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Hey there, do you happen to have a server affiliate form?
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hiya! i've read the rules and all, and may apply soon <3
my one question is whether you guys reblog member x oc (written in third person) works since that's all i write :))
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hello again... could I please request jealous sulky taki? (((^_^;) i am desperate.... and i adore your writing ohemgees
sulky jealous (n a lil tipsy) bf taki
[ author’s note ! ] odie ml i hope u enjoy it!!! :D hes so puppy i almost sobbed </3 tysm for reqing ily mwah mwah
[ extras ! ] word count 605. not proofread, party n alcohol consumption. @kstrucknet, @lune-net
taki never felt like this before.
something is gnawing at his chest like a furious animal, predator consuming it's prey.
he's watching you, grip tight on the kitchen counter. his veins feel like they are about to explode, buzzing with… anger? fear?
he's not angry at you, no.
the feeling is caused by that guy talking to you.
you're giggling and laughing, animated as ever. the purple led lights frame your face, your makeup as stunning as always. you're tucking your hair behind your ear, delicately holding your glass with your other hand.
and that guy had the audacity to approach you when taki walked away for refill.
he's watching you, a bittersweet pang attacking his heart.
taki doesn't want the guy to be here. he doesn't want him to talk to you. why can't he just… walk away?
you suddenly scrunch your nose, a crease forms between your eyebrows. taki's alerted; if he had dog ears, they'd be pointing directly in your direction. he can sense the annoyance from miles away.
you say something, shaking your head. you smile politely and point at him, proudly. he grins in return but the guy just… giggles?
then, you laugh too.
are you laughing at him?
taki looks away, trying to kick this thought out of his mind. you surely aren't, right?
he grabs his drink and stares at it, at the ice floating lesurely in the glass.
suddenly, there's a hand on his arm. he doesn't have to look up to know it's you but nevertheless, he still does.
and oh boy, when he does.
you suppress a chuckle. taki looks like a kicked puppy, pouting his lips subconsciously and furrowing gently.
"hey…" you hum, cocking your head to the side. "what's wrong?"
"that guy. and you two laughing… i…" he sighs heavily, looking away. "i didn't like that…"
you coo and shuffle closer, wrapping your hands behind his neck. his pupils are blown wide, making his expression look cuter and cuter.
"was my baby jealous, hm?" you hum. soft smile forms on your gloss covered lips and taki just feels the wave of embarrassment wash over his body.
he quickly leans forward and hides his head in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin. his hands wander on your hips, pulling you closer.
"maybe…" he mumbles, barely audible. his voice sends vibrations through your body like the bass of the music at this party.
"i'm sorry, taki. we weren't laughing at you, you know? it's my friend's cousin, he saw our pictures but didn't recognize you at first." you explain, hands traveling to play with the hair that sat atop of the back of his neck.
"you promise?" taki hums, lips brushing against your collarbone.
your hand slides and cups his cheek, raising his head to face you again. his hair are a little disheveled now, pink blush apparent on his cheeks.
"promise." you caress his cheek. his gaze became a little hazy, probably due to the alcohol circulating in his system. "do you want to go home?"
he nods energetically, the cute pout not once wearing off his lips.
"let's go then. i'm sorry again for making you feel that way" you lean in and press a tender kiss on his nose. you can hear him sigh shakily, as if a great weight was lifted off his heart. maybe he just wanted to kiss you, too. "i can scratch your back before sleep if you wa–"
"yes, please" taki breathed out and squeezed your waist, already forgetting the strange feeling that jealousy was. actually, he never wants to feel it again.
Here to request soft &team coz they're definition of soft 🤧
idk if yove done it before, but like something domestic with them, maybe like spending winters with them or like a sleepover or something! Im sorry if its repetitive but I just love domesticity too much 😔
Anyways enjoy writing!
Lots of love ❤️
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ WINTER INTIMACY 🧸ྀི — word count varies 200-242 per member
[ extras ]ot9, food, pet names
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! hehe hopefully it meets your expectations!!! thank you for reqing, i did have fun writing<33 teamies my beloved i love them they are all so soft and cute:(
@kstrucknet ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ @lune-net
┆彡 YUDAI [ 祐大 ]
"are you sure it's safe?" your mumble was muffled by your scarf pressing against your lips. your gloved hands wrapped tighter around the edge of the wooden sledge as you looked down the snowy hill.
"yeah! i did it as a kid all the time and i turned out just fine" yudai grinned, his hands holding you. "i'll catch you if anything"
"how so? it's a hill and i'm on the sledge… you'd slip" you grunted. somehow, despite your negative energy, you were excited. you saw the small kids enjoying this, so it must be fun. right…?
"i will, don't you worry. okay, ready?" yudai asked, smile audible in his voice. you nodded and he pushed you.
the sledge took off, rapidly gaining speed while sliding down the snowy hill. you squealed, heart pounding. you tried to steer the thing but it wouldn't listen.
"yudai!" you yelped, although you were sure he didn't hear you.
you closed your eyes shut, the wind making your eyes tear up anyway.
you didn't know for how long you were sliding down when there was a sudden yank back. you squeaked, opening your eyes.
the world stopped. there was heavy breathing behind you.
you looked through your shoulders and saw yudai fixing his hat, his cheeks red.
"told you… i'd catch you…" he breathed out and sent you a reassuring smile. "my… turn now…"
┆彡 FUMA [ 風魔 ]
"what do you think of mine?" you asked, finally finishing building your snowman. it was a little… crooked, sure. but it had three spheres as body and head, carrot for a nose, sticks for hands. his coal eyes were unsymmetrical but who would care? you even gave him cat ears so it would look cuter!
you dusted off your gloves from snow proudly and heard fuma's hum.
"cute, i like it. the ears really finish it off nicely" he complimented your work. then, it was your turn to look at his snowman.
you let out a shocked stutter, steam escaping your lips on the cold air.
in front of you was built big snorlax. his shapes were perfectly round and edged where thy were supposed to be. fuma traced lines and drew its face with a stick, accurately nailing the pokemon's details.
even feet! he even had his paws! with claws!
"fuma, what the…!" you choked out and he started laughing at your shocked face. "it looks like straight out of your cards! how did you do that?"
he shrugged nonchalantly.
"well mine just looks like bootleg pikachu next to yours…" you mumbled. fuma chuckled and wrapped his arm around you, eyeing the snowmen.
"i mean…" he started but you knew that whatever would leave his mouth would be a lie. so you just shoved him playfully, drawing more giggles from him.
┆彡 NICHOLAS [ 奕翔 ]
"do we have to do this?" nicholas groaned. as if he was even helping in the first place.
you were diligently wrapping red, thin bows around mistletoe branches. he was supposed to help. keyword: supposed. he got bored after five minutes, his bow barely looking like a bow.
you looked up at him, placing the finished branch away. only five more to go.
"i just want our place to look nice, nicho. but i assume… do you want to hang them around? just… don't destroy the bows, please" you asked, pouting slightly. he nodded with a grin.
"i can help with this! leave it to me" he mumbled and by the tone of his voice you could already tell he was up to something.
finishing the other greenery decorations didn't take you long. since nicholas was nowhere to be found, you decided to put away the remaining five yourself.
once done, you went to your bedroom. at an instant, you had to stop.
the mistletoe was glued to your doorframe. against which nicholas was leaning with a smirk.
"nicho… we can't close the door if it's here" you sighed, reaching your hand out. but he grabbed it, pulling to his chest. his hazel eyes looked deeply into yours.
"yeah but… we have to kiss now every time we cross the doorway." he hummed. you just smiled and before you could realize, his lips were crashing on yours.
┆彡 EUIJOO [ 의주 ]
you hummed to yourself, taking a short break before moving to the next page. you just took in the warmth: both from the fireplace and euijoo.
you glanced outside, at the snow.
and then here. warm and cozy. under a fluffy blanket with euijoo tucked next to you. his head was resting in the crook of your neck, body physically as close as possible. he was playing on his switch but the soft snores gave him away.
you didn't blame him at all. the sounds of wood cracking were calming, the fuzziness and comfort making it irresistible to fall asleep.
you closed your book and decided to join him. putting away the switch gently but you failed not to wake him up.
"y/n…" he mumbled sleepily, shifting.
"shush… let's sleep" you whispered. his warm hands found your waist and he pulled you closer, closing you in a hug as if you were a plushie. his breath tickled your skin.
"it's so cozy…" he slurred, only nuzzling his head deeper into you. he was undoubtedly right, your eyes were getting heavier with each second.
in no time you fell asleep to the sound of the fireplace and his soft breathing.
┆彡 YUMA [ 悠真 ]
the heat emitting from the laptop is strangely comforting. the movie playing became a mere background noise for you, as you cuddled deeper into yuma. the scent of fresh laundry and his cologne hit you, making your heart skip a beat.
focus shifting away, you looked outside the window with a soft, quiet sigh.
the snowstorm was still present, white streaks outside your window. it was so intense you could think the whole world was covered in white by now.
yuma's fingers that are laced with yours sense that your grip loosened. his brows furrowed, clearly dissatisfied with his observation.
"hey" he grunted, pulling the duvet closer and giving your hand a squeeze.
"hm!" you hummed mindlessly, feeling your eyelids become heavier and heavier.
yuma gently put the laptop away and wrapped his arms around you, warmth spreading across your back. you were buried under a duvet and a blanket, warm fuzzy socks on.
"someone got sleepy, huh?" he teased in a low voice, rubbing your hip. "you wanted to watch the movie, silly!"
you closed your eyes and took your sweet time with answering, speech slurred by sleepiness.
"it's just so warm… and cozy…"
his quiet chuckle made you smile.
"can you just… hold me… closer…?" you mumbled. and he did, no objections.
the pleasant heat made you feel like you were floating, straight into the dreamland.
┆彡 JO [ 穣 ]
you and jo were humming along to the music playing in the background, the pleasant smell of gingerbread dough spreading all over the room.
"how is yours going?" you asked, not tearing your gaze away from your gingerbread man. you wanted to surprise jo and make him. you prepared all different colors of icing to work with.
jo looked up and adored you. your brows furrowed in focus, pink tongue sticking out. he scoffed gently before answering.
"good, i think! the icing is drying fast, that's good. i'm almost done" he hummed. you looked up and scratched your nose, accidentally staining it white icing. you caught his stare and grinned.
"wanna see mine? look!" you exclaimed and before he responded, you took your gingerbread jo gently and approached him.
"wait that's me?" he asked, amused. his eyes were crooked… it looked more like a stickman but the hairstyle gave it away.
"yeah! do you… holy! that's so cute? oh my god!" you whined, looking at his plate.
a literal masterpiece.
two cats smooching each other. how did he even do that?! they looked very realistic, detailed.
"it's us… as cats!" jo raised his chin up to look at you with joy sparkling in his ebony eyes. you grinned, dusting flour off his cheek before placing a kiss on it.
┆彡 HARUA [ 琉愛 ]
"ugh, i've been craving hot choco all day…" harua mumbled, approaching you. you turned around, excited.
"what?! me too!" you laughed and leaned to grab something out of the shopping bag. "that's why i bought this!"
you watched his eyes widen, childish joy painting on his face.
"whipped cream and marshmallows?!" he gasped, grabbing them to take a closer look.
"let's make some chocolate then" you hummed and grabbed your favorite mugs.
harua glued to your back, observing through your shoulder your moves: adding cocoa, mixing it with hot water. then, adding hot milk. you stirred it gently as he leaned away and opened the whipped cream.
you heard a rustle.
"rua, don't eat it all–" you whined, turning around. his finger with whipped cream on top flashed before your eyes before you felt something on your nose. "hey!"
his giggles filled the room as you stared at him in disbelief.
"you menace!" with a grunt, you wiped the cream off your nose and smeared it on his cheek.
"hey!" he yelped, reacting in an instant. he grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks. then, he rubbed his against yours. his hair tickled your face, causing you two to start chuckling uncontrollably.
┆彡 TAKI [ タキ ]
you were crouching behind a bush, trying to calm down your rigid breathing. as queitly as possibled, you gathered snow into your gloved hands. freezing air prickling your skin, steam coming out of your mouth… you didn't care. you had to get revenge.
you shaped a medium sized ball, a little chunky.
you peeked out of the bush, trying to spot taki among other people.
you were looking around, scanning every person. even if you landed a hit on someone else, nothing would happen. everyone was having a snowball fight. but you had to get taki, he had no mercy on you so why would you—
"looking for someone, pretty?"
you turned around so suddenly, you hat covered your eyes. then, you felt snow on your face.
you quickly fixed your hat and threw your snowball back. you scored, his giggles making you smile. you wasted no time making new ammo and aiming it at taki.
he tried dodging but the abrupt movement made him lose balance, slipping nedxt to you.
"oh my god, are you okay?" you gasped, leaning over him. he breathed out shakily, red blush from cold staining his face. his hair glued to his forehead due to sweat, chest failing up and down irregularly.
"yeah. cease fire?" he asked and before you could respond, he pulled you towards him. you fell on his chest and decided to rest with him for a while on the snow.
┆彡 MAKI [ マキ ]
"catch me if you can!" maki yelled and just… left you.
"wait a minute! dude, we barely stepped onto the rink!" you yelped, holding close to the security edge. maki was already off, whooshing between people in the crowd. "asshole!"
you wobbled slowly, gradually working speed and confidence. you haven't went ice skating in a while so you just needed a moment.
when you finally pushed away from the railing, slightly waving your hands to gain balance, there was a sudden push. hands on your hips helped you gain momentum as you yelped in panic. you didn't have to turn around to know it's maki.
"riki maus!" you grunted and he let go, slowing down. his giggles made your anger quickly fade as you glaces at him and his foolishly huge smile. "can we make it romantic? like a normal couple?"
