badasoneandonly - Tumblr blog

badasoneandonly · 3 months ago

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LADYBUG

pairing: dad's friend!hwang inho x fem!reader

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. AGE GAP (reader is 20, inho is 48) hurt comfort, daddy issues, domestic violence (reader has an abusive father) psychological issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, taboo kinks, fauxcest kink, DDLG themes, sub!reader, soft!dom inho, freudian slip except it's on purpose, reader literally calls him dad and appa and every variation of that title, badly written smut, pet names, infantilization, subspace, oral fixation, obsession, plot with porn.

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. DON'T COMPLAIN.

summary: your father's friend has been your only saving grace through your abusive childhood. it's only natural that you fall in love with him.

word count: around 9.5k

A/N: consider this a love letter to the lee byung hun girlies with daddy issues. writing this was very self indulgent. i hope you guys like it. if you don't, consider moving on. no hate comments will be tolerated! there are bigger problems to worry about. we do not kink shame around here!

please ignore any mistakes.

p.s. feedback is a writer's biggest motivation!

MASTERLIST

the gravel digs painfully into the skin of your bare feet as you wait. you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself, teeth clattering against each other as you bounce your weight on your feet, breathing sharp. the door opens a few minutes after your incessant knocking, and mr. inho stands at the entrance, frowning. you were sure he was surprised to see you like this— it had been 2 years since you last met.

his soft hair looks messy and he's wearing a comfortable shirt with joggers. he looks so gentle, and his droopy, confused eyes snap wide open when his gaze lands upon your black eye. as if suddenly awake, he gasps your name and immediately grabs you.

"that bastard." he guides you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you. it makes you jump. "i'm going to—"

"don't." you whisper, looking up at him pleadingly. you grab his arm and your lips wobble as he glares down at you. "i don't have anywhere else to go. don't do anything rash. it really was my fault this time."

"nothing you do will justify him beating you." he snaps, settling you on the couch. he mumbles incoherent curses at his friend as he gets the first aid kid, and you fiddle with your fingers, flinching slightly as your tongue catches onto the bleeding split of your lip.

you'd sneaked out despite your father warning you not to. it was your friend's birthday, and you really wanted to be the first to wish her and give her a gift for once. she got you to stay at least till you had some cake, and unfortunately for you, on that same moment your father had decided to come home and immediately seek you out. he'd called your friend in a fit of rage, and as soon as you sneaked back inside, it was too late. to compensate, he'd knocked you into the wall and given you a black eye on top of that.

"i should put handcuffs on that bastard," inho snaps you out of your thoughts, kneeling before you. you wince as he gently applies antiseptic on your lip. "i don't understand why you won't let me. why do you let him do this to you?"

you had your reasons. the more rational ones were that your father was a sick, twisted piece of shit. a waste of space. but you had no one else. no source of income, no other place to stay. you wanted to study enough to be financially independent, and for that you needed him. you don't know any other way to live— he's isolated you from most experiences someone your age should have. you're not sure if you'll be able to get by without his roof over your head.

like always, you switch the subject.

"why are you still friends with him, then?"

mr. inho looks at you then and clenches his jaw. he simply glares for a moment. you're sure you see his eye twitch. he looks offended, and you understand why. you almost regret asking him this question— of course you knew why. you were lucky he was still friends with him. it's one of the reasons you're still alive and kicking.

"i'm not his friend. we just worked together," he grumbles lowly, "and even then i'm still around because of you. is that what you wanted to hear?"

you chuckle slightly, masking your flustered haze with a smirk.

"old man." you whisper with an endearing edge to your voice. he isn't amused. he stands up and gives you an ice pack for your eye. you slump into his couch and groan.

"when did you return from college?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"last week," you sigh, throwing your head back. the cold ice feels comforting against your heated skin. he frowns slightly and opens his mouth to speak— but you beat him to it.

"i was avoiding you." you answer his question. inho had been to your place a few times since you came, but you made no move to approach him. out of embarrassment and well, because you were scared to see him. it's normal with people you have crushes on.

he seems to understand because he doesn't mention it further.

"are you planning to stay?" he asks gently, putting his hands in his pockets. "i can get the guest room ready. it's been a while since you had a sleepover."

your heart flutters. mr. inho is... you don't have a proper way to describe it.

he's a lot of your firsts. he's everything.

mr. inho was there when you were 9 years old and struggling with math homework. mr. inho was there when your father would get too frustrated to teach you, and he'd put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a break. and then he'd place you on his lap, wipe your tears and help you with the gentleness you wish your father possessed.

mr. inho was there when you turned 12 and got your period for the first time. mom had passed away when you could barely walk, so you had no womanly guidance in your stages of growing up. shameful and scared and suffering from heavy fever, you had told your father about it, and instead of comforting you, he'd simply freaked and called you a slut and made all sorts of implications. not knowing any better, you'd locked yourself in the bathroom and immediately called mr. inho's number with shaky hands. and when the door opened and mr. inho walked in with warm towels and a bag full of necessities, you had broken down in his arms and told him everything.

that was the first time you saw mr. inho punch your father. it was also the first time you had seen someone be angry over you, not at you.

to protect you.

that's when you had your first sleepover at mr. inho's place, if you can call it that. your father had shamefully rushed off to the pub after getting an earful from the older man, and you were left alone in the house. mr. inho had brought you to his place, readied the guest room and stayed by your side till you fell asleep. the next day, he'd made you breakfast, and your father had apologized, in his own way.

when you went back home, a bunny plushie was waiting for you in bed. your father said he got it for you, but you could tell it actually came from mr. inho. your father never got you gifts. never. he didn't even know you liked power rangers, or max and ruby, or that dory was your favourite fish from finding nemo.

mr. inho had gotten you power rangers trump cards for your birthday. a malibu barbie doll the next. when you grew into your boyband phase, he got you a pencil box with your favourite idol too. most of the plushies in your rooms were gifts from him— mostly given in secret when mr. inho dropped your drunk father off at your place after a long day. you'd always stay up just for a glimpse of him— not willing to listen when he told you to just go to sleep. sometimes he'd hand you a package, give you a pat on the head and a wink. and then he'd leave, just like that.

you're not sure how mr. inho and your father became friends in the first place, if you can call it that. acquaintances is a better word, but they've known each other too long for that. they worked in the same police department and had partnered up multiple times until mr. inho retired.

most officers said they made a good duo in the professional sense— but their personalities seemed far from compatible.

your father was stubborn and temperamental. he was judgemental, toxic and a brute with a superiority complex. a true narcissist at heart. mr. inho was gentle and kind. he was compassionate and understanding. he was headstrong and stood for what he believed in. he was everything you wished your father was.

you will never understand how someone like him could befriend a man like mr. inho.

you were 13 when you gave mr. inho your first gift. you made him a fucking father's day card— you used to make those for your father when you were younger, and always saw them in the trash can the next day. it hurt you so much that you'd simply stopped.

the incident with your period was a major turning point in your relationship with mr. inho. it changed the way you saw him and in a way, reawakened your creativity. so you brought out your best colors, made him a stupid little card, and gave it to him in secret. hidden amidst the pages of a book your father had borrowed from him with no intention to actually read it. you were too scared and shy to gift it to him directly— you'd simply left the card in there and hoped for the best.

the next time your father dropped you at mr. inho's because he was working late again, you found the card pinned to the fridge. you don't remember being that happy in a long time.

that was the first time mr. inho had given you a forehead kiss. it was innocent and so... normal. like it was part of his routine. he didn't know that he had permanently solidified his place in your heart for years to come.

you were 14 when you first realized you had a crush on mr. inho. it was obvious enough, you just never thought there was actually a term for the butterflies you felt whenever he'd show up at your place to discuss work with your father. all you knew was you looked at him with the kind of admiration a girl could only carry for a loving father, except your feelings had grown a little more shameless over time, your thoughts sometimes vulgar. you'd get increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing him, to the point you saved up some money in secret and bought a lipgloss just so you'd put it on whenever he visited. you'd pout and lock yourself in your room when he wouldn't acknowledge it with anything but a smile and a pinch on the cheek. it's a little stupid to think of— a little girl with a crush trying so hard to impress a grown, married man.

you were 16 when you confessed, and he'd laughed— not mockingly. it was almost paternal. the universal reaction to moments where little girls with no social awareness say something silly like they want to marry their dad when they grow up. he made you feel that small again— he'd patted you on the head and told you that you're too young for him, and made a stupid joke about not planning to go to jail anytime soon. he told you that he loved you, but that this was wrong because he's a married man, and that you should be with someone your age. that this is a stupid crush that would fade with time. that you simply feel this way because you haven't met enough boys.

that had stung, but you forced yourself to get over it.

time passed but the crush did not fade by a single percent.

you tried to get yourself a boyfriend— and ended up comparing any potential date to mr. inho. none of them could match the intensity he carried, the way he cared for you like a father. the strength and authority he possessed. you remember one time when your father was out on a case and mr. inho had decided to babysit you— he'd taken you out for ice cream. a group of rowdy boys were littering the place and laughing among themselves. one of them tripped and crashed into you and you dropped your ice cream. you were too scared to ask for another. mr. inho had paused and shot them a deadpan glare— and the boys stared back before slowly advancing, picking up their litter and throwing it in the bin. they'd bowed in respect, apologized to you and rushed away before he could say anything further. that moment had stuck with you for years— how he could communicate with just his eyes, and people listened.

mr. inho bought you another ice cream with a smile after— with two scoops this time. strawberry and chocolate.

you looked for emotional maturity and a sense of responsibility in high school boys. it was bound to be a failure.

you were 18 when you tried to kiss mr. inho for the first time. it was stupid— it was your last act of rebellion before you went to college. you felt daring because his wife had passed not too long ago. he'd disappeared for a while after that, and his absence only made your longing for him grow. the insults and violence your father aimed at you became background noise eventually, because your mind was set on the one man who meant something to you.

in that time, you missed him so dearly, you were ready to let go of your dignity for one chance with the only man who had ever tried to care for you. you hated yourself for it still— for trying to take advantage of his kindness. he had come back a changed man— visibly stressed with dark circles etched permanently under his eyes. like he'd just been to hell and back. he looked like someone who could use a little something to take his frustrations out on— and you would have let him use you as his punching bag if he wanted. if he wanted a shoulder to cry on, you'd be there. if he wanted a fleshlight, you'd be there then too. that's how much you desired him. you thought you could make him feel better this way.

it was insensitive and utterly insane of you to do something so foolish. you were ready to be with him in any way, even if it meant as a rebound. but he'd stopped your attempt with a firm hand on your shoulder, looked at you with utmost seriousness, and told you to pull yourself together.

'don't do this,' he'd warned. and as if to stomp on your heart further, he reminded you that he loved his dead wife, and you were just a fucking kid.

you were a mess. you never tried initiating anything with him after that. you left off to college, and whenever you did come back, you made sure to avoid him at all costs, no matter how much it hurt you. you'd pretend you didn't see him text you about how college was going, or if you needed any help. you refused to answer his texts asking you to meet atleast once before you left. you were ashamed of your behaviour and too scared to face him. even when you could hear him ask your father about you whenever you visited. your father would make an offhanded remark about you doing god knows what and change the subject.

mr. inho had been more of a dad to you than your own father. he was there to tend to your wounds, to threaten to beat the shit out of your father and put him in jail— but you never allowed him to actually do it. your father was all you had for now, and you're scared to live in a world without a father. you know how harsh society can be to girls like that.

a truth you weren't ready to accept was that a big part of your refusal to let your father go was rooted in your desire to keep mr. inho. your father was your only link to him. if your father went away, so would your need to be protected by him. then mr. inho wouldn't come to your rescue. you wouldn't need safety or a shoulder to cry on. what if mr. inho decided he'd done his work, and moved on with his life? you can't have that. you're not ready.

you couldn't lose him too.

"i can't stay," you whispered finally, breaking eye contact. he nodded in understanding, walking up to you.

"is he asleep?"

you nodded, mindlessly biting your lower lip and flinching at the sting.

he tsked at your action and you stood up to leave. as you walked past him, he grabbed your hand. you looked at him then, and he shook his head.

"don't go to him," he whispered, pulling you closer. you wanted to run, to cower in on yourself. you were sure he didn't mean to appear so lovely. but he did. mr. inho was always lovely to you. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you looked at him. why does he keep doing this to you? the last memory of you two is painful. but you're still here.

"just say the word and i'll get rid of him." he adds quietly, his palm squeezing your arm comfortingly. you simply stare at him— gaze full of stars like always. like he was your hero. his eyes soften and he sighs, leaning forward to pinch your cheek. you look away out of shame. to prompt you to respond, he messily ruffles your hair. the action almost makes you sob— he used to do that a lot when you were younger. his hand still feels so big compared to you. you compose yourself soon enough, refusing to fall into your adolescent folly.

"don't be ridiculous." you chuckle dryly, snatching your wrist from his hold. you grab the part of your arm that he had held and squeeze— hoping it would magically capture the essence of his grip and lock it away in your senses forever. he sighs tiredly and straightens up, his face hardening.

"i'm sorry." you whisper softly, immediately melting under his disappointed gaze. you regret your harsh behaviour. you show up bleeding at his doorstep at 3 in the morning and he lets you in— and this is how you treat him?

"you know it's not that easy." you add, voice small.

he grunts, rubbing a tired hand down his face.

