the café was busier than either of you expected. inho noticed you seemed uncomfortable, a bit tense, not like the quiet space of the bookstore. he hesitated for a moment, before leaning in, his voice quiet. “you can take it off if it’s too much,” he said, gently pointing to your implant. you blinked in surprise, unsure if you should. your finger shook slightly, unsure of how to respond. you sure? you signed, your fingers trembling a little—whether from his soft gaze or the loud noises around you, you weren’t sure.

he smiled reassuringly. “i don’t mind.”

once you removed it, the world around you felt a little more distant. but when you spoke with inho, it all seemed to fade. the way he switched between speaking, writing on napkins, and signing was awkward at first, but it felt natural, like you were finally speaking the same language. you’d write on napkins or your notebook, sometimes speaking out loud, though it was rare.

i’m glad i said yes to coffee, you wrote on a napkin, your smile shy. he looked at you, a bit nervous but smiling softly. “i’m glad i asked,” he replied.

you had more dates after that, usually somewhere quieter, so you could hear his voice. but he always made sure you knew, if you were ever overwhelmed, you could take off the implant, and everything would be okay. you loved how attentive he was to you. when you saw each other, you’d talk about your lives—his little brother, how much he loved reading, and how you did too. you’d share things you hadn’t told anyone before, and you’d teach him new words or sentences. he was always excited to learn more, to communicate with you in ways that felt more personal.

on your first kiss, inho had practiced a few new sentences. he wanted to make sure it felt right, to let you know how much he cared. when he signed how much he was trying, how much he was doing this for you, it made your heart melt. his vulnerability, the rawness of what he was saying—it hit you harder than words ever could. you stepped closer, his hand finding your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin.

can i kiss you? he signed, his eyes not leaving yours. you didn’t respond with words. instead, you closed the space between you, your lips meeting his. the kiss was soft, not rushed, and when it deepened, you felt your heart race.

over the weeks, you noticed how much inho had practiced new words and phrases, trying to understand and adapt to your world. inho’s love wasn’t loud or dramatic. it was in the small things: remembering how you liked your tea, the way he signed your name, the new signs he created just for the two of you. it was in how he slowed down the world so you could breathe in it.

some days, the communication was frustrating. you’d sign something, thinking he understood, and he would nod, only for you to realize he hadn’t quite grasped what you meant. but you worked through it, talking things out. love, you learned, wasn’t always easy. sometimes it was messy. but it was okay, hearing wasn’t an obstacle.

he would look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like he would learn every language just to be able to talk to you. he stood up for you in public, always making sure that if anyone spoke to you and you couldn’t read their lips or didn’t have your implant, he would step in. he never spoke for you, though. he always let you speak for yourself. he always let you be independent.

when you first said “i love you,” you were hesitant. it was a quiet evening, just like the ones you’d often share together. at your place or his, it didn’t matter. you had been together for months now. he was reading next to you on the couch, your legs resting on his thigh, his thumb brushing your ankle. you watched him, admiring the way his eyes followed the words on the pages, the curve of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

you tapped his shoulder. he looked up at you, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “mhm?”

you signed, i love you, messier than usual, but he understood immediately. without hesitation, he signed it back, slowly, not rushed. he leaned in, his finger finding your cheek, his eyes soft.

“say it again,” he murmured, his voice low. your voice came out quiet, a little rough, but steady. “i love you.”

his eyes closed, savoring it, his hand brushing your cheek again. say it again, he signed playfully, making you laugh. you pushed his shoulder gently.

after a year and a half, you moved in together, savoring each moment with each other. inho had become fluent in sign language, and now, he spoke to you only in that way. sometimes, you’d catch him talking to himself or to you, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him unless you put your implant in. you’d tease him about it.

you’re talking to yourself again, you would sign with a smile. “i know,” he would reply, watching you walk toward him, your finger brushing his jaw.

then say more, you signed i’ll watch i promised.

you loved his voice, the way it sounded low and quiet, how it would make you shiver just a little. how he would speak to you, his voice soft, like he was telling you something only you could understand.

and him? he loved your voice, even though he didn’t hear it often. he loved the little sounds you made, the soft gasps when you were surprised, the sound of your laugh.