"who said we're a normal couple?" he asked, one hundred percent serious. you just scoffed and he grabbed your hand, warming it up. he matched your tempo, humming. "do you want to have a bet? who falls the more times has to buy us hot choco?"
"bet!" you nodded enthusiastically.
by doing so, your hat fell over your eyes. in panic, you tripped… bringing the both of you down.
giggles escaped your lips as you sat on the cold ice.
"you didn't have to take it so seriously you know?" he just chuckled and fixed your hat, looking at you softly.
tags; sci-fi, dystopian, weird visceral, shit happens to you and taki, scavenger!taki, fated soulmates, ever so slightly angsty
warnings; fire, bullets
word count; ~3.5k words
note; ooo boy, I've been sitting on this for months now. gone through multiple revisions so I hope there aren't any mistakes (fingers crossed!) I just love dystopian settings, sci-fi dynamics, and class commentary so much. more notes at the end! :3
> soro@lacedwithmsg:~$ run "illusions"
> file loaded, enjoy!
The sound of the cash register grinding against itself echoed through the aisles while, outside, cars periodically sped past on the highway. Not one person had walked through the entrance since ten and the store lay still as the same tune played over and over again on the muffled speakers mounted up on the walls. There was a subtle buzzing from the icebox that had faded into the background along with the hum of air passing through the vents. You went back to nibbling on some expired bread as you sat behind the cash register, staring at the cracked edge of the counter. The place reeked of gasoline but what you didn’t expect was the food to somehow be infused with it as well. Yet, you forced yourself to stuff down the rest of the bread. This part of Scorses was pretty much deserted— the riots had driven almost everyone in these parts away and most of these gas stations would be shut down sooner or later so it was as good as time as any to get the most out of it. Though you were paid barely enough to cover one proper meal, all you were required to do was sit there and wait it out until your shift ended.
While taking out the trash in the back alley, you heard footsteps and then the ring of the front entrance— of course, someone had to come in as soon as you left. Wiping your hands on your weathered, dirty jeans, you rushed back in through the back entrance but froze immediately when you heard a loud crashing sound from inside the store. Slowly peering out from the staff-only door, your eyes landed on a dark figure in the canned food aisle haphazardly swiping from the shelves and tossing them into a black duffel bag. A hood hung over the thief's head and a black mask covered the bottom half of their face. Even though their eyes were out in the open, they were moving so frantically that it was hard to get a good look at them. The black duffel bag they were throwing the cans into was covered in dirt and the straps looked like a slight tug would be enough to rip them off. You thought about running up to the thief and hitting them over the head— you recalled a metal rod readily stationed behind the cash register— but you couldn’t get you legs to budge. Right then, as you foresaw, the straps on the duffel bag completely tore off and sent the can-filled mass straight onto the floor where it sounded an even louder crash as the contents fell out onto the ground and began rolling away.
The thief let out a groan and cursed while they tried their best to gather all the cans that had been strewn about, the soles of their boots squeaking against the smooth floor. This was you chance. You willed you legs to move and darted behind the cash register, grabbing the metal rod, and sprinted as fast as you could towards the figure. Your sudden and heavy footsteps did not go unnoticed by the thief, however, and they stopped their frenzied movements to look up at the source. There was just enough time for them to see the hostile scowl on your face before the thief lunged to the side, avoiding the metal rod that struck the floor with a loud ring. You had missed your initial swing but then you began waving the rod in the thief’s direction with little to no coordination, the weight of the metal rod sending it to and fro. The thief scurried away on the floor trying to dodge your swings as much as they could.
“No wait!” the figure pleaded, crossing their hands up over their head, palms facing the person in front of them. “Stop!” they could barely speak, expecting the worst, “please…” they begged.
Your reluctantly stopped your violent swinging and after realizing the final blow didn’t come, the thief opened their eyes to come face to face to you standing over them. The mere action of you pulling the rod to your side sent them cowering. Both his hood and mask had been pulled down and you could see his eyes wide in fear as his chest heaved up and down— he looked so scared that you even felt a tiny bit of sympathy for him yet, you looked down at him with a gaze so guarded and cold it sent chills down his spine. Tuffs of his messy brown hair stuck out disheveled, his mouth was agape from trying to suck in as much air as he could, and droplets of sweat were beginning to form along his hairline. He felt himself getting more and more intimidated by the second— your intense glare bore through him like two bullets, your tight grip on the metal pipe, and your other hand balled up in a fist ready as if ready to continue your previous assault on him.
Unbeknownst to him, behind your thick façade, you were also losing it. You had never encountered something even remotely similar to this— usually, the only people who bothered to cause a scene were thugs looking for any cash they could grab. What do I do from here? What if he’s dangerous? Should I call the police? But he looks so scared. But the thing that plagued your mind the most was how you were going to go about cleaning up this mess. Great, I guess that’s another job down the drain. There’s really nothing else down here. Not knowing what to do next, you opted to ask him the only question your mind was capable of coming up with.
“Who are you?” you demanded, staring right into the man’s dark brown irises.
It took a few moments but once he regained the slightest bit composure he stuttered out what was presumably his name, “T-Taki.”
You didn’t reply, but you knew you couldn’t keep up your demeanor much longer. You understood why he was doing this, judging by his clothes you could tell he had no other option— the threads that held his sweater together at the seams were loose and bursting, the t-shirt under it was covered in holes that revealed his raw skin underneath, his long cargo pants were blotched in dirt and soil and so were his boots. After hearing how weak his voice was in response to your question, you let your hand loosen its grasp on the metal rod, allowing it to fall with a loud clang that rang through the entire store.
“Get up,” you spoke in a monotonous tone, using your hand to gesture at Taki. When he stared at you in confusion, you repeated herself but louder. Somewhere in your tone was a tinge of softness, albeit rough and unpolished, but compassionate nonetheless. “Get up, come on,” you stretched out your hand. Taki was hesitant but took your hand and let you pull him up.
Out of nowhere, a flood of dizziness took over you, pushing you to almost topple over. You pulled your hand away from Taki's and to your own head in an attempt to calm it and figure out what was wrong with it. Your vision spun as you saw multiple different variations of the same things around you. When you looked at your hands, the intricate pattern of lines on your palms were warped and twisting, running up your arms. The aisles that surrounded you started duplicating, the lights overhead flickering at unnatural and sporadic intervals. Your legs gave out and you dropped onto your knees, the once cold and hard floor began to melt and succumb under the weight of your limbs protruding into it. The strands of hair that fell from the sides of your head began to stretch until the ends started to bunch up on the floor and mix with the liquid-like consistency of the tiles. What is this? Am I dreaming? No, not once in your life had you ever remembered a dream, much less something as visceral as what you was experiencing.
But then right as your consciousness began to descend into the depths of your mind and the light bleeding in through your eyes started to waver, an overwhelming surge of cold took over you— almost like a downpour of frigid, cold water retrieved straight from a glacier, but flooding out from within you. The ice spread like weeds from your chest to both ends of your body. You couldn’t move anymore, your limbs were suspended, the strands of your hair rigid and brittle like icicles, your palms stuck to the floor, even the air was so still you couldn't tell if you were still breathing. Your mind was no longer clouded, in fact, it was the clearest it had ever been. Then, in that one moment, that single juncture in time, you felt like your entire life, and more you could not yet pinpoint, was clinched into a standstill. Still. You were still.
Off to your side, Taki stood in a daze, staring at whatever was right in front of him. His eyes were telling him it was you, but his mind argued otherwise. His arms were down by his sides, the ends of his tattered sleeves covering the bottom of his scuffed palms. His expression remained unchanging, but his eyes were doing something else— whatever he was looking at kept making his pupils dilate in and out rapidly. Though it was hard to notice due to how deep the brown of his eyes were, the line that bordered the pupil from the iris kept fluctuating, breathing— akin to a camera lens trying to focus on something that isn’t there.
The hum from the vents was as loud as ever, bending and folding onto itself, into layers of different pitches and patterns, piercing through you and Taki like needles. Yet, you and the boy next to you remained immobilized, trapped in your own worlds. Only when you realized that the humming had subsided, did you wake from your trance and turned to look at each other. You were still on the floor with both of your knees planted on the cold tiles, your eyes colored only confusion and alarm. Taki reciprocated the same expression, stood looking down at you in complete dismay.
“Did you see—”
“What was that?!” You blurted out, startling the boy in front of you. You stared at your hands, then the floor, then pulled at your own hair— nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Standing up, you rushed over to the vent next to the cash register, pulling the grate open to check the inside. Nothing. You dropped the flimsy piece of metal in your hand and began frantically scanning the aisles.
“Where are you?” You muttered. You pushed open the front entrance and scanned the area— nothing, just the usual gas pumps.
Taki followed in pursuit, “Wait, hold on!”
“You,” you began, turning to stare into his eyes with the same intensity as before, only a dozen times worse. “That was you, wasn't it?” You pulled him by the collar of his ragged shirt, bunching up the material in your tight fists.
Taki kept opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He knew just as much as you did, he was in no place to provide answers.
“Say something! Can’t you speak?”
“I..”
“What did you do to me?”
“I don’t know!” he blurted out, stunning you. “I don’t know what happened. I’m just as confused as you are, okay? I don’t know what that was, I don’t understand anything about anything right now.” He put his hands around your wrists and tried to loosen your grip but as soon as he touched your skin, something whizzed by your heads, and the sound of shattering glass broke open the quiet like a crowbar prying open a locked safe. Something tore through the air and pierced through the front window of the store. Clear shards were sent flying dangerously close to where you and Taki were standing. After half a second, barely enough for either of you to react, another window burst into smithereens.
Taki grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the ground with him. There were barely any windows left to pierce but the projectiles whizzing past continued anyway. In the midst of all the chaos, Taki pointed at the closest gas pump and nudged you out of your gaze, then promptly dragged you with him before you had the chance to respond. No choice but to be dragged along with him, you barely get on your feet before following close behind. The rain of metal began to pour into the store and clashed against the sides of the shelves, the objects on them toppling over. The sounds of the store folding into itself blended in with the ear-piercing gunshots.
They pressed their back up against the cold metal plating of the gas pump, trying to scoot as far away as they could from the shards of glass on the ground. Taki’s hand was still gripped around your wrist. At this point, you felt the cold seeping into your fingertips but you didn’t complain. If he hadn’t dragged you away from that store you probably would’ve bled to death right then and there, you could stand to tolerate the loss of circulation in your hand. The building in front of them was being devastated by the storm of bullets raining down against its concrete-coated walls, the brick underneath being torn open. Moments later, the lights began to flicker, the wires hidden behind the ply wall coming loose and struggling amidst the shower of metal. The hefty beams that stretched across the ceiling came crashing down, now laying limp over the shelves. The first thing to burst into flames was the icebox, its buzzing completely drowned out by everything else that was happening. Then it spread to the clothes, then to the preserved foods, then to the rest of the aisles. Everything was set ablaze in a mesh of deep oranges and vibrant yellows— the vivid hues refracted off the shards of glass that lay scattered on the ground and bounced off your clothes. A sight this entrancing was rare to come by— you and Taki stared at it, almost mesmerized by the explosions of color before you, so much so that you didn’t notice the bullets had quieted down.
The flames grew to twice the height of the original building but they didn’t spread any further, as if they were being enclosed in. The air around you remained cold and bitter— if you closed your eyes, it would’ve felt like nothing had changed, like there wasn’t an entire building being engulfed in blistering, hot fire less than ten meters away. Taki relaxed his grip on your wrist, allowing the blood to trickle back into the ends of your fingers.
“Taki…” You began, your voice almost inaudible.
The boy beside your turned to face you, his eyes now looking a lot calmer than they were a few moments ago. You kept looking forward but your eyes too had been relieved of the panic and shock that strained them moments before. When you didn’t say anything else, he turned to look around the gas pumps, searching for who or whatwas shooting at them.
Nothing. Nothing on the road, nothing behind the fences on the other side.
You looked down at the wrist Taki was holding, examining the red streaks printed on your bare skin peeking out through his fingers. You then used your other hand to gently nudge away his fingers and reveal more of your flesh underneath. Taki felt your touch against his skin and turned back to you. His brows instantly softened when he saw you inspecting the red prints on your wrist.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he glazed over the prints with his thumb, “I must’ve grabbed it too tight.”
“It’s fine,” your eyes didn’t leave your hands, “if you didn’t, I probably would be dead.” The corners of your mouth curved to form the slightest of smiles. “Did you see anyone?” you asked, looking up at him before turning your head towards the highway.
“Uh, no, there isn’t anyone there.”
You raised an eyebrow, “then how…?”
Taki shrugged in response and turned back around the gas pump to check again. “Yeah, nothing.”
Nothing made sense.
“There aren’t any shells either, I don’t see—,” Taki noticed you walking back towards the now decimated store. “Wait! Hold on, it’s dange…”
The flames were gone. Quiet. Still.
“...rous.”
It was dark again, darker now that there was no light being emitted from fluorescent lights in the store, darker now that the flames that engulfed it just a moment ago had seemingly vanished into thin air. Even the columns of smoke from the fire had disappeared, the only remnants left were the charred metal beams and a few other objects that were too burned to be recognizable. You hesitantly place your hand flat against one of the metal supports— cold, it was cold, much colder than it should have been.
What in the world is this? You rubbed the hand covered in black char on your jeans and stepped into the store, the rubble crunching beneath your feet. You could see the back wall of the staff room from the front door.
“How— What is this?” You mumbled under your breath.