"i'm sorry i bothered you," you can't help yourself, shifting to look at him more clearly. "i didn't have—"

"—anywhere else to go?" he finishes your sentence flatly with a clench of his jaw. he sounds exhausted, and it makes you want to cry. he scoffs slightly, "stop saying that. my door is always open for you. it always has been. since you were a kid. you know that."

you feel smaller and smaller with every sentence, and you nod sheepishly in agreement. it's true— he has always been there for you in a way no other man ever has. but still you can't help but fear that one day he'll grow tired of this cycle, of you, and straight up leave. he'll get bored of this dynamic and of looking after you and abandon you. you don't want to lose him. the difference between him and your father is that the latter is connected to you by blood— you can use your legal rights if he decides to abandon you. whereas you can't even imagine a world where mr. inho doesn't want to be around you. you don't want to imagine it. it's locked away in the treasure chest of your worst fears. so you simply reject any possibility of that opportunity to arise. would mr. inho still be around if your father didn't hurt you? would he still be around if he didn't feel sorry for you, if you didn't need him to protect you?

you'd rather things stay this way than consider the other scenario.

you avoided any encounter with him for two years, ignored his texts and calls, and now you appear at his door unannounced with a black eye and he still took you in. would he do the same if you had come bearing gifts instead? the idea replays in your head like a broken record.

would he?

you're an insane fucking mess.

he insists on driving you home. you can see the emotions in his gaze— don't leave. make the right choice. but you ignore it like you have for the past few years. you leave despite his pleas, and go right to sleep once you get into bed.

you can hear yelling. the voices are rushed, panicked almost. the floor creaks with each step, and you clutch your plushie close as you press your ear against the door. there's arguing, clattering. the sound of something breaking. more panicked noises. you can hear a siren in the background. your heart rate begins to rise, and when you hear another scream, you snatch the door open.

mr. inho stands over your father's corpse, panting. his knuckles are split and bleeding— splatters of crimson splattered across his face and body. your father's face is quite literally unrecognisable. you look at the broken plates by mr. inho's feet, and the glass shard in his hand. another shard jammed right in your father's chest. and then you scream.

your own scream wakes you up. sweat breaks out across your body and you take heavy breaths— looking around your room. your head hurts. your heart squeezes painfully inside your chest, and it prompts you to get out of bed to grab a glass of water.

you check the time. it's almost noon. shit.

your father is at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when you walk in. he does a double take— mouth curling with distaste as he spots the sight of your face.

you did that, you asshole.

you two don't say a word to each other. he folds the newspaper and places it on the table before breaking the news.

"i'm leaving the city for a case soon."

you pause, turning to look at him.

"i'll get someone to keep an eye on you so you don't whore yourself out to the whole neighborhood like you did last night," he adds casually, like he's talking about the weather. you want to lunge at him, grab the nearest object and toss it at his head. you want to scream 'im a virgin! im a virgin! the only thing that has ever fucked me over is the fact that i'm your daughter!' till the whole neighborhood hears.

"don't disappoint me when i come back."

you ignore his remarks, "when will you be back."

he laughs, "i'll drop in as a surprise." his sly eyes narrow at you playfully but you know better. "catch you in the act if you do something to embarrass me."

he sighs dreamily, tossing his head back, "this is gonna be a big one. i'll definitely get a promotion this time. finally something with real money."

you clench your jaw and focus on making breakfast, trying to erase the flashes of your dream from your brain. the doorbell rings and your father greets mr. inho— who doesn't return his enthusiasm. your father's head is too far up his own ass to think someone might not actually like him so much— he believes anyone who talks to him once becomes his fan. and so he does everything he can to maintain that relationship with them. you suppose it's how he's managed to keep mr. inho around despite it being clear that mr. inho doesn't like him that much anymore. maybe your father only keeps him around so he can flex his promotions as time passes. maybe he keeps him around so he has someone to babysit you. either way, you're just glad he's here.

your father doesn't know how close you and mr. inho are. he knows that the relationship between you is purely... platonic and familial, in a sense.

platonic. you almost chuckle. of course it's platonic. mr. inho rejected the idea of anything other than that.

you try not to be bitter about it.

your father believes you two only see each other during these meetings of theirs, which were more frequent when you were a kid. you're thankful because you're sure if he found out you and mr. inho got along, he would remove him from your life too like he did with all your friends.

mr. inho brought soju. you chop the veggies for your omelette and they chat in private for a while before your father finally leaves— and mr. inho locks the door and joins you in the kitchen. that's when the realization sets in. you almost laugh.

"did he pick you to keep an eye on me while he's gone?"

mr. inho smiles— a twinkle in his eyes as he sits at the table. it's not often that he smiles like that, but whenever he does, it punches the breath out of you.

"just like old times," he remarks with a pleased smirk. "better behave yourself while i'm here, kid."

his words are playful— clearly teasing. but they have your breath hitching. for some reason, you like it when he says them, you wouldn't mind him ordering you around like that. you swallow hard and the sudden shift in your brain chemistry has you fumbling— and you accidentally cut your hand with the sharp knife.

"fuck!" you yelp, dropping the knife. he is immediately at your side, grabbing your hand and guiding it under tap water.

"shit—" he hisses, frowning, "why do you keep hurting yourself? be careful."

you pout slightly, your heart pounding against your chest. he raises your hand to his mouth and mindlessly sucks the blood off. you freeze, eyes widening— breath catching in your throat.

"saliva prevents blood clotting," he explains gently. when he's done, he puts a hand on your waist and turns you to the table. "sit. let me make you breakfast."

"i can do it—" you protest, but he gives you another one of his warning glares and that shuts you up.

you hum and watch him in his element. he's folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, confidently grating some cheese on your omelette. you sigh dreamily to yourself, forcing your gaze to stay only at his concentrated face and not at the veins mapped across his strong arms.

when he's done, he places the plate on the table. expertly, he takes a knife and a fork and cuts a piece, and holds it up to you. when you go to grab the fork from him, he tsks and pulls it away.

"let me," he says softly, "i'm finally seeing your face after two years. why don't you let me take care of you, hm?"

you freeze, looking at him dumbly. he takes the opportunity to feed you, and you chew softly. he snorts, takes a bite himself.

why is he talking like this to you? does he not know you're insane about him?

"you can't just say things like that to me." you mumble between bites, voice low.

he ignores your comment, feeding you another piece.

"got yourself a boyfriend back in college?" he asks, his mouth curled into a smirk that he makes no effort to hide. "is that why you were ignoring your old man?"

your heart pangs and you swallow comically slow. you ignore his second remark too. he's talking so casually— you know it means nothing. you can't help but feel like it's cruel of him to act this way towards you, like he doesn't know how much you long for him.

"tried," you shrug, "they never stay. they can tell i have too many issues."

he laughs heartily and you smile. you like making him happy. it's a stark contrast against the last memory you have of him.

"you're not that hard to handle," he adds with a wink, patting your head. if he notices you leaning into his touch like a cat, he doesn't mention it. when he gets you a mug of juice, you drink it obediently, and he tends to the dishes.

"the weather's good today," he remarks casually, "you wanna go out for a walk? i'll buy you some ice cream. just like old times."

that puts the brightest smile on your face. you nod enthusiastically and rush to your bedroom to get dressed— and you try to ignore the flutter of your heart when his laugh follows along with you.

hwang inho is an insane man.

you'd dressed up pretty— your father's absence allows you to indulge in your more... girly clothes. ever since you hit puberty, he never let you wear dresses— called you a slut whenever you tried. as if to protect yourself, you'd grown used to dressing in a more tomboy-ish manner around him.

for this occasion, you put on your cutest dress and your favourite lipgloss, only to be met with mr. inho dressed up in a fucking black shirt with a suede jacket thrown over his shoulder. he looked so chic, it almost pissed you off.

he should not be allowed near black shirts. you don't want anyone else to see him this way.

you don't notice him blinking in a daze when you step down the stairs, and you don't notice the bobbing of his adam's apple when you bend down to put on your shoes.

he doesn't let you. almost immediately, he's gently placing a large palm at your thigh and kneeling before you. your breath hitches again and he gives you a look that is hard to decipher before guiding your foot into your polished mary janes.

"you look different." he mentions quietly, lowering his gaze to your feet.

his thumb tenderly brushes across your ankle, as if examining the softness of your skin. you release a shaky breath as he secures the straps of your shoes.

"a good different?" you ask shyly. you don't want him to think of you as too childish, too immature. you don't want to look like a kid playing dress up. you want to look like a woman to him. a beautiful woman who knows how to dress and look pretty.

he stands up and settles you with an unreadable look. he blinks a few times before composing himself and nodding. if you didn't know better, you'd think he looked flustered.

"a good different."

the walk outside is silent. perhaps it's because things just suddenly felt so intimate between the two of you. or perhaps it's because he's looking for something to say. you aren't, atleast. you're happy walking alongside him in comfortable silence, your hands brushing against each other's but never really touching. you wish he'd grab it and never let it go.

"still prefer strawberry ice cream?" his teasing voice breaks you out of your stupor. you smile.

"of course i do," you huff, looking up at him. you decide to tease him back. "you're still lactose intolerant?"

"should i be honest?" he sighs, looking straight ahead. he's wearing sunglasses, so his eyes are hard to read. "i tried some strawberry ice cream sometime back. some expensive brand. tossed it away after a bite because it tasted like nothing, so i'll never understand why you like it."

his voice lowers— grows almost quiet. a confession.

"i was missing you."

your steps falter and you stare at him. he walks ahead, before turning to face you. you grit your teeth, hold back all the words that are threatening to spill from your tongue.

you missed me? you ate strawberry ice cream because you missed me? you thought of me? i missed you too. i'm sorry for how reckless i've been. i'm sorry for ignoring you. i love you, i love you. please make me yours.

i'm so pathetic.

he cocks his head to the side and holds out his hand. you look at it, then at him, then you reach forward and grab hold of his finger. he chuckles and you hold back a smile as you swing your hands together and walk over to the ice cream stand. he pays and lets you pick.

he receives a phone call, and to your dismay, your hands separate. he holds up a finger telling you to wait before walking a few steps away so he can have his privacy. you resist the urge to pout and go through the menu. the girl behind the counter looks at mr. inho like most girls do— with barely disguised lust.

"holy shit, your dad's hot." she remarks in awe, voice hushed as she holds out an ice cream cone. "is he single?"

your heart flutters at her assumption— you don't blame her. it wasn't the first time he was mistaken as your dad. you've heard a lot of those comments whenever you'd go on walks with him when you were younger. but now, it also fills you with an emotion akin to jealousy. you glance over your shoulder and watch him talk seriously on the phone. you look back at the girl and grab the cone, and give her a sugary sweet smile.

"no," you answer sweetly, "he's dating me."

you hold back the urge to laugh at her bewildered face as you happily skip to him. he looks at the two of you curiously and you grin at him as you grab his finger again.

"what was that about?" he asks, pocketing his phone and you shrug, cheekily licking the ice cream.

"nothing," you hum, walking with a skip in your step. "i missed you too."

he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close, and you resist the urge to moan when you inhale the smell of his cologne— he always smells otherworldly. ridiculously rich for some reason. rich and comforting and like home.

this time, you convince him to sleep over. even though he was strictly against staying in your room for too long out of respect, you managed to draw him up. he looks around and takes a seat at the bed. your room is still pink— girly in it's essence. you had the craziest pink phase when you were a kid and it bled into everything you owned, from bedsheets and clothes to your walls. mr. inho had also been a major enabler in this situation— he'd gotten you a lot of pink trinkets and toys. your father never allowed you to modify your room after the first time.

"it's like a unicorn threw up in here," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around. you roll your eyes fondly, adjusting the sheets. his eyes fall upon your bunny plushie— and you watch his face fall.

"i know it was you who got this." you decide to say, looking away. "you didn't have to do that for him."

"i did it for you," he corrects you, picking it up. it's still in good condition, although its ears have become more droopy, and you've drawn hearts on its plain button eyes. "it was a bad night for you. no kid should have to go through that."

your face softens, eyes getting glassy. cautiously, you take a seat beside him. you fidget with the hem of your dress, not really knowing how to continue conversation with him. you feel a little self conscious now that you're alone with him in your room— after years. the close proximity makes you want to touch him— to crawl into his lap and just stay there. with your saviour who always knows how to make you feel better. your sweet, considerate old man. you want to know what it feels like to be touched by him, to be held by him, to be—

"i like your dress."

the words almost give you a whilpash. your head snaps up and you hold back the enthusiasm in your voice. "really?"

"really," he smiles kindly. your dress rides up as you sit straighter and his eyes fall upon the silver of your skin, and naturally his hand reaches out and adjusts the fabric so it covers your knees. your breath hitches, and his voice lowers into a soft mumble.

"you're such a pretty girl."

you swallow hard— it's like someone is holding your head underwater. you can't fathom how much you needed to hear this— and especially coming from him, you think you're going to die.

i would let you do anything to me.

"really?"

"really." he whispers. something in his gaze shifts, and he looks away. he clears his throat.

"i wanted to come see you in college," he admits, placing the plushie back on the bed. "but you kept ignoring my texts. i wasn't sure if you wanted to see me. you avoided me like the plague whenever you came back, even though i don't blame you."

you look away in shame, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, nervously biting your lower lip. it doesn't hurt anymore. "i felt ashamed after the way i acted when.. you know."

"i understand," he hums, blinking at you. you're glad he doesn't say it directly, you're not ready to confront him like that right now.

"thank you for everything you've ever done for me," you add, shifting on your feet. "and i'm sorry for avoiding you."

a small smile appears on his face.

"look at you," he quips with a chuckle, "you've gotten so mature."

you huff, grabbing the plushie and hitting him with it. he plays along, pretending to be dramatically hurt with every hit. it goes well until you're leaning forward for easier access, and his attempt to snatch the plushie from your hold makes you trip. you crash right into him and he falls backwards onto the mattress, taking you down with him. your face smushes against him, and the way your heartbeat skyrockets would've been comical if you didn't feel him stiffen under you.

you take this opportunity as a golden ticket— burying your head further into his chest. your arms clutch the fabric of his shirt, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as your body relaxes in his hold. he calls your name softly.

"what are you doing?" he asks, voice strained.

"sorry," you whisper, nuzzling your head further into him. you're willing to throw your dignity out the window for just a moment in his arms— you don't care anymore. you're not past begging.