sometimes he just looked at you, the way your fingers would move while you signed or how mouth would part slightly before you spoke. he loved the silence with you.

sometimes he would kiss your neck softly, murmuring things, things you didn’t catch so he would look at you, sign it slowly, deliberately: you. drive. me. crazy.

masterlist

[aeriikiessss]

PICTURE YOU

summary: You and Hwang In-ho are caught in a complicated emotional situation. You have strong feelings for him, desiring more than just a physical relationship. You imagine a deeper connection with him, but is hurt when you realize that, for him, that your relationship with him is just casual and doesn’t have the emotional depth you want. But, everything changes. parings: Hwang In-ho x fem!reader tags & warnings: smut, slow and sensual sex, aftercare, angst, masturbation (18+) !! A/N: my first smut fanfic, hope you enjoy!! kisses and hugs >< word count: 3.7k dividers: cafekitsune & anitalenia AO3

The bathroom light was warm. Not blinding, not clinical. Just… soft enough to feel like he’d chosen it for comfort, not practicality. Everything about his home was like that—precise, curated, but quiet. Like he lived in between the lines of a life he didn’t want to draw attention to. He let you in anyway.

You still didn’t understand why.

You sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn in, wearing his old shirt. The hem brushed the top of your thighs, oversized and smelling faintly of cologne, cigarettes, and something darker—like cedar or ink. The sleeves drooped over your hands. You’d rolled them up once. Unrolled them. Rolled them again.

The silence felt alive.

It had only been two days since he let you stay here. No questions, no rules. Just the low rasp of his voice saying “It’s fine. Stay as long as you want.” His eyes didn’t linger. His mouth didn’t twitch with hidden meanings. He just turned and walked away.

But you couldn’t stop replaying everything. Every small moment he gave you. Every word, every glance, every silence that felt full even when it probably wasn’t. Your thoughts were infected with him.

You shifted slightly, letting your legs part just a little.

The ache had been building for hours. Quietly, steadily. Like hunger.

You hadn’t meant to. You hadn’t even planned to do this here, in his space, in the still warmth of his bathroom with the quiet hum of the ventilation fan as your only soundtrack.

But then you remembered the way he looked at you two nights ago.

You’d just finished showering. The towel was wrapped low, your hair still dripping, and you’d stepped out into the hallway with your heart lodged in your throat. He was just there—leaning against the wall, tie half-loosened, gaze unreadable.

He’d looked at you.

Not quickly. Not politely. Not with indifference.

His eyes had dragged over you slowly, like he was memorizing. Or resisting. You didn’t know which one was worse.

Your fingers dipped between your legs, soft and tentative, as if testing your own boundaries. A quiet gasp escaped you as your fingers touched your clit.

The way his brows furrow slightly when he’s reading something. The crease beside his mouth when he’s amused but doesn’t want to show it. His hands. Long fingers. Veins just beneath the skin. Hands that had once gripped your wrist—not hard, not soft—just enough to make you pause.

“Fuck..” You whimpered softly as you touched yourself slowly, rhythm matching your breath. Not frantic. Not desperate.

You wanted to savor this.

To pretend it was him.

You could almost hear him behind you—his voice in that low murmur, always calm, always in control. “You never think things through.” That’s what he told you once. After you’d kissed him for the first time without warning.

You thought about the way his lips had tasted. How he’d kissed you back, slow at first, then deeper. But when it ended, he didn’t say anything.

That silence had lived in your head since.

You moaned softly, pressing your palm against your mouth. “I need you around, In-ho..” You quietly said to yourself.

It didn’t matter. The memory still crept in, sharp and hot—him pinning you to the door, breath heavy, body close but never giving all of it. He never let you take more than what he offered. But you still imagined. Obsessively. Helplessly.

You imagined him touching you now. His voice, his weight, his mouth. His restraint.

“Do you like this?”

“You want me to keep going?”

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Your pace quickened, fingers circling your clit, back arching. You let your head tip back, eyes fluttering shut. Mouth open. You whispered his name—just once. You were so close to your climax and then—

A sound.

