#jun imagines

The door creaks open late at night, and you hear the familiar jingle of Jun's keys as he tries to be quiet. You've been waiting for this moment for weeks: his tour with SEVENTEEN kept him away longer than expected, and the video calls weren't enough. Your daughter, little Mei (who just turned four), has been asking about "Papa" every day, her big eyes lighting up whenever his face appeared on the screen. But now, he's here.

You sit up in bed, heart racing, as he enters the room. Jun looks exhausted—with his hair tousled from the trip and his eyes heavy with jet lag—but as soon as he sees you, a soft smile spreads across his face. He drops his bag quietly and crosses the room in a few steps, pulling you into a tight hug before you can even speak.

-I've missed you so much-, he whispers, his voice rough from fatigue but warm with relief. His arms wrap around you as if he never wants to let go, and you melt into him, breathing in his familiar scent mixed with the faint trace of airplane air.

-I've missed you too, Jun- you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him. -Mei has been counting the days. Today she drew you a picture, something about 'Papa fighting dragons on stage'.

He laughs softly, his eyes crinkling in that way that always makes your heart race.

-Dragons, huh? Sounds perfect for our concerts-. He glances toward the hallway, where Mei's room is. -Is she asleep? I want to see her.

You nod, taking his hand and leading him quietly down the hallway. The nightlight in her room casts a soft glow, illuminating her small body curled up under the blankets, clutching her favorite stuffed animal (the one Jun bought her on his last trip). He kneels beside the bed, his expression softening as he gently brushes a strand of hair from her face.

-Hello, princess-, he whispers, careful not to wake her. -Papa's home now. I promise to make up for all the bedtime stories you missed-. He leans in to kiss her forehead, lingering for a moment, and you can see the guilt in his eyes: the weight of being away for so long.

As you both return to your room, he pulls you close again, this time on the bed.

-I'm sorry I was gone-, he says, tracing circles on your back with his hand. -The schedule was brutal: rehearsals, performances, flights... I hated every second without you two.

You cup his face in your hands, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

-We know, Jun. You're doing what you love, and Mei is so proud of you. She tells everyone at preschool that her dad is a superhero who sings to the world-. You lean in, giving him a soft kiss on the lips, and he responds with a sigh, deepening it just enough to show how much he's craved it.

When you pull away, he's smiling again, but there's a spark in his eyes.

-You have no idea how many times I dreamed about this: coming home to my two girls-. He shifts, sitting you on his lap as you both settle under the covers. -Tell me everything I missed. Did Mei learn any new words? Did you finally fix that leaky faucet?

You laugh, recounting the little moments: Mei's first attempt at baking cookies (a disastrous success), her obsession with drawing cats like the one from his group's merch, and how you've been handling the house alone. He listens attentively, his hands never leaving you—rubbing your arms, playing with your hair—as if he fears you'll disappear if he lets go.

Eventually, the conversation fades into comfortable silence, and he nuzzles into your neck.

-I love you-, he murmurs. -Both of you. Next time, if I can, I'll take you on tour.

Before you can respond, soft footsteps are heard in the hallway. Mei appears in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, dragging her stuffed cat.

-Papa?-, she mumbles, her voice sleepy but excited.

Jun's face lights up like the sun.

-Mei! Come here, my girl- He picks her up and lays her on the bed, between you. She laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he covers her with kisses. -Did you miss me? I missed you more than all the stars!

You watch them with your heart swelling, as Mei talks about her drawings and how she "saved" you from a spider the other day. Jun plays along, gasping dramatically and praising her bravery. Soon, she's nestled between you both, her eyelids drooping as he hums a lullaby—one of SEVENTEEN's softer songs.

As she falls asleep, Jun looks into your eyes over her head, his gaze full of love and promise.

-This is all I need-, he whispers. -Thank you for waiting for me.

You smile, intertwining your fingers with his.