"please— please, mr. inho, just— let me hug you for a minute, please."

you feel his breath hitch and you sniffle. you force yourself back to reality. you don't want to actually make him uncomfortable. already contemplating killing yourself, you begin to pull yourself away, when his arms suddenly wrap around you.

"mph!" you huff, feeling your body being pulled forward. a big hand comes up to cradle your head against his chest, and another curls around your waist.

"so dramatic," he whispers, his hold tightening. "ill hold you."

"oh my god." you whisper, melting in his arms like putty. you quite literally purr as your body goes limp, and you sigh contentedly, a small smile appearing on your face. like he's your lifeline, you hold onto him tightly.

"my little lady," he whispers. his voice makes your stomach feel warm— it's so velvety and soft. "what's up with you, hm?"

"nothing," you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. you breathe in the comforting smell of him, squeeze your eyes shut as you commit the feeling of being held by him to your memory. "feel so safe.."

he hums, his fingers gently running through your hair. mr. inho is not that tall a man but he still makes you feel so small— so small and so safe, just by his mere presence.

"nobody ever made me feel like this," you admit, your voice cracking. you can't help the emotion seeping into your voice— you're in his arms, and he's petting your hair like you're his child, how are you supposed to breathe? "ive always felt so scared with him but— but with you—"

your voice breaks off as you sniffle again, and you bite down on your tongue as you remember your father. you don't want to think of him right now— you don't want to ruin this moment by crying.

"that bastard doesn't know how lucky he is to have a daughter like you," inho grunts, pressing his cheek against your head. he pulls you impossibly close, cradles you like a fucking baby. "he doesn't deserve to be your father."

the words have you freezing— your body tenses and your breath hitches. nobody has ever said these words to you— you've felt worthless all your life. like a burden, a mistake. like a piece of shit on the shoe that is your father.

inho's hand stills in your hair, and his head tilts towards you so your eyes meet. your lips wobble as you stare at him, and his eyebrows furrow with focus. his thumb brushes against your cheekbone.

"sometimes, i wish i was your father instead," he admits, his voice hushed— like a secret. his gaze runs across your face; almost distant, full of an emotion you can't pinpoint. if you didn't know better, you'd think it was longing. it makes your heart race. "i would never let anything happen to you. you'd be my sweet little girl forever."

the moment those words leave his mouth, you feel like you've been electrocuted. it's like any semblance of rationality has left you— your breath punched out of your lungs and your heart feeling like it's being squeezed. you feel a sharp pain in your chest. the feeling is indescribable. your brain feels like it's shut down. there's nothing there— no thoughts. just pink goop and memories of mr. inho sliding through your head like a powerpoint presentation.

you're not thinking with your mind, that much is clear. he's said the words you've been feeling forever, but never truly had the guts to admit out loud to avoid making things weird. it's like you're being seen for the first time. and with that sentiment, you're leaning forward to press your lips onto his.

he grabs your hair and yanks your head back, separating your mouths with a wet smack. your eyes are dazed as you look at him, and he takes a sharp breath as he glares back at you— nostrils flared, gaze serious. you don't know he's holding onto his last ounce of self control.

"don't do something you can't take back." he warns, voice hoarse.

this is the third time he's rejecting you— it's making you want to kill yourself. your lips wobble pathetically, eyes immediately getting teary as you lean into him.

"please—" your voice cracks, lips parting as you chase his mouth. he restrains you with a firm hold on your hair, mouth twitching. it doesn't hurt, just stings a little. it only makes you long for him more. the visible distress, the conflict on his handsome face only makes you want to cry. you recall his words again, and like a baby, your brain turns into static. all you can think of is how badly you wish he was your father instead. you're not ashamed to beg. you'd do anything, absolutely anything to be his. no matter what way. you just want to be his. perhaps, that's why the words just slip out of your mouth.

"please, dad—"

the moment he hears it, his expression falls. you don't give yourself the liberty to feel shame. all you feel is desperation, sadness. because it's over— you've embarrassed yourself and he's going to think you're fucking weird and you're going to lose him and—

your head is being pulled forward and he's crashing your mouths together. you gasp, eyes widening with surprise, and suddenly he's flipping the two of you over. your back crashes against the soft mattress and he climbs over you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan, your back arching under him. he groans, tilting his head for easier access. your tongues clash together and he kisses you like a man starved. it's utterly lewd and you're gone.

he pulls back with a wet smack, strings of saliva dropping down your chin.

"fuck—" he gasps, voice raspy, "say that again— call me that again."

your heart flutters. you're still out of it, unable to process what's happening.

"m-mr. inho—?"

"no!" he snaps- squeezing your cheeks together and making your lips pucker up. you mewl.

"call me the other thing—" he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, as if fighting a war within himself. he's conflicted. "fuck— the other one. call me that again."

you moan as his hand slides down to your neck, and you're immediately slipping. you can feel your brain get fuzzy, and everything feels like it's a blur. years of desire, yearning, and longing for him pours out of you like a dam, it seeps into the title you've subconsciously given him ever since you were a kid.

"dad." you whisper again, and he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. the way he's crumbling before you makes you feel more confident, and soon enough, the words blabber out of your mouth almost boldly. "dad— dad, dad, dad, papa, appa —"

the rushed string of words has him chuckling softly— his eyes crinkling with mirth. endeared, he's leaning down and immediately kissing you again. you moan unabashedly into his mouth, and his hands reach down to your dress and slide the fabric up, up, up. his hands splay across the soft skin of your thighs and he relishes in the way you fall apart under his touch. he breaks the kisses momentarily only to mumble sweet little words against your skin.

"my sweetheart—" he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you slip further into your little headspace. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you choke on a sob.

"my little baby." he presses another kiss to your cheek. you're further gone. you can't see anything but him anymore. his words drop you further into the safer side of your mind, where there's no one but him— him holding you, loving you. keeping you safe and sheltered. "my angel."

"dada—" you whimper, unable to hold back the desperation in your voice. you sound timid, soft. everything hurts— you love him, you love this man so unbelievably much that it's starting to make your heart ache. he grabs your legs, makes them wrap around his waist. settles his bulge upon your clothed crotch and gently grinds. it makes you moan. "o-oh my god—"

"my little girl," mr. inho coos, pressing soft kisses all over your face. you release a shaky breath, your hips recklessly chasing his own. the action makes him falter, his voice growing shaky. "i got you, i got you, my baby."

"appa," you sniffle, tears running down your face. this one visibly makes him nauseous in the best way possible— it scratches the itch in his brain. you can tell by the shift in his jaw, the slight gasp that leaves his lips. he didn't react this way to other other ones— he likes being called that the most, and it works as fuel for your desires. he licks your tears away, and you hiccup, unable to hold back the violent rush of emotions you feel. "i love you— i love you, why couldn't you have been my dad instead!?"

the last line comes out of you like a wail, and unbeknownst to you, it breaks his heart. he presses his forehead against yours, holding onto your face with utmost tenderness as you exchange breaths. his hips glide against yours tantalizingly slow, and you've never been this horny in your entire life.

"i wish it was you instead," you blabber on, voice cracking. "i wish it was just you, not him! i wish it was just you! i hate him, i need him gone! i love you! i wish it was just you—"

"shh—" he coos, silencing you with another kiss. his hips gain momentum, and he grunts shamelessly as he grinds against you. your eyes flutter as you look at him dazedly— face flushed, lips swollen. your eyes are bloodshot. he gives you a comforting smile.

"i got you," he whispers, pressing another peck upon your nose. you whimper, leaning into his touch. his voice is just as full of desperation. "appa's got you. you're my little girl. my daughter. not his. only mine. got that?"

that does it for you— it's like you just got the only validation you ever needed in life.

"yes- yes, yes, yes, yes, please, i need you—" you hiccup, and he pulls back, his thumb rubbing your clit through your panties. you grind up into his hand, your arms reaching up to pull him closer, "appa—"

"shh, be my good little girl and come like this," he whispers, pressing a hand down on your stomach. you squirm violently under him, the added pressure and his words making the band in your stomach want to snap in the most delicious way possible.

"oh my god—" you whine, throwing your head back, "please, appa, i need your cock—"

"no," he laughs, and his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip lewdly. "not now."

"appa, please!" you sob, your hips writhing. he slips his hand into your panties and furiously rubs your clit. as a way to silence you, he slips his thumb into your mouth and your lips wrap eagerly around it. you start sucking it in earnest and he falls forward onto you.

"fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead against yours again. his thumb presses down on your tongue, gently pushing in and out. his other hand teases your entrance, harshly slips one finger inside and it makes you jump. he tsks. "uh uh- stay still— that's it bubba, suck my thumb... juuust like that, fuck, that's my good fuckin' girl—"

the praise makes you heady in the best way possible, and the moment his thumb circles your clit again, you're coming almost violently. you almost bite down on his thumb and he grins— pulling his hand out and kissing you again as he thrusts his finger in and out of your cunt, overstimulating you.

"t-too much—" you whimper into his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly, pecking your lips over and over again till they hurt.

"yeah?" he coos teasingly, though he slows down his movements, allowing you to come down from your high. "thought you could take it? little baby's not so tough anymore, huh?"

you whine again, face flushed. a dazed smile appears on your face as your chest heaves. your panties are a mess, and he brings his hand out, licks his fingers clean. you watch him with hooded eyes, blinking slowly. he smiles, spits on his fingers before bringing them to your face. eagerly, you grab his palm and slip them into your mouth, sucking obediently.

"you're so messy," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth and you roll your tongue around the digits, tasting the slight remnants of your slick on his salty skin. you've never felt more fulfilled in your life.

"appa," you mumble again, voice muffled through his fingers. he smiles fondly and pulls them out, making you whine. he shushes you and as your hand reaches his pants, he grabs it.

"that's enough for now," he whispers. "rest. i'll be fine. today's just about you."

you protest. "but—"

"won't you listen to your appa?" he adds playfully, and you blush— looking away. if you could function properly, you'd tell him to shut up.

you can barely think; you still feel like you're floating, and he can tell by the slight dreamy look in your eyes.

"let me bring you some water." he whispers, pulling away. you immediately grab his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes— begging him not to leave you. he chuckles, gently pries your hand away and presses a kiss to your knuckles. it makes you blush. he leans down, hands you your bunny plushie and you hold it to your chest.

"i'll be back in a minute, i promise."

reluctantly, you pull away, swaying a little as you watch him leave. as promised, he walks back in after a minute with a glass of water and his phone. he holds the glass to your lips and helps you drink, and it makes your cheeks heat up. you like him taking care of you. you like how happy he looks while doing it too. he urges you to finish the whole glass and settles it on the bedside table. you tug at his shirt and he snorts before redirecting his attention to you.

he lays down on the bed properly and pulls you towards him, cradling your head against his chest. you throw your leg around his hip and he holds you close, your plushie sandwiched between your bodies. it feels nice.

"you okay?" he whispers, and you nod, burying your head in his chest. you want to say a lot of things— you want to tell him how much you love him, how much you appreciate him. how he has quite literally changed your life. you want to tell him he is the best thing to ever happen to you, and that you might die if he ever leaves you. you want to tell him that he's a great kisser, that you want him to teach you everything. that he smells amazing and that you've never felt as safe as you do with his strong arms wrapped around you.

"thank you," you whisper, voice small. you feel shy again, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. you're exhausted, that much is obvious. this experience has clearly overwhelmed you, and he watches you for a bit, his thumb gently caressing your damp cheek, wiping the now drying tear tracks on your skin.

"thank you, what?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face. he's cruel. you blush, hide your face with a groan before answering him shyly.

"thank you, appa."

"that's my girl." he adds proudly and you beam, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"i love you too," he whispers finally, and your eyes snap open. you tilt your head up to look at him, your heartbeat rising. he smiles softly— an unreadable look in his eyes. you resist the urge to cry again.

"i love you," you tell him again, your emotions so evident on your face. you're an open book to him. he leans down, presses kisses against your neck, making you giggle. you've never been this happy in your life.

you bury your face in his chest again and hold onto him tightly. he rests his chin on your head, and you whisper a confession against him. now that mr. inho is yours, now that you feel reassured that he might not actually leave you, you can finally admit it out loud.

"i hope he doesn't come back."

he tenses slightly, before relaxing. you don't care about his opinion on your admission— you're just glad to let it out. his hand pats your back gently, urging you to sleep. eventually, you do.

you snore in your sleep. it makes inho smile. you're still the same as you were when you were a kid. when he's sure you're fully out, he checks his phone. he opens his encrypted mail, watches with amusement the attachment from this morning— a low quality video of your father being slapped as he loses in ddakji. the second attachment is of your father's details and his player number. he holds back a smirk.

your father is predictable. he knew the son of a bitch would take the opportunity to make money as soon as he's presented with it. he's not surprised. from what he knows of him in the past decade— he knows he wouldn't make it past the first game. if he does, he knows enough to design something that will make sure he doesn't make it past another.

after losing his wife and child, inho lost a part of himself. but he feels a little complete now. in a way, he has found both in you— and he does love you, adore you with everything he has. he doesn't intend to let anything happen to you ever again. now that you've subconsciously given him the permission, he can do whatever the hell he wants to the piece of trash that is your father. accidents and missing persons cases are easy to bury, and he doubts you'd be sad if you think your father went missing while 'working on a case.' it's nothing out of the ordinary. you have him now, afterall. what else do you need? he'll be your father and your lover. it's not that hard a task. anything you want.

he gently runs a hand through your hair, examines the fading bruise on your face. it makes his jaw clench.

you're the light of his life and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you. he'll give you the life you deserve, fulfill the childhood that was stolen from you.

as you shift in his arms and mumble something incoherently; inho smiles. he puts the phone down and turns it off. with a newfound motivation, he presses another kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer.

tags: @gojoswaterbottle @melusinetears @mizzysx @starry-eyedxlove @ferrarifinnick @dilfismz @skibidirizzzlerrrr @cowuies @frontwomann @caramelcandescence @gemini-serpentis @showmeyourkickflip @lizaliza @namelesslosers @nightcovrd @snapeslittlewhore @thedreamingreaper @fariesrreal @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @solsticeex

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

SWEETEST OF DREAMS

pairing — hwang in-ho x barista!reader

synopsis — in-ho phones your number almost immediately and the two of you hit it off quite quickly with the night ending with you in his bed.

warnings — nsfw, porn with plot, dacryphilia, he gets FREAKY (not really), dom in-ho, sub reader, he wants that cookie so effing bad, age gap, 40’s in-ho, 20’s reader, soft in-ho, aftercare yay, sort of proof-read so might have mistakes

wc — 1.5k

AN — now why’d i disappear like that 🌚, anywaysss i think it was very obvious that smut would win in the poll so here it is! it’s a bit rushed as i wanted this out of my drafts but i hope you guys still enjoy it. (this is my 2nd time writing smut and publishing it so forgive me for any mistakes 😭 SEND REQUESTS TO FEED THE BEAST) this is part two to this

it had taken a day before in-ho caved in and called your number, his phone pressed against his ear as he held a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in until you picked up.

