rules: please don't plagiarize, translate, or reupload any of my work anywhere else. requests are always done on my own time.
status:[ requests are currently: OPEN ]
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
key: ☁️ fluff | 🌧️ angst | 🍒 smut
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🧸 &TEAM 🧸
k
🦘 — 🍒Late-night choreography practice leaves you entirely alone with a completely sweaty K🍒
fuma
🎮— 🍒Fuma trades his gaming strategy for a hands-on lesson after noticing your obsession with his hands🍒
🎮—🍒Convinced that loving both Taki and Fuma is a mistake, you vanish after a messy confession, only to realize they have no intention of letting you go.🍒
🎮—🍒Driven by his instincts, Fuma becomes a desperate, whiny mess who trades his composure for needy pleas as he surrenders to his heat.🍒
🎮—🍒Fuma always takes charge, but tonight he surrenders control completely.🍒
nicholas
🍓—🍒Needy Yuma gets taken apart on the living room floor when they get interrupted.🍒
euijoo
🍊—☁️What starts as a quiet conversation at a fansign turns into a lingering connection as Euijoo finds himself scanning the crowds for the one face he cant forget☁️
yuma
🐈—🍒Yuma pushes you to your limit and watches you break, proving his total control 🍒
🐈—🌧Yuma fights the bond until you finally snap it, forcing him to live with the empty silence he chose.🌧
🐈—🍒Needy Yuma gets taken apart on the living room floor when they get interrupted.🍒
jo
🍚—☁️Jo spots you stranded in a heavy downpour and he shares his umbrella☁️
harua
🐰—☁️Late night phone call with sleepy Harua☁️
taki
🐥—🍒Convinced that loving both Taki and Fuma is a mistake, you vanish after a messy confession, only to realize they have no intention of letting you go.🍒
🐥 — 🍒A booking error at a resort leaves you sharing a steaming outdoor bath with Taki🍒
maki
🐶 —☁️🌧when k drops you off at fuma’s for a month maki couldn't hide his displeasure about sharing his space☁️🌧
The glowing white numbers on your nightstand read 2:14 AM, the harsh glare slicing through the pitch-black silence of your bedroom. Outside, the night is entirely still, the kind of heavy quiet that makes every little rustle of your bedsheets sound like an explosion. You’ve been tossing and turning for the past two hours, your brain completely refusing to shut off no matter how many times you rearrange your pillows or try to count backwards from a hundred. Your eyelids feel heavy, but the moment you close them, your mind just starts racing in circles about absolutely nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, you reach out into the cold air and grab your phone off the charger. The screen illuminates your face, blinding you for a second as you unlock it. You open your messages, your thumb hovering over a specific name.
*Harua.*
You know he’s probably fast asleep. His schedule with the guys has been completely exhausting lately, packed with endless dance practices and vocal lessons that leave him completely drained by the end of the day. The last thing you want to do is wake him up just because your own sleep cycle is completely broken. But just as you’re about to lock your phone and force yourself to stare at the ceiling again, the screen suddenly lights up in your hand, vibrating softly.
An incoming voice call. *Harua.*
Your heart does a stupid little flip against your ribs. You quickly swipe the green button and press the phone against your ear, burying your face back into the warmth of your pillow.
"Hey," you whisper, your voice a tiny, raspy sound in the dark.
There’s a brief moment of rustling on the other end, the distinct sound of a soft blanket being pulled up over someone's shoulders, and then a low, incredibly sleepy breath hits the microphone.
"Hey," Harua murmurs. His voice is deep—way deeper than it usually is during the day—and completely coated in thick, heavy slumber. It’s soft, slightly raspy, and instantly sends a wave of absolute calm washing over your entire body. "You're still awake?"
"Yeah," you breathe, shifting onto your side so you can hold the phone comfortably against your ear. "Can't sleep. My brain won't shut up. Did I wake you up? I'm so sorry, Harua, I saw your name and I was just thinking about—"
"No, no, you didn't wake me," he cuts you off softly, a tiny, breathless chuckle escaping his lips. You can practically hear the slow, tired smile on his face through the speaker. "I was actually awake too. Well, kind of. I was drifting off, but then I felt my phone vibrate on the mattress next to my pillow. I saw your status active and I just... I really wanted to hear your voice."
A stupidly warm blush creeps up your cheeks, hidden completely by the shadows of your room. "You should be sleeping. You have practice so early tomorrow."
"Don't care," Harua whispers, his voice dropping even lower, becoming this incredibly intimate, private sound that belongs entirely to you. "I'd rather talk to you. Tell me why you can't sleep, angel. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"Nothing even important," you sigh, tracing a mindless circle on your mattress with your index finger. "Just random thoughts. Everything feels so loud when the room is this quiet, you know? But the second you answered, it kind of just... went away."
"Good," he murmurs, and you hear the soft sound of him shifting his weight, settling deep into his own bed miles away. "Then I'm glad I called. Just stay right here with me. Don't hang up."
"I won't," you promise.
For a long time, neither of you says anything. But it’s not an awkward silence at all—it's the most comfortable, grounding feeling in the world. Through the tiny speaker of your phone, you can hear the steady, rhythmic sound of Harua’s breathing. It’s slow and deep, a quiet anchor in the middle of the night. Every now and then, you catch the faint rustle of his sheets or the soft sigh he lets out as he adjusts his position, and it feels so real that if you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself that he’s lying right next to you in the dark, his broad chest pressed against your back.
"Are you still there?" Harua's voice breaks the silence, a tiny, barely-audible murmur that sounds like he’s already halfway back into his dreams.
"Still here," you whisper back. "Are you falling asleep on me, Harua?"
"Mmm... maybe a little bit," he confesses, his words slurring together just a fraction from pure exhaustion. "But I don't want to put the phone down. If I leave it right here next to my ear, it feels like you're right next to me. Is that silly?"
"It's not silly at all," you say softly, a genuine smile pulling at your lips. "I'm doing the exact same thing."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I have you on speaker now, right on the pillow next to my head. So you can just close your eyes, okay? You don't have to force yourself to talk to me."
"Okay..." he breathes, the word trailing off into a soft, contented exhale. "But keep talking to me for a bit? Just tell me about your day. Or anything. Your voice is my favorite sound. It makes me feel so safe."
Your chest swells with so much affection it almost aches. You take a slow, deep breath, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing guide your own. You start talking in a very low, soothing whisper, just rambling about the most mundane things you can think of—a cute dog you saw on your way home yesterday, a song you couldn't get out of your head, the way the sky looked when the sun went down. You don't even know if he's fully processing the words, but you keep going anyway, turning your voice into a gentle lullaby just for him.
As you speak, you listen closely to the changes on his end of the line. The quiet hum of his room, the slow, heavy rise and fall of his chest. After a few minutes, his soft hums of agreement start to trail off, becoming completely spaced out until they stop altogether.
"Harua?" you whisper tentatively, pausing your story.
No response. Just the beautiful, unbroken cadence of his deep sleep breathing. He’s completely gone, pulled under by the sheer exhaustion of his days, entirely relaxed because your voice was the last thing he heard before drifting off.
You don't hang up. Instead, you pull your blanket up higher, tucking it right under your chin, and pull the phone even closer to your cheek on the pillow. The sound of his steady breathing fills the small empty space in your room, entirely washing away the last remnants of your anxiety. Your brain finally goes completely quiet, completely settled by the knowledge that he chose to spend his last waking moments holding onto you.
"Goodnight, Harua," you whisper into the dark, your own eyelids finally fluttering shut as the heavy warmth of sleep pulls you under too. "I love you."
You fall asleep with the line still open, your breathing perfectly syncing up with his through the speaker, completely connected even through the distance.
Genre: Role Reversal, Established Relationship, Smut with Plot
Warnings: Pegging
Summary: Fuma always takes charge, but tonight he surrenders control completely.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
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The rain is absolutely drumming against the windowpane of your bedroom, a steady, low-frequency hum that seals the two of you away from the rest of the world. It’s past midnight, the kind of hour where secrets feel safe and the usual rules of the day don't seem to apply anymore.
Fuma is sitting on the edge of your mattress, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he scrolls mindfully through his phone. He’s wearing one of his oversized black hoodies—the one you always steal because it smells like his specific cedarwood cologne—and his damp hair is falling into his eyes after his shower. To anyone else, Fuma is the absolute anchor. He’s the one who takes care of everyone, the steady presence who always holds the power, always takes the lead, and always makes sure you’re completely looked after before he even thinks about himself. He loves being on top; he loves the feeling of looking down at you, controlling the pace, and making sure you’re entirely consumed by him.
But tonight, the energy in the room is shifting.
You’re sitting cross-legged behind him, gently running your fingers through the soft strands of his hair, untangling the damp knots. Every time your fingertips brush against the nape of his neck, a tiny, almost imperceptible shiver ripples through his spine. You’ve been harboring a very specific craving for weeks now, a quiet desire to see this massive, unshakeable man completely surrender his composure to you. To see what happens when the anchor is finally unmoored.
"Fuma," you murmur, your voice low, barely competing with the sound of the rain outside.
"Yeah?" he replies, his deep voice vibrating through his back. He doesn’t turn around, but he tilts his head back slightly into your touch, letting his eyes flutter shut.
"I want to try something different tonight," you say, your fingers tracing down to the collar of his hoodie, hooking into the fabric. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the warm skin right behind his ear. "I want you to let me take care of you. All the way."
Fuma tenses slightly, his phone screen going dark as he locks it and sets it face down on the nightstand. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You always take care of me, angel. What do you mean?"
You reach over to your nightstand, pulling open the drawer to reveal the harness and the sleek, realistic dildo you’d quietly bought a couple of weeks ago. You lay it out on the bed between you.
Fuma’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes dart from the leather straps to your face, his pupils instantly dilating in the dim warmth of the bedside lamp. The confident, easygoing expression on his face falters, replaced by a sudden, heavy flush that creeps up his neck.
"Oh," Fuma whispers, his throat moving as he swallows hard. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze lingering on the toy. "You... you want to use that on me?"
"I want to peg you, Fuma," you say directly, no hesitation in your voice. You shift closer, crawling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, forcing him to look at you. "You’re always the one in control. You’re always taking care of me, always holding everything together. Just once... I want you to give that up to me. Let me be the one who decides how it feels."
Fuma’s hands find your hips out of pure habit, his large palms warm against your skin, but he doesn't pull you closer yet. His mind is clearly racing. The concept of completely relinquishing control—especially in a way that leaves him entirely vulnerable and exposed—is pushing him far outside his usual comfort zone. He’s used to being the protector, the dominant force in the bedroom.