Taki carefully made his way to where you were standing. There was indeed a fire, no doubt about that— all the rubble and charred remains prove so. But that was all that was left, no smoke, no stench, and the air was as cold as it had ever been, if not colder than before, biting at their exposed skin. His black duffel bag was incinerated, along with the cans of food it contained. It was hard to believe that a fire strong enough to strip an entire building down to its foundations left no other signs of it ever having been there. Not to mention the unknown origins of the bullets that swept over and set the whole place ablaze in the first place.
They can’t have just appeared, right? Taki questioned. And the fire… can’t have just disappeared. Taki recalled back to when the store was still intact and both of them were inside. After you confronted him, after he fell to the floor, and after you offered him your hand.Everything was coming back to him, everything that happened before the bullets began raining down on the store, and maybe, just maybe, some sort of explanation for what was happening. While you were both frozen in the store, Taki remembered staring at something he couldn’t quite identify— almost something past his vision, something further.
“H-hey uh, come here, I wanna test something,” he called out, shaking you out of your daze. “Remember what happened before the windows got shot?”
“Uh, well, we…” Your memory was still blurry, the adrenaline coursing through your veins hadn't yet calmed. Your mind recalled something but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“It was hard for me to remember too but, didn’t I grab your hand? Back inside, after you dropped the metal thing you were holding.”
“Wait yeah, I pulled you up and then-”
“Yeah, we kind of just froze, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Same thing outside too! Right before the windows started breaking.” His voice rose, almost enthusiastic.
“You’re right-" Your voice trailed off, struggling to follow what he was trying to spell out for you, "but how—”
“I was thinking we should, maybe, try it again?” Taki stretched out his hand.
“What?” You backed away from him, eyebrows furrowed.
“Just— I think it’ll help explain what happened.”
“What are you talking about?” You paused and took a few to process your thoughts. "Even if that’s true, what if it gets worse?" You glanced down at your palms, then at Taki’s outstretched hand.
“It's worth a shot.” Taki reasoned. "Try to stay calm, okay?"
You nodded as you slowly inched your hand closer to Taki’s.
Taki sucked in as much air as his lungs allowed him too and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, the red prints still slightly visible through his fingers. You did the same.
Experiment Log
Date: ██/█8/█06█
Test Subject: IL-09
Procedure: Subject was isolated in CONTROL (07) for [48] hours and was deprived of any social interaction. Regular meals were provided through the secured hatch. Subject was observed through four different night-vision and low light cameras mounted in all four corners.
Main observations: Subject expressed initial confusion. Shortly after, the subject began showing signs of stress and aggression. After approximately [12] hours, the subject’s behavior had become erratic and increasingly panicked. After [24] hours, the subject spent several hours sitting in one of four corners of the room. At the precise timestamp [36 hours, 12 minutes, and 47 seconds], three out of the four observation cameras' links were severed. Minimal footage was recovered from those three cameras. Subject was out of view of the remaining, functioning camera.
Miscellaneous observations: Subject successfully used the corner hatch for stool deposits.
Notes: After [28] hours, the subject refrained from touching the food provided through the secured hatch.
> end of file reached. see you again soon!
tag list: @1009high, @luneilyyyy
extended note; I've had this world developed and built for over six years now, actually. I have an entire document detailing the world's history, the social classes, the ability/skills as well as a whole lot more! hopefully, in the future, I'll get to writing more fics with other members in this universe. but for now, thanks for reading!
𓆩♡𓆪 NOTE FROM ADMIN ARMANI ─┈ i’m so excited and proud to present this past seasons secret santa event fics, here’s to more events this year! a hug and thanks to all members who participated, they worked so hard on these so show them love and remember to reblog!
TRULY, UTTERLY, AND DEVOTEDLY YEARNING FOR YOU | Byun Euijoo
pairing — &team’s EJ x reader (Uni au)
genre — romance, established relationship, yearning, gentle love, and domesticity (wc. 4k)
warnings — if you’re not into kids, he kinda imagines them having some so..! Yeah!
note — requested by this anon!!! I was listening to ‘I’m not in love’ on repeat when I wrote this, and GOSH. what a way to start 2026. i genuinely had to pause while writing this multiple times because of how much I want this sort of love. as someone who’s never been in a romantic relationship, this was genuinely almost too intimate for me to write.
MORE WORKS: navigation | &team!masterlist
THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET EUIJOO, he looks like he belongs to some other kind of life.
It’s a Tuesday that thinks it’s a Monday—grey light, half-wet sidewalks, the kind of cold that slides under your sleeves and makes your fingers feel like they’re made of glass.
The campus library is a warm, humming organism: printers coughing, chairs squeaking, the faint perfume of old paper and coffee. You’re halfway through wrestling the strap of your bag off your shoulder when you drop your stack of books.
They scatter like startled birds.
Great.
You freeze, heat flaring behind your ears. Your hands go useless for a second, hovering above the mess as if you can will it back into order.
A hand appears in your periphery—long fingers, clean nails, a silver ring catching the light. He crouches without hesitation, gathering your books with a quick, practiced rhythm, as if helping is something he does the way other people breathe.
“Here,” he says, voice soft enough that it doesn’t disturb the quiet. “This one’s yours too, right?”
He holds up a notebook—yours, yes, with the corner bent and your name scrawled on the first page. When you look up, your mouth opens on a thank you that gets snagged on your own surprise.
Because Euijoo is—beautiful, yes, but not in a distant way. More like… deliberate. Like someone who’s learned how to exist in his own skin and decided to be gentle with the world anyway. He wears a plain hoodie and a scarf that’s too thin for the weather, and his hair is damp at the ends as if he ran here through drizzle. His eyes are dark and awake and kind.
“You dropped your whole semester,” he whispers with a faint smile.
You swallow a laugh, relief loosening the tightness in your chest. “I’m trying to make an impression.”
“Mission accomplished.”
Your fingers brush when you take the notebook. Electricity is such a cliché, but you feel something—small and quick and bright—skitter through your bones like a match struck in the dark.
He stacks the last book in your arms with careful precision. “Do you want help carrying these?”
You should say no. You’re an adult! You can manage a few books. But his hands are already reaching, his posture already angled toward your burden like he’s decided you’re something worth making lighter.
“Sure,” you whisper, and then, because the quiet makes honesty feel dangerous, you add, “If you don’t mind.”
He takes half the stack and nods toward the study tables. “I don’t.”
That’s it. That’s the beginning. Not fireworks. Not a dramatic confession under moonlight. Just a Tuesday that thinks it’s a Monday, and Euijoo deciding—wordlessly, instinctively—that you matter.
…
You become a pattern in each other’s lives the way the seasons become a pattern: slowly, then all at once.
At first it’s small. Study sessions that start as coincidence and turn into agreement. Coffee runs where he remembers—somehow—that you like two sugars and no lid because you hate the taste of plastic. Messages about deadlines, jokes about professors, photos of lecture slides taken at an angle because you’re late and he’s already in the room.
You learn him in pieces.
Euijoo taps his pen against his teeth when he’s thinking. He looks up when he’s nervous, like he’s checking the ceiling for permission. He laughs with his whole body—shoulders, eyes, hands—like laughter is a thing that has to be let out or it will split him open.
And he’s good. Not performative-good, not the kind of kindness that expects applause. Just—good in the way some people are good the way some nights are clear. He holds doors, yes, but he also notices when you’re quiet for too long. He walks you home when the campus gets emptier and the streetlights flicker, and he never makes it feel like a favor. He just… does it. Like it would be stranger not to.
One evening in late October, you’re sitting on the grass outside the student union, sharing fries that taste like salt and oil and comfort. The air smells like fallen leaves and distant smoke from someone’s cigarette. Euijoo has his knees pulled up, arms folded over them, scarf looped too loose.
You’re telling him about your family—some half-complaint, half-confession—and your voice does that thing it does when you’re trying not to be vulnerable.
He listens without interrupting. When you finish, you stare at the fries so you don’t have to stare at him.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
You glance up.
His eyes are steady, almost solemn. “You don’t have to earn love.”
The words hit you like a hand on your chest—not pushing, but anchoring.
You blink. “I—”
“You don’t,” he repeats. And then, softer, like he’s telling himself as much as you, “You’re already… you.”
You swallow. Something inside you shifts, like the world has tilted a degree in a direction you didn’t know existed.
For a second, you think you might cry. Instead, you steal a fry and point it at him like a weapon. “Are you always this serious?”
He breaks, smiling, tension falling away. “Only when it matters.”
“Does this matter?” you ask, waving the fry.
He watches you, eyes warm and bright. “Yes,” he says, and then he leans forward and bites the end of the fry you’re holding.
Your fingers freeze.
His lips brush your knuckles.
It lasts half a second. It feels like a lifetime.
You stare at him, caught somewhere between laughter and panic, and Euijoo’s gaze flickers—down, then up—like he knows exactly what he just did.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t look sorry. He looks… struck. Like he’s just realized something about himself and he doesn’t know where to put it.
You manage, very calmly, “It’s just a fry.”
He nods, eyes dropping again, voice rougher. “Yeah. Just a fry.”
But you both know it wasn’t.
…
The first time he kisses you is not planned, and that’s what makes it feel inevitable.
It happens in December, when the cold becomes a personality trait and the sky goes dark at four in the afternoon. Finals week has turned everyone into ghosts with caffeine breath. You’re exhausted in a way that feels like your bones are full of sand.
Euijoo finds you in an empty hallway outside a lecture room you’re not even supposed to be in, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, your notes spread around you like you exploded.
He crouches beside you. “Hey.”
You lift your head. Your eyes burn. “I’m failing.”
“You’re not,” he says immediately, like he’s correcting an insult.
“I don’t understand anything,” you whisper, and the worst part is how true it feels in the moment. Like your brain is a locked door and you’ve lost the key.
Euijoo’s hand hovers near your shoulder, then settles there gently. His thumb moves once, a small stroke through your sweater. “Look at me,” he says.
You do.
He holds your gaze, steady as a heartbeat. “You’re tired,” he says. “Not stupid.”
Something in your throat tightens. “I can’t—”
“Breathe,” he tells you. “Just breathe with me.”
You inhale. He inhales. You exhale. He exhales. His eyes never leave yours, as if he’s physically keeping you from falling apart.
The hallway is silent, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above you, the distant sound of someone laughing far away like another world.
You don’t know who moves first. You only know that Euijoo’s face is suddenly closer, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your cheek, his palm warm against your cold skin. His eyes flick down to your mouth and back up, a question he doesn’t ask out loud.
You nod, barely.
He kisses you like he’s been carrying it for months. Like he’s been holding his breath and finally decided he’s allowed to exhale.
It’s not desperate. It’s not messy. It’s—precise, careful, reverent. He pulls back after a second, forehead almost touching yours, and you see it: the stunned softness in his eyes, the way his pupils look blown wide, as if he can’t believe this is real.
“Okay?” he whispers.
You laugh, shaky. “Yeah.”
He swallows. “I… I wanted to do that for a long time.”
Your heart kicks hard. “Why didn’t you?”
His gaze drops, and for the first time you see him looking unsure—Euijoo, who always seems so quietly certain.
“Because,” he says, voice low, “I didn’t want to be the kind of person who takes something you weren’t ready to give.”
You stare at him.
His eyes flick up again, earnest enough to hurt. “I don’t want to ruin you. Or—well, us.”
You lift a hand and press your fingers to his scarf, anchoring him the way he anchored you. “You didn’t.”
Something shifts in his expression—relief, tenderness, a bloom of something older than a crush.
He kisses you again, slower, and you swear you feel it all the way down to your ribs.
…
After that, you become each other’s home in the middle of everything that keeps changing.
You learn the shape of Euijoo’s affection: the way he tucks you into his side when you’re waiting for the bus, palm splayed on your shoulder like a claim that isn’t possessive, just protective. The way he watches you when you talk, like he’s memorizing the movement of your mouth, the curve of your smiles, the moments your eyes light up. The way he says your name like it’s a secret and a prayer.
Sometimes you catch him staring.
Not in a creepy way. In a wrecked way.
Like he’s looking at you and remembering that you exist, and it hurts him because it’s so beautiful it’s almost unbearable.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask once, half teasing, half self-conscious. You’re sitting in his tiny dorm room, legs tangled on his bed, a cheap movie playing on his laptop. The air smells like laundry detergent and instant noodles.
He blinks, as if returning from somewhere far away. “Like what?”
“Like I’m—” You wave a hand, searching. “Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you asked.”
His mouth twitches, but his eyes don’t soften into humor. They stay serious, almost raw.
“You are,” he says simply.
You laugh, because you don’t know what else to do when someone says something that honest. “Euijoo.”
He reaches out and takes your hand, threading your fingers together. His grip is firm—not painful, but solid, like a promise.
“I mean it,” he says, voice quiet over the movie’s dialogue. “Sometimes I look at you and I think… how is this real?”
Your chest tightens. “It’s real.”
He nods, but his gaze flickers, betraying something inside him that doesn’t fully believe he gets to keep good things.
You squeeze his hand. “Hey.”
He looks at you.
“Don’t make yourself suffer over something you haven’t lost,” you whisper.
For a moment, his eyes shine like he might cry. Then he lifts your hand and presses his mouth to your knuckles—gentle, devotional.
“Okay,” he breathes. “I’ll try.”
But you learn, over the months, that Euijoo’s love is not a simple thing.
It’s not light. It’s not casual.
It’s deep and old, like it was waiting in him long before he knew what to call it.
…
By spring, everyone knows you’re together.
Not because you make a show of it, but because Euijoo looks different when you’re near. Softer. Brighter. Like his body relaxes into a shape it prefers.
He walks you to class and carries your bag when you’re tired. He buys you ridiculous little things—a keychain shaped like your favorite animal, a cheap bouquet from the corner store because it “looked like you.” He leaves notes in your textbooks when you’re not looking: Eat. Sleep. Don’t die. I love you.