“hello?”

in-ho was speechless, staying quiet until he finally found his voice and spoke up.

"y/n. this is-"

"in-ho, i know, i can recognise your voice." you interrupted and in-ho could just tell there was a grin on your face even if he couldn't see it. "it hasn't even been two days and you already called my number? i thought you would give it a week at least. miss me that much?"

in-ho was quiet again as he listened to your teasing before he spoke up in his hoarse tone. "yes." he admitted and there was silence on the other line before he heard you chuckle.

"¡ was not expecting you to admit that."

"neither did i."

“so, anything i can help you with?”

he was silent again, pondering in his mind. why did he call you? he obviously couldn’t just blurt out that he wanted to hear your voice even though he did just admit that he misses you and so he quickly came up with an excuse.

“i bought a new coffee machine and i need help with it.”

in-ho internally sighed as the words left his mouth before he could even think properly.

“ah, sure, i can help with that. just…give me an hour or so, im still on my shift.”

he nodded and quickly assured you it was fine. the call ended as you both said goodbye to each other and in-ho texted you his address.

great, now he had an hour to go out and buy a new coffee machine

upon your arrival, you eyed the fancy lobby and hallway as you made you way to the penthouse, knocking on the door.

a few shuffling could be heard behind the door as well as in-ho cursing before he opened the door. you smiled and gave him a little wave.

“hi!” in-ho nearly gushed at your voice and felt as if he was blessed by the gods himself for being in your presence. he was down bad.

“y/n, you look pretty.”

“really? y’know, this is just what I wear to work.” you giggled but came into the apartment, missing the way in-ho had became pink as he quickly closed the door behind you.

“so, new coffee machine huh?”

“oh—yes, right here.”

you followed after him as he lead you into the kitchen, a newly-looking coffee machine on his counter. “usually coffee machines would could with instructions…” you teased, raising a brow and smiling at him.

in-ho only chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. he clicked his tongue and quickly thought of a lie. “well, i threw the box away after taking it out.”

“ah, i see, well, it really isn’t that hard…” in-ho watched as you trailed off and checked out the coffee machine.

it only took ten minutes before you were finished and had set the machine where his old one was. in-ho admiring you as you did.

“your old machine looks pretty good though, why the new one?”

“…im giving it to a family member.” he lied, acting as if he totally didn’t buy a new one just because he lied off his ass to get you to come over.

you nodded in understanding and silence filled the room again before you spoke up. “well, i guess i should get going now—”

“wait!— i, uh, also need your help with something else.”

“oh?”

“…do you have any experience with cats?”

“this is ji-ji, i only adopted her…a week ago.” a siamese cat was sat in front of both you and in-ho meowing at the two of you. “im new to um, cats—well, i never had one before so im not sure if i have the right stuff for her…”

in-ho lied once again. he fumbled with his words like a fool and his cat only glared at him as if understanding his words. he had this damn cat for years now.

“mm, by the looks of it, you have quite the right items for her, that’s good.” you smiled, reaching a hand to pet the cat. in-ho nodded along and a small smug smile was plastered on his face as if proud you were telling him he was a perfect cat owner—even though he knew very well he had the right items for his cat.

“im glad, i was worried that i was missing anything important she needed…” he stopped, noticing how taken you were with the cat, cooing and petting her as if she was your own cat.

“she’s a cutie, just like her owner.” you kissed the cats forehead, ignoring how you made in-ho freeze and stare off in the distance with a confused look, pink on his cheeks once again.

meanwhile in-ho was lost in his head. he was a fearless man, a man who commanded obedience and authority, never did he think he would be called cute—was that how you saw him? that can’t be right.

he doesn’t want to be seen as a vulnerable figure— especially not by you. he cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice laced with nonchalance and seemed a bit more…deeper.

“would you like to stay for dinner?” he questioned, looking at you with his cold, stern glare again.

“sure, why not?”

he immediately softened at your answer, not expecting you to actually accept and was back to being a love-sick fool.

you don’t know how it happened, but it did somehow. you were just eating dinner with in-ho, having small talk with him and next thing you know, your pushed down onto a bed, clothes being ripped off as in-ho kissed down your neck.

“you’re perfect.” he purred, his tone raspy and deep that had your knees weak and your panties soaked.

his hand found its way to your panties as he chuckled at the feeling of the wet pool gathering. “so wet for me, do i really have that big of a effect on you?”

you nodded and nearly moaned as he rubbed against your panties, mouth against yours now. he bit down on your bottom lip for entry and you quickly opened your mouth, his tongue finding way inside.

his cock was hard and throbbing against his trousers, almost begging to be let out. he slid your panties off and unbuckled his own pants, taking them off along with his boxers as he did.

“in-ho, please—”

“shh, i know, sweetheart…” he quickly interrupted you and rubbed his cock against your wet folds, a strangled moan leavint him. “you’re so small against me.” he chuckled and you could only look at him with lust in your half-lidded eyes.

a loud moan left you when he suddenly thrusted into you and continued, not allowing you to adjust to his thickness. in-ho growled into your ear his pace fastening.

“oh, yesyesyes!” you cried out in pleasure, tears running down your face and in-ho only shuddered at the sight, kissing your tears away, his cock somehow getting harder inside you. “in-ho…”

you were so blissed out and in-ho was getting so turned on. you looked beautiful. a messy sight you were yet you always managed to look good, no matter what.

his balls tightened and his cock twitched as he thrusted, letting out a rumbling groan into your neck. “‘m gonna cum…”

he didn’t even know if you managed to process his words but he kept going before his hips stuttered and he groaned, thrusts turning sloppy as he came.

your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head the feeling of hot spurts of his cum coating your insides had your legs shaking, even as your own orgasm overcame you.

silence quickly fell over the room, the only sound being heard coming from both of you were your heavy breaths. “you’re perfect…” in-ho murmured again, placing a tender kiss on your forehead as he gently pulled out, leaving you missing the warmth he provided.

he made sure you were comfortable on the bed before leaving and coming back with a warm towel, gently cleaning in between your thighs before sliding your panties back on. “do you want some hot chocolate?…”

you paused and furrowed your brows before glancing at him. “i usually don’t get offered hot chocolate after having sex.” you mused, a smile pulling at your lips as his cheeks flushed yet again. “i’d like some.”

in-ho nodded and got up, making his way to the kitchen. after a few minutes, he returned with two mugs and placed one in your hands. “be careful, it’s hot.”

“well i’d hope so.”

he chuckled and laid beside you, pulling the blankets to cover both of you. you sipped on the hot chocolate, letting out a small sound of pleasure.

“this is really good.”

“is it?”

“mhm, maybe you could help me with my shifts back at the bar.” you claimed with a giggle, leaning closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder. in-ho’s heart melted and with his other hand, he held yours, a small hum coming from as he sipped on his own hot chocolate.

“maybe i could.”

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

SWEETEST OF DREAMS

pairing — hwang in-ho x barista!reader

synopsis — in-ho phones your number almost immediately and the two of you hit it off quite quickly with the night ending with you in his bed.

wc — 1.5k

it had taken a day before in-ho caved in and called your number, his phone pressed against his ear as he held a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in until you picked up.

“hello?”

in-ho was speechless, staying quiet until he finally found his voice and spoke up.

"y/n. this is-"

in-ho was quiet again as he listened to your teasing before he spoke up in his hoarse tone. "yes." he admitted and there was silence on the other line before he heard you chuckle.

"¡ was not expecting you to admit that."

"neither did i."

“so, anything i can help you with?”

“i bought a new coffee machine and i need help with it.”

in-ho internally sighed as the words left his mouth before he could even think properly.

“ah, sure, i can help with that. just…give me an hour or so, im still on my shift.”

he nodded and quickly assured you it was fine. the call ended as you both said goodbye to each other and in-ho texted you his address.

great, now he had an hour to go out and buy a new coffee machine

upon your arrival, you eyed the fancy lobby and hallway as you made you way to the penthouse, knocking on the door.

a few shuffling could be heard behind the door as well as in-ho cursing before he opened the door. you smiled and gave him a little wave.

“hi!” in-ho nearly gushed at your voice and felt as if he was blessed by the gods himself for being in your presence. he was down bad.

“y/n, you look pretty.”

“really? y’know, this is just what I wear to work.” you giggled but came into the apartment, missing the way in-ho had became pink as he quickly closed the door behind you.

“so, new coffee machine huh?”

“oh—yes, right here.”

in-ho only chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. he clicked his tongue and quickly thought of a lie. “well, i threw the box away after taking it out.”

“ah, i see, well, it really isn’t that hard…” in-ho watched as you trailed off and checked out the coffee machine.

it only took ten minutes before you were finished and had set the machine where his old one was. in-ho admiring you as you did.

“your old machine looks pretty good though, why the new one?”

“…im giving it to a family member.” he lied, acting as if he totally didn’t buy a new one just because he lied off his ass to get you to come over.

you nodded in understanding and silence filled the room again before you spoke up. “well, i guess i should get going now—”

“wait!— i, uh, also need your help with something else.”

“oh?”

“…do you have any experience with cats?”

in-ho lied once again. he fumbled with his words like a fool and his cat only glared at him as if understanding his words. he had this damn cat for years now.

“im glad, i was worried that i was missing anything important she needed…” he stopped, noticing how taken you were with the cat, cooing and petting her as if she was your own cat.

“she’s a cutie, just like her owner.” you kissed the cats forehead, ignoring how you made in-ho freeze and stare off in the distance with a confused look, pink on his cheeks once again.

meanwhile in-ho was lost in his head. he was a fearless man, a man who commanded obedience and authority, never did he think he would be called cute—was that how you saw him? that can’t be right.

he doesn’t want to be seen as a vulnerable figure— especially not by you. he cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice laced with nonchalance and seemed a bit more…deeper.

“would you like to stay for dinner?” he questioned, looking at you with his cold, stern glare again.

“sure, why not?”

he immediately softened at your answer, not expecting you to actually accept and was back to being a love-sick fool.

“you’re perfect.” he purred, his tone raspy and deep that had your knees weak and your panties soaked.

his hand found its way to your panties as he chuckled at the feeling of the wet pool gathering. “so wet for me, do i really have that big of a effect on you?”

you nodded and nearly moaned as he rubbed against your panties, mouth against yours now. he bit down on your bottom lip for entry and you quickly opened your mouth, his tongue finding way inside.

his cock was hard and throbbing against his trousers, almost begging to be let out. he slid your panties off and unbuckled his own pants, taking them off along with his boxers as he did.

“in-ho, please—”

a loud moan left you when he suddenly thrusted into you and continued, not allowing you to adjust to his thickness. in-ho growled into your ear his pace fastening.

“oh, yesyesyes!” you cried out in pleasure, tears running down your face and in-ho only shuddered at the sight, kissing your tears away, his cock somehow getting harder inside you. “in-ho…”

you were so blissed out and in-ho was getting so turned on. you looked beautiful. a messy sight you were yet you always managed to look good, no matter what.

his balls tightened and his cock twitched as he thrusted, letting out a rumbling groan into your neck. “‘m gonna cum…”

he didn’t even know if you managed to process his words but he kept going before his hips stuttered and he groaned, thrusts turning sloppy as he came.

your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head the feeling of hot spurts of his cum coating your insides had your legs shaking, even as your own orgasm overcame you.

in-ho nodded and got up, making his way to the kitchen. after a few minutes, he returned with two mugs and placed one in your hands. “be careful, it’s hot.”

“well i’d hope so.”

he chuckled and laid beside you, pulling the blankets to cover both of you. you sipped on the hot chocolate, letting out a small sound of pleasure.

“this is really good.”

“is it?”

“maybe i could.”

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

SWEETEST OF DREAMS

pairing — hwang in-ho x barista!reader

synopsis — in-ho phones your number almost immediately and the two of you hit it off quite quickly with the night ending with you in his bed.

wc — 1.5k

it had taken a day before in-ho caved in and called your number, his phone pressed against his ear as he held a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in until you picked up.

“hello?”

in-ho was speechless, staying quiet until he finally found his voice and spoke up.

"y/n. this is-"

in-ho was quiet again as he listened to your teasing before he spoke up in his hoarse tone. "yes." he admitted and there was silence on the other line before he heard you chuckle.

"¡ was not expecting you to admit that."

"neither did i."

“so, anything i can help you with?”

“i bought a new coffee machine and i need help with it.”

in-ho internally sighed as the words left his mouth before he could even think properly.

“ah, sure, i can help with that. just…give me an hour or so, im still on my shift.”

he nodded and quickly assured you it was fine. the call ended as you both said goodbye to each other and in-ho texted you his address.

great, now he had an hour to go out and buy a new coffee machine

upon your arrival, you eyed the fancy lobby and hallway as you made you way to the penthouse, knocking on the door.

a few shuffling could be heard behind the door as well as in-ho cursing before he opened the door. you smiled and gave him a little wave.