"I don't know," he confesses, his voice dropping to an incredibly quiet, rough register. He looks down, unable to hold your gaze for a second. "It’s... it’s a lot. What if I’m not good at it? What if it hurts?"
"I will be so gentle with you," you promise softly, leaning down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the mint from his toothpaste. "We’ll go as slow as you want. Prep you properly. The absolute second you say stop, we stop. I just want to see you break a little bit for me. Please?"
Fuma lets out a long, shaky exhale, his forehead coming to rest against your shoulder. You can feel the heavy thudding of his heart against your chest. He stays like that for a long moment, wrestling with the sheer weight of the submission you're asking for, before he finally lets out a breathless, defeated laugh.
"You really know exactly how to get to me, don't you?" he murmurs against your skin. He lifts his head, his eyes dark with a mix of nerves and burgeoning arousal. "Okay. Okay, angel. I trust you. Show me."
The shift in authority is instant and intoxicating. You slide off his lap and instruct him to lay back on the bed, stripping off his hoodie so his broad, muscular chest is completely bare to the room's cool air. You buckle yourself into the leather harness, adjusting the straps tightly around your hips. The weight of the dildo feels heavy and powerful against your thigh as you move.
When you look back at Fuma, he looks entirely different than he usually does. He’s lying on his back, his arms slightly spread, watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated vulnerability. The contrast of his large, athletic frame looking so completely helpless under your gaze makes a wicked surge of heat coil deep in your stomach.
You grab the bottle of lube and pour a generous amount onto your fingers. "Knees to your chest, Fuma. Let me see you."
A dark pink hue floods his cheeks, but he does exactly what he’s told, pulling his thighs up and holding his knees, exposing his heat to you. He looks incredibly nervous, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
"Relax for me," you soothe, kneeling between his legs. You press a comforting hand to his inner thigh, feeling the tight knot of his muscles. "Take a deep breath."
As Fuma inhales, you press the tip of your heavily lubed finger against his entrance. He flinches slightly, a low groan escaping his lips as you slowly slide the first digit inside him. The contrast is unbelievable—he is so tight, his body naturally trying to guard itself against the intrusion.
"Mmh, angel..." Fuma pants, his eyes squeezing shut as his knuckles turn white from gripping his knees.
"You're doing so well, Fuma. Just breathe through it," you whisper, leaning down to kiss his stomach, your mouth trailing heat across his abs while your finger works slowly inside him. You add a second finger, stretching him gently, rotating your hand to find the exact spot that makes his breath hitch.
When your knuckle catches against his prostate, Fuma’s entire body jerks. A sharp, needy gasp cuts through the room, his hips twitching involuntarily toward your hand. His head rolls back into the pillow, a strand of damp hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
"There it is," you smirk, leaning over him, your chest pressing against his as you continue to work your fingers inside his tight heat. "You like that, don't you?"
"Yes... *ah*, please," Fuma whimpers, completely abandoning his usual deep, composed tone. He sounds so beautifully undone, his fingers letting go of his knees to blindly reach up and clutch at your shoulders, seeking an anchor while you completely rearrange his senses.
You slowly withdraw your fingers, the slick sound of the lube echoing loudly in the quiet room. Fuma lets out a whined protest at the sudden emptiness, his eyes opening, completely glazed over with need. You don't make him wait. You position the tip of the toy right against his opening, coating it in another thick layer of lubricant.
"Look at me, Fuma," you command softly.
He forces his heavy eyelids open, his dark eyes locking onto yours, completely trapped under your gaze.
"I'm going to push it in now. Tell me if it's too much."
You slowly lower your hips, pressing the blunt head of the dildo against his tight ring. Fuma’s breath hitches completely, his entire body locking up as the sheer size of the toy begins to stretch him open. It’s a slow, agonizingly deliberate invasion. You watch his face change in real-time—the initial shock of the fullness, the way his jaw tightens, and then the complete surrender as his muscles finally give in, stretching around the plastic shaft.
"Oh my god," Fuma chokes out, a tear of pure overstimulation leaking from the corner of his eye as you bury the toy all the way to the base. He feels completely packed full, his stomach rolling with the intense sensation of being stretched so wide. "Angel... it's so big... *mhmm*..."
"You took it all," you praise, your voice dripping with genuine awe as you look down at how perfectly his body has molded around you. You reach down, gently wiping the tear from his cheek before leaning down to kiss him deeply. "You're so incredibly soft for me, Fuma. Look at how well you're taking it."
The praise hits him like a drug. Fuma’s hands grip your waist, not to push you away, but to hold you steady as you begin to shift your hips.
You start with slow, shallow thrusts, letting him get used to the strange, overwhelming sensation of the movement. Every time you pull back, the slick friction makes Fuma let out a shaky, trembling sigh; every time you push back in, his hips unconsciously roll upward to meet you, begging for the depth.
Now that the initial tightness has faded, the pleasure is starting to take over. You find a rhythm, angling your hips slightly downward so the toy hits that sweet spot inside him with every single stroke.
The reaction is instantaneous. Fuma’s head thrashes against the pillow, his lips parting as a barrage of high, needy groans breaks from his throat. He is completely at your mercy, his large body trembling underneath yours as you ruthlessly drive yourself into him. The sheer power dynamic is intoxicating—the fact that this man, who could easily overpower you with a single hand, is completely melting into a whining, desperate mess beneath your hips.
"You're so loud tonight, Fuma," you tease, speeding up the pace just a fraction, the leather of the harness slapping rhythmically against his thighs. "Do you like being filled up like this?"
"Yes! *Ah—ah*, please, faster," he begs, completely unbothered by his lost pride. He throws his arms over his head, gripping the wooden slats of your headboard just to keep himself grounded as you absolutely take him apart. His chest is covered in a light sheen of sweat, his muscles flexing beautifully with every hard thrust you deliver.
You don't hold back. You lean all your weight over him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand while your hips maintain a brutal, unrelenting pace. The toy bottoms out inside him again and again, hitting his prostate with a heavy, wet rhythm that drives him completely over the edge of sanity. Fuma is sobbing into the mattress now, his hips rolling wildly against you, his entire lower half completely consumed by the friction and the deep, throbbing ache of your invasions.
"Look at you," you whisper hotly into his ear, your breath hitching as the physical exertion starts to tire your own thighs. "My sweet boy. So good for me."
"I'm yours," Fuma gasps out, his voice completely wrecked and broken as his body nears its absolute limit. "Angel... please... I'm gonna break... I'm gonna..."
He doesn't even need to touch himself. The sheer, intense pressure on his prostate from your heavy, relentless thrusts is more than enough. You give him three more hard, deep drives, pulling back almost entirely before bottoming out inside him with everything you have.
Fuma’s back arches completely off the bed, his throat releasing a loud, breathless cry as his climax hits him in violent, shuddering waves, spilling over his own stomach without him ever lifting a finger. His inner muscles clamp down incredibly tight around the toy, pulsing around it as his body rides out the intense, exhausting aftershocks of the release.
You hold him right there, keeping the toy buried deep inside his pulsing heat while he unravels completely. You run your free hand through his sweaty hair, whispering sweet, soft praises against his temple while his breath slowly returns to him.
After a few quiet minutes, you carefully unbuckle the harness and slide the toy out of him, treating his sensitive body with the utmost care. Fuma immediately collapses inward, curling onto his side and pulling the blanket tightly around his broad shoulders. He looks completely spent, his eyes half-closed and his skin beautifully flushed from head to toe.
You slide under the covers next to him, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind and pulling his back against your chest. Fuma lets out a long, contented sigh, his large hand reaching back to find yours, locking his fingers tightly with yours over his chest.
"Thank you," he whispers into the quiet room, his voice still incredibly rough and deep. He turns his head slightly to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. "I loved it. I love you."
"I love you too, Fuma," you smile, burying your face into his neck, completely content as the rain continues to fall outside, leaving the two of you entirely safe in your own little world.
Summary: When K drops you off at Fuma’s for a month, Maki couldn't hide his displeasure about sharing his space.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
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The rain in late May was heavy, a thick, drumming sheet of gray water that turned the suburban streets slick and swallowed the sound of the neighborhood in a steady, relentless hum. Inside K's car, the heat was blasted on high, fogging up the windows as he pulled into Fuma’s gravel driveway.
You sat in the passenger seat, pulling the sleeves of your oversized knit sweater over your hands. Your large, plush grey-and-red fox ears were pinned flat against your hair, and your heavy, white-tipped tail was curled tightly around your waist. You had only been adopted by K a couple of weeks ago. You weren't unhappy—you were quietly thrilled to finally have a home—but everything was still pretty new to you.
Normally, if K had to step out for a few days, you would have been perfectly fine staying back at the apartment by yourself. You could handle your own meals, you liked the quiet, and you were independent enough to enjoy the solitude. But this wasn't a weekend trip. K's company had assigned him to an international conference and a follow-up project that was going to keep him overseas for a solid month. Leaving you entirely alone for four weeks straight didn't sit right with him, which was exactly how you found yourself packed into a single duffel bag, pulling up to an unfamiliar house on a Sunday afternoon.
"I know it's a long time," K said, turning the engine off and giving you a reassuring look. "But Fuma’s glad to take you in, okay? It’s much better than you staying in the apartment alone for a month. You'll have company."
You nodded softly, your nose twitching at the scent of the rain outside. Fuma was K's close friend, and he also looked after Maki. K had mentioned him a few times, but you hadn't met him yet. The thought of staying in a completely different house with an unfamiliar hybrid for a whole month made your ears shift nervously.
K grabbed your duffel bag from the back seat, and together, you ran through the downpour to the front porch.
The door opened almost instantly, revealing Fuma’s tall, broad frame. "Come in, come in! Get out of the rain."
As soon as you stepped into the warm entryway, the rich scents of fresh laundry, cedar wood oil, and roasted tea hit you. But before K could even set your bag down, a sharp scratching sound echoed from the living room hardwood.
Maki came skittering around the corner, his bare feet sliding slightly on the polished oak. He was in his human form, but his hybrid traits were prominent—a pair of floppy, golden retriever ears sat high in his thick brown hair, and a long, feathered golden tail was whipping back and forth in a frantic blur of excitement. He was wearing an oversized hoodie that hung down past his shorts.
"Fuma! Is K here?" Maki burst out, his voice loud and full of bouncing energy. He lunged forward, but his words cut off the second his eyes dropped to you.
Maki’s nose twitched rapidly. His ears snapped upright, his tail stopping mid-wag as he stared at you. He had been told a guest was coming, but the reality of another hybrid moving into his living space for a whole month clearly caught him off guard.