The first time he says it out loud is in April, on a night the wind is warm enough to feel like a hand.
You’re sitting on the roof of a campus building you’re probably not supposed to be on, legs dangling over the edge, the city sprawled below like a sea of lights. Euijoo has brought two cans of soda and a blanket that smells like him.
You’re talking about nothing—summer plans, internships, how adulthood feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and pretending you’re not scared.
Euijoo goes quiet. When you look at him, he’s staring at his hands, fingers worrying the tab of the soda can.
“What?” you ask gently.
He exhales, and the sound trembles. “I’m thinking,” he says.
“About what?”
He turns his head and looks at you.
And the expression on his face makes your breath catch—like he’s standing in front of something sacred. Like he’s terrified of saying the wrong thing and breaking it.
“I love you,” he says.
The words aren’t dramatic. They’re not shouted into the wind. They’re said like a fact. Like a confession. Like something he has carried for so long it has become part of his spine.
You stare at him, stunned for a second. And then warmth floods your chest so fast you almost choke on it.
“I love you too,” you whisper.
Euijoo’s eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat, as if he’s absorbing it physically. When he opens them, they’re wet.
“Hey,” you say, voice soft. “Why are you crying?”
He laughs, but it’s broken. “Because—” He swallows hard. “Because I didn’t think I would get this.”
You reach for him, pulling him into your arms. He clings like he’s been starving. His hold is careful but fierce, hands spread over your back, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.
And you feel it: the way his body shakes, the way his breathing stutters, like his heart is trying to learn a new rhythm.
It hits you then, quietly, like a truth settling into place.
Euijoo loves like he’s afraid.
Not of you. Not of love.
Of losing it.
…
Time moves the way it always does—relentless and tender. You survive finals. You survive summers that stretch like taffy and winters that make your cheeks sting. You move from dorm rooms to tiny apartments, from instant ramen to grocery lists and shared chores, from “I miss you” texts between classes to “What do you want for dinner?” shouted from the kitchen.
You grow up together in all the unglamorous ways that matter.
And somewhere along the line, Euijoo changes.
Not in the sense that he becomes a different person—he doesn’t lose his gentleness, his quiet humor, his habit of tapping his pen against his teeth. But something in him settles. Deepens. Hardens into certainty.
You see it in the way he stands behind you when you’re cooking, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder. In the way he looks at you at parties, across crowded rooms, eyes finding yours like a compass needle snapping north. In the way he reaches for your hand in public without thinking, like your fingers belong there.
At first, his love feels like a bright, frantic thing—like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t hold you, you’ll disappear.
Then, gradually, it becomes something else.
Something older.
Something that doesn’t just want you.
Something that wants a life.
…
It happens on an ordinary day, which is how you know it’s real.
You’re in a grocery store aisle arguing about cereal, because you’ve reached that stage of intimacy where your biggest conflicts are about sugar content and brand loyalty. Euijoo has a box of something aggressively healthy in his hand, and you’re holding a bright, childish, chocolate-covered option like it’s the only joy left in the world.
“You can’t eat that every day,” he says, trying to sound stern.
“You eat instant noodles like it’s a personality,” you shoot back.
He huffs, amused. “That’s different.”
“It’s literally not.”
He looks at you, eyes narrowing, and you prepare for him to make some ridiculous comeback.
Instead, his gaze shifts—past you, down the aisle.
You follow it and see, near the endcap, a young couple with a toddler. The child is in a puffy jacket too big for her, hair sticking up in staticy wisps, cheeks flushed. She’s holding her parent’s finger with both hands, babbling happily while the adults laugh and try to wrangle her toward the cart.
It’s nothing special. Just life.
But Euijoo goes still.
Not stiff. Not tense. Just… quiet, as if something inside him has stopped moving long enough to listen.
You glance at him. “Euijoo?”
He doesn’t answer at first. His eyes are fixed on the child’s tiny hands, the way she leans into the safety of her parents like she has never doubted she’ll be caught.
When he finally looks at you, it’s like he’s seeing you in a new light.
His pupils are wide. His mouth is slightly open, like he’s been punched with the thought.
“What?” you ask, suddenly nervous.
He swallows. His throat moves hard. “I—” He stops, as if he doesn’t know how to say what’s in him without breaking it.
You step closer, lowering your voice. “What is it?”
His gaze drops to your mouth, then to your hands, then back to your eyes, like he’s trying to anchor himself.
“I don’t think,” he says slowly, “I love you like a boy loves someone anymore.”
Your breath catches.
He keeps going, voice raw, as if once he starts he can’t stop. “I think… I love you like—” He presses a hand to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. “Like something in me is old.”
You blink, stunned. The grocery store hums around you: carts squeaking, a kid whining somewhere, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Euijoo’s eyes shine. “Sometimes I look at you and it feels like my bones crack if I don’t hold you,” he whispers, and there’s a faint, trembling laugh in the words, like he knows it sounds insane but it’s true anyway. “And it scares me, because it’s not just… wanting you. It’s not just missing you.”
He leans closer, voice dropping to a confession meant only for you. “It’s like my soul knows you. Like it’s been waiting.”
Your hands tighten around the cereal box.
Euijoo reaches out and covers your fingers with his, warm and steady. “I keep thinking about… years,” he says. “Not just weekends. Not just next semester. Years. Like—”
He swallows again, and this time his voice breaks slightly. “Like I want to marry you.”
The words land in you like a bell struck deep.
Euijoo’s eyes fill. He looks almost anguished, like saying it hurts, like wanting you this much is something he both craves and fears.
“I want to call you my wife,” he whispers, and his expression twists, love and terror braided together. “I want… kids. I want to watch you hold our baby like it’s the only thing in the universe. I want to watch us get old and complain about our backs and still reach for each other in our sleep. I want to sit at a table with you and our grandchildren and think—we did it.”
Your throat tightens until you can barely breathe.
Euijoo’s voice drops even softer, almost a plea. “And it makes me feel like I’m breaking, because if I want it that much—if I let myself want it—then losing it would kill me.”
He looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s been orbiting you without admitting it. Like he’s terrified you’ll say no and confirm his worst fear: that good things aren’t meant to stay.
You set the cereal down carefully on the shelf, hands shaking just a little.
Then you step into him.
Euijoo inhales sharply when your arms wrap around his waist. For a second he’s frozen, as if he can’t believe you’re doing it, and then he folds around you—tight, fierce, protective. His hold is the kind of hold that says mine without ownership, home without walls.
You bury your face in his shoulder. “Euijoo,” you whisper, voice thick.
He presses his cheek to your hair. His breathing is uneven. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize,” you cut in, pulling back just enough to look at him.
His eyes are wet. He looks wrecked.
You cup his face with both hands. “Look at me.”
He does, trembling.
“I want that,” you say.
He stares. “What?”
“You,” you whisper. “All of it. The years. The old love. The terrifying love. The stupid grocery store fights. The kids, if we decide. The getting old. The being yours.”
Euijoo’s breath leaves him like he’s been shot.
“You mean it?” he asks, voice cracked.
You smile through the ache in your chest. “I’ve meant it.”
His face crumples with something so intensely relieved it hurts to witness. He closes his eyes, forehead dropping to yours, and a sound escapes him—half laugh, half sob.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispers, words desperate with sincerity. “I’m going to love you so well. I’m going to—”
“You already do,” you murmur.
He shakes his head, as if he can’t accept that it’s enough. “No,” he says. “More. I will—more.”
And then, right there between the cereal and the pasta sauce, Euijoo kisses you like a man who has found the thing he intends to keep for the rest of his life.
Not reckless. Not showy.
Burning.
Deep.
Old.
Like he’s making a vow with his mouth.
When he pulls back, his eyes are shining so brightly it feels like staring into a flame.
He looks at you the way people look at miracles.
And you realize something too, in the quiet after his confession:
Euijoo doesn’t love you like a story.
He loves you like a future.
…
Later, when you’re home and the groceries are half-put away and you’re both still dazed from what happened in aisle seven, he comes up behind you in the kitchen.
You’re rinsing apples at the sink. The window above it is dark, reflecting your own faces back at you: you in a soft sweatshirt, hair messy, Euijoo behind you like a shadow made of devotion.
He wraps his arms around your waist.
His chin settles on your shoulder.
You feel him breathe in, slow and deep, like he’s inhaling you into his lungs.
“You’re real,” he murmurs.
You turn your head slightly. “I’m real.”
His grip tightens, just a little. The kind of tightness that says he’s trying to fuse you into him.
You cover his hands with yours. “Hey,” you whisper. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
He exhales, shaky. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says.
“I know.”
He nuzzles your shoulder, voice low. “I’m afraid of how much I want this. Because it’s… huge.”
You turn around in his arms and face him fully. His eyes are soft but haunted, like the depth of his love sometimes scares even him.
You reach up and smooth your thumb under his eye, catching the smallest hint of moisture. “Then we’ll hold it together,” you say. “We don’t have to carry it alone.”
Euijoo stares at you like you’ve just handed him the missing piece of himself.
Then he smiles—small, trembling, utterly ruined.
“Wife,” he whispers experimentally, like he’s tasting it.
Your heart stutters.
You laugh, breathless. “Not yet.”
He nods, serious as a vow. “Someday.”
You lean into him, forehead against his, and for a moment the whole world narrows to the space between your breaths.
Euijoo’s arms tighten around you, and you understand what he meant about bones and cracking and needing.
His love is not gentle because it is weak.
It’s gentle because it is powerful enough to be careful.
“Someday,” you agree softly.
Euijoo closes his eyes, and his soul—no longer crying, no longer breaking—sounds like it’s finally found a place to rest.
And when he kisses you again, it’s not like a boy.
It’s like a man who has already chosen you for every version of the future.
エンティーム ───── it’s been three years since japan had been taken over by non-humans, three years where yuma never had to leave his apartment. until one day he runs out of food. no longer able to break into the neighboring floors, he musters up the courage to leave, when he finds you, his high school crush, who changed so much… or maybe not at all. @lune-net
hereditary : i watched you shapeshift 𔓘 &TEAM中耒田悠真 🛋️ femalereader oneshot WARN! mdni protected sex, slight choking / forced quiet, romance, yearning, post-apocalypse, disease, death & suicide, mentions of weapons, brief fighting, angst ( ¿ ! ) 8776k
사랑, soph 🌫️ happy holidays and new year @lacedwithmsg xx
This is an emergency broadcast: Japan has been taken over. Stay inside. Board up your doors and windows. Prepare to stay in for a long time. The military from abroad is on their way. This is an emergency broadcast: Japan has been taken over. Stay inside. Board up your doors and windows. Prepare to stay in for a long time. The military from abroad is on their way. This is an emergency broadcast: Japan has been taken over. Stay inside. Board up your doors and windows. Prepare to stay in for a long time. The military from abroad is on the—
Hope was a funny thing. Finicky, complicated. And maybe it was not lost. But the days got longer, and eventually death and gore was all anybody knew. You were forced to grow up to survive. You had to take care of yourself. Days turning into weeks. Weeks turning into months, and months into years.
1070 days it's been since the fall of every societal structure that once dominated day-to-day life. Your building cut power some time during month two, the rest of the city going dark hours later… but at least he could see the stars from his apartment now. The constellations that he had no idea what their names even were—pretty, he thought.
The news stopped giving updates and the radio turned static after day six. Running water was a luxury after week three, but he remembered more of Dr. Stone than he thought. Until he didn’t.
Then he ran out of food on day 392… but at least he saw you.
Now, Yuma wouldn’t call himself much of an optimist anymore, but the sentiment can often be confused with momentary hopefulness. Another emotion that left nothing but disappointment in its wake.
Watching from a far was weird; Yuma knew that. But when you were so down-right encapsulating, practically dancing with every swing of your sword—the one he didn’t know when or how you learned to use—he couldn’t help it. It looked natural clutched between your once perfectly manicured hand, body wrapped in faded-colored cloths, hair tied into a tight braid. You looked… straight out of an Anime. There were splotches of mysterious guts and dirt that littered your skin, scars now from what he could only assume were the monsters that owned Japan; the place he could once call home.
He knew you from back at school, almost 3 years ago now before the world had fallen into ruin. It took him a while to muster the courage to leave the 9th floor, only seeing the chaos below from above. But humans were designed with flaws, and one of them was the need to eat. Though, for about a year and a half, he’d break into the surrounding apartments and rummage through the things that were left behind. Eventually, things were scarce, either taken by passersbys during the early days or too rotten and gross to even identify. And when his stomach growled louder than the monsters, he feared he had no choice anymore.
Water, on the subject of survival, was just another thing when he’d seen so much on how to boil out the bacteria from the pails he’d left on the roof to collect the rain. Of course that only worked with his little gas powered stove, which's tank eventually ran out. And planting vegetables, much less from seeds, on the balcony was something he was, unfortunately, in the dark about. Though desperate times call for desperate measures, so, he tried it.
Spoiler alert, they died. Much like most every living thing nowadays. He didn’t know if it was pure luck or something entirely different that got him this far; and he was even less sure if he was grateful.
On the other hand, you’d be surprised how fast nature reclaimed the terrain in such little time. He thought to himself that it could’ve been beautiful, the first time he’d been practically forced to leave his sanctuary, jealous that it couldn’t be luxurious fruits intertwining the railing instead of varieties of vines climbing overrun apartment buildings, flowers springing up between the cracks in the sidewalks, and trees twisting with the wind. All things considered though, it was beautiful.