-Always-. And as the three of you cuddle, the world feels right again: no tours or schedules, just your little family, finally reunited.

He glances you over once more. His initial assessment must have been wrong -- you could not have summoned him. It took more than a simple murmur of prayer to summon one of the higher gods.

You'd need an offering, preferably one the god would want, and gods tended to keep their urges held close to the chest. It would not do if the humans knew what best to bribe a god with.

The only offering on the temple's small table is a plump, ripe persimmon.

You'd need to spend your energy, too. Summoning a high god took a great deal from the soul, as it tied -- however momentarily -- a human's soul to one from a distant, eternal plane beyond their small world's understanding. The tie was what pulled the gods from their planes, and it was as exhausting as hauling a ship's anchor by hand.

You look perfectly fine, as if Junhui's soul was just a bubble in the ocean, already floating to the surface when it was tied to yours.

But on that note, the most basic need for summoning a god is a soul.

And you don't have one.

Junhui allows his eyes to wander the open air temple. Surely his summoner must have collapsed somewhere, and you are only in front of Junhui because you are a strange, soulless opportunist.

"It's just me," you say, and Junhui's gaze snaps back at the indignant lilt of your voice. Your jaw clenches at the stern furrow of his brow. "Just me, oh God of the Water."

Though you've shifted to addressing him formally, there's still something to you that makes Junhui cross his arms. "And you are?"

Your expression falters. "You don't know?"

"I don't make it my business to know about every little land creature." Though you are starting to poke at his curiosity. A sigh escapes you when he asks again, "Who are you?"

"No one, as far as I've always thought." You stand to your feet, ignoring the way Junhui clicks his teeth at the action. "No one to a high god, at least."

He nods. "That's certain. How did you summon me?"

Shrugging, you gesture vaguely to the offerings table, where a rectangular dish of seawater sits in front of that meagre persimmon. Your left hand is still wet from where you must have had it dipped in the water. "I searched for you, and I found you."

"That's not possible."

You frown. "Well, you're here, aren't you?"

He can't deny that, but he can't wrap his head around it, either. Searching the water was what he did to comb through the future, it was how the other gods would try to find him when they need to gather for council, to only some success. Whoever taught you this method of finding him is privy to ancient, sacred knowledge. Even then, finding him in the water is one thing. Pulling him by the soul to stand in front of you is another thing entirely.

"Oh God of the Water," you draw Junhui's attention back somehow. Despite your lack of soul, there is a certain... tug to you. "I've summoned you because I am cursed."

"Your missing soul."

"So you do know." You cross your arms in a mirror of him, and the sight is almost amusing. "I've been unable to feel the warmer range of emotions for some time now. I tried to live with it, but now I'm engaged."

Tug.

Junhui's soul seems to grumble in his chest. Uncomfortable, he rubs over the area and speaks so you won't notice anything amiss. "Unable to feel, and yet you're to be married?"

You shrug again. Absent of warm feelings, indeed. "I've hardly met the man. It's all been arranged by our families."

"If it's an arrangement, then I see no need for the... warmer range of emotions, as you put it. Why would you need a soul for that?"

Brows furrowing, you seem to mull over your response. After a moment, you look up and say, "I want it. I want to love."

Tug.

It must be the chill of the drafty seaside temple. Junhui hasn't had a cold since, well, forever, but there must be something in the air. He clears his throat. This is not how Wen Junhui of the Water should be seen by any human, much less the unfeeling one in front of him.

"So I've summoned you here to help me. I need you to break the curse."

There it is. Junhui scoffs, ease flooding back through his veins because yes, you are just another demanding, shortsighted human. "And what gave you the idea that I would do that for you?"

"I summoned you, and you're here."