Footsteps.

You froze.

They were steady. Slow. Coming closer. Carpet to tile. Closer still. The hallway outside the bathroom had no creaky boards. Nothing warned you until he was there. Right outside.

You stopped breathing.

Your hand stilled between your thighs, slick with the heat of want you no longer knew how to hide. You stared at the bottom of the door. Watched the shadow of his feet settle there, unmoving.

You didn’t say a word. Neither did he.

The seconds stretched out like wire. Taut. Dangerous. Did he know?

You felt exposed. Ruined.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to erase the proof of what you’d been doing. As if he couldn’t hear the quickness of your breath. As if the heat in the air wasn’t thick with your guilt.

And yet, he didn’t knock. Didn’t speak—Just stood there like he saw a ghost or something.

Like he’d heard something he wasn’t meant to. Or maybe—he’d always known.

You sat still. Eyes on the door. Heart breaking quietly in your chest.

You didn’t dare move.

The air in the bathroom had turned thick and unbreathable, your hand still resting on your thigh, trembling from where you’d stopped. The silence outside the door stretched too long.

Then—

“Y/N.”

His voice.

Low. Even. But it wasn’t casual.

Your name on his tongue always sounded different from anyone else’s. Like it was a thought, not just a word.

You swallowed. “I’ll be out in a minute,” you said quickly, voice hoarse.

Another pause.

“I wasn’t asking.”

The click of the doorknob twisted something in your chest. It didn’t open. He wouldn’t cross that line—not unless you left it wide open for him.

You stood, pulling the shirt down as if that could erase what you’d been doing. The mirror caught your reflection again—your flushed skin, your eyes heavy with what you wouldn’t say aloud.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Hwang In-ho, standing still in the hallway, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair slightly tousled like he’d just run his hand through it.

His gaze dropped—once. Then rose to meet yours.

Neither of you spoke.

But then his eyes moved to your face, not your body. He tilted his head just slightly, as if reading you. You couldn’t tell if it was disgust, pity… or something else.

“I heard you,” he said quietly.

You blinked, shame rising fast and hot in your throat. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” His tone wasn’t harsh. Just… sure. “You wanted me.”

You looked down. “I pictured you.”

He exhaled slowly. “I know.”

Silence settled again.

You hated that you could still feel the ghost of his mouth on yours from that one time. The way he hadn’t stopped you. The way he kissed you back like he wanted to pretend, just once.

“You made me think I could stay,” you whispered, barely audible.

“You can stay.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, voice sharp with pain. “I pictured us. Not just sex. Not just—this. I pictured you seeing me.”

His jaw clenched. Just slightly.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said.

You stepped forward. Close enough to smell him. That same mix—cologne, cigarettes, something colder beneath. “No. But you let me.”

His breath caught. A flash of emotion passed over his face—brief, almost invisible.

“You kissed me back,” you said, not as a plea, but as a fact. “You looked at me like you wanted to stay, too.”

In-ho looked at you like he didn’t want to lie. Like he was trying to weigh mercy against cruelty.

“I did,” he said finally. “Just not in the way you need.”

Your heart cracked.

He didn’t pull away when you touched his wrist, but he didn’t move either. He let you.

“I thought I mattered more,” you whispered. “To you.”

You could see it then. In the small flicker of his gaze. The guilt. The ache. But also—the wall. That perfect, silent boundary you’d never get past unless he let you.

And he wouldn’t.

He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you again.

Instead, he murmured, “You were never nothing to me. But you were never mine either.”

The words hit like a slap.

He brushed your hand off his wrist gently. “Clean up. I’ll have food ready in ten.”

Then he turned, walked down the hallway, and left you standing there—still burning, still broken, still imagining all the ways he could’ve loved you.

But never did.

Dinner had been quiet. The clink of utensils against porcelain, the occasional murmur of conversation that never quite reached the depth either of you might’ve wanted. The food was delicious, simple. He always knew how to prepare a meal that was satisfying without saying much about himself.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier. About how he knew. About how, despite everything, you still wanted him. The sharp pull of desire, the ache you couldn’t push away.

After dinner, you retreated to his bedroom.