At the sudden boom of his voice, you shrank back, your large grey ears pinning flat against your skull as you instinctively stepped behind K's shoulder to hide from his direct stare.
"Maki, quiet," Fuma said, his voice dropping into a sharp, low warning. He placed a firm, grounding hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Back up. You're crowding her."
Maki froze, his entire frame going rigid. His tail dropped flat against his calves, and his round eyes widened as he looked at Fuma. Fuma had never spoken to him with that cold, disciplinary edge before. Fuma was *his* person; the one who spent hours scratching behind his ears and always kept extra honey crackers in his bag for him.
"Fuma...?" Maki whispered, his voice cracking slightly. He looked at the protective way Fuma was shielding you, then at K, who was gently handing your duffel bag to Fuma. "Why is she staying here?"
"K has a business trip out of town for a month," Fuma explained patiently, though his grip on Maki's shoulder remained firm. "She’s going to stay in the spare room. I need you to be on your best behavior and keep the noise down, Maki. Go to the kitchen and finish your lunch."
Maki didn't move toward the kitchen. He stood right there on the hallway runner rug, his hands clenching into tight fists inside his large sleeves. He watched as Fuma carried your bag up the stairs, guiding you toward your room. Fuma was putting all of his focus into you the exact second you walked through the door, and a deep, bitter pang of petty jealousy settled right into the younger boy's chest.
The first several days of the stay were a quiet, suffocating nightmare of tension.
Maki made it entirely obvious that he didn't want you in his space. He didn't yell or throw tantrums—Fuma would have shut that down immediately—but his cold shoulder was incredibly loud. Whenever you came downstairs to get a glass of water, he would immediately drop his ears, roll his eyes, and leave the room, letting the kitchen door slam shut behind him. If Fuma set a plate of food out for both of you, Maki would sit on the absolute furthest edge of the table, staring down at his plate and ignoring any attempt at conversation.
He was used to being the absolute center of Fuma's world, and having a new hybrid move into the spare room for a month felt to him like a total invasion. You didn't try to force your way into his path. You spent most of your time tucked away upstairs, reading books, looking out the window, and counting down the weeks until K returned.
By the end of the first week, however, the continuous rain outside brought a damp, heavy chill into the house, and with it came a sudden, severe fever.
It started on a Sunday afternoon. Maki had been unusually quiet all morning, huddled under a blanket on the living room sofa. Fuma had spent hours sitting beside him, constantly changing the cool cloths on his forehead and checking his temperature, his expression lined with deep worry. The fever had hit Maki fast and hard, leaving him completely drained, shivering, and exhausted.
By evening, the thermometer hit a dangerous spike, and Fuma realized the standard fever reducers they had in the pantry weren't working. He needed a specialized prescription block from the 24-hour clinic across town.
Fuma hurried down the stairs, looking entirely stressed as he found you sitting quietly at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of tea.
"I have to run to the clinic to pick up his medicine," Fuma said, his voice tense as he grabbed his car keys. "The pharmacy closes its drive-thru soon, and I can't wait until morning. His fever is too high. Can you please just sit in the living room and watch him for a bit? Just make sure he doesn't roll off the couch or choke on his water."
You nodded immediately, your ears shifting forward. "Of course. Go ahead."
The second the front door clicked shut and Fuma's car pulled out into the pouring rain, the house went completely still. You walked into the living room, keeping your feet quiet on the hardwood floorboards.
Maki was tucked into a tight ball on the sofa. His ears were pinned flat against his head, his eyes squeezed shut, and his tail was tucked completely between his legs. His breathing was shallow, ragged, and hot, a bright flush spreading across his cheeks as his body shivered violently beneath his oversized hoodie. He looked completely helpless, stripped of all that bratty, territorial energy from earlier.
Even though he had been a total jerk to you for the past seven days, seeing him look so small and miserable made your annoyance completely evaporate. You couldn't just leave someone shivering alone in a dark room.
You approached the couch cautiously. Maki let out a low, pathetic whine, his chest heaving as a violent shiver racked his frame. You knelt down on the rug beside the sofa, carefully leaning over to pull the damp, warmed cloth from his forehead. You went into the bathroom, wrung it out under freezing cold water, and came back to place it gently across his burning brow.
Maki flinched slightly at the sudden shock of cold, his eyelids fluttering open. His round eyes were glassy, completely unfocused and hazy from the heat as he stared up at you blankly. He didn't have the energy to roll eyes, pout, or walk away from you this time. He just shivered, a tiny, involuntary whimper leaving his throat as his ears twitched weakly against the cushions.
"It's okay," you murmured softly, speaking to him for the very first time since you had arrived. Your voice was quiet and calming in the dim room. "Just close your eyes, Maki. Fuma went to get the medicine."
You set a fresh glass of water down on the coffee table right within his reach, then quietly slid back until you were sitting flat on the rug, resting your back against the heavy armchair. You stayed right there in the room, keeping a silent, comforting watch over him.
An hour later, Fuma burst through the front door, drenched from the storm and holding a small brown paper bag. He rushed into the living room, instantly melting the prescription tablet into a small cup of warm water and coaxing Maki to swallow it. Maki took the medicine weakly, his eyelids heavy, before sinking straight back into the pillows, completely exhausted.
Fuma let out a long, ragged breath, running a hand through his own hair. He looked completely worn out from a full day of stressful caregiving, his shoulders slumping.
"He needs to rest now, and the fever should start dropping over the next few hours," Fuma whispered, looking at you with immense gratitude. "Thank you for staying with him."
"You should get some sleep," you said softly, noticing the deep shadows under Fuma's eyes. "I'm already awake. I can stay down here and keep an eye on him throughout the night to make sure his temperature stays down. You've been up all day."
Fuma hesitated, looking between you and the sleeping boy on the couch, before letting out a relieved sigh. "Are you sure? I can take over at 4 AM."
"I'm sure," you murmured, shifting your tail comfortingly. "Go rest."
The rest of the night passed in a slow, quiet hum. For the next three hours, you stayed strictly by Maki's side on the floor. Every thirty minutes, you would quietly rise, walk to the kitchen to refresh the cold water, and gently place the freezing cloth back onto his forehead. You monitored his shallow breathing, smoothed down the edge of his blanket when he shivered, and sat in the quiet glow of the salt lamp, ensuring he was never left alone in the dark.
Around 3 AM, the severe heat finally began to break. Maki’s breathing gradually slowed down, turning steady and deep as the bright flush on his cheeks faded back into a normal color.
He slowly blinked his eyes open, the glassiness completely gone from his gaze. The cold cloth had slid slightly to the side of his face, and as he shifted his head, his eyes landed directly on you. You were still sitting flat on the rug right beside the couch, your ears tilted forward, quietly watching him with a tired but gentle expression.
Maki sat up slowly, the fabric of his hoodie shifting as he pulled his knees to his chest. He looked at the damp cloth in his hand, then at the glass of water on the table, and finally back at you. He looked down at the floor, realizing that you had spent the entire night sitting in the dark just to make sure he was safe, despite how awful he had been to you. A deep, heavy wave of intense shame washed over his face, his ears dropping low.
"You... you stayed the whole night?" Maki whispered, his voice incredibly rough and cracked from the dry heat of the fever. He swallowed hard, staring down at his bare feet as his fingers tightly gripped the damp washcloth. "I was so mean to you all week. I wouldn't even sit near you or look at you. Why did you help me?"
You shifted your white-tipped tail softly against the floorboards, leaning your chin on your knees. "Because you were hurting, Maki. I'm not just going to leave someone alone when they're sick. It's not a big deal."
Maki's chest hitched, a tiny, miserable sound escaping his throat. He dropped all of his defenses, the bratty, stubborn attitude completely melting away to reveal how insecure he actually was about sharing his life.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his eyes watering slightly as he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor, unable to look you in the eye. "I was just being a total jerk. I've never had to share the house or Fuma with anyone before, and when you showed up for a whole month, I just got stupidly defensive of my space. I was just scared of not being the favorite anymore. I'm really sorry I made you feel unwelcome."
Hearing his honest, slightly childish confession made your heart soften completely. You realized his grumpiness hadn't been malicious at all; he was just terrified of losing his person's affection and didn't know how to express it.
You pulled yourself up from the rug and sat down on the very opposite edge of the long couch, leaving a comfortable, non-threatening distance between you. "K is coming back at the end of the month, Maki. I'm not trying to take your big brother away or steal your home. I'm just a guest. We can share the space."
Maki lifted his head, his ears perking up just a tiny fraction as he looked at you. A small, incredibly shy smile touched his lips, and his long, feathered tail gave a single, hesitant, quiet thump against the couch cushions behind him.
"I know," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. "Do you... do you want to share the honey crackers Fuma bought? They're really good if you dip them in tea."
You smiled back, your ears tilting forward happily. "I'd like that, Maki."
Once the ice was broken, the remaining three weeks of the month transformed into a comfortable, easy friendship. Now that Maki didn't view you as an invader, he wanted to be your absolute shadow.
Because you both had canine traits, your daily routines blended together seamlessly. You quickly found out that while Maki was high-energy and loved to follow you around, you two could easily joke around and hang out without any of the old tension.
As the weeks rolled on, a quiet, thick romantic undertone began to bleed into the space between you, though you were completely blind to it.
Maki started leaving his favorite oversized hoodies around the house on purpose. He would drop them on the back of the dining chairs or leave them on the spare bed. The second he left the room, you would grab the thick fabric, pull it over your head, and completely bury yourself in it, enjoying how warm and comfortable it was while you read your books or watched TV.
Whenever he came into the room and saw you wearing his clothes—the sleeves hanging down way down past your fingertips and the hem reaching your knees—Maki would look completely flustered, a bright blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He would never ask for them back. He would just sit right next to you on the couch, his tail thumping against the cushions in a rhythmic, heavy pattern that shook the whole sofa.
To you, this was just standard, affectionate behavior from a close friend. You completely chalked his flustered face and constant presence up to him being an energetic, sweet guy who had finally accepted you as a roommate. You didn't realize how deeply he was starting to care about you.
The final evening of the month arrived, and the change on Maki’s end was obvious. K had officially landed back in town earlier that day, and he had met up with Fuma for a quick meeting down the street to catch up on the details of his trip. K was planning to come back to the house with Fuma right after they finished, meaning you would be packing your bags and heading home in just an hour or two.
The television was playing a soft, low-volume movie, but neither of you were paying attention to it. You were sitting close together on the long leather couch, the room illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of the salt lamp in the corner.