“She’s beautiful,” Yuma looked out the open window, the soft breeze of spring tousling his hair. There was a faint scent of cherry blossoms and roses (your favorite) in the wind. Lunch-time chatter echoed in the room, people coming in and out with the quiet drag of the door. He stretched as the sun warmed his uniform-clad body, as if he was a cat in the sun, letting out a hum (pur) at the feeling. “Jo, she’s smart and neat, and you can tell she’s dedicated to her studies—But even so, she makes time for her friends. I really admire a woman who is disciplined, you know. It’s about balance and she… has it.”
Another one of his friends, the more outspoken transfer student, Nicholas, chimed in. “Why don’t you just ask her out, dude? You’ve had a crush since, I don’t know, God knows when! We’re going to graduate in a couple months, and with exams coming up you know she’ll be busy. Wouldn’t it be nice to study together? Decide on universities together? Build a foundation, maybe. Think about it.”
Yuma’s head collided with his palm, giving the boys beside and in front of him a dramatic sigh. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. That's all I think about actually.”
The silence was deafening, but not brutal, just how Jo was when he was deep in contemplation—Nicholas shutting up to give someone else a chance at an opinion.
“Maybe it’ll be better for you, you’ll focus more if she was your girlfriend, maybe even a top student. Better late than never, right?”
Nicholas scoffed, looking around the room until his eyes dragged over your slouched body; studying, of course. “Then he’d have to dethrone his beloved—and that’ll never happen. He’d give it all up for her.”
“Why are you just standing there? Run, idiot!”
Yuma damn-near pointed his finger back at himself—were you actually talking to him? He saw you running towards him, but maybe there was someone standing behind him, someone you knew. Or maybe he’d finally lost it and his imagination was taking over just like the monsters did. But that would be so much worse than them. That would be just down-right cruel.
You grabbed his arm, looking over your shoulder at the Hell which was just released; hoards of them, more than you could handle with a mere blade.
They weren’t human, not anymore, that was as much as you knew, skin slimy and rough like a fish, but still anatomically correct. Their legs went in all directions it seemed, but their movements swayed steadily, allowing for a faster pace than what zombies were portrayed in movies as. Though they also didn’t have a craving for human-flesh, it was more like a compulsion to hunt for fun, for sport. Like it was just a big game.
It was disturbing more than horrifying.
“Yuma! I’ll leave you here if you don’t get up! It’s every one for themself, you know.”
But, despite that mindset, you stopped to help. Of course you stopped to help! What else would you have done? Maybe the world had lost humanity, but it was oddly obvious that you hadn’t. You were you after all. The same person who would help someone who’d been tripped in the hallway, one who had dropped their books, or was upset after a mock-exam. You’d spend your time, even in a hurry, to assist because that was just who you were—and that’s why Yuma liked you so damn much. Because you were admirable, everything he wasn’t able to do, you did.
He liked you because you were you unapologetically. You laughed loudly, smiled so brightly and had a soft glint in your eye for everyone regardless. You seemingly had so much love to give and life to live and Yuma would do anything to share the sentiment with you.
Anything to be with you.
Yuma eventually got up, shrugging off your grip on his arm as you made a beeline for the nearest shelter. Though, when you got to the metal ‘employee only’ door, you held it open, ushering him with a hurried motion. It was millimeters until they got to him, you saw it, but still you risked your life to aid his—someone you hadn’t seen for what felt like decades at this point.
Yuma thought that he should’ve been just another face to you.
You slammed the door, in result a loud bang echoing the building. Your body jolted quickly, scanning the area. You could hear a faint clicking, getting louder with every passing second.
“This way,” You took off, and Yuma had literally no choice but to follow; like his feet only took direction from you.
It was a shopping mall you found yourself in, displays thrown around, floor littered by merchandise and hazards. One wrong move and your location would be given away.
Why were you doing this? you asked yourself, you were better alone. People made you weak, and you weren’t made of porcelain anymore. The world made sure of that.
Finally, you turned off into an opening, a maze of dark structures that surely only went back so far. You felt around until you felt what you presumed was a handle, taking a breath, gripping and pulling. Thankfully, it opened enough for your body to fit through, taking hold of the man with you and dragging him inside as well.
Your finger pressed to your lip, eyes cracked like you were focused on reading something very important—though the only thing you were trying to gauge was how far away the clicking echoed. Yuma had no idea though, too busy being distracted by the thump of his heartbeat in his ears to notice.
One thing he didn’t understand (from seeing you before) was how you feigned such bravery when he was quite literally about to throw up.
Or maybe you just were always like that; though the hair clips and nails did a good job hiding it in high school.
Just another reason why you’re perfect.
He tried very hard not to make a sound, but his breathing was heavy, and so was the ever-present feeling of doom. He could imagine it already: ripping skin, pooling and spurting blood, your lifeless body laid out in front of him as he awaited his turn.
Fuck.
His eyes shut tightly, trying to imagine anything else. But the way his back was pressed to a cold, plaster-plastic wall—enclosed by three others in a tiny display room that sold bathtubs and showers—spelled out a word he’d been so irrationally afraid of his entire life. Death.
Mostly because he fought with what he believed happened after. Was it reincarnation or void? Was it Heaven or Hell? He hadn’t seen much of it growing up, so the concept was somewhat foreign, just something he saw on TV. The same channel he’d see the dead thanking the fans during an award show on the next day. It was contradictory, creating a false sense of security.
You stayed silent for a while, a long while, eventually sliding down the wall, bunching your knees to your chest. He stared down at you for a couple of minutes after (that felt like hours; an askew concept of time) before copying.
The silence was deafening now that he’d heard someone after years of only talking to himself to remain sane. He chewed on his lip, constantly checking through the clouded glass, and then back to you, and the wall that wasn’t see through on his other side. He was sure you could feel the anxiety radiating, but you ignored it, lowering your head and closing your eyes for a moment.
Maybe you could finally let out the breath you’d been holding, chest tight, throat clogged… head pounding.
“I-is it okay?” You couldn’t even count it as a whisper, a mouse wouldn’t even have made the small of a sound. Nonetheless, it was the proximity that allowed you to hear his words somewhat comprehensively. “Are we going to die here, yn?”
You figured that what he wanted to hear was reassurance that his worries could subside, but you were never much of an idiot to begin with, and thinking you could relax anywhere nowadays was pure stupidity.
Your head remained down, voice almost at a normal talking volume. “What kind of question is that?”
He shushed, body instinctively stiffening towards you.
“They’re not here anymore,” You replied, his eyes narrowing, though you couldn’t see anyways. His eyebrows also came together. How could you be so sure?
But he’d trust you.
You seemed to have been outside more than he did over the last few years, maybe you knew all about them and were hiding behind that mask. Maybe you’d never been cooped up in a place for years, like he was. Maybe you were forced to be this way—cold and blunt.
“Just listen and tell me if you hear anything.”
So, he did. He shut his mouth and tuned into his surroundings. Nothing. Not even after a while did he hear anything but a couple drips, creaks and natural building sounds.
It left him room to be haunted by his thoughts, a parasitic lace in his veins as he picked at the skin around his fingernails. Questions circled the walls of his brain, clawing their way to the surface, things he’d kept to himself for too long. Worries that kept him awake all night. He needed to tell someone—something—and for some odd reason, he thought maybe you could relate in some fucked up way.
His voice invaded the stale air between the two of you. And maybe you weren’t listening, but it didn’t matter. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d stop without spilling his guts. “On that day it happened, my parents were taking my sister to her friend's house.”
God, he hoped you understood. He didn’t want to be the only one suffering from the crushing weight of uncertainty and doubt. But he also didn’t want you to be suffering as he was. “They never made it back, I waited for three years, stuck it out for three damn years—what if today was finally the day they made it back to me and… I wasn’t there.”
You’d made it out of that building about two weeks ago, and, of course, Yuma has been following you around ever since.
He’d seen you during the early mornings perfecting your swings after watching the sun rise. You looked so peaceful under the golden hour of dusk to dawn. Again, he didn’t want to stare, but you made it hard not to.
You’d been moving from place to place, only a couple of bags to pack up—which he did for you, pretending that it wasn’t just an excuse to get dragged along.
The thought that you’d leave him to fend for himself in the middle of the night did cross his mind… once. You didn’t need him, his protection, his company, his anything. You were fine alone, you’d been fine this whole time, while he was what? Blissfully unaware of the horrors that went bump in the night, and during the day? It was a waking nightmare that you faced alone. He was the one who needed saving, not you. Never you.
But, if it ever came down to the roles reversed, he’d save you. In every life he’d save you.
Today, after walking more than a few miles, you found yourself sitting in a mattress store as Yuma rummaged through your things for something canned to give you.
He tried his best to get you to want him to be around you before you’d run off with the excuse of perfecting skills or picking through trash and leftovers.
He knew why it sunk his heart every time you’d perk-up with something to say. He feared it would just be a goodbye in the making, one he had no say in. Nonetheless, he listened. Every time. Every damn time.
“They have no sense of smell, and most of them cannot see after the infection takes hold—it must’ve been a recent mutation that caused their eyes to develop. Yet, despite that, it wasn’t enough to allow them to in dark places, hence the clicking. Probably something to do with their light receptors and pupil dilation. They’re not human, obviously, and when I raided the universities in Tokyo they hadn’t found anything distinct about their DNA, which was weird.” You hummed a moment, remembering the papers you sifted through, questions with no answers leaving you feeling hopeless. You risked your life to continue the work the scientists never got a chance to during the evacuation. You had some experience in labs, doing tests, because of a pre-university course you took in preparation. “The weirdest part was that Hyogo Health Science had a specimen, a sample from one of the early cases… but all it said was illness: cause unknown. Parasite?”
Yuma remained silent as you looked off to the side, the small amount of light you let him put on illuminating the features that hardened over the last couple of years. The ones that dimmed as the world grew darker, colder. He stopped shifting things around in the bag, studying your emotion on an otherwise emotionless face.
He liked it, in a strange way. He liked to know you weren’t just made of plastic.
“You know, before all this, I was going to find the cure to cancer.” You huffed out a half-laugh—almost like it was so audacious and naive to believe such a thing could be true.
The void you left as your noise died off was worse than being left outside to die, in Yuma’s opinion. Which he’d admit was very biased when it came to you. Regardless, it had his heart racing and hands shaking ever-so-slightly—the anticipation was killing him slowly.
In the time you’d spent together, albeit, short, you’d remained closed off. All Yuma knew about you was what he knew from high school, and even that was second-hand. He’d try to ask questions, however, you’d brush them off, or pretend to be asleep even if he knew you weren’t. You didn’t do a lot of that. He didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that much.
He couldn’t figure it out though. Why—no, what made you like this? Was it the normalization of death, grim and gore? Or was it before?
Every notion he thought he had for you was crumbling, being rebuilt by little bits of the truth. It’s like the fog was dimming the halo he put over you, and suddenly the pedestal didn’t seem so high anymore.
“Before losing my mom in middle school, she asked me to make a difference, be the shining star in an unlit city. Be the hope that was lost. Be good.” His breath hitched when he saw the shiny outline of a tear roll down your cheek. He fought with the urge to reach out and wipe it away, afraid of the comfort you’d reject if he did. Maybe you saw him hesitate, maybe you didn’t, despite that, you continued, hands gluing together in your lap. “She told me that I could do anything I wanted in the entire world—no, universe. I was her pride and joy all the way up until the moment she passed… an–and I couldn’t even be with her—too focused on studying for the entrance exam to Keio University. I was 13, I didn’t need to. I should’ve been there for her last breath.”
“Stop,” It wasn’t your fault; was what he wanted to say, but all he could focus on was how his hand clutched yours so tightly. And how you just… let him. He waited so long to feel your touch, fantasizing about living in your skin since what felt like ages now, that there was no allure to it. It wasn’t catastrophic, like he once believed it would be. It wasn’t everything he hoped for, but what was anymore? What did he even hope for, time to stop so he could forever live a life with you, where nothing mattered? That was mindless dreaming.
“Don’t say tha—“
“I didn’t even get to tell her I loved her. I missed her daily call because I was so fucking focu—it was meaningless, Yuma! I applied three years ago, and I–I didn’t even get in.”
And that's when he knew every show you put on, every smile you lit up a room with, the unwavering bravery you fronted was… fake. Yet, it didn’t sway his feelings towards you. In fact, he was seeing you as more human now than when humans were the dominant species.
Drip, drip, drip. Until it was a constant rhythm against the silence that fell upon the room. A comfortable feeling you relished in. The rain picked up, the clouds gloomy and low all day.
Yuma's hand was still in yours, and maybe deep down it comforted you more than you’d like to admit. Nobody had done that for a long time. Nobody had wanted to be around you long enough to get between the barrier of good and bad.
Well, that was until Yuma followed you around like a lost puppy. And that’s why you told him the one thing that had the tightest grip on your heart, metaphorical fingers digging into every ventricle and cavern.
You had secrets. Big ones even. You've been lying so long (to yourself) that you didn’t even know where the line between fabrication and reality was. It was too much. You put too much on yourself.
It was the studying. No, it was the keeping friends. Or maybe it was something entirely different. Perhaps the school lighting, or the wishing you could change the past. Maybe it was the gravestones you’d imagine faces on as you’d walk a familiar path. A path a teenage girl shouldn’t know, full of shadows that followed you around. The tears that stung—burned—burdens that weighed you down. It was the twisting guilt that left you so full of resentment towards yourself that you didn’t eat anymore. It was the constant reminder, the sirens and alarms, to be good. Better. It was your wrists. It was your throat being so choked up that your voice was quiet and low.
It was the life you lost the moment your mother lost hers.
But, you kept living even though you didn’t want to. The silent promise to her that you’d be okay even if she was just a guardian angel now.