It was the same room you had stayed in the first night. The bed was large, unmade, and inviting in its simplicity. You lay there for a while, the soft sheets cool against your skin, staring up at the ceiling.

You didn’t know if he would come after you. You didn’t know if he would even acknowledge what had happened between you in the bathroom.

But you stayed there, body tense with anticipation, unsure if you were waiting for him to follow… or for something else to change.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence.

You didn’t need to say anything. He stepped in slowly, eyes still sharp but softened at the edges. His gaze swept over you, but there was something different in it now—something less guarded. He stood there for a moment, just watching you, as if he were trying to figure out whether this was still a game or something far more complicated.

“Are you going to stay there all night?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but with an undercurrent of something more serious.

You didn’t answer at first. You just turned your head to meet his eyes, the silence between you speaking volumes.

He took a step closer, the weight of his presence pulling the room tighter around you. “I can’t leave it like this,” he said, his tone flat but undeniably intense.

You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets around you. “Then don’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me like this.”

He approached the bed, pausing just at the edge. His eyes flicked over your body, taking in the way you pulled the sheets tighter around yourself—like you were hiding, like you were still afraid of him seeing too much. It made something twist in his chest, something tight and hungry. But there was no rush, no force behind his movements.

He kneeled down beside the bed, one hand brushing against the sheet. “I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” you said quickly, though the trembling in your voice said otherwise.

He tilted his head, looking at you with that same unreadable gaze. “Then why do you look like you’re waiting for me to leave?”

Your heart raced, a mix of frustration and desire boiling beneath your skin. “I don’t know what I want anymore, In-ho.”

His lips quirked at the corner, as if that confession didn’t surprise him at all. “You want me. I know that much.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes burning with unspoken emotions. “But it’s never been enough for you,” you whispered.

He leaned closer, his face just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands reached out slowly, taking the edge of the sheet you held so tightly, pulling it away with careful, deliberate motions. “You’re wrong,” he murmured, his fingers grazing over your shoulder, bare skin meeting his touch. “It’s always been enough. But you’re too scared to believe it.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking deep into you. You wanted to deny it, to argue, but something in the way he looked at you stopped you. You had always been scared. Scared of wanting too much, scared of letting yourself need him in a way he’d never shown you could be returned.

But he was here now.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over your forehead, then down the bridge of your nose. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed you.

It wasn’t harsh or urgent. It was slow—intentional. His lips moved against yours in a way that made you feel like the world had narrowed to just this moment, this connection. He pulled you closer, his chest against yours, and you could feel the heat between you, growing with every second.

His hands slid down your sides, fingertips brushing over the curve of your waist, the softness of your skin, making you gasp as he moved closer. His lips trailed lower, down the line of your jaw, your neck. The sensation was maddening. Every inch of your body reacted to him—soft and insistent, hungry for what he was offering.

You tilted your head back, offering him more access, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His body pressed into yours, and you felt the weight of him in a way that felt like surrender.

He whispered your name, a soft, heated murmur against your skin, before kissing down your chest, his mouth warm against the curve of your breast.

“You still think I’m leaving?” he asked, his voice low, hoarse.

You shook your head, heart pounding in your chest, unable to speak as his hands slid down your body, fingers tracing the waistband of your panties.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not.”

His hands slid over your hips, pulling you closer to him, pressing his body into yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. His movements were deliberate, slow, as if he was savoring every moment, every inch of skin he could touch, every breath you took. The intensity of it all left you dizzy, like the world had collapsed into this one place where only the two of you existed.

His lips found yours again—this time, deeper, more desperate. You kissed him back, your hands tracing the lines of his body, feeling the heat of him against you, the urgency that had been simmering between you both now finally breaking through.

Your body arched into his, feeling the way he responded to you. He moved against you with slow precision, teasing, taking his time, as if every touch was meant to draw out every ounce of tension between you. His name left your lips in a breathless whisper, and he groaned, his hands pulling you closer, his touch becoming more insistent.

He unzipped his pants along with his boxers, showing off his excellent length. Damn it, you were right. He was big and you can’t even imagine it fitting inside you.

