This Is The Most Jun Thing I've Ever Read - Tumblr Posts

hello my beloved jupiter i would like to peek at the kinkiest jun thots inside ur brain pretty please 🤓

THE SCENT OF YOU

✰ wen junhui x reader ✷ wc is approx 1.5k ✰ warnings: nsfw! salirophilia and olfactophilia (attraction to the state of being dirty; attraction to body odor/scent). ✷ notes: based off of that one thing napoleon allegedly wrote to his wife asking her not to bathe before he came home. thank you mars (@onlymingyus) and junie for helping me w the names of the kinks!!

i.

jun wakes up to the uncomfortable feeling of being terribly warm.

the summer sun blazes through the bedroom windows, peering through the blinds and casting its light. the aircon kicks on in the next room, the box fan -- set on top of a dining room chair jun had dragged into the room -- whirling gently, casting a slight breeze onto jun's face.

he's still unbearably hot.

the two of you had gone to bed at midnight, the temperature dropping considerably compared to what it had been that afternoon. you turned the aircon to the perfect temperature; jun switched on the fan. he tucked the duvet around your figure, giggling alongside you as you wiggled your toes underneath. and then he had ducked underneath the covers, pressing his body to yours and tucking his face into your neck.

naturally, cursedly, time crawled on as the two of you slept and eventually the sun rose into the sky, coloring it a lovely blue. the room had heated up, despite the aircon doing its best, and so jun woke with his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his arms and his mind hazy with heat.

irritated, he throws off the duvet and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. he had stopped cuddling you sometime in the night, and perhaps that is why he's truly pissed.

he checks the temperature outside -- eighty-seven fahrenheit, what the fuck -- and then adjusts the thermostat. the aircon kicks back on, and he stumbles back into the bedroom.

you're frowning at him from the bed, lips in a pout and brow pinched. "why'd you leave?"

jun jumps back into the bed, throwing the duvet back over his figure and latching onto you. "was hot," he explains, and then he's ducking his face to press it against your neck.

his nose nuzzles into the baby hairs at the back of your neck, breathing. his hand settles onto your hip, and then he's sliding his fingers underneath the waistband of your boxers. jun doesn't do anything more, just keeps his fingers against your skin, warm from your body.

he presses his face against you, lips skimming over your warm skin. you're wearing a tank top, and he thinks, faintly, that just like the boxers the tank top is his.

you sigh as his mouth dips to your collar. he presses his lips against your skin, pushing his tongue out and feeling the hard bone hidden beneath.

he moves again. jun presses his face into the valley between your tits, concealed by the tank top. it's hot there, heat radiating off of your tits and trapped beneath the tank top, which in turn was covered by the duvet.

you're hot there, and when jun noses along the gentle curve of one of your tits he can smell you.

it's the smell that comes from sleep and heat. it's a smell that is so inherently, distinctly you. it's the smell of your soul, he thinks, his dick beginning to swell in his boxers and his fingers twitching down down down, until the tips of them are touching the hairs of your cunt.

"junnie," you hum, reaching out and looping an arm around him. he catches a whiff of that gentle scent of sleep and heat, and then he's mouthing at your tits through the fabric and settling his hand against your pussy.

ii.

"i'll be home late," you murmur into your phone. he can hear the noise of the conference through his phone speaker. you had told him, before you left, to prepare for as much; had, optimistically, said that it would be over at four but seungkwan had booked a room with a karaoke machine so you may end up staying longer.

"are you having fun?" jun asks, bracing against the counter with his free hand and glancing over the ingredients he had set out. he'll have to put the pork back into the fridge, package the chopped veggies and hope they'll be as fresh tomorrow. really, though, it's for the best; he's low on egg roll wrappers and doesn't know if he'll have enough for a full meal.

"yeah," you say, and he can hear the smile in your voice. it's like bottled sunshine, the way it seems to settle within him and lighten his soul. "we got free pens."

"holy shit," jun says, and you laugh. eventually, though, you hang up; he can hear seungkwan scolding you for being on your phone during a company conference before you manage to end the call.

jun packs away the veggies and pork, snapping the lids onto the plastic container and stacking them in color order in the fridge.

he throws two packets of ramen on the counter; checks on the rice in the cooker. with thirty minutes left for the rice to be done, he leaves the kitchen and begins wandering about the apartment.

there's a sock in the hall. he swoops down, grabbing it and balling it into his fist. he rounds into the bedroom, and he begins picking up your discarded sleep clothes.

he throws your shirt over the crook of his arm — it once belonged to choi seungcheol, but the man had left it in jun's gym bag when he borrowed it once and so it had been put into rotation as a sleep shirt for the both of you. you wore your own panties and shorts to bed, and he picks up those, too.

they're one of your favorite pairs. they’re on the side of nearly too-raggedy, the elastic loose around your hips. jun remembers the first time he saw you wear them, nearly two years ago; remembers how he had pulled them down your thighs; how they had been soaking wet from your cunt, how he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to bring them up to his nose and —

jun presses his thumb into the flat seat of your panties, stretching them. whatever wetness that may have been there from your cunt had long dried. he can see the faint bleaching from your fluids on your panties. 

he lifts your panties up to his nose; breathes in. he smells you, still, hours later. jun can smell yoru essence, the very fabric of your being. slowly jun slides his hand down his stomach, fingers gliding over the veins of his hips and following down down down. 

iii. 

you look, jun thinks, absolutely destroyed. 

the half-assembled desk still takes up a majority of the second bedroom, metals bars sticking straight up and wooden surface flat against the floor. you’ve paused the music you had been blaring for the past hour, staggering into the living room with your phone in hand and a scowl on your face. 

“you want help?” jun calls, setting his own phone flat onto his bare stomach and stretching. 

“i can do it,” you snap, dropping your phone onto the lazyboy. your hair is pulled up off of your neck, strands escaping and flying about. your face gleams from sweat and your natural oils. you’re wearing a baggy shirt and pants, and when you lift an arm to grab at the ceiling fan string, he can see a patch of sweat on the armpit of your shirt. 

you are destroyed; you had attempted to build the desk and came out of it sweaty and ruined, pissed and unsatisfied. 

jun pats his thighs, sitting up a bit. you huff, and then you’re waddling over to him. you throw your leg over him, knee digging into the cushions as you settle back on him. 

your jaw drops, and you reach back and slap his thigh. “what the fuck are you hard about?”

“you’re beautiful,” jun says, taking you in once more. you’re messy and sweaty, and he wants you. 

his hands go to your thighs, settling. he smoothes his hands over your sweatpants, grabbing, groping, feeling you. 

you roll your eyes. jun moves up, wrapping his arms around your body to keep you in his lap. he presses his face into your neck, and you groan something out about being too hot for this. he can smell your sweat, your stink; he can feel his dick swell in his pants, can feel it strain and want. 

“wen junhui —”

jun pushes his tongue out, sliding it against your skin and tasting the salt of you. you let your head fall to the side, and jun slides a hand into your hair, feeling how hot and sweaty they are at the very start of them. it takes some shifting to get your sweatpants down your thighs, to tuck them under your knees and give him some space, but he does. 

and then jun is shoving his hand against your cunt. it’s hot and sweaty here, too, just like he had hoped. he can feel, through your underwear, how wet you are. the cloth near the elastic, damp from sweat; the cloth covering your cunt wet from your juice. 

jun pushes back again, and then your shoulders are against the cushions and he’s between your thighs. he pulls your sweats and underwear the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them next to the couch. jun lowers himself, pressing his face against your hot, sweaty cunt and breathing in.