Truth is, you weren’t okay, and you didn’t know how to tell anyone that you didn’t want to fight anymore. You’d give anything to just stop it all. You were tired of being haunted, being alone, being so angry and afraid. You just wanted to breathe in and not feel like it should be your last. Like you didn’t deserve the air you took in.
Maybe you were just a coward in disguise. Never getting close to anyone in fear that they’d leave you the same way. You said it was protecting your heart, but who were you kidding?
Flash. A loud echo of thunder following it. That brought you back to Earth, focused on the way Yuma’s hand had shifted your sleeve just a little higher.
And there it was. The reminder of the night that you’d had enough—snot and tears clouding better judgement; The pain and hurt too much to bear as you prayed to whoever was listening to take your life instead of hers.
Instead of waking up in her embrace, you woke up to a sterilized room. Dull and blank. Expressionless. Emotionless. Depressed.
However, they’d describe the outcome as a miracle, a second chance, a temporary feeling. “It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”
You didn’t know how you slept so well, but when your eyes cracked open, you felt like something inside you was shifted back into place. Your dream wasn’t even something worth remembering. Not painful, not pleasant. You don’t even remember waking up once during the night, much less, falling asleep.
That was a luxury nowadays, and most of the time you never hit REM unless you’d been up for three days prior. And if you did get some shut-eye, that’s all it was.
But the drained, crusted lacrimal ducts, and the pang in your chest sang a different song. You don’t just feel nothing, you feel everything. You feel it all.
You stifled a laugh, hand shooting up to cover your lips to capture the sound as you watched a ball thump against the side of some kid's head. He’d been stealing glances your way more often than not—paying absolutely zero attention to the football game going on. The game he was currently in the middle of the court-yard playing with a few other friends during free time.
At this moment, you couldn’t remember his name, somewhere in the archives of the hundreds on hundreds you’ve heard. But you knew he was in your class at least, sat a couple rows behind you. Notably, he wasn’t the best at school—a class clown, if you will—though not the bottom of the list either.
It was your duty to know the competition, nothing more than that.
The girl sat beside you, a friend, Rei, lowered her smiling face back to her phone, stating, “he’s got a crush on you, yn.”
You angled towards her slightly, though fronting indifference.
“Who doesn’t?” You joked.
“Nicho told Taki, who told Maki, who told Harua, who then told me, who is now telling you that Yuma has a crush on you. A big one from what he described. Well, I guess, obviously, he did just get hit in the face with a ball while staring at you—Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you stretched your arms up to reveal some skin. You practically set the poor boy up.”
It was warm, and your eyes drifted open and closed occasionally, not sure what was a dream and what was just your imagination. It didn’t seem to matter though, you weren’t concerned with the trivial details. Not when the mattress underneath you felt too comfortable, and the rain that continued from the night before was lulling.
You’d happily stay like this forever if you could. The hollow feeling that usually was close, somewhere else entirely for the moment.
“It’s not supposed to be done like that,” You explained, pink nail dragging along the worksheet between the pair of you.
A couple minutes prior you were paired with the student who was, supposedly, struggling the most to grasp this concept. Of course it had to be you who helped, you were the top of the top and you knew it like the back of your hand.
It was just this unit the boy was struggling with, and usually you were happy to assist, but you couldn’t help but find it a little comical that now that you knew Yuma had a crush on you—suspicious in the first place—he was the one you were paired with.
How was he supposed to focus?
“I’m sorry,”
The pencil dragged excruciatingly slow, over and over in the same line that you guess was helping him think. Maybe ground him?
Though you only stared at his hand flexing—knuckles white from how hard he was gripping it. It probably should’ve split by now.
He turned his head to you, eyes wide, eyebrows knit. “C-can you show me how?” You found it slightly endearing.
Snap out of it!
A smile plastered to your face. “Sure. Yeah, I can.”
And maybe you were high on the power trip that you didn’t realize the effect it would have if your hands brushed while bumping him off with your own… to make room for you to show him an example, of course.
Nothing else.
Your eyes shot open again at the rumble of thunder, arm coming up to rest over them for a second. You sighed out, chest rising and falling steadily.
Why were you dreaming of this—of him? And why did you have such a glow in your chest at the memories?
You tried to sit up, only now realizing that there was an arm over your midsection… and a body pressed against your side?
Yuma only pulled you closer in his sleep, tightening the grip on your side. You froze immediately, your breathing not-so steady anymore.
What were you doing? Why weren’t you trying to escape his grasp?
How could you when it felt like the concept of home, something you’ve lacked since who knows how long? Was it the first diagnosis? Or was it when it relapsed that you misplaced the feeling?
Maybe you never wanted to be distant. Maybe somewhere deep down you wanted to share the sentiment with him. Maybe it was the timing that wasn’t right. Or maybe it was just you who wasn’t right.
You’d drag him down with you, and you knew he’d let you. But you’d never let you do that to him. He had all the potential you didn’t. If you could give him everything that was handed to you, you would.
Then it would make it painless leaving it all behind.
His voice was low. Like you’ve scolded him to do, countless times at this point. “Yn,”
You continued to walk ahead of him, cursing yourself for letting it get out of hand. You should’ve left him in that mattress store when you had the chance. He barely even stirred when you slipped away.
Nonetheless, you didn’t go far.
“Slow down a sec,”
But here you were, almost a week and a half later replaying the same damn things. Why? What was he really doing for you? Making you vulnerable, susceptible, weak?
At first it was small, starting with ignoring attempts to get closer with closed-off answers, until you completely started to avoid him; Going to bed after it got too hard for him to stay up, making up excuses to do things alone, anything to get away long enough to feign ignorance.
The frigid air wasn’t the only thing that sent a chill down your spine. Not even the monsters fazed you now.
Instead it was blossoming of something you couldn’t back away from that scared you—terrified you. You might as well have been dead with the sense of dread that consumed you.
You spun around, words spewing out faster than a thought could form. “Can you stop following me? I don’t need you.”
But you weren’t even sure if that was just another wall being put up or a thump of your heart that beat too fondly in his direction.
He stopped, taken aback, evidently. Then his expression changed, something along the lines of reassurance, features softening though it was only poison you hit him with.
He’s never been anything but gentle. Never anything but infatuated. It made your breath hitch, your heart skip a beat, palms sweat, stomach sink—“I need you though.”
Grumble, grumble.
Your attention, that was on sharpening your knife as quietly as you possibly could, shifted to the man’s sleeping figure. Yuma, who you've grown fond of, comfortable with, even. He was across the room—granted, it was small—curled up by the sleeping bag (worn and torn) that you’d been using for God knows how long now.
For a moment, you only admired him, ignoring the stirring of discomfort, arms cradling his stomach. Though that only lasted a second before you were, as if possessed, clutching the suede cross-body bag that you kept all your non-perishable snacks in.
The least you could do was find him something to eat before he woke up. After all, he gave you such a good night's sleep a few weeks ago—and recently sleeping next to him, in closer proximity, was alleviating some of the hardships. Albeit, unbeknownst to him. But you knew; you’d never felt so well-rested. Not even before the world went to shit, too busy with your nose down a book to shut your eyes longer than a blink.
Consequently, it was because if you did, you’d be haunted by the memories you weren’t able to get back. You’d see the flashing lights, hear the heart monitor's consistent beep: a reminder of your failed attempt to be amongst the only person who mattered to you again.
But she was gone, and you were (unfortunately or fortunately) still living and breathing.
Maybe it was a sign, or maybe you just didn’t cut deep enough. Whatever the reason was, it drifted off as Yuma blinked awake.
You were staring, though your eyes were glazed over in a very not present in reality type of way. He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Are you okay?”
You bit your lip, hesitant, before nodding.
“We need to get some food, we’re just about out.” You tossed a crackling wrapper his way, watching as it landed on the tile before him with a small sound, sliding across it. “This is all we have.”
He picked it up, holding it out to you. “You take it,”
“I had some before you woke up.”
“No you didn’t, don’t lie to me, yn.”
You swallowed hard, slightly overwhelmed by the dominance he possessed. You should’ve known that it went hand-in-hand with his nature to want to care for you, to give you a reason to trust him enough to.
You didn’t know what to say, putting the weapon down and getting up. His hand only went to his side after you took it, opening the package and taking a bite though you felt nauseous.
“Have the rest, Yuma, please.”
You laughed slowly, looking at the foil package squeezed between his forefinger and thumb. It was barely visible through a sliver of moonlight.
Before you thought of the consequences, you joked so casually it caught the boy off-guard. You haven’t been ignoring him for a couple days now, but still.
“That’s not how you ask a girl to have sex with you, you know.”
Yuma turned to face you, almost horrified at your joke—face obviously red, though you couldn’t see it.
He’d seen you under almost every light now; harsh, dim, nonexistent.
But fuck… he loved you. Yearned for you. He knew that now for sure. From the moment he saw you, he knew there was something below the surface, something he needed to see. And though he thought, in high school, that there was no bad and ugly, in some fucked-up way, he was glad there was. He saw it—saw all of it. And even if you thought that you were no different than the monsters outside, he was glad it was you inside. With him. Because maybe the monster in him loved the monster in you.
And maybe that’s where the true monster was unleashed.
Desperation laced every movement of his; lips on yours faster than his brain could comprehend. It knocked the wind out of you, to be honest, grip tight on your hips even through the layers.
Layers he desperately wanted to take off.
Despite that, he knew he shouldn’t… couldn’t. Not with the things that lurked around—what if you had to run? He’d never put you through mortification, though, honestly, he’s not sure it’d faze you. You’d find a way to make it look natural, beautiful even, laugh about it later, blade drawn as you looked like the deadliest ballerina to keep on living through this nightmare.
It’d probably just make him want you more.
He kissed down your jaw, holding your head back with his hand on the side of your face. One that felt like fire against you. He probably sucked purple and blue and green marks into your skin, though you didn’t have to hide anything from anyone anymore. Not that you really wanted to. Who was even around to say anything?
You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly—which made him come back down from the Heavens and right into your arms.
Oh, it’s real.
Your lips were back on his, kissing him like a school girl virgin. But, it’s just been so long since you’d felt anything for anyone that something about it was enlightening.
He broke off, noticing the lidded eye-contact that you shied away from.
“Should I have said, yn, will you please let me have sex with you?”
You whined, seriously, and Yuma thought that he died on the spot—knees damn-near buckling.
“Mhm,” You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and jaw, and lips. But he didn’t kiss you back, only held you firmly in place.
The answer wasn’t good enough.
“Mhm isn’t a yes or no.”
Your eyebrows knit, and desperation clawed its way from you. “Yes! Fuck, okay? Yes,”
You’ve been in control of him, you always have, but there was always something alluring about breaking you. Maybe you’d be the one to bring a different side out of him.
He wanted you to let go of all the things he knew swirled inside your head and be present. He’s wanted you to since high school—since he figured you out a couple months ago. He’s wanted you to just lay it all down and not think three-steps ahead for once.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, the sight making him harder… somehow. He was sure that if you did what he thought you were planning, he’d come immediately. So, he dropped to his too, eyes wide as you let out a surprised laugh.
There was the resolve cracking for you. It’s just the effect you have it seems. You made him so nervous, yet confident, so turned on but scared to break. You heightened every sense of his. So beautiful, so… perfect.
“Yn, I—“ You cut his confession (caused by the heat of the moment?) short, clashing lips, tongue, teeth so much so that he groaned louder than intended.
You pushed him back impatiently, throwing a leg over his torso and sitting. It was almost too natural the way you fit together, making his hands shake against your thighs.
Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his, feeling the grip he had, tightening with every drag and pull.
His mouth opened then closed with nothing and everything to say, only short breaths—huffs of air—leaving instead.
Yuma needed you so badly it hurt, fingers working quickly to unbutton the pants you had on, dragging them only so far down your hips before getting stopped. But even the little sight of skin spilling over was going to send him right off the edge.
“Get up,” He said, stopping your movement entirely. You whimpered this time—pathetically, might he add—so different from your usual that he was convinced that maybe it wasn’t you. “I’ll give you what you want.”
And he did. Taking his jacket off and putting it underneath you before laying your back to the ground. He didn’t even take his time dragging the fabric down your legs, throwing it off to the side like you’d never need them again.
He hoped you’d never need them again.
His rough palms dragged your knees apart, running a finger down your slit before attempting to dive in.
You stopped him before he had a chance to breach, too impatient for that. You needed some sort of relief before you actually started to cry. “Please, I’m good—I don’t need it—just you, please.”
This isn’t exactly what he imagined your first time would be like with him. Actually, he’d imagined almost every scenario, except this one.
But it didn’t matter, whatever you wanted, he’d give to you.
As he fumbled to get his pants down too, you found the foil-wrapped square that started this whole thing. That broke the growing tension. Shattered whatever built inside you after you’d woken up in his arms.
You ripped it open, pumping his cock a couple of times. Yuma faltered above you. The sight was the most unholy thing he’d ever seen: thighs spread, eyes wide but still full of something he’d mistake as love or lust, hand on him.
Oh, he could die right now.
He grabbed the condom from you, putting it to the tip and using his other hand to help you roll it down with each stroke. Then he was dropping his body, almost, on yours, hips resting together.
Your hand pushed his shirt higher, feeling his hot skin, which you wish was fully against yours. Though, the thought was long gone by the time he pushed in slowly, giving you inch by inch and watching how you’d take it.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him down to you as you pressed your lips to his in an attempt to quiet the pleasure that overcame you. It wasn’t even the stretch or burn that could cloud it. You could feel it, he could definitely feel it.
You were losing it.
This was too much.
Every pull back, and slam back in had your back arching against him. Maybe it’d been too long, but this is probably the best you’ve ever felt, ever.
Then, through the ringing in your ears, you heard it; faint clicking. His movement stopped completely at the sound, heart dropping out his body right onto the floor—metaphorically, of course, as he was still very much on top of you.