“hi!” in-ho nearly gushed at your voice and felt as if he was blessed by the gods himself for being in your presence. he was down bad.

“y/n, you look pretty.”

“really? y’know, this is just what I wear to work.” you giggled but came into the apartment, missing the way in-ho had became pink as he quickly closed the door behind you.

“so, new coffee machine huh?”

“oh—yes, right here.”

in-ho only chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. he clicked his tongue and quickly thought of a lie. “well, i threw the box away after taking it out.”

“ah, i see, well, it really isn’t that hard…” in-ho watched as you trailed off and checked out the coffee machine.

it only took ten minutes before you were finished and had set the machine where his old one was. in-ho admiring you as you did.

“your old machine looks pretty good though, why the new one?”

“…im giving it to a family member.” he lied, acting as if he totally didn’t buy a new one just because he lied off his ass to get you to come over.

you nodded in understanding and silence filled the room again before you spoke up. “well, i guess i should get going now—”

“wait!— i, uh, also need your help with something else.”

“oh?”

“…do you have any experience with cats?”

in-ho lied once again. he fumbled with his words like a fool and his cat only glared at him as if understanding his words. he had this damn cat for years now.

“im glad, i was worried that i was missing anything important she needed…” he stopped, noticing how taken you were with the cat, cooing and petting her as if she was your own cat.

“she’s a cutie, just like her owner.” you kissed the cats forehead, ignoring how you made in-ho freeze and stare off in the distance with a confused look, pink on his cheeks once again.

meanwhile in-ho was lost in his head. he was a fearless man, a man who commanded obedience and authority, never did he think he would be called cute—was that how you saw him? that can’t be right.

he doesn’t want to be seen as a vulnerable figure— especially not by you. he cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice laced with nonchalance and seemed a bit more…deeper.

“would you like to stay for dinner?” he questioned, looking at you with his cold, stern glare again.

“sure, why not?”

he immediately softened at your answer, not expecting you to actually accept and was back to being a love-sick fool.

“you’re perfect.” he purred, his tone raspy and deep that had your knees weak and your panties soaked.

his hand found its way to your panties as he chuckled at the feeling of the wet pool gathering. “so wet for me, do i really have that big of a effect on you?”

you nodded and nearly moaned as he rubbed against your panties, mouth against yours now. he bit down on your bottom lip for entry and you quickly opened your mouth, his tongue finding way inside.

his cock was hard and throbbing against his trousers, almost begging to be let out. he slid your panties off and unbuckled his own pants, taking them off along with his boxers as he did.

“in-ho, please—”

a loud moan left you when he suddenly thrusted into you and continued, not allowing you to adjust to his thickness. in-ho growled into your ear his pace fastening.

“oh, yesyesyes!” you cried out in pleasure, tears running down your face and in-ho only shuddered at the sight, kissing your tears away, his cock somehow getting harder inside you. “in-ho…”

you were so blissed out and in-ho was getting so turned on. you looked beautiful. a messy sight you were yet you always managed to look good, no matter what.

his balls tightened and his cock twitched as he thrusted, letting out a rumbling groan into your neck. “‘m gonna cum…”

he didn’t even know if you managed to process his words but he kept going before his hips stuttered and he groaned, thrusts turning sloppy as he came.

your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head the feeling of hot spurts of his cum coating your insides had your legs shaking, even as your own orgasm overcame you.

in-ho nodded and got up, making his way to the kitchen. after a few minutes, he returned with two mugs and placed one in your hands. “be careful, it’s hot.”

“well i’d hope so.”

he chuckled and laid beside you, pulling the blankets to cover both of you. you sipped on the hot chocolate, letting out a small sound of pleasure.

“this is really good.”

“is it?”

“maybe i could.”

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

HOW’S YOUR DAY?

pairing — hwang in-ho x barista!reader

synopsis — often taking night shifts at the cafe, you usually find yourself in the presence of lonely people. comforting them as they vent to you whilst you made their orders. a tired looking man who sat behind the counter seemed to be needing some conversation and that’s exactly what you gave him— and a little bit more.

warnings — VERY ooc!in-ho, soft!in-ho, age gap, 20’s reader, 40’s in-ho, in-ho has a cat, this was proofread but can still have some mistakes(?), just some good old fluff

wc — 785

AN — hii this is js something short i wanted to write about before I actually finish some requests that I’ve gotten so this is essentially my first fanfic on tumblr. this is actually based off a roblox game called ‘how’s your day?’ highly recommend playing it <3 (send in more requests to feed the beast)

it’s only a few weeks before the games would start and in-ho could already feel himself draining. the vips, having to think of what games he should have in the annual squid games— everything was bothering him. besides his cat.

after feeding his cat, he left his apartment shortly after, finding himself in a little cafe with a nice view of the night city outside along with the stars and some jazz music playing in the background. the smell of coffee was wafting in the air and the whole atmosphere was just calming, something that in-ho needed desperately.

in-ho seated himself at the counter, watching as you moved around behind the counter, making orders whilst having conversations with the customers.

after serving your last order, you notice the man sitting behind the counter and immediately go up to him. “hi, how can i help you?” you questioned, a small smile on your lips as you wiped your hands with a rag.

in-ho had stared at your face for a few seconds before clearing his throat and answering. “just an americano…please.” he added the ‘please’ with a tinge of hesitation in his voice. you merely nodded and went straight to making his order.

you couldn’t help when your eyes drifted to his direction when you were making his drink and before you knew it, you struck up a conversation.

“you look very worn out…” you noted, a hint of concern in your voice as he looked back at you. his eyes seemed as if they were devoid of any emotion and his hair looked a bit messy.

“ah, just…work.” his reply was simple and you nodded, having the urge to continue the conversation.

“wanna talk about it?”

“oh, it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to impose you with my thoughts.”

“it’s fine, really. if it helps, i usually talk with the other customers here. sometimes they come in to just vent and i try my best to listen.”

in-ho raised a small brow, staying quiet. you seemed like such a sweet girl, listening to other people’s problems and such.

“ah, im just…having a hard time thinking of ideas that would appeal to my…superiors.” distaste could be heard as he finished his sentence, the thought of the vips being seen as his superiors was maddening.

“I get that, higher-ups can be a little frustrating most of the times.” you chuckled, grinding the coffee beans before continuing. “sometimes it can get a little too much, but it’s always okay to take a break, you know?”

there was an awkward silence before in-ho replied. “…sorry, i rarely go out so im not used to such conversations.” he scoffed out with a small laugh but you only nod in understanding.

"it sounds to me you're just an introvert."

"wouldn't that be bad? for people who want to be social."

"well i would say im an introvert too, why do you think i usually listen to peoples problems instead of ranting about myself? but being introverted isn't bad nor good. neither is being extroverted. it's just a personality trait. maybe they don’t like going to parties as much as extroverted people do, constantly being surrounded with laughter and commotion. maybe they would rather stay in places like cafes and libraries where they seek solace in their own comfort. and there’s nothing wrong with that, it can take time for people to socialise and when they do, it’s because they know they found the right people to do so.”

in-ho couldn’t help but smile at your words.

the two of you talked for some more minutes and in-ho got to learn some things about you such as your name and even some background on the regulars. he couldn’t help but admire your face as you focused on making his drink, you were gorgeous, intelligent and just perfect in every way.

too perfect for him to be your type.

you had a way with words, the way you’d give him advice had him hooked onto your voice, his mind pleading for you to talk more.

after he got his coffee, it didn’t take long before in-ho decided it was time to go home. “i should get going now…” he murmured. you couldn’t tell but there was a small sliver of hesitation in his voice, as if he didn’t want to leave.

“i’ll see you around maybe?”

your grin was soft and warming, causing in-ho to give you a small one of his own as he nodded.

“bye, in-ho!”

“goodbye, y/n.”

in-ho held his coffee cup as he walked out.

by the time he got home, he looked down at his cup, only to notice a phone number written on it with a smiley face.

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

EPHEMERAL — HWANG IN-HO

Falling in love with you was never apart of the plan. No, it was simply to infiltrate the games, disguised as a player, find out what Gi-hun’s plan was, and get out. He never planned on falling head over heels for someone he had just met. But you were different, weren’t you?

It was obvious in the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you made him feel something besides grief or anger since his late wife had died. You were a blooming flower amongst all the trash in the world. You didn’t deserve to be here, treated like the trashy common-folk who had nobody but themselves to blame for their debt.

That’s why during Mingle, he made sure you never strayed too far. How could he live with himself if you had died? And with the way you desperately clutched the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket, it was obvious you felt the same. “What do you think it’ll be next?” You ask, your tone wavering.

‘Two.’ Young-il answered. “Why?” You looked into his deep charcoal eyes. “There are 126 players remaining and fifty doors.” He paused, looking you in the eye. “A hundred of us will live. They’ll kill the rest.” And like he had ‘predicted,’ the number two was called by the voice over the loudspeakers.

Without missing a beat, Young-il grabs your hand and pulls you off the platform with ease, already running to one of the doors. You weren’t met without struggle though. Young-il had to push multiple strangers out of your path before even reaching a room, holding player 285 back so you could run inside.

Yet, inside was no better. There was another man, Player 343, standing in the corner of the bright yellow room. You hear a loud slam and turn your head to be met with Young-il’s dark eyes. “Out.” He commands the remaining player. “Please.” The man begs. “We were here first!”

Before you can even comprehend your next move, Young-il already has the man in a chokehold. You were so distracted by his sharp movements that you weren’t even ready for when Player 285 charged into the room with one harsh push and threw you outside in one fluid movement.

Young-il immediately snapped the man’s neck as the doors locked. He threw the man’s body down, throwing a harsh punch at the living man’s face, permanently bruising it. He pushes past 285 with ease, aligning his eyes with the small rectangular peep hole in the bright yellow door. “No.” He says angrily, as you run up to the door.

“Young-il.” You cry desperately. “No, no, no!” He nearly screams. He turns to 285, who already has a forming black eye. You turn around, hearing the sounds of an approaching guard. Left with no other choice, Young-il shouts “Stand down!”

Before you know it, you are being sedated and carefully dragged away by the guards. When the doors open, Young-I’m is surrounded by Gi-hun and the rest of his ‘friends’. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asks worriedly. “They…” Young-il pauses, his clever plan going into motion. “They didn’t make it.”

For Gi-hun, Young-il, and the rest of your ex-teammates, it’s a night of mourning. To them, it seems heaven has gained another angel—even though many of them aren’t even religious. As for the other players, you are simply another dead body lying in a pile to rot. To In-ho, however, you are asleep in his private quarters, waiting for him to return.

And Player 285? He was shot by one of the triangle guards who promptly sent his body to the organ harvesting station, before his body was burned, never to be seen again.

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

Just a game (part 4) ۶ৎ

Pairing: Hwang In-ho // The Front Man x fem!reader Summary: After losing your consciousness in his arms, you are at the mercy of In-ho, a man you don't, as far as you know, even know the face of. Yet he has shown you more than one, perhaps even his true visage - through the touch and the inner machinations that are tearing at his heart. The rules of the game are slipping, the Front Man is grabbing at control, making sure the field is level for you to be his. It begins with yours, then shifts to In-ho's point of view - double the fun. Warnings: And it is still the God damn Front Man Although darker, the chapter(s) carry an odd amount of fluff along with quite a bit of angst. Quite a bit of voyeurism, descriptions of naked bodies and lust, mentions of SA (very light, only hinted at), touch, need, drugging people, dubious consent at best. Medical malpractice and ignorance of the ethical codex. Word count: 6.4k A/N: I would apologise for the word count, and I will. (ᵕ—ᴗ—) But if I had either, I would really put my heart and soul into this work, so it's not quite the usual gorgeous fanfic that starts fast and ends with hot, steamy, angsty sex and eternal love. I wanted to flesh out characters, from you, to In-ho himself - keep it in character yet write a believable Front Man struggling with both himself, his present, his past, and you - a woman he is falling madly in love with. If you like my work, I appreaciate every single heart // repost // reblog // follow // message! ♥ Thank you! ♥ Link to previous Link to next

Running, running. Tripping. Something catching up. Running. You have to run up. Up! Feet tangled, barbed wire, cannot run, hot, warm, soaking--- A figure in the distance. Clad in white. Run to him. Run to him. Something catching up. Sharp pain. Wet. From stomach down down down. Copper, sticking, limbs, slow. The figure is an illusion. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Darkness. Enveloped. A cape. Over you. Pulled away. Collapsed. Earth. Swallowed. Mud. The cawing of a----

Your eyes flutter open. In the long distance, so far away yet so shrill, you hear the cawing of a crow.

The harshness and fervour trickles through your swollen, heavy mind full of cotton and icy rivers of forgetting.

Groggy, tired, stiff, everything seems so blurry and pushed away from your consciousness. Your hands feel like cold, empty plastic, and you cannot lift them.

The flat light in the ceiling feels awful, all a dream; such a loud, piercing, horrible dream. Saying nothing. Screaming.

In the distance, the crow caws once more, and you grab onto the sound like an anchor to remain grounded. At least enough to assess the damage.

There’s a blanket over you, you wiggle the tips of your toes to feel the fabric all the way down. Thank god. Covered. All covered. Even so, trying to mentally tun through your form, you feel the softness cover something foreign, something that isn’t you. Your skin prickles and repels all it touches.

All it touches. Even you.

Don’t move. In the back of your sleepy mind, no matter how tired, how tranquilized. You know. You know it’s an advantage to play dead or sleeping.

Voices. Seeping in like an echo of static.

“Contacts taken care of…no issues…family? No, of course not…”

“Observation. Rather not....”

A voice you recognize.

“I would be inclined to disagree.”