You shifted your weight, pulling your legs up onto the cushions to get comfortable, and without thinking, your large, plush tail drifted across the leather, draping itself heavily and softly right over Maki’s lap.
Maki froze entirely. A handful of popcorn stopped halfway to his mouth.
You blinked, looking down at your own tail, your ears flaring forward in a wave of sudden heat. You started to pull it back, your cheeks burning at the accidental contact. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to crowd you—"
"No! Wait, don't move it," Maki blurted out, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. He quickly dropped the popcorn back into the bowl, his hands shaking just a fraction as he carefully reached down to rest his palm against the soft fur. He held it there, his ears drooping in absolute fondness.
Beneath him, his long tail started to thump against the couch cushions. It was a frantic, heavy thump-thump-thump-thump that was echoing loudly off the walls of the quiet living room, so fast and intense it was vibrating right through the sofa.
A soft, breathy chuckle escaped your lips, your ears tilting down to hide your blushing face as you watched his tail fly. "Maki... your tail is really loud. Are you okay?"
"I can't help it," Maki whispered, his voice incredibly deep and thick with a sudden, raw emotion. He turned his body completely toward you on the cushions, his round, earnest eyes locking onto yours with a heavy intensity that you had never seen on him before. "Every time you're close to me, my tail just does whatever it wants. Because... because I'm just so happy when I'm with you. I don't want this month to end."
You blinked, your heart skipping a heavy beat as you looked at his flushed face. Even with your casual interpretation of his behavior, the sheer warmth radiating off him made your own tail give a happy, involuntary twitch under his hand. You knew he was going to miss having a roommate.
"I'll miss you too, Maki," you said softly, reaching out to lightly pinch the sleeve of his hoodie. "But we only live a few blocks away. We're still going to hang out every day."
Maki let out a soft, breathy sigh. He just smiled softly, his hand resting gently against the edge of your tail before he leaned his head back against the cushions, content to just stay attached to your side for the rest of the night.
A little while later, the front door lock finally chimed, and Fuma walked into the entryway, with K following right behind him carrying his travel suitcase.
"We're back!" K called out, his voice bright with happiness as he stepped into the hall.
In the living room, the reality of the month being over hit the couch like a physical weight.
Maki’s ears instantly dropped flat against his head, all the energy draining from his posture. His long, feathered tail completely stopped wagging, hanging heavy and still behind his legs. He looked at you as you stood up to grab your duffel bag from the corner, and his instincts completely took over. He wasn't going to let you leave quietly.
Before you could even lift the strap of your bag, Maki slid off the couch and attached himself straight to your side. He wrapped both of his arms securely around your waist from behind, burying his face directly into the soft curve of your neck and shoulder, letting out a low, pathetic whine that vibrated right against your skin.
"Maki," you gasped, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as you felt his heavy frame lean completely into your back. "What are you doing? I'm just getting my bag."
"Don't go," he mumbled into your sweater, his grip tightening just a fraction, completely ignoring Fuma and K who were now standing in the living room doorway, watching the display. To make sure you couldn't move, Maki stretched his long tail out, looping the fluffy end of it tightly around your ankle, anchoring you to the floorboards. "Stay another week. K can just stay here too. It's too quiet if you leave."
You stood there completely trapped, your large ears tilting back as you patted his forearms with a fond, amused smile. You genuinely thought he was just being a sweet, over-the-top friend who hated goodbyes.
"Aw, Maki, I'll miss you too," you said softly, turning your head slightly to rub the side of your cheek against his hair, entirely oblivious to the way his heart rate spiked at the contact. "But I have to go home with K. I promise I'll come over tomorrow afternoon so we can go to the park, okay? You're being so dramatic."
Over his shoulder, K and Fuma exchanged a quiet, knowing look. K raised an eyebrow, a highly amused smirk pulling at his lips as he saw you completely wrapped up in Fuma's hybrid like a security blanket. Fuma just shook his head, a fond, tired smile on his face as he looked at how completely attached the younger boy had become over the course of a month.
"Maki, let her go," Fuma chided gently, though there was zero heat in his voice. "She lives fifteen minutes away. You're going to see her tomorrow."
Maki let out one final, drawn-out whine, reluctantly unlooping his tail from your ankle and letting his arms slide away from your waist. His ears stayed drooped low against his cheeks, looking completely miserable as you finally picked up your duffel bag.
"Tomorrow," Maki insisted, pointing a long finger at you, his round eyes wide and full of an intense, lingering expectation that you mistook for simple excitement. "As soon as lunch is over. You have to come back."
"I promise," you laughed, stepping toward the front door with K. You gave Maki one last wave, your tail giving a happy, energetic swish as you stepped out into the cool evening air. "See you tomorrow, Maki!"
Maki stood on the porch, leaning against Fuma’s side as his ears twitched at your voice. As K's car finally pulled out of the gravel driveway, his long feathered tail gave a single, slow, hopeful thump against the wooden porch steps, already counting down the hours until you came back to visit.
happy early pride month my smidarlings ~ ( *¯ ꒳¯*) i know how much u all enjoy my fem!team stuff so i thought to make a series of fics specifically for pride month with fem!team !! there will be sfw and nsfw fics written n posted in no particular order ~~ !
sfw ────
falling for fem!trackstar k
confessing to fuma!k on the rooftop
getting cheated on but falling for the girl ur bf cheated on (fem!nicholas)
princess!reader falls for lady in waiting fem!euijoo
fem fan!jo falls for former idol reader
gyaru!yuma and her 3 confessions
fem childhood best friend!harua
i married my best friend to shut my parents up (fem!taki)
academic rivals w fem!maki
nsfw ────
1. stealth strap w fem!k
2. roommate fem!euijoo
3. g!p mating press w fem!fuma
4. puppy play w fem!taki
5. masc fem ceo!nicholas
6. kitty hybrid!fem yuma (dddne)
7. femme!harua x femme!reader
8. first timing using a trap w fem!jo
9. ab riding w fem!maki
bonus: big sister!weno + big sister!k (dddne)
ⓘ ──── please read
i will be writing these throughout the month of june, but some may not be written ! i will do my best to get to all of them within this month but if i am unable to—they will be written later and or posted in june !
most other wips and reqs will be put on hold to prioritize this series ~ sorry straight people ... i will ocassionally post mxf reqs here and there tho !
𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 open . . . . . :
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Genre: Smut, Heavy Praise, Overstimulation, Caught / Voyeurism
Warnings: Heavy explicit sexual content, male submissive, overstimulation, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism
Summary: Needy Yuma gets taken apart on the living room floor when they get interrupted.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The living room was dark except for the low, heavy glow of the kitchen counter LEDs casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. There was no talking, no slow build-up—the absolute desperation between you and Yuma had been boiling under the surface all day, and the second the rest of the dorm went quiet, the boundary completely snapped.
You had him flat on his back on the soft rug, his oversized black tee shoved up around his chest and his grey sweatpants kicked away into a heap near the couch. You were already bare from the waist down, dripping wet, and hovering directly over his lap.
Yuma was completely, utterly ruined for you. His dark hair was messy against the carpet, his skin radiating a terrifying amount of heat as his eyes stared up at you, wide, dark, and completely blown out. His length was massive, fully rigid, and leaking a heavy, glossy amount of pre-cum that caught the dim light.
"Look at you," you whispered, your fingers sliding down his stomach before you gripped his hips, holding him steady. "So hard for me just from looking. Such a good boy."
Yuma let out a broken, needy whimper at the praise, his entire body trembling as you lifted your hips, aligning his thick tip with your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, you sank all the way down onto him, burying his length completely inside your core in one smooth, heavy motion.
The sudden, intense friction of your tight walls wrapping around his hyper-sensitive skin was a complete shock to his system. Yuma didn't even get the chance to move. The second you bottomed out against his hips, his eyes rolled straight back into his head, a loud, high-pitched cry tearing sharply from his throat as his back violently arched completely off the floor.
He came instantly.
A loud, broken wail left his parted lips as his first orgasm ripped through his frame on impact, his length pulsing fiercely inside you as he unloaded a massive, shocking volume of thick, hot release deep into your core. It felt like pure static electricity, the sheer, overflowing amount of his come filling you completely until it started to slide out of your shared warmth, dripping down his thighs and onto the rug.
"Ah—god, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I came—" Yuma sobbed out, his face flushing a violent, dark crimson all the way down to his chest. His body went entirely limp beneath you, his muscles twitching violently from the sheer force of the instant climax. "I couldn't hold it, you feel too good... please don't be mad..."
You let out a soft, low chuckle, leaning down to press a firm kiss to his jaw before your hands gripped his hips tighter, refusing to let him rest. "I'm not mad, Yuma. You filled me up so perfectly on the very first touch. Such a good, sweet boy."
Yuma whimpered loudly at the validation. You didn't give him a second to recover. You began to drive your hips down against his in a slow, heavy, relentless rhythm. The thick fluid of his release acted as a heavy lubricant, making every single slide of your bodies incredibly smooth and unbelievably intense.
"Ah—wait, please!" Yuma gasped out, his hands frantically grabbing your wrists as his eyes snapped open, wide and completely panicked with pleasure. The continuous movement right through his climax was sending his nerve endings into absolute hyper-sensitivity. "I'm too sensitive—it's too much—please stop moving—"
"You're doing so well, Yuma," you murmured, your voice dropping into an incredibly deep, authoritative praise as you deliberately ground your pelvis hard against his, driving him deeper into overstimulation. "Look how much you gave me. Take it all for your girl."
Yuma let out a broken sob, his head thrashing from side to side against the floor. He wanted to push you away, his fingers tightening on your wrists, but he couldn't fight you. He could only lay there, his hips rolling helplessly beneath you as you ruthlessly rode him through his sensitivity, his own hands gripping his thighs as they shook uncontrollably on either side of your waist. The sheer psychological high of your praise forced his length to rapidly harden right back up inside your walls, swelling until he was completely thick and rigid once more.
Suddenly—the sharp, distinct electronic beep of the dorm’s front door lock cut through the heavy silence of the room.
*Click.* The heavy front door swung open.
You both froze completely, your hearts dropping into your stomachs as the sound of footsteps echoed in the entryway. Yuma’s eyes went wide with total horror.
Through the dim light, Nicholas stepped into the hallway, a jacket thrown over his shoulder, looking exhausted from a late-night schedule. He was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, heading straight toward the living room to grab his phone charger from the outlet near the television.
He stopped right at the edge of the rug.
Nicholas blinked, his eyes tracking down to the middle of the floor—taking in the sight of you, bare from the waist down, sitting directly on top of Yuma, who was pinned flat on his back, his legs bent on either side of your waist, completely covered in sweat and a massive, overflowing mess of his own release.