"Hah." It's sound logic, he realizes, but he can't let this inanity continue. He takes a step forward, where you straighten your shoulders at his approach. "I don't know what brought me here, human, and I certainly don't know who told you I could find your soul--" He pokes his finger into your sternum. You don't flinch. "--but know this." Stepping back, he absently waves his hand, making the water on the floor gather in a rising ring around his feet. "Only gods can cast spells of the soul, and only the god who uttered the spell can make it undone. Figure out which god took your soul, bother them at their temple instead, and pray they are as patient with you as I was."

With a flick of his wrist, the glistening water whirls around him, pulling him through the floor and back to the cool, bright embrace of his waters...

...just as his soul nearly tugs out of his chest, and you yell out, "Wait!"

You tumble through the waters with him, and in his wide-eyed panic, he pulls you close by your forearms. The cold must shock you; your eyes are screwed shut, so you can't see what he sees.

A shimmering silver string floats in the waters that surround you and Junhui, swirling about your bodies like a parade of fish. It stems from his chest, and although unseen, he feels the end of it wrapped around his soul several times over. Frozen, he can only stare at the way your hand hosts the other end of brilliant silver, the string wrapped in a dainty little bow around your pinky finger.

After a world-upending half of a minute, you seem to realize that in Junhui's waters, you can breathe just as well as you can on earth. Your eyes open warily, but as soon as you see Junhui's shocked face, you become deadly serious. Both of your hands move to his shoulders, clamping on as if he could've escaped before you got your hold on him.

"I know who took my soul, and I know who has to give it back."

He can only open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. His hands drift down to your elbows, and then, beyond his control, to your waist.

"You don't remember me," you continue, hands so, so wonderfully warm, "and I don't remember much of anything, but my curse is yours, Wen Junhui of the Water."

He looks into your eyes then, seeing nothing of your future at all.

You were not supposed to feel overwhelmed at home.

But ever since the day you had moved into the old apartment building, that's how it was.

The groaning floorboards when it was just you. Your underwear vanishing in the hamper. That little depression in the mattress at night as if an additional person was slumbering next to you.

First, you blamed fatigue. Stress. Anything but the truth.

But tonight? There was no debate.

The steam of the shower remained about you, towel draped loosely over your damp skin, when the warm touch rubbed along the hip—fingers, real and intentional. You froze.

Then you heard it. A low hum, smooth and satisfied.

"Mmm… softer than I had thought."

Your heart was racing in your ears as you turned. Only fog, mirror smeared with condensation.

But there was something. An outline standing by the wall. Male. Tall. Smiling.

As the steam thinned he took a step forward, and your lungs forgot how they worked.

He was handsome in an almost cruel way. Soft black hair, sharp cheekbones, pursed lips set in the smuggest grin you ever saw. He was long-limbed and lean, dressed in an open-throated white shirt that glimmered subtly, as if it wasn't quite of this world.

And his eyes—in hungry, lazy darkness—pulled the length of your towel-wrapped body down.

"You-." Your throat was parched. "You're real?

He smiled, the voice deep and without remorse. "I've been around longer than you, sweetheart. You just couldn't see me before."

Your feet staggered backward until you bumped into the counter. "You're a ghost."

“Mm. You're a terrible little tenant," he said, propelling himself off the wall using that slow, feral elegance. "Walking around half-naked, groaning in bed as if nobody can hear. Do you know what it does to me?"

Heat coursed through your spine at his words, shame and desire knotting unsavorily. "You—you've been spying on me?"

Jun smiled without guilt. "Every night. Masturbating under the covers, sobbing into the pillow as if you crave people's sympathy."

You stumbled backward once more, hand reaching for your towel, face on fire. "Wh-who… who are you?"

His smile spread, sinister and perilous. "I should have made the introduction. I'm Jun." His eyes blackened, voice heavy with desire. "And now you know my name… I think it's time for you to learn what I do to entertain the likes of you."

Your heart thudded as he floated near. You could feel him, warm and substantial, even when he wasn't completely solid. His hands swept past your sides, then your legs, teasing but not touching for a heartbeat—before the impossible occurred.