Footsteps. You close your eyes, hard, and try to steady your heart – it wasn’t catching up to the situation anyway. Everything threatens to spin the moment you see nought but darkness; you could be floating ten miles deep in the ocean. Marine snow and all-encompassing darkness, no breath, no hope, only cold and squids. Suffocating, oppressive, swallowing you whole....back, come back, focus, stay, lights behind your eyelids swirling and blue exchanging black; your ears are ringing, and you seem to be drifting away again until---

Touch. Your plastic hand feels touch.

Electricity momentarily flutters across your fingertips and travels up your forearm. You want nothing more but to pull away, but keep up your pretence. You hear a steadied breath, quiet, controlled. Skipping a tad towards the end of the exhale, as if steadying itself. The presence, the scent, all is familiar yet oddly intertwined. Signals jamming before they reach their destination.

The messages fly but the network is down.

You hear an inhale and what could be a sigh. You’re very unsure whether it is exasperated or elated, but you don’t welcome either.

It makes way for a voice that reminds you of all-concealing frost coating barbed wire.

“Rest. Rest, little one. Everything is being taken care of.”

You feel naked fingers trail up around your knuckles, softly drawing on your skin. They then travel down the back of your hand, following your veins, down to your wrist and back once more. The motion repeats, you feel light nudges of warmth alternating with tingles freezing your neck down to your pillow. Your breath is threatening to give you away, you ever so slightly, unnoticeably open your lips so that your chest remains quiet and does not harbour nor exhale too much air. You're nervous, you're worried, you’re catching fire while submerged in ice please stop, stop touching me, hold me, go away, hold me, I'm scared, I'm scared, kiss me, go away, hold away the cold, go away, go away, hold me, go away...

The errant hand finishes its last motion by enveloping yours entirely, and remaining firmly in place as his other hand joins it around your own.

The slow caressing motion alleviates nothing of your petrified, electrified thoughts and current racing through your chest. The caress touches over, under, holding in secure warmth as it brushes coarse fingertips along your cold skin. Two fingers slowly, slowly leave the sanctuary of your intertwined palms and journey up your arm, stopping at the crane of your joint, and touch something new – circle the little scar – and travel safely down again. Leaving a trail of exposed electrical wiring.

Firm sensations of those errant palms circle yours – touching, teasing, exploring – and clasp around their newfound plastic extremity. Rough to the touch, yet gentle; cold at first, but firmly creating heat against your skin leaving no gap for air or intrusion.

One disadvantage to feigning unconsciousness is only having a single card to play, while the other party holds the entire deck. Hell, the other party is free to choose the game, you can't see nor protest.

A disadvantage you will soon discover.

As you command your chest to fall, your limbs to lay, and your breath to steady, you realise something that sends slow, sharp nails of a chill through your spine.

Silence.

No touch.

No noise.

Your brain threatens to drift again, half in lack of grounding, half in panic. Perhaps one more card is simply known as 'fainting your way out of the problem', though it needs to be played repeatedly and usually ends in a game over.

You hear nothing stretching the moment, then the next, then the next...nothing since the hand slid away from your own and left an icy vacancy spreading across your skin.

༻❁༺

Seconds tick by, no sound.

No other voices.

No steps, no commotion, no normal noises.

This is bad. You figured a hospital would sound like a hospital, you'd even welcome rudeness or cussing, you'd even welcome your family, anything that slightly resembles a maquette of normality – this just emanates kidney theft and human trafficking. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Minutes tick by, had he managed to leave so quietly? Perhaps you misheard. Perhaps you were still groggy and your senses too dull. Perhaps---

Face.

Oh no.

A sensation on your face almost, almost pushes your eyes open – but you catch the flinch at the last second – it seems your tiredness and lack of reflexes add a single card to your deck.

Trying very hard not to squirm or pull away, you begin to feel soft, gentle brushes upon your face. The first brush kisses your cheeks, lingering on your skin as if testing, feeling, trying not to scare a fledgling bird.

Then it begins to trace its warmth down around your cheekbones, threading little shapes along your facial lines; then back again in a very intimate, repetitive motion. There…and back.

There. And back.

Timid, at first, light as if sensing for an exposed wire just below the surface. Longer and reassured as his precise fingers repeat their pendulum-like movements. You tried not to feel nice. But truth be told, if you erased all else, all other variables, the entire scene, it was…

Soft, like the feathers of a baby owl, careful, like the tool of a jeweller dusting a delicate stone, and simply…warm. Caring. Studying.

Affectionate in its detail.

The fingertips slowly circle your eyes and run meticulously along your eyebrows, then return once again to draw light sickles under your eyes. There and back. There and back.

Upon your cheeks, you feel more fingers at once, with more surface area intertwining and dancing with yours. Brushing and caressing, touching as if enjoying the sensation of touch itself for the very first time.

Exploring…curious…

…tender, even.

The tingling sensation moves lower, and you begin to feel the cool tips running down your chin and your jaw, as if he were drawing your portrait with nothing but touch. A single finger copies the shape of your jawbone, and periodically does the same to the other side. Then it repeats the motion with the knuckles of the reverse side of the hand.

The touch grows slower, more pronounced as it travels down your naked neck.

You are trying not to gasp, praying your heart doesn't give you away as his full assured hand rests and traverses your carotid artery, your throat, your tingling muscles threatening to paralyze or spasm or warm to his touch – all at once. He rests upon the vein, its warmth and beating fervour challenging his still, stoic grasp.

His hand doesn't linger, though, sending a current and brushing all the way down, forcing warmth to pool in your chest, stopping at the crane of your neck and finding the little dips in your collarbones. Gently circling and caressing the skin over and around them.

Once more you feel the more intimate touch of fingertips, reversing their journey up your neck, this time exploring more fervently. You never realised how slim and small your neck feels, now at the mercy of a hand that could simply…push its fingers down and clench. The tingling in your mind latches onto your growing fear, along with the sensation of care and utter helplessness. The lack of control and tranquil panic, as well as a very subdued, likely drug-induced need for more, create an odd ball of electricity that prickles through your chest and stomach, tingles across your ribs and breasts...

The fingers trail up your neck and stop at your jaw once more, this time changing their journey just a tad. You feel a single finger touch the area just above your lips and gently, slowly, ever so slowly trail down upon them, relishing each prolonged second, finally resting upon your mouth. The motion is as soft and light as a butterfly wing flutter, and lingers – then moves to your lower lip – then rests upon your lips’ entirety, exploring and caressing your mouth. Slowly, everso slowly; for a moment you let yourself dissolve into the lack of differentiation between his touch and your body.

If it was fear, perhaps mixed with sudden entirely mixed signals, perhaps the drugs, perhaps the absolute madness of the situation and the days prior, perhaps your condition, perhaps---you were reacting to his touch. Inside, a pool became a current, a slowly awakening tide; and he seemed to harbour a single full moon’s pull in each fingertip.

The sensation of cloth slipping from your skin alert you out of your trance to newly exposed areas grabbed and unwrapped by a sudden tendril of cold air.

This time, you fail to control your reflexes, your entire body tensing and reacting to the shiver that runs through your entire being.

Both the touch and moment cease, abruptly; your lips left cold once more in one swift retraction.

A click of a heel, then another hits the ground. As if he were stepping away. Yet still. Slowly. Quickened heart, errant thoughts, bad scenarios, needs you had buried and mourned a long time ago all try to either scream or calm at once, leading to a very simple short-circuit. How you hated being watched, how you hated being helpless, you think, how you hated being a toy for another old man’s perverted game, as your chest refuses to calm down again. Vulnerable and watched. Exposed. Ashamed. And now. Your disguise is compromised.

This is absolutely an unsatisfactory bitch of a situation, and I truly wish to scream.

But the tiredness clings to you, head spinning in a mixture of chemicals and your own sensations, responses, needs, and fear. In contrast to his touch, false or not, your mind is a battlefield; everyone is bleeding or entirely delirious. Clinging to something, anything, you try to think – this is a reaction, it is expected. The mad ones, shaking, rocking back and forth crying for comfort; perhaps the man with a mind empty living on nothing but twisted memories and dissociation wherein hope itself became a troublesome burden, or the soldier climbing out into machine gun fire to throw grenades into the enemy’s dugout shouting fox-hunting hymns and laughing. All reactions. All understandable. But not mine. Nothing bad is happening. Nothing bad happened. I am so, so, so very stupid. Why did he not hurt me? Why did he not hold me? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Trying not to cry in a situation as messed up as this leaves you a husk. Tired. In the end. You want to go home. Just be safe. Never mind the place does not exist, just…safe.

Death seems safe, could he not had done the kindness of finishing the job? Why drag it out?

Slipping away, now that he is no longer guiding your spirit back to your skin wherever he brings warmth and well-acted care, you try to calm and not replay the prickles of anticipation fingering strings echoing a darker tune within your heart’s chamber.

One more thing worried you. Even before he came in, you tried to wiggle your fingers to feel for fabric and familiarity of finite objects, but it took you...too long. Barely one, two, lifted at all. Your mind was not there – barely visiting – but you hoped at least primal programming would kick in. Yet your hand felt foreign, not there, lifeless, intruding…plastic.

The more you focused on it, the less its edges resembled something corporal. As if you were dissolving in a blurry river eating you up, flesh and bone, in quiet indifference. There was a prickle in your arm, but you could not look nor check to reach it. And it worried you.

Steps away. Growing quieter and quieter, reverberating in the hall away from you.

Finally you let your chest fall in a sigh of nervous, utterly desperate relief – you listen to your own shivers as it lifts and contracts and almost suffocates you in a chaotic rhythm to the beat of your heart which is threatening its own eviction. The sound of your hurried breathing fills the room, and you latch onto it as one of the few molecules of validation of reality itself – you, you being alive, you being absolutely screwed, and you…you being on the brink teetering over.

༻❁༺

More footsteps.

Oh come on. Please. One molestation a day is enough.

But these fall faster, the manner hurried, even, and far heavier and clunkier than the calculated steps of your haptic visitor.

"Y/N?? Y/N?"

Urgent. Muffled. There.

Then quieter, a mixture of assertiveness and obedience, attempting to be polite but unable to reign in the emotions guiding his intonation.

"Are you sure I can come in, I know her code, she always uses the same number...is she alright?!"

Oh no. No. What have you done, Y/N, what have you done...you getting hurt? Fine, your business, your currency. But never collateral, never...you stupid, stupid---get out!

"Are you sure I can see her? I'm not...related or her boyfriend, husband, I just...can I see her? It's urgent, I can tell you all her needs, her medication, I think, just, just please let me see her and see she's ok..."

That voice. The code. Of course, you always filled out hospital forms with the same four-digit code, so that your family, should they even attempt the incredible labour of picking up a phone to check on their daughter, would get no medical nor personal information. The funny thing was, anyone who'd known you for more than five minutes and bothered to listen to you would know that number – it's nothing but a year you hold dear.

Hurried steps and suddenly an urgent stop before you.

"Y/N? Can you hear me? Shit, kurvadopichi, Y/N?"

The voice, muffled by what you hope is only a surgical mask, turns away from you as the sentence concludes. Are you not alone? With a tiny glimpse of hope comes the thing to gouge it right back out of your eyes. Is this an entertaining game?! Steadying yourself at the very least mentally, thinking it’s just another hurdle and then you may act, you rationalize that his frenzied steps masked another set in their wake.

"She's never actually fainted or lost consciousness for long, she lies down and it gets better...what's going on? Can she hear me? Do prdele, Y/N..."

Just as you would move your lips to assure, to warn, to react, your effort comes to a halt in a single fleeting moment.

"She's going to be alright."

Ice. Ice on your back, ice enveloping your shoulders, ice going straight for your tender brain. That voice. It didn’t matter how muffled or how level, how sickeningly in character – that voice, so close to someone you hold dear, destroyed your last speckle of hope with unceremonious indifference. And it continued, teasing in its role. The cards, the game, your dear ones’ safety – all in his hands.

"Just a bit fragile. She took a nasty fall on our walk and in her condition, the doctor was forced to provide a heavier analgesic dose." A soft but serious humm circles your ears and almost makes you sick. “I was concerned, and further examination…proved me quite correct.” His voice seemed as violating as his fingers, his words and their meaning following suit as the realisation slowly dawned on you.

"She should be enjoying a long, deserved rest."

I’ll give you a long-deserved rest---but the softness in your dear friend’s words threads through your make-believe fighting spirit leaving only helpless sadness. You want him to be safe, you want him far away from here, you want to…you want him to go home.

"Can she...hear me? Can she hear the crows at least? Y/N, I'm sorry, I should have done something...I knew it was getting bad, but…” That strong, shaky breath you know so well breaks your heart. This is all your fault, all of it. Your housemate keeps it together quite well, but when he doesn’t…

“I missed you, Y/N, your tea is getting cold, I'll make you ten more if you come home."

The air seemed to stiffen, somehow, the walls swallowing the echo of his tender words. The silence clung heavily to every inch of you, your kind housemate utterly unaware. Oh Lubi, please stop that, stop saying that, digging a grave, digging digging...

“I know you hate being touched, Y/N, I know I made it worse, but imagine I’m holding your hand.”

The atmosphere stiffened further; it could be carved with a butterknife. Your housemate utterly blissfully unaware – but at least your body and your hands remain untouched.

“Just like you held mine two days ago – sitting on that floor – you helped me back from something awful – and you did it smiling. You told me it’s ok. That if it gets bad again, you’ll be there. The hallway will still be there. The floor will still be there. And it’ll be ok. Well, it’s not ok, the hallway is empty, and you’re not there, and I...I know I said a lot, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

And you did it high as a kite on pain meds that weren’t doing a thing, terrified that you’re going to fall over, terrified of being selfish and so utterly tired of remaining here, and not at all wishing to touch nor be touched. But you’d do it again and a flame of defiance rose in your still chest. Your friend continued, still entirely unaware but his voice sounded…so worried. Worried about the wrong thing, the wrong person, please get out!