Yuma let out a tiny, horrified squeak, his face turning a shade of red so violent it looked like he might pass out. He frantically pulled the bottom of his black tee down, trying in absolute vain to cover anything.
You expected Nicholas to look away or quickly apologize and walk out, but he didn't even blink. He just stood there for a second, a slow, lazy smirk gradually pulling at the corner of his lips. He wasn't flustered at all. He didn't blush, and his posture stayed completely relaxed as he tossed his jacket onto the kitchen island.
Without saying a single word, Nicholas walked right past the rug, completely unbothered by the wet slapping sounds that had just been filling the room. He walked over to the leather couch right next to you, turned around, and calmly sat down. He leaned back into the cushions, stretching his long arms along the back of the couch and crossing one leg over his knee, settling in to watch the whole thing with a cool, heavy stare.
"Don't let me interrupt," Nicholas murmured, his voice incredibly smooth, deep, and completely steady in the dark room. He looked directly down at Yuma’s panicked face, his grin widening slightly. "Keep going. Let me see how good you are for her, Yuma."
The total, unbothered confidence from his member was the absolute breaking point for Yuma. The exhibitionism of having Nicholas sit right there on the couch, calmly spectating his complete domination, stripped away the last of his hesitation. Under your thighs, his length twitched violently, rapidly expanding to its absolute limit right inside your tight walls, dripping and completely rigid once more.
You let out a soft, breathy gasp at the sudden expansion, your own adrenaline spiking wildly from the steady, heavy gaze of the witness. You looked down at Yuma, pulling his hands away from his eyes to force him to look at you.
"Look at me, Yuma," you whispered, your voice dropping into that deep, authoritative tone. "Ignore him. You're my good boy. Show him how perfectly you take it."
Yuma let out a shaky, desperate sob, his eyes locking onto yours with total devotion. He bucked his hips upward into you, a loud, ragged groan tearing from his throat as you began to roll your pelvis against his in a slow, torturous rhythm.
The sound of your wet skin slapping against his filled the quiet room again, twice as loud now in front of an audience. Nicholas didn't move an inch from the couch, his dark eyes completely glued to the messy, high-heat friction of your bodies, his expression entirely relaxed, just enjoying the show.
"That's it, Yuma," you encouraged, leaning down to press your lips against his sweat-slicked shoulder, your teeth grazing his skin lightly. "Look how loud you are for me. Keep going. Show him who you belong to."
Yuma’s hands flew up, his fingers clawing at the carpet on either side of his head as you increased the pace, your thrusts turning into a brutal, rapid blur that had the come splashing loudly between your thighs. Every single movement was bringing him closer to an entirely overstimulated, third climax, his thigh muscles twitching violently against your sides.
"I'm yours... I'm your good boy..." he choked out, the words a frantic, broken chant as his chest heaved violently under the low kitchen lights.
"So perfect for me," you panted, your internal muscles clamping down around his thick length like an absolute vice, milking his hyper-sensitive skin mercilessly. "Come again for me, Yuma. Let him watch you do it."
That was the absolute end. Yuma let out a loud, completely broken wail, his body locking up entirely as his third orgasm hit him with total, chaotic strength. His hips drove up into you one last time as he came violently, unloading another massive, endless wave of hot release deep into your core, the volume completely overflowing and spilling down onto the rug.
At the exact same moment, your own climax crashed over you, a breathless sob escaping your lips as you collapsed flat against his chest, both of you completely spent and trembling under the quiet, heavy stare of your witness.
The living room returned to a heavy silence, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound left.
Yuma lay completely flat on his back, his arms thrown over his head, his skin flushed a beautiful, deep crimson from his face all the way down to his toes. His dark bangs were completely soaked with sweat, and the white of his massive release was slowly dripping down his inner thighs, a stark, filthy contrast against his skin.
From the couch, Nicholas let out a slow, long breath, a quiet, thoroughly amused chuckle escaping his throat as he finally stood up. He reached down to grab his charger from the outlet, looking down at his completely ruined friend with that same lazy smirk.
"Clean that up before morning," Nicholas murmured, his voice calm and completely relaxed as he turned on his heel, trailing his fingers along the back of the couch as he walked casually down the hallway toward his own room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
You slowly slid off Yuma’s length, letting out a soft, tired breath as the sudden loss of warmth had him letting out a tiny, weak whine. You leaned over him, bracing your hands on either side of his head, looking down at his completely ruined, beautiful face. Yuma slowly opened his eyes, the dark irises completely out of focus, looking up at you with pure devotion.
"You did so perfect for me, Yuma," you whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his swollen lips. "My sweet boy."
Yuma let out a soft, tired sigh, a tiny, incredibly shy smile finally touching his lips as his hands weakly reached up to rest against your waist, pulling you down flat against his chest. "I'm never going to live this down... but thank you for taking care of me."
You smiled, running your fingers gently through his damp hair as you both stayed there on the floor, completely spent in the quiet of the dorm.
Warnings: Heavy explicit sexual content, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, semi-public setting
Summary: A booking error at a resort leaves you sharing a steaming outdoor bath with Taki
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The mountain air was crisp and completely still, carrying the deep, earthy scent of damp pine and volcanic stone. After a grueling few months of endless work schedules, your entire friend group had decided to take a weekend trip to a secluded, high-end traditional resort. To give everyone a little space to properly unwind, the guys had suggested booking individual, private outdoor baths for the evening—a perfect setup of sanctuaries enclosed by high cedar wood fences and smooth, weathered stones, designed for absolute isolation.
You adjusted the heavy cotton yukata around your shoulders, your wooden sandals clicking quietly against the smooth stone pathway as you followed the dim, lantern-lit trail toward your assigned gate. The path was quiet, illuminated only by small stone lamps that cast long, shifting shadows across the bamboo trees.
When you slid the heavy wooden door open, the small changing room was already thick with warmth, the air heavily humid from the thermal water bubbling just beyond the frosted glass partition. You set your woven basket on the bench, slowly untying the canvas sash of your robe and letting the fabric pool at your feet. Leaving your towels on the rack, you slid the glass panel open and stepped out into the cool evening air.
The outdoor bath was breathtaking. Thick plumes of white steam rolled off the surface of the mineral-rich water, creating a heavy cloud that hovered just above the surface.
You took a slow breath, stepping down onto the first submerged stone ledge, completely ready to sink into the heat, when a sudden, loud splash from the corner of the pool made you freeze.
The heavy steam shifted with the light evening breeze, parting just enough to reveal a pair of broad, completely bare shoulders and a damp cloth folded neatly over a messy head of dark, dripping hair.
You let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, your hands moving up to cover your bare chest.
The man in the water turned around instantly, his dark eyes snapping wide as his pupils completely blew out. He didn't scramble away or sink below the surface. Instead, his entire face flushed a violent, burning shade of red that rushed up from his collarbones all the way to the tips of his ears.
It was Taki.
Your stomach did a violent, dizzying flip. Out of everyone in the group, Taki was the one person you had been quietly, desperately pining after for months. Seeing him like this—completely stripped of his usual casual hoodies, his broad chest and defined shoulders glistening with water droplets under the golden glow of the lanterns—made your brain short-circuit completely.
"Oh—oh my god," Taki stammered, his voice a deep, rough baritone that cracked instantly from pure shock. He gripped the stone ledge behind him so tightly his knuckles turned white, his eyes darting frantically from your face to the stone wall, trying his absolute best to stay polite while his chest heaved with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Wait—what are you doing here? I thought you booked the one at the end of the hall!"
"I did!" you squeaked out, your heart hammering against your ribs as you stayed frozen on the top step, the lower half of your legs submerged in the burning water while the cool mountain air hit your bare skin. "The front desk literally just handed me the key to this gate five minutes ago. They told me this pool was cleared out."
Taki let out a breathless, incredibly flustered laugh, running a wet hand through his dripping bangs to push them out of his eyes. "The guy at the counter was completely mixing up the room numbers when we checked in. He must have double-booked the exact same slot for both of us."
A heavy, incredibly thick silence settled over the space, broken only by the steady, rhythmic bubbling of the spring. Taki looked at the massive size of the stone pool, then up at you, his eyes lingering on your bare shoulders before he quickly looked back at the wall. His throat muscle moved tightly as he swallowed.
"Look," he muttered, his voice dropping into a much lower register. "It's freezing out of the pool. Just... get in. We're friends, it's fine. Come sit down."
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but a gust of wind made you shiver, forcing your hand. You slid quickly down the remaining steps, sinking into the mineral water until it reached your collarbones. The contrast was intoxicating—the burning heat completely enveloped your skin, drawing a long, trembling sigh of pure relief from your lips as every single tense muscle in your body instantly surrendered to the warmth.
Instead of swimming to the far side, you moved through the water and sat down right next to him along the sloped rock ledge.
Sitting side-by-side changed the energy completely. Your shoulders were nearly brushing under the surface, the heat radiating between your bodies completely overriding the temperature of the water. Taki turned his head to look at you, his chest expanding and contracting with heavy, slow breaths. His slick skin caught the amber lantern light perfectly, every muscle in his torso defined and glistening.
"Of all the people to share a private bath with," you murmured, leaning your back against the stone, trying to keep your voice casual despite the erratic thudding of your heart.
"Hey, don't act like it's a punishment," Taki teased, a flash of his signature confident, cocky grin returning to his lips, though his ears were still bright red. He shifted slightly closer, his bare thigh brushing against yours under the water, sending a violent spike of electricity straight down your spine. "You looked completely exhausted at dinner. I'm glad you actually got in. You needed to unwind."
"I did," you admitted softly, your gaze tracking the way a drop of water rolled down his collarbone. "The last few weeks have been a lot. It's just nice to finally sit somewhere quiet."
"Yeah," Taki whispered, his playful tone completely vanishing, replaced by a heavy, suffocating intensity. He leaned his head back against the rock, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the rising steam. "It's really nice. Especially since I don't have to hide how much I've been wanting to do this."
Before you could even process the words, his hand moved under the surface of the water. His long, warm fingers slid over yours, his palm pressing flat against your hand before he slid his fingers between yours, locking your hands together under the bubbling water with a heavy, deliberate pressure. You let out a soft, ragged gasp, your filter completely disintegrating as his grip tightened.
"Taki," you breathed out.
"I've been trying to act normal around you for months," he growled low in his throat, his dark eyes wide, wild, and entirely focused on your face.