“Say yes,” he whispered, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Say I can touch you.”

Your lips trembled. “…Yes.”

The smirk that spread across his face was downright wicked.

And then—hands. Warm, hard, and real, sliding down your thighs, prying you open. His mouth closed over your nipple, sucking hard and leaving little kisses of flame. You writhed, jerking back sharply, one hand grasping at thin air where his hair should've been.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” Jun groaned. His fingers pressed against your wetness, curling inside you, teasing your entrance. “So ready for me, already… my perfect little toy.”

"J-Jun—" you exclaimed in surprise, writhing involuntarily.

You enjoy it, don't you?" His laughter was rough, sinful, resonating in your chest. "Knowing I've had an appetite for you, desired you, all the time you've been living under my roof… knowing I've been itching to touch you.

His tongue wrapped around your clit, hot and hard, and you shivered helplessly. Each movement of his mouth and hand was precision, unstoppable, making you writhe.

"Come for me, baby," he groaned. "Come on my fingers. Come for your resident specter."

Your body writhed rigidly, legs trembling, hips bucking as jolts of delight rippled through you. Jun's fingers stretched you wide apart, his mouth pumping you deeper, forcing you to scream his name for the first time.

“FUCK—”

It was a contented groan as he yanked you hard against himself when you came hard, shuddering and dripping all around his fingers.

As you finally leaned back on the counter, shaking and winded, Jun towered over you, grinning nastily.

"This," he whispered, his mouth gliding along the shell of your ear, "is only the beginning. Tomorrow night, I'll demonstrate just how much of a ghost I am."

The second night, you didn't sleep. You couldn't. Feeling his hands, his mouth, the way he had made you call his name over and over. It branded itself onto your skin.

By the time you had woken up, you could feel it again—that indubitable sensation of something bearing down on you.

"Mornin', honey,"Jun whispered, his voice wrapping you in silk and fire.

You turned but the room was not there—or so it seemed.

"Come on," he whispered, nearly right inside your brain. "You know I'm here."

And then he was there—standing in your bedroom, his body half-solid, edges of him translucent but his cock hard as rock, obvious as it strained at the sheets.

You've been thinking about me," he whispered, his eyes black and illicit. "About what I've done to you. About what I'm going to do tonight.

Heat accumulated between your knees, and the sheets bunched up in your hands. "Y-yes." you admitted, shivering.

Jun smiled, crouching. "Good girl."

He drifted closer, hand ghosting across your hip before sinking between your thighs. Even though part of him was insubstantial, his touch felt impossibly real, precise, and needy. He spread you open, teasing your clit with two fingers, making you whimper.

"God, you're so wet for me," he moaned. "So eager… so perfect."

Your body jerked uncontrollably. "Jun—”

“Say it like you mean it,” he growled, fingers pressing inside you, curling just right to make you jerk.

"I-I'm yours, Jun…" you exclaimed.

The smirk on his lips widened. He pressed against you fully, cock hard, brushing your entrance. “Mm, that’s what I want. Tonight, I’m going to take all of you. Every inch.”

Before you could react, he solidified further, weight pressing against you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip. His cock slid inside with a slick, wet heat that made you cry out.

"FUCK…" he gritted out, ramming into you. "You feel so perfect, so tight. I could just stay inside you forever."

He fucked you slowly at first so you could get accustomed to the way it felt, but not much later his rhythm was brutal, merciless. His wings—also now fully developed—surrounded the bed, their feathers stroking at your skin as they constrained you.

You can't get away from me," whispered Jun in your ear. "You can't hide. You're mine. All of the thoughts, all of the groans. mine.

You arched, crying out, hands clutching at his translucent shoulders as he hit spots you didn’t even know existed. Every thrust sent shivers through you, every groan from him pressing you closer to the edge.

"Yes," he whispered, voice gruff and raspy. "You enjoy that don't you? Being taken by a spirit. Being utilized… by me"

Your walls held him tightly in place. "Yes! Oh my god… yes!"