“…And I said you’re going to be a wonderful therapist. Well, you are. But. That lady needs to be alive and conscious, not all your clients can be dead – and I can look after you.” He tried to laugh, but you heard the sadness in his voice, the anxious hope and abandon – heart on his sleeve.

“…We figured out hugs after your first two operations, even if I had to annex a public bench, we can figure anything out. Just come home, please. All the soup. All the tea. All the tenderness.” He’s using our special things, he’s trying to put all our shared gestures and inside language into the room, you realise.

And it works. Pushing that tight, suffocating atmosphere back like a storm cloud faltering in the warm wind, revealing a few speckles of light. Even ending on a word you cherish so much. Tenderness. Tenderness of patient minds. He remembered. You must react, before he gets hurt. Perhaps some kind of signal, something, or just yell at him to get out and call the police as he runs, spring up like a reanimated corpse and warn him---before a voice cuts through the room and pushes your head firmly underwater:

"I don't think she's able to say anything."

The command and threat were so clear they might as well have kicked you in the head.

"If she knows what's good for her delicate state, and the delicate state of you, young man, unfortunately, she won't respond to you."

༻❁༺

Silence. You managed nothing. Little speckles of tears sting in the corners of your eyes.

The bed creaks and its weight shifts, you no longer care if you’re seen nor awake, you are done. The feelings of anticipation and yearning, cut off, replaced by touch hiding poison and likely nothing but possessive depravity won’t leave you. You feel so stupid, so helpless, so useless – now you are worried for your friend, knowing that you put him in direct line of fire while trying to get shot yourself.

“Are you awake, miss Y/N?”

Unmuffled and clear, you would almost welcome the familiarity. Almost. While your brain searches for a hint of danger or reason to discredit – but no. This person did not hurt you, as far as you know. Not directly. He probably had no choice; you heard that voice, you heard the threats aimed at you.

Your eyes slowly open.

From the blurry white background and slowly manifesting reality, the first thing your adjusting eyes truly encounter are two dark, heavy pools, staring directly into you.

The same, darker lips, the polite, resting demeanour, the studious expression conveying patience and concern.

And the lines carved into a face you would have, in a different life, wished to see smile.

No malice rests in those dark pools, no possessiveness. Only calm. He would almost look…troubled, were he not reassuring. You wonder whether he’s reassuring you or himself, and shift in an attempt to lift your body into a sitting position.

You fail as your elbows give in under you with an unceremonious thump. You notice his hand instinctively react but retract almost as fast.

Slowly, as if to convey safety and distance, he moves away from the bed and walks around you, stands ever-so-close, carefully adjusting your pillow without directly touching you. As he is still in your peripheral vision, your arm prickles, though, but you cannot turn your head to see why. Perhaps the cold air of the pillow-moving motion. The arm feels cold, but you’re too enveloped in finally being able to see. And you look away, as gravity hits you again.

“I…I can’t move. My friend. Please…I…don’t hurt him.”

The man gently moves the blanket across your arm again where it fell in your first futile lift attempt, but does not linger and does not touch you. You welcome the gesture, heart melting a tad. Still a frozen, trepidating husk though. He sits at the edge of the bed once more, the blanket firmly dividing you. You managed to shift into a half sitting position, pillow doing most of the work. You feel vulnerable but…momentarily safe. His quiet voice does not disturb that peace, and once more, you feel your heart crack a small piece of ice away.

“I’m sorry, the boss was only making sure you’re taken care of, including your loved ones. He would prefer them not to worry.”

Nor raise alarms when someone who is never late suddenly racks up a two-day delay.

“So he’s not hurt?”

A crow caws in the distance. You stare at him from your vulnerable position, still almost unable to move your head.

His eyes convey something you…you are surely imagining.

But you would get pulled in, in your desperate, wistful state; should his hand rest on yours now, you would use all the warning lights as a checkpoint for a modicum of safety and care. Helplessness is a feeling you dread, loss of control and swimming with the current a means of survival; yet now you feel your hands tied and the tug of someone at the other end.

And that is worse.

His gaze softens, with a glimmer of something you cannot quite figure out – a spark of something darker, but it disappears like a glint of snow falling off a streetlamp.

“Of course not. The boss decided against doing anything against your will.”

Sure he did. Because all of this screams consent.

“From what he’s shared with me, I understand that violation would not be fair on you. He only intended to give you the best care, and was concerned you would wish against the gesture.”

Your body viscerally reacts to the word, violation…and he’s right, of course. Though you cannot check or move, you know your body very well, and it wasn’t reacting in a way that…reminded you of anything. Hence, the surface level touch and some prickles were the most you can recognize, so far. But you’re not ok. This is not ok. He’s speaking as if this was all fine, as if all this was a gesture of kindness and selfless empathy when it’s the polar opposite. Even tired, your voice carries your doubts and your sincere condemnation of both him and his boss.

“Kind not-named-sir, I can’t move. Someone likely drugged me. Someone threatened my friend in front of me so I would comply. I don’t know what’s going on and I still cannot move.” You leave out the touching for obvious reasons. You try to remain calm, but you wish to scream. His calm, almost thoughtful demeanour fuelling the sense that this situation is wrong. The man shifts, eyes closing and softening a tad. If he was pretending, he must be investing a lot of energy into keeping up the pretence.

“I’m sure the boss did not wish for that, only your safety.” The low humm permeates your ears, almost soothingly so; you study the soft lines in his face and rest upon them, noticing the contrast of his dark hair and stoic visage, which breaks in the pragmatic softness of his tone each time he speaks.

“To be quite honest, if I may…” his dark eyes slowly move and stare at the blanket across your stomach area and you lift your eyebrows, “someone close to him shared your condition. Judging by the scars,” his hand hovers above the left side of your pelvic bone, up a tad, extending a finger in the general area and moving to your stomach, “you share the repeated attempts and lack of results.”

Just as you were warming to his words and finding some solace, water falls on your little fire.

“Please don’t remind me, kind-not-named-sir, those times weren’t nice.” Should have bribed the anaesthesiologist, you half-mumble to yourself. Did you imagine a soft chuckle escape his lips? You feel…odd. Tingly. Light. Restful.

“I know. The boss shared inklings of what you’ve been through. Alone. It makes sense that he chose a lack of violation before any further steps.” His hand retracted, but rested ever-so-slightly against the blanket barrier of your hips. With all you can, you muster and command your right arm to lift, sliding across the surface of the bed, the blanket, and finally, finally able to rest upon and protect your stomach. The gesture seemed to ignite something in your visitor, the same way a crow caw caught your attention – interest, fondness, recognition.

༻❁༺

Further steps.

༻❁༺

Oh, that gesture.

That gesture that first caught his attention, and the fire in those deep, doe eyes that kept it.

Even helpless, more helpless than you knew, you did not give in, not letting him fool or scare you. There was something in your eyes and in the way your body lay, in the way it reacted to his touch ever-so-lightly that truly intrigued him.

In-ho was playing a game, yet felt like a player himself. And for once, the stakes truly were high – there was no protection for him here. He knowingly put something on the line, something in those chips, in those cards sprawled on the table, and unsure of its gravity, he was mindfully reaching for currents knowing they'd slip through his fingers.

Patience, he mused.

Patience, creating a refuge in No Man’s Land, a small dugout barely concealing you, but it was patience and serenity in a moment where you should be panicking and begging. His mind wandered to the moment you fell against him, alone in the room, utterly his to do with as he pleases.

And you looked…serene.

The back of your head fell softly against his hand, and he guided it to his chest. Letting go of the needle, he held you in both his gloved hands – realising how delicate and how tender your features are against his. How utterly his you are right now, how much control he exudes. Slowly those wrinkles of concern disappeared from your forehead, and he rested your head under his chin as his hands almost unwittingly caressed your head through your hair, which fell upon his chest like a cascading river. As you drifted away, you smiled, and he knew his words reached you in the darkness. Smiling, delicate, utterly his.

༻❁༺

In-ho walks through the scenes of you, his mind a current of many rivers traversing and flowing their waters into one undiscernible, all-permeating flood. It’s not confusion, it’s not desire, it’s not nothing, it’s not everything and yet…

“Her kind, not-named sir…” he whispers to himself.

When he saw your body, laying there, helpless…one river, clear and slow, pure and trickling patiently, brought with it slight worry, a twinge of doubt, even...an odd sense of compassion. Almost as if he were doing something…wrong and kicking up mud in such translucent waters.

Perhaps it was the white blanket, the way your hair rested on the pillow, the way your pallor reflected the harsh blue light above you – it felt like a desecration.

In-ho’s mind attempted to bring up his dream, but he firmly pushed it back. His eyes darted to your stomach, though he tried to tell himself it was merely interest. He already gave you such kindness, such benevolence; interest should be the least of his transgressions. Trailing dark eyes down the convex dip between your pelvic bone, the small mound of your stomach and up your ribs, all draped in white, his cold gaze stopped at your face.

That beautiful, peaceful face…In-ho’s thoughts entered his mind before he could dismiss them as he had his dreams. You could have been dreaming yourself, he thought, the dose he gave you was too strong.

Dreaming of him. Perhaps. Dreaming of something where nothing hurt. In-ho's eyes momentarily softened as he recalled the feeling of your hair falling against his chest.

The way you let him hold you as your consciousness slipped from your delicate fingertips, the way you trusted him even as he administered the very thing that laid you bare before him, at his mercy. You trusted and smiled up at him. Not naïveté. Not quite abandon. As if you forgave the river, accepted your fate, and let the current carry you on, understanding the full consequence of cruelty and indifference…yet beauty and tranquillity…of the pull.

Did In-ho wish you to rest? Truly? Or was it a wish to violate you further without consequence.

The other river, dark, deep, carrying things that tear flesh and stone alike apart without care nor sound shared its waters with his mind. A gloved hand cupping that face and seeing nought but fear and cold realisation in those eyes. Giving you a glint of hope and throwing it in the depths, with you to follow. To take you, hollow you out with his own desire and momentary need, and cast you away empty and cracked. The same as the others. A body on the pile.

Or was it a simple tool for observation to examine without disturbing the scene.

Examine and change the past. By using an unassuming, naïve nothing that can't live in the present.

In-ho stepped closer. Too many rivers. The more he tried to clean his mind in the dark depths of depravity, the more your tender, vulnerable, yet serene form pulled him out and firmly pushed his head into clearer waters. Another was flowing behind him, he barely noticed, tried not to notice – for every river of forgetting is a river of remembrance. His own life, before all this. A woman still and beautiful, draped in white. Head uncovered. Head uncovered.

He wondered if you could hear him, know of his presence.

In-ho quietly searched your skin and your body for signals, your chest for soft lifting with rhythmic breath, your lips, for quivering and blood circling their red lines, for eyes twitching at the change of air. The way your lashes almost unnoticeably stirred each time your heart sent life through your body, like tiny flower stems in the breeze.

Perhaps by accident, perhaps after reading too much about you, he remembered a sentence from the book he bestowed upon you, knowing you carry the poems in your heart. Nothing but a poem by a soldier telling his loved one stuck in the same hell to please not sleep in such a position, pulling at In-ho to wish to shake your shoulder and hear you gasp.

You are too young to fall asleep forever, And when you sleep, you remind me of the dead.

Though guarded, frozen, In-ho told himself, to keep away the rot, his heart was pumping. Warmth began to twitch in his fingertips as he stepped closer. A pull from your still, innocently dreaming form.

Examination, nothing more.

Your skin reacted to him, even if you had no power nor idea in his mind. Your skin touched his just as he touched you, and it felt like the most natural state of being while the curiosity of sensing something entirely novel held his interest.

In-ho quite simply did not wish to let you go, and he himself could not decipher why – leading him to allow something he would never forgive, never permit, never even think to partake in himself: he loosened his self-control and let the river, no matter which, swallow him whole. A small universe with a serene girl, her delicate form, their shared touch, clandestine and safe to dissolve with.

When your lips parted, he noticed. He noticed the tender curve and the sharp intake of a tiny, almost unnoticeable breath – and his entire hand tensed down to his shoulder. That face. So very close, every feature resting before him.

Tender, supple, inviting lips, a tiny opening, a small signal for him – and only for him. You were reacting to him. You were aware of him. You were giving yourself to him.

Inviting him.

When In-ho let his warmth rest upon your neck, his hand such a sharp contrast to your pallor and softness, exacerbated by the length and fragility of your neck, he almost did not pull away. The gentle thump against his palm, against the roughness of his own skin, the utter control he had over your body and mind in that moment.

As intoxicating as it was sacred, he blinked slowly and forced his arm to move down, down…curling those fingers as if threading your fleeting warmth, his own body so close to yours he could feel you.

He heard your fast, steady breaths and listened for them, In-ho’s own shallow breathing losing itself in you. He noticed the shiver each time you reacted to him. Your skin begging him to remain, your warmth circling to his touch.

Hwang In-ho, in a state of almost mesmerised calm, beaten at with desire and need to both protect and desecrate; to remain far yet be one with you, gripped the corner of the blanket resting beside your hand.

And pulled.

Before the stark shiver and rough intake of breath broke the illusion, In-ho was left at the mercy of your beautiful, level shoulders, the full extent of your neck and collarbones guiding his eyes along their fully exposed length, the gentleness of pale flesh contrasting those petite yet infinitely resilient blue highways running through and circling your nape, your sternum, precisely delineating your throat as if to guide and protect, yet circling and branching under his gaze as if to underline your resolute fragility.

In-ho followed their course running along your ribs, the sharp downturn below them, down, down – the very top of your chest pulsating with new breath, controlled struggle, suffocating need, all his doing – all his--- In-ho’s eyes unwittingly drew down to your breasts, now half uncovered, and drank in the softness and electricity circling their supple pink contrast.

Quivering under him.

Just as the river pulled him under, he caught an errant branch and lifted above the feeling. He sharply retracted his arm, and placed his other directly to his side, straightening to his full height above you.