“Can i?” He said as his fingers brush in the straps of your silk, cream colored nightgown. “Okay..” You accept his permission as he pulls it down gently, and gently until your body was fully exposed to him. “No bra?” He chuckled at it and you let out a small laugh as his fingers trail down to the left side of you waist down to your panties. He takes it off slowly until your clit was exposed to him.

He positioned himself to you and whispered, “Are you ready?”

“I have never been ready than i already am.”

And when he finally slid into you, it was slow—gentle, at first—allowing both of you to adjust to his length. His rhythm was slow, sensual, each movement deliberate, coaxing you into something deeper.

You moved together, your bodies in sync, the heat between you rising steadily. Every brush of his skin against yours, every whisper of his name, made you ache with something raw and primal. You kissed him like you were trying to prove something, but you didn’t know what. All you knew was that in this moment, you were finally, completely, his.

And he was yours.

He thrusted faster and faster inside of you, his grunts echoing in the room as you moaned wantonly but quietly enough for him to only hear. Both of you moaned simultaneously as the feeling of his cock splitting you open was way too blissful for you to handle, the way he was moaning words in korean was so hot. It made you want to cum already.

“Im close, 자기야.” He groans as his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. He could feel your body shaking and jerking beneath him, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him. You were so damn close, so so so close.

He felt your pussy clamp down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you, your walls rippling and squeezing his pistoning cock in a vice-like grip. He groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of male satisfaction, as he felt your release soaking through his shaft. With a few more sharp, deep thrusts, In-ho let out a delightful moan as his own release overtook him. His cock swelled and throbbed inside you before erupting, painting your insides with thick, hot ropes of his seed.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the desk as he emptied himself inside you. His hips jerked and shuddered with each pulse of his release, ensuring that every last drop of his cum was pumped deep into your spasming cunt. The world felt different once the heat of the moment had passed. The air between you and In-ho had shifted, still thick with the weight of what had happened, but now there was a softness—a quietness that felt almost sacred as he finally pulled out of you.

You lay there, your body tangled in the sheets, still pressed against him, but the intensity had faded. He didn’t move right away. He stayed with you, his breathing steady and slow, as if he were trying to anchor both of you in the aftermath.

You could feel his hand, warm and reassuring, resting on your back, just above your waist. His thumb traced small, soothing circles against your skin, over and over again, each stroke like a promise, a reassurance that the storm had passed.

“Are you okay?” His voice was softer now, quieter, as though he were afraid of breaking the fragile silence between you.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. You could feel the lingering ache in your body, a reminder of the intensity of what had just passed. But there was something more than that. Something deeper. The way his touch grounded you, calmed the frantic thoughts in your mind that still clung to the edges of desire and uncertainty.

His fingers brushed the damp strands of hair from your forehead, his gaze soft as he looked down at you. His eyes were different now—gentler, less guarded. He wasn’t the stoic man who always kept his distance. There was something open about him now, something that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, his words lingering in the air between you. It was more than just a promise—it was a declaration.

You wanted to believe him. You needed to.

You shifted slightly, moving closer to him, seeking that comfort, that reassurance. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in close, enveloping you in warmth. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. The sound of it was grounding, like the rhythm of his heartbeat was the only thing that mattered now.

His fingers gently stroked your hair, as if it was something delicate, something fragile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment, his voice low, hesitant. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t. Not really. Not the way I thought you would.” You swallowed, feeling vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache. “I don’t know why I thought I could have you. That you’d want me the way I wanted you.”

In-ho’s eyes softened. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had slipped down your face. “You were never a burden. You’ve never been something I wanted to push away. I just… didn’t know how to give you what you needed.”

You shook your head, taking his hand in yours and pressing it against your chest. “It’s not about what you could give me,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s about what you let me believe.”

He closed his eyes, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “I’m not good at this. But I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

The sincerity in his voice hit you harder than anything else could. Slowly, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft, tender, a kiss that spoke of everything you hadn’t been able to say out loud. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, breathing each other in.

“You don’t have to be perfect, In-ho,” you whispered, the weight of it finally sinking in. “I just need to know you’re here. That I’m not just… nothing.”