Jun's fingers played on your clit, round and round, stroking, as he hammered you harder, deeper, his blows relentless. "Come," he commanded. "Come on my cock. Come on my fingers. Tell me who you belong to."

Your orgasm hit as forcefully as a tidal wave, body twisting around him, mouth open in a scream as the walls rang out. He followed hard upon it, shooting deep within you, his groan as he rode through his orgasm.

But he wasn’t done. Jun shifted, pressing you against the headboard, sliding into you from behind this time, ghostly hands pinning your wrists above your head. He fucked you in new angles, teasing your backdoor, smearing himself inside you, making your body melt around him.

"You are mine," he whispered in the ear, his mouth kissing it, his teeth roughening the shell. "Every inch of you. And every inch is perfect."

You wailed, legs shaking, hips writhing helplessly. His ghostly shape glided above you, hands and mouth propelling you deeper, making stars appear before your eyes, making you howl, shriek for him repeatedly. Once it was finally finished, you lay spread across the bed, gasping, dripping, and completely destroyed. Jun towered over you, scowl easing into something nearly gentle as he rubbed an imperceptible thumb over the side of your cheek. You're mine," he whispered. "All of you. Every night, every thought, every moan." mine. And you knew it was true. He had claimed you entirely, and there was no escape.

This is supposed to be a quick and collected conversation. A small talk over dinner of sorts. And yet, it has transformed into this — a heated mess.

"I no longer love you." The words, small as they are, burn your throat as they pass through. Your throat constricts halfway, but you insist to finish what you started.

You met Wen Junhui back when you both were still children and still clung onto your respective guardians. Your first meeting had been nothing but meek exchanges of "hello"’s paired with promptly hiding behind the adult figures you came with. You thought nothing of him besides identifying him as your godmother’s son.

Your second meeting had been everything. For a reason you could no longer remember, you injured yourself days prior, which restricted you from participating in physical play with the other children in attendance. Junhui appeared next to you before you could lament at the fact, hand extended to offer you a flower ring.

"Do you not like it?" He inquired when you seemingly reacted too slow for his liking. His arm remained stretched out even when his head soon tilted in confusion. "That’s strange. Mama said pretty people like flowers."

You didn’t understand why he was giving it to you, but you accepted the flower ring with a timid "thank you" nonetheless. You and Junhui bonded over crafting jewelries out of his mother’s jungle geraniums that day. You thought everything of him since.

The marriage that ties Jun to you isn’t built on the same foundation as the others that came before. Rather, it’s built on convenience . . . and unreciprocated love.

"‘Love’?" Junhui echoes in an unexplainable hybrid of a disbelieved scoff and a stunned disgust. His neutral facial expression barely borders cold, but it hardly matters — especially when his voice is enough to convey his feelings. "You want a divorce for such an insignificant reason?"

Despite what the current scene paints, you and Junhui are best friends ever since your second meeting all those years ago. When his succession loomed over the horizon, you became the obvious choice to stand beside him. At that time, it was a win for both sides: Jun secures his position with your family’s notable support, you get to spend the rest of your life with the person who owns your heart. At that time, it seemed like the best choice.

And it was— is. You and Jun are great partners. You work well together, bringing forth an unprecedented period of prosperity with majority of public opinion in your favor.

As any other partners, there are some things you two don’t see eye-to-eye with. It just happens that yours is about this.

"I love you, too, [first name]," Jun replied a moment after the silence that followed your slipped confession settled. It was barely a few months after your first wedding anniversary then. "Just not in the way you want me to."

You had known he doesn’t feel the same way for some time now. However, it’s your first time hearing how little he values your affections.

Insignificant. As if it didn’t dictate how you spent your childhood and how serious you took your studies. As if it didn’t motivate you to be the best partner for him; to essentially dedicate your own life to him. As if it didn’t found everything you built together.