The heavy silence returned, but the tension was entirely different now. Taki didn't hesitate. He let go of your hand under the water, his fingers sliding up your calf, tracking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh until your knees parted automatically for him. He slid down from the ledge, sinking lower into the water until he was kneeling between your thighs right there in the shallow section.
Your breath completely caught as his large hands gripped your hips, anchoring you against the smooth stone wall. He leaned forward, his face burying directly between your legs under the churning, steaming water.
The first touch of his tongue against your sensitive core made your back slam hard against the rock, a loud, broken gasp tearing from your throat. The sensation of the hot water mixing with the wet, swirling friction of his tongue was completely overwhelming. Taki was relentless. He used his thumb to part your folds, his tongue finding your clit and sucking down hard, lapping at you with a heavy, dominating intensity that had your fingers burying deep into his wet, dark hair.
You rolled your hips helplessly against his mouth, completely blind with pleasure as the heat and his tongue completely ruined your composure. Taki let out a muffled, satisfied hum against your skin, his pace getting faster and harder until he slid two long, thick fingers straight inside your soaking wet entrance.
The sudden stretch made you let out a high-pitched whimper. He began curling his fingers inside you, pumping them deep and fast while his mouth continued to ruthlessly eat you out. The friction was insane. You were dripping, completely slick and trembling all over, your internal muscles clamping down around his fingers as the pleasure coiled into a tight, unbearable knot.
"Taki—please—" you cried out, your head tossing back against the stone as you hit the absolute edge.
He pulled his mouth away with a soft, wet pop, but his fingers stayed deep inside you, driving you fast toward the brink until a sudden, intense wave of an orgasm crashed over you. Your walls pulsed violently around his hand, a breathless sob echoing through the courtyard as you clung to his shoulders.
Taki let out a low, rough growl, pulling his wet fingers out of you. He rose up up out of the shallow water, his body towering over yours as he pinned you back against the sloped rock ledge. He was entirely bare, his chest heaving with a sudden, frantic adrenaline, and his erection was completely thick, rigid, and pressing hard against your stomach.
He didn't wait. He caught your ankles, pulling your legs wide over his broad shoulders before he guided the heavy tip of his length right against your soaking wet entrance. With one sudden, powerful drive of his hips, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sudden, overwhelming fullness made your eyes snap wide, a loud, high-pitched gasp tearing from your throat. He was so incredibly deep inside you that it felt like your entire body was catching fire from the inside out.
As he leaned down over you, the small silver chain around his neck shifted, and the heavy heart-shaped pendant dangled right over your face, catching the amber light of the lanterns. Driven by pure, frantic adrenaline, you reached up, your lips parting as you caught the metal heart between your teeth, sucking on the heavy pendant while his chest crushed down against yours.
Taki let out a loud, sharp bark of a gasp, his dark eyes widening as he looked down at you, his entire body jerking violently at the sight of you sucking on his necklace. The sheer, intoxicating visual sent a massive jolt of adrenaline straight to his hips. He locked his jaw and began pulling out almost completely before slamming back into you with a heavy, brutal pace that completely shattered your composure.
The sound of the water splashing violently against the stone edges echoed loudly through the enclosure, mixed with the frantic, messy sounds of your panting and his deep, rugged groans. Taki was loud, his deep curses filling the air as he used his frame to drive himself deeper into your core. Sweat was actively dripping off his chin, landing on your chest as you released the necklace, your head tossing back against the rock.
"Good girl," Taki growled, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, driving into you with a frantic intensity that left you absolutely no room to breathe. He reached down through the bubbling water, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in perfect sync with the heavy, relentless rhythm of his hips.
Your vision went completely blurry as another violent, shattering orgasm ripped straight through your body. Your internal muscles clamped down incredibly tight around his thick length, pulsing in violent, uncontrollable waves. You cried out his name into the night air, your body shaking all over as you clung to his neck.
Hearing your scream and feeling the intense tightness of your climax was the absolute end for him.
Taki let out a loud, completely animalistic roar, his grip on your thighs tightening until his knuckles turned white. He delivered three more deep, frantic thrusts, driving himself as deep as he could possibly go, and then he froze completely. His entire body went rigid, his back arching beautifully under the lantern light as he came deep inside you, filling you with heavy, hot bursts.
He let out a long, trembling groan, his chest heaving violently against yours as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin as his release poured into you.
The steaming pool slowly came back into focus. The only sound left was the loud, frantic thudding of both your hearts and the steady, quiet bubbling of the water.
Taki stayed inside you for a long time, simply holding you against his chest, his body completely relaxed now, his weight heavy and comforting against yours. The water gently lapped at your waists, keeping the warmth of his deep release trapped completely between you.
Slowly, he pulled his head back, his dark eyes looking down at you with a soft, incredibly warm expression. He looked down at his collarbone and neck, the dark silver heart necklace resting back against his chest.
You leaned in close, your lips brushing right over his collarbone, before you began to drag your mouth up the smooth skin of his throat. You sucked down hard, pulling the heated skin between your lips, leaving a deep, dark hickey right beneath his jaw. You moved down to his neck, doing it again, marking him until his skin was covered in undeniable purple bruises.
Taki let out another sharp, ragged growl, his hands flying to your hips as his entire lower half instantly twitched inside you. The sudden spike of friction made your breath hitch as his length began to rapidly harden again right inside your tight walls, swelling up until he was completely thick and rigid once more, buried deep inside you.
With a sudden, powerful movement, Taki gripped your waist and shifted your bodies, leaning his own back completely against the smooth stone wall and settling you directly over his lap, letting you take the lead.
The sudden change in gravity made your eyes snap wide, his thick length sitting deeper inside you than before. Taki rested his large hands firmly on your hips, tilting his head back against the rock, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensely hot look.
"Show me exactly how you want it," he commanded, his voice a rough, gravelly whisper.
You braced your hands flat against his wet, muscular chest and slowly lifted your hips, dragging your tight walls along his length before sliding back down, taking him completely. This time, the pace was entirely different. It was slow, heavy, and incredibly deep. You rolled your pelvis down against his, letting the weight of your bodies create an agonizingly hot friction that had both of you letting out ragged, shaky breaths into the steam.
Taki let out a long, trembling groan, his head tossing back against the stone wall as his eyes stayed locked on yours. His large hands clamped firmly onto your hips, not to force a faster pace, but to guide the slow, deep tilt of your pelvis, helping you sink down onto him until his pubic bone pressed hard against yours.
"God, you're perfect," he gasped out, his chest heaving under your palms. The slow, torturous slide of your body over his was driving him entirely insane, his neck completely flushed, showing off the dark hickeys you had just painted across his skin.
Every single downward movement was heavy and deliberate. You leaned down, burying your face in his neck once more, sucking sharply on his collarbone as the slow, deep friction built a heavy, unbearable coil of pleasure deep in your stomach.
"Taki—I'm close," you sobbed out against his skin, your movements becoming slightly more desperate as the edge of the climax rushed up on you.
"Go ahead," he growled softly, his hips lifting up in a slow, powerful motion to meet your downward slide, driving himself into your sweet spot with a heavy, torturous depth. "I'm right here."
Your vision snapped into pure white static as your final orgasm ripped straight through your body, softer but incredibly intense, sending long, pulsing waves through your entire frame. Your internal muscles clamped down around him like a vice, a loud, broken cry tearing from your throat as you collapsed against his chest. Taki let out a deep, guttural shout, his hips bucking upward two more times, burying himself as deep as physically possible before his body completely locked up. He came deep inside you for the second time, his muscles trembling violently as he poured himself into your core, both of you completely spent, clinging to each other in the steaming dark.
The water gently lapped at your waists, keeping the warmth of his deep release trapped completely between you.
Slowly, Taki pulled his head back, his dark eyes looking down at you with a soft, incredibly warm expression. He looked down at his collarbone and neck, seeing the messy collection of dark red bite marks and bruises you had left all over his skin, a soft, immensely proud smirk pulling at his lips. He reached up, his long, damp fingers gently wiping a stray wet hair away from your face.
"My pretty girl," he whispered, his voice completely wrecked.
You let out a soft, tired laugh, your arms still looped loosely around his neck. "I guess we're going to have to explain this to the guys tomorrow."
Taki smiled, his signature playful grin finally returning to his lips as he slowly slid out of you, making you let out a small whine at the sudden loss of warmth. He carefully lowered you back onto your feet, his hands staying securely on your waist until he was sure your shaky legs could actually hold your weight in the water.
He looked down at the white of his come slowly swirling into the clear water between your thighs, then back up at your face, a soft, amused chuckle escaping him.
"Let's go back to my room," he murmured, hooking his arm securely around your waist and pulling you into his side as he walked you toward the shallow steps. "It's much closer than yours, and I want to hold you while we dry off."
You smiled, leaning your head against his broad, warm shoulder as you both stepped out of the water, leaving the steaming spring behind.
Warnings: Heavy explicit sexual content, praise, sweat kink, body worship.
Summary: Late-night choreography practice leaves you entirely alone with a completely sweaty K.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The heavy, rhythmic bass of the track finally cut out, leaving nothing but the aggressive hum of the air conditioner and the chaotic sound of heavy, uneven breathing bouncing off the mirrors. It was past two in the morning. The practice room smelled like floor wax, body heat, and the stale air of a fourteenth hour inside the HYBE building.
You were sitting on the floor in the corner, your back pressed against the wall, watching the final run-through. The guys were completely dead on their feet. EJ was leaning over with his hands on his knees, his hair soaked through and clinging to his forehead, while Nicholas was casually wiping a hand down his face, his chest heaving under a damp tee.
"Okay, okay, let's wrap it here," K’s voice broke through the quiet, rough and raspy from coaching them through the same five-second transition for the last two hours. He clapped his hands together twice, the sound echoing sharply. "Good job today. Go get some food and sleep. We have a 7:00 AM call."
A collective groan echoed through the room as the members started gathering their things. One by one, they trooped out the door, tossing tired waves and mumbled goodnights in your direction. EJ gave you a soft, sleepy nod as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, and Nicholas offered a lazy, knowing smirk as he passed, his eyes flicking briefly between you and the older member still standing in the center of the room.
Then, the heavy glass door clicked shut, and the room went entirely silent.
You didn't move from your spot on the floor. You just watched him.
K was still standing under the harsh, white fluorescent lights, his reflection stretching out endlessly in the wall-to-wall mirrors. He was completely, utterly ruined by the practice session. He had stripped off his outer shirt hours ago, leaving him in nothing but a thin, white ribbed tank top that was completely translucent from how wet it was. It clung to the sharp lines of his chest and abdomen like a second skin, showing every single ridge of muscle underneath. His skin was glossy, covered in a thick, heavy layer of sweat that caught the light every time he took a deep, shuddering breath. Drops of it were actively rolling down his neck, tracing the long line of his throat before disappearing into the damp collar of his shirt. His dark hair was completely soaked, messy strands falling over his eyes, dripping onto his cheeks.