But fuck it was like possession the way he couldn’t stop flinching now that you were wrapped around him, clenching so deliciously like you didn’t want him to either.
Your wide eyes rolled to the back of your head as he dragged his hips, rolling back into you shallowly—like he couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop now that he has you completely at his mercy. Your mouth fell open, but before a sound escaped you, Yuma muffled you with a hand, and then pressed his lips to it.
He was obviously trying to gather your attention from the monstrous world outside, even if just for a moment. He’d dedicate the rest of his days to shielding your eyes from the horrors and making you feel like nothing had changed from bright to so vastly dark.
His other hand found a place around your neck, squeezing only enough to blur your thoughts away from reality—like he wanted.
He felt you tighten around him, hitting a peak you couldn’t back down from, arms wrapping to hug him as close as possible.
You wanted him to live in your skin—and maybe you always have—but now you’re not sure you’ll be satisfied any other way.
“Merry Christmas,” Yuma held out a poorly wrapped box; other scraps of cardboard and newspaper plastered to the sides. He even went as far as making a little origami crane—probably because he didn’t know how to make a bow—but it was the sentiment that brought tears to your eyes. “Thank you, yn.”
You choked it down.
“How do you know it’s Christmas? There’s no snow on the ground yet.”
You took the box as he replied, “I don’t, but I’ll start counting now and next year it’ll be Christmas again. Traditions are formed that way, you know.” He eagerly waited as you carefully put it on your crossed legs. You picked the little crane off, setting it aside after admiring how spotless the paper looked.
Maybe there are still untouched things in this world. Ironically, the little thing gave you the same feeling the man, who looked ragged and dirty now, did.
He watched as you took the lid off, inside was a few pieces of candy (which also looked relatively new, considering), a piece of paper, and a keychain of what resembled Miffy—now an off-white color.
It was pure overwhelming gratitude, white instead of red, that you saw making you lunge at him, caught by his arms around your lower back; a hug of the decade, no century, lingering a smile on your face so bright it'd probably last the rest of the night at least.
He was taken aback, hesitant to hold you tighter. Still, you squeezed, and it seemed like you wanted it. You literally started it, but regardless he felt like this was a dream. One he would be happy not waking from, as long as you were there in every moment of it, of course.
You never defined what you were, or what happened a couple days ago on the dingy floor of a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Japan. Maybe it was the heightened emotions. Maybe it was primal instincts. Maybe it was pure selfishness, or preservation, or something completely different.
But you haven’t spoken of it since, continuing old habits like they die hard or something.
You wish you had Google to ask: How do you tell someone you love them before you go?
The pain that struck through you like lightning wasn’t something you’d felt in a long time… not since your mother. Watching her get lowered into the ground was the worst thing you think you’d ever done—tears a tsunami against your face. Fists clenched. Stomach turning with guilt.
“Yu—“ It was ghastly, and you don’t know what overcame you, but as you threw off your bag, charging, blade so far forward you probably should’ve been off balance, rage overtook you. You only saw one thing: a life alone.
It was like a slideshow of everything you could’ve had played behind your eyelids; A compound with fences so high they bordered the clouds. Watching the sun dip below the edge of what the eye could see. Maybe you’d even find more people one day and have a stupid flower garden. You’d get to sleep in Yuma’s arms every night and wake up smiling. There would be a purpose for your existence and contentment would fog up your judgement.
You'd let it because nothing mattered if he was there. There was no need for a cure, to go back to life that left you feeling unfulfilled.
Wishful dreaming, perhaps. Complacency… naivety. You’d gotten so comfortable over the last couple of months that you’d forgotten what was real. What was right in front of you.
It went fast, the slash of your blade against tough skin—scaled like a reptile but still penetrable. They weren’t human, you had to remind yourself, but under certain lighting, they could’ve been. It made your stomach churn. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that caused such a reaction, raw strength fueled by the ache in your heart.
You couldn’t save her, save anyone, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for that.
It took everything within you to not yell, scream out all your frustrations, but if he was going down, so were you.
Three years you’d felt empty—and before that, the same—silently scouring the island for answers, for people, for anything left. And now that you’d had the opportunity to hear your own voice again, after forgetting what it even sounded like, to regain some sort of warmth you’d lost, you couldn’t go back.
You’d die either way.
The monster fell with a thud, and for a moment you were prideful, until it was fear that sunk in. You dropped the sword, circling the scene quickly, but you ignored the dizziness. You stopped only when your eyes fell upon Yuma, splayed on the ground as he clutched at his stomach. You rushed to his side, scraping your knees against the gravel as you got down on his level. Warm pooled under your hands, which pressed over him automatically, as your eyes blurred over. Tears fell freely, and even if you wanted to stop—who are you kidding, you couldn’t even gather a thought long enough to think of that possibility.
You were cracking. The bravery and confidence you presented opening like curtains during a play. You were see-through, emotions laid on the table for everyone to pick through.
And that used to be your biggest fear. But now it was this. Watching helplessly, hopelessly. Losing him.
You pressed harder, shaking your brain-fog as far away as you could get it. You didn’t know what to say, stomach bile choking you, what would you even tell him?
It didn’t matter, he looked past you like you were a ghost anyways.
“Look,” He barely whispered, voice cracking.
Yuma raised one of his hands, centimeters from his torso, turning his palm up. You saw small flakes land and disappear immediately against the crimson. “It’s snowing today. It must really be Christmas…”
You swallowed hard, wiping the snot and tears from your face and trying to pull yourself together. The mess didn’t matter, the blood was just another substance. You didn’t care about how it rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the salty-water in your eyes.
You didn’t care.
“It’s okay, yn.”
“N-no.” You pleaded, dread filling every crevice of your soul. “This can’t be hap—no,” You tried all you could to get him to his feet, wrapping your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder, huffing out shallow breaths. But you couldn’t get him to move, too weak to pick him up like you know he’d do if the roles were reversed. He’d get you to safety. Whatever it took. You’d be okay. So why couldn’t you extend the same fate?
His arms wrapped around you, not in an attempt to help, but only as a gesture… a goodbye. You knew it was, though you ignored it. Ignored him whispering nonsense in your ear, heartbeat too loud, he could tell you later.
Yeah, he could tell you later…
He’d tell you after all this was over. As he’s holding you close, just like this, arms around you. He’d tell you all the things he never has, and that everything was going to be okay. And he’d tell you every day after that too.
But, you were never much of an idiot, you said it yourself. Optimism wasn’t your role to fulfill, it was his. And right now it felt like sand through your hands. The hourglass was almost empty—no, completely shattered on the floor, your heart in a pile with it.
“It’ll be okay,”
But nothing would be okay if he wasn’t forever by your side. How could you even believe that, much less make him. His grip loosened, and it felt like being dropped from the top floor of a skyscraper. “I lo—“
Like the setting sun, you’re beautiful. The hues of oranges, pinks, and reds, against blue skies. Thank you for showing me that even after life has ended, I can still look forward to another day. As long as that day is with you, of course.
I thought I loved you in high school, but as I’ve grown to understand I never loved you then. I just admired you from afar every day, infatuated with the girl who was perfect. You had it all put together, your puzzle was always seemingly complete. And, I had it figured out, at graduation I was going to tell you all about how much I loved your smile, your lingering scent in the halls, how the roses in the courtyard reminded me of you. I was going to say everything I’d ever wanted to you that day. And I imagined the life we’d have together after. Everything you ever wanted, I’d give it to you. But, reality is, I probably would’ve let you go to Keio University without ever uttering a single word to you. You were like an unreachable deity I worshiped, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Maybe that’s what devotion is in hindsight.
You might not need me, but I need you. So don’t stop walking in front of me, okay?
You’re the last frost of winter before spring. The bumblebees on a hot day. The breeze through an open window. You reminded me that home doesn’t have to be a place, and that hope doesn’t have to be lost. You’re so much more than what you think you are, capable of everything I’m not. You’ll always be something to me, yn, everything to me. So, thank you. You taught me over these years, and now months, that love consumes you, debilitates you, suffocates you, destroys you. And in every life, I’d let it, as long as it’s because of you. I’ll be counting the days until next Christmas.
I love you, Yuma.
You grasped the pen in your hand tighter, writing a single sentence at the end of the paper—the note—before folding it up and putting it back in the poorly wrapped box.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I love you.
copyright loserlvrss 2026 rights reserved do not copy or translate | this was not proofread saur im sorry but im just a girl @1009high @kangtaehyunzzz @slytherinshua
A/N: I don’t celebrate Christmas, but this is my entry for secret Santa. You’ll know who this fic is for at the very end. Thank you to @lune-net for hosting this secret Santa event. I hope you guys enjoy this little fic I wrote 🤍.
Pairing: ballet dancer!reader x prince!Taki
Genre: Fluff, as requested by giftee. A little crack cause I couldn’t help but make it silly. I’m serious
Warnings? Reader experiences a major ankle injury (you did this Taki) reader’s pronouns are she/her. There’s a kiss at the end.
Today is the day.
Today is the day the artistic director will announce it, the names of those who auditioned for the roles.
And Y/n finally got the part she has always yearned for.
The role of Clara in The Nutcracker.
Everyone wanted to be Clara. Only the most skilled and talented people get those kinds of roles. And everyone was focused on getting that role. Why? Well of course because the role is an important one. All the attention will be on you if you were the one dancing as Clara.
So of course when the artistic director said Y/n’s name as the girl who plays Clara, everyone had mixed reactions;
“What? I worked so hard for that”
“I’m so happy for her” “yeah she deserves it” “I did see her late at night practicing, so yeah absolutely deserved”
“This has to be sabotaged”
Vanessa Smith, the former ‘favorite’ said as she glared at Y/n.
As Y/n was happily celebrating with her friends, she felt as if she was being watched. So as one has a feeling as such, she looked around, and she thought correct when her eyes laid on Vanessa’s glaring gaze.
Y/n sweetly smiled as Vanessa only to receive no response from her. Y/n’s face frowned upon seeing Vanessa be irresponsive.
“Don’t worry Y/n, she’s just jealous you got picked to be Clara.”
“Yeah I mean at the end, you’re the one dancing for the prince.”
One after another, Y/n’s friends chipped in with affirmations to try and cheer Y/n up. After a few more praises and cheers, Y/n finally cheered up and began getting ready to learn the first steps to Clara’s dance in The Nutcracker.
As the artistic director taught Y/n the first sixteen steps of Clara’s dance, she started remembering when she was a child, how she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up.
Little Y/n was sitting on the floor, two barbie dolls in each of her hands. One had a ballerina tutu and the other had a beautiful pink gown.
She moved then as if to show that they are dancing, left to right, round and round. She hummed music for the as she moved them from side to side delicately.
“Oh wow look at you making your barbies dance like ballerinas” Y/n’s mother smiled as she was preparing Y/n’s snack for the day.
“No mum, this one isn’t a ballerina” she lifted the one wearing a gown “she’s just swaying to the music this one is dancing to” she lift the barbie wearing a tutu.
“Sweetheart, do you want to be a ballerina or a princess?” Y/n’s mother questioned as she approached her daughter.
“Can I be both?” Y/n asked. Her mother laughed and shook her head “No baby, you can only choose one” she folded her pinky, ring, middle fingers and thumb to form a number one, showing her daughter as she continued “If you were a princess, they won’t let you be a ballerina, cause they have all these crazy rules about being delicate and untouched blah blah blah. But if you were a ballerina, you’d be too busy to be a princess, you’ll have shows day and night, practice day and night. So.. which one is it?”
Y/n looked at her mother, then her gaze dropped to her dolls, going left to the ballerina, then going right to the princess.
“I want to be a ballerina. Now”
Her mother laughed at her daughter’s cuteness, placing a hand on her chest. “Now? Like actually right now?”
Y/n nodded, she was always so ambitious once she puts her mind on something.
What happened next was very very simple.
Y/n’s mother signed her up to a ballet class. Y/n kept excelling in every class and show she did.
One day, an employee of the Royal Ballet Theatre was attending her daughter’s show, that’s when she saw 10 year old Y/n on that stage. Dancing so delicately and beautifully, it’s like the music moves with her, not her moving with the music.
Long story short, Y/n has been climbing the fame ladder ever since.
Y/n practiced and practiced, day and night. Till the day finally came.
Little did the whole team know. This show was going to be different.
“Places everyone, places. Ready Y/n? Our Clara” the director said smiling at Y/n making her blush as she nodded her head, “I was born ready” “That’s what I want to to hear”.
As the show began with dancers left snd right, dancing as they practiced. One after another their facial expressions went from shocked to quickly changing it back to normal.
Y/n noticed their faces changing as she watched from the side of the stage, “Why are they shocked?” The director shrugged her shoulders “Maybe they each saw a ghost in the audience?” Y/n laughed and shook her head “I guess I’ll have to see that with my own eyes, I’ll report back to you after I do my first dance” Y/n said as she got in position, standing on her pointes.
As she always is, Y/n was delicate as she did her part as Clara, spinning and dancing on stage as if there were no one watching. That is until she saw him. Prince Takayama Riki, Prince of Japan.
As their eyes locked, Y/n felt herself slip, her ankle hitting the floor with a loud pop!