He pulled you closer, his body wrapping around you like a shield. “You’re not nothing,” he said, his words firm, almost desperate. “You’re everything to me, even when I don’t know how to show it.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace surround you. His hand gently cradled your face, his thumb brushing across your lips in a slow, comforting rhythm. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the security of his presence as you settled against him.

For the first time in days, you felt something close to peace.

His voice was a soft whisper, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

[aeriikiessss]

𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬

TAGS: fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, soft!hwang in-ho, au!hwang in-ho, a bit of slowburn (?), strangers to lovers

A/N: helloooo, this is my first time posting my fanfic here!! idk if this will reach the algorithm but im wishing on a star that it does, thank you for reading!! ><

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

DIVIDERS: saradika-graphics

AO3

It always began with the soft hiss of the espresso machine and the low hum of jazz melting into the corners of the café. Outside, the city moved like it was still half-asleep — puddles gathering on the sidewalk, streetlights flickering off one by one, the scent of last night’s rain still clinging to the air.

You liked this time of day.

Before the noise. Before the rush. When everything felt suspended — like you were the only one awake in a world that hadn’t opened its eyes yet.

That was when he’d walk in. Every morning. Exactly at 7:43.

You knew because you checked the clock.

At first, he didn’t seem remarkable. Not flashy, not someone who tried to stand out. Just another early commuter — tall, quiet, wrapped in a long black coat with a scarf wound too neatly around his throat. His hair was always slightly tousled, like he hadn’t looked in a mirror. Or didn’t care to.

But there was something about him that made you slow down.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself — like he was always listening to music only he could hear. Or the way his eyes never lingered on anyone too long, as if holding a gaze might reveal something he wasn’t ready to share. He moved with the quiet precision of someone who hated attention, but still earned it without trying.

And then there was the voice.

Low. Smooth. Controlled.

“Americano. Hot.”

Every time, the same order. No sugar. No milk. No hesitation. Like even his caffeine was emotionally unavailable.

He never gave his name, never lingered at the counter, never asked for anything more than what you could give him in a paper cup. But his hands — pale, long-fingered, a little too careful — always brushed yours when he took it. Lightly. Accidentally.

At least, you told yourself it was accidental.

You were the first one to break the rhythm.

One morning, when the sun spilled through the windows just right and the music was something you didn’t know the name of but suddenly loved, you wrote on his cup.

Hope today is gentle.

Just that. No smiley face. No flourish. Just something true.

He didn’t react when you handed it to him. Just nodded, took his drink, and sat in his usual spot — far corner, right side, by the window. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you wiped down the counter, half-expecting him to toss the cup without looking.

But he didn’t.

He read it.

He turned the cup slowly in his hands and stared at the words like they meant something. And for the first time, he didn’t sip his coffee right away.

He just held it.

You didn’t know what it meant, but it was something.

The next day, he came back.

Same time. Same coat. Same silence.

But this time, his eyes flicked to you as you handed him the cup. Not long. Not even a full second. Just a flash of something — surprise, maybe. Or recognition. Like he’d been expecting you to say something again, and when you didn’t, he almost looked… disappointed?

You didn’t know. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it.

But the next day, you did it again.

Good things take time. You’re allowed to take yours.

This time, he didn’t just glance. He stared.

Not at you—at the cup. At the words. At whatever they stirred in him. And when you turned back to the counter, pretending not to care, pretending you weren’t watching, you didn’t see him slip something under the sleeve of the cup.

You found it later.

A short line written in your own pen, the ink barely dry.

Gentle isn’t something I deserve. But thank you.

The handwriting was neat, slanted, cautious.

You stared at it for a long time.

From that day on, it changed. Slowly. Quietly. Like frost melting off the edge of a window.

He started looking up when he ordered. Not always. But sometimes.

You started brewing his coffee before he asked. Just as he walked through the door.

Some mornings, he left behind a book, or a napkin with a poem scrawled in the margins. Never signed. Never explained.

You responded with quotes from authors he hadn’t mentioned yet. Rilke. Han Kang. Someone had once told you that conversation could exist without speech. Now you believed them.