He looked completely striking, entirely raw, and absolutely lethal.
K slowly turned around, his chest heaving as his dark, intense gaze locked directly onto you through the reflection of the mirror. He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there, his long arms hanging loosely at his sides, watching you look at him. He knew exactly what you were looking at. He could see the way your eyes were tracking the sweat dripping down his collarbone, the way your filter had completely vanished the second the door locked.
A slow, tired, but incredibly smug grin pulled at the corner of his lips.
"You're staring," he murmured, his voice incredibly low, the deep tone vibrating right through the floorboards. He walked over to the audio equipment desk, grabbing a bottle of water and cracking it open, taking a long, greedy swig. A line of water escaped the corner of his mouth, mixing with the sweat on his chin and rolling down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Come here."
You didn't hesitate. You stood up, your legs feeling a little heavy from sitting so long, and walked across the wide, empty expanse of the room until you were standing just a foot away from him. The heat radiating off his body hit you instantly—he felt like a literal furnace, the warm, clean scent of his skin mixed with heavy sweat completely filling your senses.
You reached down to grab the clean towel sitting on the edge of the desk, lifting it up to wipe his face, but K didn't let you.
Before the fabric could touch his skin, his large, warm hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. His grip was heavy, his palm damp and hot against your skin. He didn't pull you in yet; he just held you there, his thumb pressing into the pulse point of your wrist, feeling your heart hammering wildly against his skin.
"Don't," he whispered, his eyes dark and heavy as he looked down at you through his damp bangs. "Leave it."
"You're dripping wet, K," you said, your voice coming out much softer and shakier than you wanted it to.
"I know," he said, a low, breathy chuckle escaping him. He stepped closer, completely invading your personal space until his wet tank top was practically brushing against the front of your clothes. He tilted his head down, his lips hovering just inches from your ear, his ragged breath hot against your skin. "But you like it like this, don't you? I saw how you were looking at me during the final run. You weren't watching the choreo."
The sheer confidence in his voice was dizzying. Your filter completely snapped. You looked up at him, your eyes fixing on the heavy shine of sweat covering his neck and the sharp valley of his collarbone.
"Yeah," you admitted quietly, your breath hitching. "I do."
K’s expression shifted, the smugness instantly melting away into something incredibly dark, heavy, and intensely focused. His grip on your wrist tightened just a fraction before he slid his hand down, threading his long fingers through yours and pulling your hand up, pressing it flat against his chest.
The fabric of his tank top was entirely soaked through, cold and wet, but the skin underneath was burning hot. You could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart beating against your palm, his chest expanding and contracting under your touch.
"Then touch me," he growled low in his throat, his gaze burning into yours. "Do whatever you want."
You didn't need him to tell you twice. You let go of his hand, your fingers sliding up the wet ribbing of his shirt, tracing the hard, defined lines of his shoulders. He was slick, his skin completely coated in a thick sheen of moisture from hours of dancing. You leaned in closer, your knees almost knocking against his, until you could smell nothing but him.
Slowly, deliberately, you parted your lips and pressed your tongue right against the base of his throat, licking a slow, upward line through the heavy sweat coating his skin.
K completely froze.
A sharp, ragged gasp left his lips, his entire body jerking under your touch as a violent shiver ran straight down his spine. His hands instantly flew to your waist, his large fingers digging hard into your hips, pinning you firmly in place as his head tilted back automatically, giving you full, unhindered access to his neck.
The taste of him was intoxicating—salty, hot, and entirely addictive. You leaned in deeper, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance as you licked your way along the sharp line of his jaw, taking in the heavy moisture dripping down his skin. You sucked lightly at the soft skin right beneath his ear, your tongue catching every single drop of sweat that rolled down his hairline.
A low, deep growl tore from the back of K’s throat, a sound so raw and carnal it made your stomach completely flip.
"Fuck," he choked out, his voice completely wrecked, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly it was going to leave bruises. He pulled his head down, his dark eyes wide, blown-out, and completely wild as he stared at you. He was breathing harder now than he had been during the actual choreography. "You're going to drive me crazy. Right here. I swear to god."
"Let me," you whispered against his skin, your lips brushing the wet curve of his collarbone before you licked another slow path down the center of his chest, right where the translucent fabric of his shirt ended.
That was the absolute breaking point.
K’s composure completely snapped. He didn't say another word. With one sudden, incredibly powerful movement, he gripped your waist and lifted you completely off your feet. You let out a short gasp, your hands flying around his neck as he carried you the three steps across the room, slamming your back hard against the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The glass was freezing cold against your back, a sharp, shocking contrast to the burning, oppressive heat of K’s body as he pressed himself entirely flush against you.
He didn't give you a second to adjust. His hand caught your chin, his fingers digging in firmly to tilt your head back, and then his mouth crashed down onto yours.
The kiss was completely filthy, frantic, and filled with a desperate, heavy pining that had been building between you all day. K tasted like iron, water, and pure heat. He didn't use any gentleness; his tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming you with a heavy, dominating intensity that left you completely breathless. He sucked on your lower lip, biting down hard enough to make you whine, the sound completely swallowed by the wet, messy friction of his mouth against yours.
His body was crushing you into the glass, his wet tank top soaking right through the front of your shirt, transferring his sweat and heat directly onto your skin. You could feel the hard, unyielding line of his erection pressing hard against your thigh through his damp sweatpants, heavy and completely undeniable.
K pulled his mouth away just an inch, both of you panting heavily, your breaths mixing in the tight space between your faces. His eyes were completely dark, filled with a raw, predatory hunger.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice a rough, gravelly whisper against your lips. "Now."
You hooked your legs tightly around his broad waist, your thighs gripping his hips. The second you were secure, K’s hands slid down to the hem of your pants, his long fingers hooking into the waistband and tearing them down your legs along with your underwear, letting them drop to the floor in a messy heap.
He didn't wait. He reached down, his large, warm hand cupping you through your bare skin. You were already completely slick, dripping and ready for him, the friction of your bodies and the sheer intensity of his presence making you ache. K let out a dark, satisfied hum as his fingers slid easily over your wet skin, testing your readiness.
"Look at yourself," K growled, his hand keeping you pinned against the mirror as he forced his head over your shoulder, his eyes locking onto yours in the reflection of the glass. "Look at what you look like right now."
Through the blurred, sweaty reflection, you could see the two of you—your legs wrapped tightly around him, your clothes rumpled, and K hovering over you like a shadow, his red-hot skin gleaming under the lights, his face flushed a dark, beautiful crimson.
"K, please," you whimpered, your fingers burying deep into his damp curls, pulling him closer. "I want you. Right now."
"Tell me exactly how you want it," he murmured, his teeth biting down on the soft skin of your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.
"Inside me. Now. Please."
K let out a low, breathy laugh that sent a shiver straight through you. He slid one hand between your bodies, grabbing his sweatpants and shoving them down past his hips, freeing his length. He was massive, hot, and completely rigid, the tip brushing against your soaking wet entrance.
He paused for just one agonizing second, his dark eyes locking onto yours in the mirror, holding your gaze to make sure you were looking.
"Hold onto me," he whispered.
And then, he drove his hips forward, burying himself completely inside you in one heavy, unyielding thrust.
The sudden, overwhelming fullness made your eyes snap wide, a loud, high-pitched gasp tearing from your throat as your back slammed harder against the cold glass. He was so hot, so incredibly deep inside you that it felt like your entire body was catching fire.
K let out a long, ragged groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he stayed completely still inside you for a moment, his entire body trembling violently from the sheer force of the friction. His muscles were rigid, his back flexing as he took a deep, shaky breath.
"You're so tight," he choked out, his voice completely ruined, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you secure. "God, you feel so good."
Before you could even form a response, K started to move.
He didn't ease into it. He began pulling out almost completely before slamming back into you with a heavy, brutal rhythm that completely shattered your composure. The sound of his wet skin slapping against yours echoed loudly through the empty practice room, mixed with the frantic, messy sounds of your panting and the heavy squeak of your skin sliding against the cold mirror.
Every single thrust was deep, authoritative, and completely unyielding. K was using his entire physical strength, his broad shoulders flexing as he pinned you to the glass, lifting your hips higher to get even deeper inside you. The heat between your bodies was insane—his sweat was actively dripping off his chin, landing on your chest and collarbone, mixing with your own skin until you were just as slick and wet as he was.
You completely lost your mind. Your hands gripped his wet shoulders, your fingernails digging hard into the hard muscle of his back as you rode out the heavy, punishing rhythm. Every time he hit your sweet spot, a breathless, incoherent sob escaped your lips, your head tossing back against the glass.
"That's it," K growled, his pace getting faster, harder, completely relentless. He lifted his head, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, watching every single expression of pleasure cross your features. He loved it. He loved seeing you completely ruined under him. "Cry for me. Let me hear you."
"K, wait—it's too much," you gasped out, your hips rolling helplessly against his, your toes curling as the pleasure started to build into a tight, unbearable coil deep in your stomach.
"No," he growled, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, driving into you with a frantic intensity that left you absolutely no room to breathe. He reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down hard, rubbing in sync with the heavy rhythm of his hips.
That was it. The entire room completely tilted.
Your vision went blurry as a violent, shattering orgasm ripped straight through your body. Your internal muscles clamped down incredibly tight around his length, pulsing in violent waves. You screamed his name into the empty room, your body shaking all over as you clung to his neck like a drowning person.
Hearing your scream and feeling the intense tightness of your climax was the absolute end for him.
K let out a loud, completely animalistic roar, his grip on your thighs tightening until his knuckles turned white. He delivered three more deep, frantic thrusts, driving himself as deep as he could possibly go, and then he froze. His entire body went completely rigid, his back arching as he came inside you, filling you with heavy, hot bursts that felt like pure static electricity.
He let out a long, trembling groan, his chest heaving violently against yours as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
The room slowly came back into focus. The only sound left was the loud, frantic thudding of both your hearts and the heavy, uneven breathing of two people completely spent.
K stayed inside you for a long time, simply holding you against the mirror, his body completely relaxed now, his weight heavy and comforting against yours. Slowly, he pulled his head back, his dark eyes looking down at you with a soft, incredibly warm expression that was a complete contrast to the predatory hunger from before.