As Y/n was rushed to the medical examiner, he noticed something strange seeping from Y/n’s pointe shoes as they sat her down on a chair, “Oil?” He questioned looking at Y/n. “Did you do this to yourself miss Y/n?” Y/n was quick to deny “No of course not, why would I self sabotage myself? I just want to dance” “Well, I can tell you that whoever did this, they don’t like you very much. You need to rest for three weeks-” “Three weeks? I can’t rest, we have shows day and night, I can’t rest” “I know that this is important to you, but your health is more important. Listen to me, you won’t be able to dance in this condition, you can barely walk, let alone dance ballet. Take my word, rest up. I’ll put a cast around your foot, you’ll need crutches to walk around” Said the medical examiner as he quickly brought the tools to make a cast around Y/n’s foot. Y/n winced in pain as she held to her best friend Yuna “It’s okay bestie, at least you get three weeks off from this hell, right? You always wanted a break” Yuna tried to lighten up the mood by telling Y/n how much she wanted a break “Well yeah, but I was joking. I didn’t mean it” Y/n laughed but it was cut off by a wince “Did you see him?” Yuna asked as she look down at Y/n, Y/n looked up into Yuna’s eyes and slowly nodded her head “I locked eyes with him, that’s when my ankle gave up” Y/n and Yuna giggled.
“Are you okay Y/n? You didn’t look like you were in pain when your ankle popped” the director asked Y/n “Yeah I didn’t feel pain, I think the adrenaline of looking a prince in the eye made my pain disappear” Y/n answered. “Wait THE PRINCE? Japan’s own prince? The next one in line?” All the other dancers nodded their heads. “Oh so you’re telling me, your ass fell in front of prince Riki? That’s not gonna be good”
And as if on cue, the second the director finished saying his sentence, two security guards busted door open, followed by non other than the prince himself. His highness, Prince Takayama Riki of Japan.
“You’re the beautiful ballerina I locked eyes with? Are you okay?” Asked the prince.
The whole team was too shocked to speak.
Until the director broke the twenty second silence that felt too long.
“His highness asked you a question Y/n,” “Answer him”
And as if she was brought back to life, Y/n shook off all the thoughts clouding her mind and nodded her head up and down with a sweet smile plastered on her face “yes, yes your highness, I’m the one you locked eyes with”
“May we be left alone?” The prince asked looking around at the whole team, they eventually understood and all left the side of the stage to leave them alone.
At first, the two did nothing, partly because Y/n was sat on a chair with a cast around her foot.
Then, the prince approached Y/n, she bowed her head to him as a form of curtsy. Her eyes never leaving his, searching for some sort of reason as to why he decided to come all this way from the royal room and to the side of the stage.
He then sat next to her which took Y/n by surprise, her tutu’s fabric laced with the hem of his jacket.
They both looked at the fabric’s interaction, no words were spoken as the light above them surrounded them with warmth.
Y/n sneaked a glance up to his eyes, only to find him looking at her.
One thing led to another, and now they’re kissing.
Lips dancing together, as if they’re doing their own kind of ballet.
[A/n: this is total shit, you know it, and I know it. I was an amazing idea, but I didn’t know how to make it work, anyhow this is from me to @slytherinshua 🤗🤗I hope you liked it, you can imagine it better cause honestly I went through hello and back trying to write it 😭 ]
NO MATTER WHAT after a tough rehearsal you can only think of one place—one person— to find comfort in. ARCHIVO
❀͟ short ◟ h.riki 𝗑 ballerina!rea ⓘfluff some hurt comfort injury ballet struggles kiss ⚠︎·˚ proof read est.rela ⎯⎯ playlist.fm 726hun
✉️idfk anything about ballet </3 anyway, ihy and iwant u to apologise @slytherinshua
You message Maki you’re outside before collapsing against his front door, and in queue, you hear the shuffling of feet, “Hey, quit abusing my door and knock like a normal person!” He yells.
He unlocks the door, and you lurch forward, crashing into him. He catches you, stumbling back slightly from the force. “Whoa, are you okay? What’s going on?”
You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you lift your pointe shoes, and that’s all Maki needs to know that you had a tough time at rehearsals.
“Okay, come on, don’t go limp and make me drag you inside,” your boyfriend complains, feigning annoyance, and picks you up, kicking the door shut behind him. “Sorry about the noise, Yudai and I planned a karaoke night with the guys. I’ll tell them to try and keep it down.”
You snuggle into him, murmuring into his hoodie, “No, it’s okay, you guys planned this. Let them enjoy themselves. I’ll just take a bath.”
You turn to greet the guys hollering at the TV, seemingly dedicating the current song to you. “Hey, are you not going to join us?” they shout, wanting you to join, but Maki doesn’t pause or turn when he calls back, “She’s gonna rest, you guys don't wait up for me.”
You frown at his words. Maki smiles softly, endeared by you. “I’ll go back, don’t worry. Let me help you out first.”
He sets you down outside his bedroom and doesn’t miss when you flinch or scrunch your eyebrows in pain. He lifts an eyebrow at you, waiting for an explanation.
“I injured my ankle again,” is all you can mumble out before your lips tremble, and your vision blurs.
His expression softens, and he moves closer, cupping your face and raising it to meet his gaze. You blink up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me right away? You know how important it is for me to know these things,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “Nicholas could’ve bumped into you and injured you further, and then I would’ve had to treat his dumbass, too, after beating him up.”
You bite back a laugh at his words and give him a gentle kiss. He immediately melts into it. He shifts one of his hands, still cupping your cheek, to the back of your head and tilts it to deepen the kiss.
He breaks away first, pouting. “Not fair, kissing me like that, now I can’t scold you.”
You shake your head, laughing softly when he picks you up and sets you down gently on his bed. “I was alright until I walked up the stairs to your place, Maki. There was no need to worry you.”
You sink further onto his bed, fidgeting with his sheets. You know how serious another injury could be for your career.
Your boyfriend frowns from where he kneels by his bathtub, checking the water's temperature. “I worry because you don’t ask for help. I’m here for you no matter what.”
He leaves the bathroom, letting the tub fill.
Maki kneels before you, untying your shoes. “No matter what.” You suck in a sharp breath when he pauses, looking up at you. The intensity of his gaze causes your face to burn. “I know you think you’re bothering me, but you don’t. Trust me,” he continues, helping you, gently sliding your shoes off. “And if you keep believing that you are, well, you should know you’re a welcome bother.”
You swallow a sharp lump as he moves on to your other shoe. Once he’s finished, you reach for him, intertwining your fingers. “I’ll let you know next time,” you say before standing up and walking hand in hand with him towards the bathroom. When you arrive at the door, you turn back to face him. “I won’t leave you guessing or worried again, I promise.”
It’s nights like these that make you feel undeserving of this love—his love— love that is caring and unwavering, but time and again, he proves that it doesn’t matter. No matter the doubts or feelings of unworthiness, he will always be there for you, offering support and reassurance.
With that, you head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Your heart flutters, not missing the smile on Maki’s face or the words he whispers, “No matter what.”
∘ ྀ ᜴꤬⠀ ͟. reblog and comment if you enjoyed(?) @kstrucknet @lune-net send an ask to be added
hii could i pls req reader taking care of sick fuma ^ ^ ty in advance my love 😼😼😼
taking care of sick fuma
[ author's scribbles ! ] ODIE ILY!!!!!!!!!!!!! TYSM FOR REQING!!!!!!!!!!! i couldntr wait to post it so uh yeah that was embarrassingly fasy c: I HOPE U ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!
the air in the bedroom is heavy and stuffy. even though you don't want fuma to become ever more sick than he already is, you had decided to open the window. the comforters are warm and cozy but you force yourself to leave the bed. fuma groans instantly.
oh, the curses and blessings of having an early bird of a boyfriend. and also a light sleeper.
"y/n…" he whines, his arm leaving to cover his eyes.
"shush, you big baby. just lay there. five minutes, i'll bring you meds and breakfast." you hum, opening the window ever so slightly.
"i'm dying… and you're leaving me here…" he huffs, turning to his side to wrap himself in the covers more securely. he'd appreciate the fresh breeze if it wasn't for his stuffed nose.
you walk by the bed and lean, pressing your hand against his forehead. it's hot but nothing threatening. the temperature surely has come down since yesterday, but you will double check later.
"can we stay.. like that… it feels… nice" fuma slurs inaudibly and turns his blood-shot eyes to look at you. his pout almost convinces you. but then, your stomach rumbles loudly.
you both giggle and you shuffle your hair.
"food and meds, fuma. then i'll lay with you for as long as you need. okay, baby?" you ask, voice soft. he just smiles in response and turns his head deeper into the pillow. "don't fall asleep, you need to eat."
"mhm… i'm just resting with my eyes closed. i'm counting pokemons in my head… i won't—" yawn "—sleep"
"you better because i won't have mercy on you" you warn and leave to the kitchen. you decided to make tea as well as some hot water. you prepared toast and decided to draw a pikachu with ketchup. preparing food on the plates, putting medicine aside… and done. you rushed back, really hoping he hasn't fallen asleep because you lied. you would have mercy on him and wouldn't wake him up… despite him needing to take his meds.
luckily, he was up. now sat with his back against the bed frame, hair disheveled and eyes sleepy. he pulled the duvet over his head, looking like a lost puppy.
"i'm back, i'm back" you hummed happily and sat at the edge of the bed, placing the plate carefully. fuma started at the toast, smiling to himself. you grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand and checked his temperature. "enjoy. take your meds after the meal, i also made you some tea… oh, it truly is lower than yesterday! one more day and you'll be back in shape"
you looked up and met his intense, yet blurry from sleep, eyes. he was chewing slowly, cogs visibly turning inside his head. he swallowed, ignoring the pain.
"you know, i love you. like, so much." he whispered, hand searching for yours. you grabbed it and intertwined your fingers together, the warmth of his skin almost sticky. but you don't mind.
instead, you lean in and press a tender kiss on his burning forehead.
"love you more" you hum and sneakily take a bite out of the toast he's holding. he chuckles tiredly, his body heating up. he just wasn't sure if it was the sickness in his body or the love he had for you taking over him.
summary: Coming home for Christmas is supposed to feel familiar, not like the beginning of something new.
genre: fluff
warnings: n/a
pairing: &team jo x reader
wc: 859
a/n: @astrae4 's secret santa gift exchange for @lune-net! sorry it's late but I hope you enjoy it!!
taglist applications: open
You tell yourself every year that you have outgrown this place. That it is too small, too quiet, too slow to change. And yet, here you are again, every December, back where the trains ease into the station, where the air smells of snow and pine, and where the town acts like nothing has moved on without you. Your suitcase is full of city clothes and habits you have picked up to survive somewhere louder, but your heart still reacts the same way it always has. Soft, open, maybe a little too hopeful.
There was someone once. A quiet love you never said aloud. You cared for him in the background, careful not to ask for too much, until one day it became clear he would never feel the same. It was not dramatic or cruel, just enough to make the once cozy town you loved feel suddenly unbearable. For a long time, every street corner, every café, every familiar place reminded you of him. Everything looks the same now, yet somehow different. This winter, the melancholy that used to tint your memories seems lighter, easier to carry.
This year the sadness is still there, but it is no longer in charge.
And then you see Jo. The boy who used to wait for you after school and walk you home when the winter evenings turned early and dark. He is outside the grocery store, scarf wrapped too neatly around his neck, breath misting in the cold, snow caught in his dark hair as if it has always belonged there. Quiet, soft-spoken, the boy who was once your best friend before life pulled you apart and the years stretched between you.
When he looks up and smiles, your chest flutters, not painfully, but sharply, like it is waking up from a long sleep.
Talking to him feels natural, like resuming a conversation you paused years ago. He asks about the city, listens when you answer, never rushes to fill the silence. You laugh more than you expected, catching yourself surprised at how easy it is. You bump into him again the next day, and again the day after. It stops feeling like coincidence and starts feeling like the town itself is nudging you together.
At your parents’ house, over tea and too many curious looks from relatives, an old family promise comes up, half tradition, half joke, about childhood friends and futures someone long ago imagined for you both. Marriage is mentioned, laughter follows, and before you can protest, Jo leans closer, voice low and slightly embarrassed. “We could pretend,” he murmurs. “Just for the holidays.”
For some reason, you say yes before you think it through.
Suddenly, you are fake dating Jo for Christmas.
It begins small. Sitting closer than usual. Hands brushing, lingering. Smiles held just a little longer than necessary. You bake cookies in the kitchen, flour ending up everywhere except where it should. You steal spoonfuls of batter and he pretends not to notice, though his smile always gives him away. At one point, he reaches out to brush flour from your cheek, and neither of you says anything about how long his hand stays there.
You go ice-skating one afternoon, clinging to him more than you need to. He laughs softly, steadying you with a hand at your waist. You tell yourself the flutter in your chest is just part of the act, but it does not feel like acting.
Later, while walking through town, he presses a single carnation into your hand. “For my favourite troublemaker,” he says, teasing gently. You laugh, your cheeks warming, and tuck the flower carefully between the pages of a book that night.
Then the snowstorm hits.
Plans are cancelled. Streets vanish under white, and you are trapped inside together while the world outside goes quiet. The pretending starts to slip. You sit close on the couch, knees brushing, sharing blankets and warmth. Silences are easy, comfortable. When he looks at you, it feels like he really sees you, not the person you pretend to be in public, not the one who learned to leave, but the one who stayed soft anyway.
On Christmas Eve, the town glows under falling snow and strings of lights. Jo walks you home slowly, neither of you saying much, until he stops under the old lamppost. Breath fogs in the cold, and his eyes search yours, like he has been holding something back for the whole season.
“I know this was supposed to be fake,” he says quietly, “but I don’t want it to be.”
Your heart stumbles.
“I’d choose you,” he adds. “Not because of family promises, not because it is Christmas. Just because I want to.”
When he kisses you, it is gentle and sure, like he has been holding this in longer than you realised. Snow clings to your hair. The town hums softly around you.
And suddenly, home is not just the place you came back to.
It is him.
It is this moment.
It is the quiet certainty that this Christmas is not an ending but the beginning of something you are finally ready to stay for.