You didn’t even know his name.

But you started waking up just for 7:43. Just for him to walk in your cafe in time, doesn’t it feel so good when he walks in looking peaceful and calm?

The clock ticks at 7:43, you were ready for the moment he walks in. The bell above the door gave a soft jingle, and then he was there—tall, quiet, like a shadow folded into light. The soft beige colored coat and those black glasses, it looked absolutely perfect on him, there was nothing loud about him—not the way he moved, not the way he dressed. And yet, he had that kind of presence that made the room shift slightly to make space for him. “Oh hey, back for that bitterest thing on the menu?” You quipped, tone light but sharp. “I guess you remembered.” He huffed softly, amused at your quipping. “Hard to forget someone who orders black coffee like it’s a personal challenge.” You then reached for a cup, already turning towards the coffee machine. “Let me guess, the usual? No cream, no sugar, no joy?”

He smirked slightly, his lips quirked. Barely. But it was there. “Guess that’s one way to put it then.”

You busied yourself with the coffee machine, your fingers moving with practiced ease. You could feel his gaze, though, still on you. Quiet. Observant. But not unkind. “So, what’s the occasion today? Coffee and silent judgment, or just the usual ‘I’m here to exist in your café and make you wonder why you’re still making me coffee’ routine?” He chuckled, the sound barely audible, but it was there — a crack in the stillness. “No silent judgment today. I just… prefer things this way.” You handed him the cup, your fingers brushing against his for a moment. “Real cozy, huh?” The small touch sent a jolt through you, but you kept your expression neutral. He took the cup, his hand brushing yours, just a little too long, as if he was trying to hold onto something. Or maybe, just avoiding letting go. He didn’t speak at first, his gaze flickering to the cup in his hands. His fingers traced the edge of the paper, and for a second, it was as if he were thinking over something unsaid. “It’s comfortable,” he said quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours again. “More than I expected.” You raised an eyebrow, not quite hiding the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I make a mean cup of doom.” You leaned against the counter, your gaze holding his.

“But if you keep coming back for it, I might start thinking you’ve got a thing for doom.” The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for the first time, it felt real. Less like a formality. Less like a mask. “Maybe I do.” Your breath caught, but you didn’t let it show. You forced a nonchalant shrug, hiding the warmth that was creeping up your neck. “Well, I guess you’re not the only one who enjoys a little chaos now and then.” For a long moment, you both just stood there, the air between you full of quiet tension. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the gentle hum of the café and the rhythmic clink of cups.

And then, just as he turned to leave, he paused.

“I’ll be back.”

You weren’t sure why, but his words—so simple, so casual—made something stir in your chest. The door swung open, the bell jingling lightly as he left, but you were still standing there, watching him go.

“See you, 무뚝뚝 씨.” (Mr. Blunt) You muttered to yourself with a half-smile, already looking forward to the next visit. He chuckled at the nickname you gave him, hearing it far away even as if he was heading out. “정말 예리한 소녀야.”(What a sharp girl.)

The days start to blur a little.

He comes in more often now. Not quite daily, but enough that you catch yourself watching the clock around the same hour, pretending it isn’t because you’re hoping he’ll walk through the door again.

And when he does, something’s different.

He doesn’t just nod or give that minimal “I’ll have the usual” anymore. He lingers. He watches you a second longer. His hands don’t stay in his coat pockets like they used to — they rest on the counter now, close enough that your fingers brush when you pass him his cup.

Today, he comes in early. No crowd, no noise. Just you, the hum of the espresso machine, and that quiet kind of morning light that makes everything feel softer than it is.

“Careful. Show up any earlier and I’ll start charging you rent.”

He doesn’t smile, not really. But his eyes do that thing again — like he’s holding something back. Something gentle.

“Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re like before the sarcasm kicks in.”

“What a brave man. Trying to catch me before caffeine? You’re lucky I haven’t banned you.”

It’s light, familiar. But the air between you feels different. Warmer. He’s not just a quiet customer anymore. You’ve memorized the shape of his hands, the rhythm of his voice, the way he leans a little to the left when he listens like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

He sits at the counter this time, not by the window like always.