Insignificant. As if your feelings mean nothing to him.

"We’re not an ordinary couple." Junhui’s voice, devoid now of any unpleasant undertone, brings you out of your head. "We’re leaders of an empire. We—"

"—House Helledrite will continue supporting the crown." You interrupt without fear. Experience has taught you you’re the only one who can do so without repercussions awaiting, and such a privilege seems appropriate to use at the moment. "You don’t need me—"

You don’t expect him to reciprocate your affections in the same magnitude. You don’t wish for him to — much less need him to. After all, he was your best friend first. You want what’s best for him; what makes him happy. And if it means him choosing someone else to entrust his heart over you? Then so be it.

You just want freedom from this torment now, having endured it for six more years after your first wedding anniversary. It’s about time you seek a different source of happiness for yourself.

"—No!" Junhui’s objection bounces off the dining hall’s ornate walls. It makes you freeze momentarily. He has never raised his voice at you until this very moment. "You can ask anything of me, but I will not agree to a divorce."

That is when you finally completely understood how people find him intimidating. His glared eyes are steel and burning with ice. His jaw is set with firm resolve. His body is still, but postured in such a way that discourages any arguments to his words. He is not the childhood friend you grew to love right now, but the feared emperor of Falthorne.

Frankly, you don’t understand why he’s so against the idea. Your arrangement had been clearly just to secure his position on the throne, and the crown has since sat the stablest on his head amongst his royal ancestors. He has nothing to fear with your proposal. Your divorce will certainly not impact his hold on the throne. And, yet, . . .

You’re wholeheartedly convinced you’re just seeing things but, for a moment there, you could’ve sworn a glint of desperation in his eyes. It can’t actually be there, of course, because you know Jun doesn’t love you. He has made that perfectly clear over the years.

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Your suppressed tiredness from all these years washes over you in a tidal wave. Why can’t he just let you go?

"And cut!" The director calls from his chair before a tear actually escapes. "Great job everyone! Let’s prepare for the next scene!"

You look up the ceiling to force your tears to retract. You’re paid for your tears, figuratively speaking, and it’s best to not waste them. Besides, if you let one escape even accidentally, you know someone—

"You alright?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear, indeed. It’s a bit impressive how he’s already by your side in a flash, when he’s literally on the other end of the long table on the opposite side of the room just a moment ago.

You suppose that’s one of the things that sets him apart from your character’s Jun. While the latter doesn’t even take a second to consider his spouse, your Junhui’s warm eyes are always on you. He worries for you in a magnitude on par with yours for him and your affections are reciprocated in the same way.

"Jun sucks," you opt to bash his character instead of giving a direct reply.

Junhui brings a thumb over to the corner of your left eye, careful not to smudge your makeup as he helps you dry your eyes. "He’s not that bad."

"Easy for you to say," you counter with a slight glare. "You know what he’s thinking. I don’t, because he doesn’t talk to his spouse."

He lets you fume. His years of experience as your best friend has trained him that you often just need to vent to feel better. All he needs to do is lend an ear. And, once everything has been released from your system, a succinct comment is best. As a mere token of proof that he actually listened to whatever came out of your mouth.

"For what it’s worth, I think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

You look at him from the couch inside his trailer, where you made yourself comfortable as soon as you walked in before him. "Why?" You squint your eyes, obviously suspicious. "What does your script say?"

Junhui is quick to respond, "I’m not spoiling it."

"Wen Junhui," you extend the last syllable of his name in a whine. "Tell me."

He chuckles at your antics, "You’ll find out soon enough."

You don’t like that answer, which you made evident by throwing a pillow at him. He catches it with no problem, much to your dismay. "I’m telling Mama you’re being mean to me."

That’s another thing that sets you and Junhui apart from your characters. While you four had very similar beginnings, a ring on your finger didn’t ruin your dynamic. It did change it to an extent, but it’s all for the better.