Tender flower, tender flower…needn’t be picked half wilted.

But your image remained with him, you walked with him as he took in your friend, it walked along his side when he lifted his arm to open a door, your skin still directly upon his. Your scent, your shiver, your presence never left him. Perhaps that is why nought but fire caught his mind when hearing your friend speak.

No longer only insolence, but a feeling In-ho decided to call discontent clouded the entire room. A very kind euphemism for the darkness enveloping his mind as he looked at the unassuming young man heaping praises and sweet nonsense at you.

Shielding you from him.

Taking away the sanctity In-ho had momentarily built with you and allowed to blossom in the millimetres between your bodies, your skin, to fill your head and mind with frivolous, cheap, pathetic babbling.

All he needed here was access to you and the fooling of your close circles, but in that moment, he knew all it would take was a gesture of his gloved hand. Watching the back of your friend’s head, his unassuming golden hair threatening to brush you, In-ho almost threw the game away.

Whether for the words or the touch, he was furious – at his own reaction to you, but that anger adequately transferred to a young man obviously caring too much for you, too much for mere friendship.

In-ho knew enough about him, he studied you after all, but from your messages, from your correspondence to other people, from watching you…no, he is nothing, nothing of a threat. The young man is a means to an end, and In-ho can take care of him later. Yet the fire enveloping his heart did nothing but let the frost ossify it in place.

That little place in your arm where you couldn’t quite see. That little place with a small opening, a little plastic cannula nested in you, would need another strong dose of something else. Something to keep you…docile yet…his.

Of your own free will.

117 notes · View notes

badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Note

Hello how are uuu👾,I heard ur requests were open!💜

May I please request Hwang In-ho x player! fem reader who is really affectionate (not sexually tho) like a fluffy affectionate bunny rabbit,has pigtails and always says I love you a ton!,like we need some fluffy and sweetness for our frontman as we had too much smut already💜👾

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟎𝟏 | hwang in-ho (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | emotional distress and vulnerability, violence and intense situations, psychological themes and manipulation

word count | 0.8 k

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

The atmosphere of the game was suffocating, a place where hopelessness and fear weighed in the air like an impossible-to-remove blanket. But you were different. Where others saw the end, you found reasons to smile. Where others felt fear, you radiated a contagious tenderness.

Your two pigtails bounced with every step, and your eyes shone even in the darkest corners of the shared dormitory. No one understood how you could keep that sweet spirit in a place like this, but they didn’t try to stop you either.

" I love you!" you exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing imaginary hearts with your hands. Sometimes you said it to other players, sometimes to the soldiers, and even to the air.

But, above all, you said it to him.

" I love you, player 001!"

The first time you said it, most didn’t even bother to react, accustomed to your constant displays of affection. But you noticed. You saw how he, the older man with the serene smile, slightly raised his gaze toward you. He didn’t say anything, but that small gesture was enough for you to try again the next day.

" I love you, player 001!"

And the next.

" I love you, player 001!"

You didn’t expect him to reply, but every time you said it, there was a slight blink in his eyes, a barely noticeable curve in his lips, almost imperceptible, but present.

The games continued, cruel and relentless. There were days when you felt you couldn’t smile anymore, but then you would see him. Always calm, always watching, as if he knew something that others didn’t.

One night, while everyone slept, you approached him with light steps. He was sitting on his bed, awake, staring at the ceiling.

" Can’t sleep, player 001?" you whispered.

He slowly turned his head, surprised to see you there.

" Not much, little one." His voice was soft, almost fatherly.

Without asking for permission, you sat beside him, hugging your knees.

" When I can’t sleep, I like to count the things I love." You smiled sweetly. " Like... I love you, player 001!"

He let out a soft laugh. It was the first time you heard him laugh.

" Do you always say that?"

" Of course. Everyone needs to hear that they are loved, don’t you think?"

He watched you in silence for a long moment. There was no judgment in his eyes, only curiosity.

" It’s been a long time since I’ve heard something like that."

" Well, you’ll have to get used to it! Because I’ll tell you every day," you said with a mischievous smile.

Over time, you noticed how he began to care for you in small ways. He would offer you his extra portion of food without you asking. He would walk beside you during the games, making sure you were safe. And, though he didn’t say it, his presence became a refuge for you.

In one of the toughest rounds, you almost fell while running, but a firm hand caught you.

" Not so fast, little one," he murmured, helping you stay on your feet.

Your heart beat hard, but not from fear.

" I love you, player 001!" you told him, and he smiled tenderly.

The scariest night was when the lights went out, and everyone started attacking each other. You hid under a bunk, hugging yourself, trying not to cry. But then, footsteps approached.

" Come out." You recognized his voice instantly.

" But... I’m scared..."

" I’m here. No one will hurt you."

Carefully, you came out and hugged him without thinking. His body was stiff at first, but then you felt one of his hands gently stroke your hair.

" You’re shaking," you murmured. " Are you scared?"

" No, I just... don’t want to see you hurt."

Your eyes filled with tears.

" I love you, player 001!"

He sighed, and for the first time, his words surprised you.

" I love you too, little one."

It was a whisper so low that you almost thought it was a dream. But that night, you slept in his arms, feeling safe for the first time since you entered the game.

Over time, everyone started noticing his softness toward you. No one understood how someone so serious, so mysterious, could tolerate the girl with pigtails who never stopped saying "I love you."

But you knew the truth. Beneath all his calm and coldness, there was someone who also needed affection. And every time you looked at him, with your eyes shining and your contagious smile, he felt it.

" Hey..." he said one time while you shared a piece of bread.

" Yes?"

" You didn’t tell me anything today."

" Nothing?" you asked, confused.

" You know... that thing you always say."

You chuckled.

" I love you, player 001!"

And he, with that small smile he reserved only for you, replied softly:

" I love you too, little one."

159 notes · View notes

badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

Text

Mistress

Pairing: Lee Byung Hun x Fem!Reader

Summary: No matter how many times you tried to distance yourself from him, you always ended up succumbing to the intensity of his touches and words.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (late-20s/50s), unsafe sex, infidelity

Word count: 1.9 k

a/n: It's my first time posting here, and English isn't my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.

The thumping music pulsed through the air, blending with laughter and lively conversation. The Squid Game 2 wrap party was at its peak—a well-earned celebration after months of hard work. You glanced around, awed by how far you had come. Being part of such a massive project had been an incredible opportunity, filled with unforgettable experiences and people… and one of them, one you should never have allowed, was the reason you had hesitated to come tonight.

Across the room, among the sea of familiar faces, you spotted Wi Ha-Joon approaching with his signature ear-to-ear grin. His contagious energy made you smile instinctively.

“Hey, beautiful. Glad to see you’re having fun,” he said before taking a sip of his drink.

“I wasn’t planning on coming, actually,” you admitted, holding your glass. You weren’t a big fan of these kinds of events, but alcohol certainly helped loosen you up.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“I guess I needed a distraction,” you shrugged.

Ha-Joon chuckled, raising his glass in a toast before continuing the conversation. A few drinks later, his proximity became more evident. You couldn’t deny how attractive he was—tall, strong, and completely shameless in his flirting. His hand rested subtly on your waist as you danced, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I need to use the restroom,” you said with a smile after a few minutes.

“I’ll be here,” he nodded, watching as you walked away.

You made your way toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, but just before turning the corner, a strong hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back with firm determination.

“What the f—?” The air caught in your throat when you recognized him. Lee Byung Hun. Damn it. You hadn’t even noticed he was at the party.

He dragged you into a dimly lit storage room, shutting the door behind him. Your heart pounded against your chest as you met his gaze—tense, irritated, and brimming with jealousy.

“I see you’ve been having fun,” he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes burned with resentment. “Is that idiot the reason you left me?”

Anger bubbled within you instantly. What right did he have to question you?

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped, yanking your arm free from his grip.

“So, you’re not denying it,” he continued, his jaw clenching.

“You know exactly why we couldn’t keep doing… this,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitterness.

“You can’t do this to me… I need you,” he blurted suddenly, desperation creeping into his tone.

Something in his expression cracked. He had spent the entire night watching you, seeing you laugh with another man, move so freely, so happily—something that had never been allowed when you were together in public.

“You can’t say that…” you whispered, lowering your gaze to his hand, where the ring on his finger gleamed under the dim light. “At the end of the night, you’ll go back to her.”

Your eyes burned, tears threatening to spill.

“You knew what this was from the start,” he tried to justify, in the worst way possible.

“I don’t need you to remind me,” your voice trembled, the ache in your chest deepening. It was true. You had known. From the very beginning. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Byung Hun exhaled sharply and stepped closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek—his tenderness a stark contrast to the storm in his gaze.

“I know you don’t want this to end like this…” he murmured, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

Your breath hitched as he moved even closer, his warmth enveloping you entirely. His scent, his presence—everything about him disarmed you with terrifying ease.

“Don’t make this harder…” you pleaded in a whisper, but even you didn’t believe your own words.

Time seemed to slow as his lips brushed against yours—soft, hesitant, offering one last warning, one last chance to stop him. But just like the first time, you didn’t.

His gentle, slow kisses quickly turned urgent, pressing you against the wall as his hands roamed your body with desperate need. His tongue parted your lips, stealing your breath and any coherent thought.

“Fuck…” he groaned against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, lower, marking you as his. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, and without hesitation, he slid it down, letting the fabric pool at your feet.

“Byung Hun…” you sighed as his lips traced the curve of your collarbone, his tongue leaving a blazing path toward your chest. Your fingers gripped his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He caught your silent plea, discarding his shirt and allowing you to admire the sculpted lines of his body. His large hands explored every inch of your body hungrily, skilled fingers slipping between your thighs, drawing a ragged moan from your lips.

“Look at what you do to me…” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed himself against you through his clothes. The hardness of his arousal was undeniable, and the heat of his body ignited every fiber of your being.

His firm hands guided you toward what seemed like a wooden table. You braced yourself against it, feeling his body settle between your legs.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered without you…” he murmured against your neck, leaving a trail of fervent kisses. His voice, thick with longing, made you tremble.

A gasp escaped your lips as two of his fingers slid inside you—wet, expert, touching that spot he knew so well. His movements were slow, torturously precise. In and out, twisting, exploring. Then, with his thumb, he rubbed delicate circles over your most sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“He’ll never have you like this,” he said with pride, enthralled by your sweet moans and the wetness dripping down his fingers.

You could barely process his words, your mind clouded by pleasure. You just wanted more. When you felt yourself reaching the edge, your body moved instinctively, desperately seeking release.

Finally, it hit you—your climax crashing over you as his name spilled from your lips, your body trembling against him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured with a dark smile, lowering his zipper. With both hands, he pushed down his pants and boxers, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, glistening with need.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around your throat with gentle firmness.

But you’re not mine, you wanted to say, but desire drowned out your thoughts. You only nodded, biting your lip.

Without another word, he thrust into you in one swift motion, a shared moan filling the room. His strokes were deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. The music from the party felt distant, drowned out by the sound of your mingled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“Shit…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him. “That’s it, princess… come for me.”

His raspy moans were your undoing. His mouth found yours, swallowing your cry as ecstasy overtook you. Seconds later, with a few erratic thrusts, he spilled into you, holding you close as your ragged breaths intertwined.

He rested his forehead against yours, still buried inside you.

“I love you,” he whispered, breathless.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it in these moments. You had tried to convince yourself not to take it seriously, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing it was true.

He noticed the shift in your expression. You looked hurt. He had spent weeks thinking about you, regretting all the times he had made you cry. And yet, here you were again.

"Listen to me..." He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve fucked up. With you, with my wife, with myself. You have every right to hate me."

He paused, studying your face. When you didn’t respond, he continued.

"I'm afraid of what will happen if this gets out. Of what they'll say about you, about me, about us. I'm afraid of hurting the mother of my children… but I'm also afraid of losing you."

You parted your lips to argue, but he stopped you.

"Please, let me finish." He knew you too well. He knew you were about to interrupt him.

"I know I'm selfish, irresponsible… but I want to make things right this time. I can’t lose you."

"What makes you think I even want to give you another chance?" you cut in, frowning.

He let out a wry smile.

"If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here like this, beautiful." You couldn't fool him. Not him, and not yourself.

"What exactly are you proposing?" You tried to sound cold. You tried. And you failed.

He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on your thigh.

"Give me a month. One month to talk to her, to start the process. I'm getting a divorce."

You looked at him in disbelief.

"I could give you a week, a month, or a year, and I still wouldn’t believe that," you admitted. You knew this was the usual lie a married man told to keep his mistress around. Mistress. The word made your stomach turn.

He sighed before finally pulling out of you, knowing you wouldn’t be easy to convince. A quiet gasp escaped your lips. He fixed his pants while you tried to steady your breathing and your thoughts. From his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and returned to you, wiping you gently.

You both dressed in complete silence. He zipped up your dress, and you helped him wipe away the lipstick you had left on his lips and part of his face.

"I know you don’t believe me," he said, holding your waist before you could step away. "But tonight, I’m talking to her."

You were about to tell him it was best to end this, but he shocked you by dropping to his knees and taking your hands in his.

"Please, trust me. I won’t fail you this time." His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes shining, on the verge of tears. You had never seen him like this.

Your emotions betrayed you. You found yourself nodding, even as every rational part of your mind screamed at you to walk away. But he was there, kneeling before you, looking at you with a mixture of vulnerability and determination that made you tremble.

As you stepped out, you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone familiar, but as if fate itself found the situation amusing, you crossed paths with Ha-Joon. The young man’s gaze flickered between the two of you before settling on you, his eyes filled with disappointment. He didn’t need to ask what had just happened—he already knew. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He only held your gaze for an agonizing few seconds before turning on his heel and walking away.

Byung Hun, standing beside you, straightened with an air of victory. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as he watched the younger man’s retreating figure. His hand slid down the curve of your hip before gripping your waist possessively, as if staking his claim.

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