You slide his coffee over and grab a second cup for yourself. It’s slow. Deliberate. Like an invitation.

“You always drink it like that?”

“Like what? With regret?”

He chuckles. You don’t hear that often, but when you do, it stays in your chest for hours after. Not loud. Not deep. Just… real.

“With no sugar. Bitter.”

“Some of us have emotional range. Some of us drink black coffee and write poetry in our heads. Which one are you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes are on you, softer than you’ve ever seen them.

“I think I come here for the warmth.”

You blink. That throws you. Just a little.

“The warmth of what? My glowing personality or the flickering heater in the corner?”

“…You.”

It’s quiet. So quiet you almost think you imagined it.

But he looks at you, and he doesn’t look away this time. His gaze doesn’t drift or falter or hide behind silence. He looks at you, steady and unflinching, and it lands heavy in your chest.

Your mouth opens. Closes. You can’t think of a comeback fast enough. And that scares you more than a little.

Because now, the air feels fragile.

Like something’s finally cracked.

The world slows down, was he serious? or was he just joking? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. God you could just punch him in the face if he was joking. You try to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right. Too soft. Too uneven. “You’re lucky I don’t charge extra for flattery.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.” You glance at him, trying not to look like it matters. But his eyes are still on you. Focused. Calm. You’ve gotten used to his silence, but not this kind — the one that hums like a secret just waiting to be told. “You always this charming, or is it just with baristas who tolerate your brooding?” He lifts the cup, takes a sip. His fingers curl around the warmth, and when he sets it down again, he doesn’t move away. “Only the ones who talk back.”

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… new. Like neither of you knows what to do with the space you’ve made between words. You pretend to clean the counter. He pretends not to notice. But he stays.

And you let him.

The stool creaks as he shifts. He’s not drinking anymore, just holding the mug like he needs something to do with his hands. You watch the way his thumb strokes along the ceramic edge, slow and absent, like maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Your own hands rest flat on the counter. You don’t move them. It feels like one small shift might break whatever this moment is trying to be. He clears his throat, and it’s the first sound in a while that makes you look up.

“You’re quieter than usual.”

“That’s rich,” you reply, voice low. “You’ve said more words to me in the last hour than in your entire first week coming here.” He lets out a soft sound — not quite a laugh. More like a breath that got tangled with a smile. “I guess I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

“This,” he says, and the word lands gently, without pressure. “You. Talking. Looking at me like that.” You freeze. “Like what?”

“Like you see right through me.”

You’re not sure when you leaned in. Maybe it was gradual. Maybe it was always going to happen.

He’s close now. His knee brushing yours under the counter, his scent—clean, familiar—threaded through the warm bitterness of roasted beans. His eyes are steady, holding yours like he’s trying to say something without saying it.

You tilt your head just a little, a habit of curiosity you’ve never shaken. “Maybe I do.” He watches your mouth when you say that. Not obviously. But enough.

You don’t smile. Neither does he.

It just… happens.

One breath.

One slow lean.

His hand brushes your jaw — hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

And when he kisses you, it’s not sudden. It’s not a crash. It’s a slow exhale. The kind that unfurls deep in your chest, warm and careful, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your lips part just slightly like you’ve been waiting for this, too.

His thumb grazes your cheek. You don’t know when your hand found the front of his coat, but you’re holding it now, fingers curled in soft wool.

When you part, it’s not far. His forehead rests against yours, breath shallow.

“You’re going to make my coffee taste sweet,” you murmur.

“You deserve that,” he says, just as quiet.

You stay like that for a while.

No rush. No words.

Just warmth, and the softest kind of silence — the kind that says, I see you, too. And for the first time since you started working here, you forget to flip the sign to Open.

[aeriikiessss]

me in tiktok when big ykz content creators follow me

big accounts interacting w me kinda scare me like hi

[aeriikiessss]

Hayley and Cam are penpals that’s so cute

I bet he complained to her SO many times 

[aeriikiessss]

Mark you as mine Cloud and Tifa in Ever Crisis AU☀️

[aeriikiessss]

What does he need all that for. ooouhggh