He reached up, his long, damp fingers gently wiping a stray hair away from your face, his thumb softly brushing over your flushed cheek.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice incredibly rough but filled with a deep, genuine praise that made your heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—completely different from the filthy, bruising kisses from before. "My smart girl. You did so well for me."
You let out a soft, tired laugh, your arms still looped loosely around his neck. "You're exhausting, K."
"You started it," he smirked, his signature smug grin returning as he slowly slid out of you, making you let out a small whine at the sudden loss of warmth. He carefully lowered you back onto your feet, his hands staying on your waist until he was sure your shaky legs could actually hold your weight.
He looked down at the messy, sweaty state of both of your clothes, then back at your face, a soft, amused chuckle escaping him.
"Come on," he murmured, hooking his arm securely around your waist and pulling you into his side. "Let's go down the hall to the company showers. Before anyone walks in on us looking like this."
You smiled, leaning your head against his broad, damp shoulder as you both started walking slowly toward the door, leaving the quiet, mirrored room behind.
Genre: Slow Burn, Fluff, Sweet Romance, Idol x Fan AU
Summary: What starts as a quiet conversation at a chaotic fansign turns into a lingering connection as Euijoo finds himself scanning the crowds for the one face he can't forget.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The noise inside the hall was a total blur. Between the constant clicking of camera shutters, fans clapping, and the loud echo of everyone talking at once, it was completely overwhelming. It was hour three of the event, right in the middle of a brutal comeback schedule, and the air felt heavy and hot.
You shifted your weight, sliding your album along the smooth wooden table as the staff signaled for you to move down the line. You had just spent the last ten minutes talking to the other members. They were great—super sweet, energetic, and perfectly professional—but the whole thing always felt a bit like a fast-moving conveyor belt. Everyone had their script down.
Then, you reached the final seat at the end of the line.
Euijoo was leaning back in his chair, wearing a soft, oversized light blue cardigan. His vibrant red hair was perfectly styled into soft curls that framed his face, but if you actually looked past the bright stage lighting and makeup, you could see how exhausted he was. His eyes looked heavy. He had been smiling non-stop for three hours straight, giving every ounce of his energy to a room full of strangers. He looked amazing, but he also just looked really tired.
When you slid into the chair across from him, you didn't pull out a page of translated script or practiced compliments. You just took a breath and pushed the open album toward him.
Euijoo looked up from the paper, his shoulders dropping just a tiny bit as he gave you a polite smile. "Hi," he said. His voice was a little raspy, way softer than the loud, bright voice he used when talking on the mic. "What's your name?"
You told him, watching his long fingers carefully write out the characters. Up close, you could really see the physical toll of the schedule in the way he slumped. You didn't start talking about the new album choreography or freeze up. You just looked at him.
"Are you holding up okay?" you asked softly, keeping your voice completely normal and calm. "You guys have been going non-stop today."
Euijoo paused, his marker hovering just over the page. He looked up through his lashes, looking genuinely caught off guard, his mouth slightly open. "Ah. Yeah. It's a bit busy today, but it's okay."
"It looks exhausting," you said gently, giving him a small smile. "Make sure you actually take a second to breathe, okay? You're doing really well."
Euijoo just stared at you for a second. There was no intense idol-worship in your voice. You weren't acting like he was some untouchable celebrity on a screen; you were just talking to him like a regular guy who had been working a massive, draining shift. You could almost see the invisible wall of pressure melt off his shoulders.
He let out a quiet, breathy laugh—not the loud, bright one he used for the content cameras, but something completely real that crinkled the corners of his eyes into warm crescents.
"Honestly?" he murmured, leaning forward a bit, resting his elbows on the table to get a little closer. His voice dropped into a quiet whisper. "I think that's the first time someone's just asked me that today."
"Really?" you said softly. "That's a shame. You're working hard, you deserve a regular check-in."
"Thank you," he said. This time, he wasn't using his professional idol voice at all. It sounded grounded and completely sincere. "It really means a lot to hear that. Everything moves so fast during promotions that you kind of forget what day it is. You just keep going."
"I can only imagine," you said. "Just make sure you actually eat something real after this. Not just those random snack boxes backstage."
"I'll try," he smiled, his whole face softening. "The members usually steal my food anyway, but I'll fight them for the meat tonight. I promise."
Before you could say anything else, a firm hand tapped your shoulder. The staff member stood right over your chair. "Time is up, please move along to the exit."
You nodded, not wanting to make things difficult for him. "Take care of yourself, Euijoo."
As you started to slide your album back, Euijoo’s hand moved on its own. His fingers lightly pressed down on the edge of the cardboard, keeping you from pulling it away for a split second. You looked down, surprised, and saw him looking up at you with a quiet, lingering look. He clearly didn't want the conversation to end.
"Will you..." he hesitated, his ears turning a faint, endearing shade of pink. He quickly pulled his hand back, gripping his marker a little tighter to hide his nerves. "Will I see you at the next one?"
You blinked, a warm feeling hitting your chest at how genuine he looked. "If I can get a ticket, yeah. I'll be there."
"Okay," Euijoo nodded, that soft eye-smile returning, but this time it felt entirely personal. "I'll hold you to that."
Three weeks later, the promotions were at their absolute peak, and the group was holding a much bigger fansign in a sleek auditorium. The room was twice as loud, the crowd was massive, and security was everywhere.
You had managed to get a seat right in the middle rows, sitting quietly with your album in your lap. When the members came out onto the stage, waving and bowing to the screaming venue, Euijoo took the microphone to greet everyone with his usual dependable leader energy. But as the first person in line walked up, his eyes casually drifted past the front row, scanning the seats.
You were just sitting there, fixing the strap of your bag, when his eyes stopped moving.
Right through the crowded rows and flashing cameras, Euijoo looked directly at you. You froze, completely shocked that he actually found you in a room of over a hundred people. The second he recognized you, his whole professional composure broke. A huge, unprompted grin hit his face, his red hair catching the lights as his eyes crinkled completely. He didn't wave wildly, but he gave you a distinct, tiny nod of recognition—a private moment that lasted only a second before he had to look down to greet the fan sitting in front of him.
Your heart gave a heavy thud. He actually remembered.
The fansign moved slowly. Because Euijoo was in the middle of the long table this time, you had to pass a few other members after him, but your mind was totally stuck on his seat. When your row was finally called, you walked up the steps, your fingers gripping your album a little tighter than usual.
The second you sat down in front of him, he didn't even wait for you to slide the book over. He leaned across the wide table, his broad chest pressing against the edge as he looked at you, a soft, breathable laugh escaping his lips.
"You actually came," he said, his voice instantly dropping into that quiet, private tone that completely shut out the loud music playing over the speakers.
"I told you I would if I got a ticket," you said, your normal, easygoing attitude coming right back the second you saw how relaxed he looked. "I don't break promises."
"I'm glad," Euijoo murmured, taking the album and opening it straight to his page without even checking your name sticky note. He started writing it out completely from memory. "I was actually looking for you during the opening talk. I was worried you didn't make it."
The casual admission made your throat go dry. An idol was actively scanning a massive crowd just to see if you were sitting there.
"You were looking for me?" you asked softly.
Euijoo’s pen paused. He looked up through his red curls, his cheeks flushing a faint pink under the bright lights. He clearly realized how honest he had just been, but instead of backing up into a safe, standard idol answer, he just kept looking at you.
"Yeah," he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "The fansigns have been really loud lately. Everyone wants me to do challenges, or wear funny hats, or... play a character. But when you sat down last time, it just felt like I was talking to a friend. I haven't stopped thinking about it."
The sheer honesty in his eyes was dizzying. He was completely dropping his celebrity persona, just straight-up telling you that you made him feel safe.
"Well," you said, your voice softening as you reached out, your fingers lightly tapping the table near his hand. "I'm here now. No challenges, no funny hats. Just a regular conversation. How have you been sleeping?"
Euijoo let out a long sigh of relief, his entire posture relaxing. "Better. We got a day off last Monday. I slept for twelve hours straight. The members tried to wake me up for food, but I locked my door."
"Good for you," you laughed. "You need to protect your sleep. You look much less like a zombie today."
"Hey," he pouted a bit, a soft grin breaking across his face. "I didn't look that bad last time, did I?"
"You looked like you were being held together by hairspray and pure willpower, Euijoo."
He burst into a wide, genuine laugh, the sound rich and loud. Down the table, one of the younger members looked over in absolute surprise—clearly not used to hearing their leader laugh like that during a formal event. Euijoo didn't care. He just leaned closer, picking up the conversation like you were two old friends catching up at a quiet café rather than strangers at a massive media event.
You talked about the weather, a specific tea he finally got to try, and how his dog was doing back home. It was completely normal, totally mundane, and absolutely intoxicating.
"Time to move," the manager's voice cut in from behind you.
Euijoo’s smile dropped instantly, replaced by a clear look of frustration. He looked at the manager, then back at you, his fingers tightening around the edge of your album. He hadn't finished writing his message yet. He didn't want to let you go.
"Wait," Euijoo said to the staff member, his voice suddenly holding a firm, authoritative leader tone that made the woman pause. He quickly turned back to your page, scribbling something down fast before closing the book and handing it over. His fingers lingered against yours for a beat, his skin warm. "See you at the final show next week?"
"I'll try my best," you whispered, pulling the album to your chest as you stood up.
He didn't look away from you until you had completely walked down the steps of the stage.
The final event of the promotion cycle was a closed-door fansign held at a private luxury hall. It was exclusive, reserved for only a handful of people. The atmosphere was a bit more intimate, but the exhaustion radiating off the group was intense. They had been performing on music shows at 4:00 AM every single day, and you could see it in the sluggish way they walked out.
Euijoo looked completely spent. His shoulders were slumped, and he kept discreetly rubbing his temples between fans, trying his best to keep his eyes bright.
You sat in the front row this time, right in his direct line of sight. Every single time he looked up from signing an album, his eyes would immediately find you. He didn't even try to hide it anymore. When you gave him a small, encouraging smile, you could see the physical tension leave his frame. He was completely using you as an anchor.
When it was finally your turn to walk up, your chest felt incredibly tight. You moved down the table, greeting the other members, but your eyes kept tracking Euijoo at the very end. He was watching you progress down the line, his pen tapping restlessly against the wood, completely ignoring the fan who was currently walking away from his station just to watch you get closer.
The moment you took the final seat, the whole room seemed to go quiet.
"You look exhausted," you said immediately, skipping any small talk. The genuine concern in your voice made his chest tighten.
He didn't say a word. Instead, he dropped his marker onto the table, reached out, and completely bypassed the album sitting between you. His large, warm hands moved forward, his palms sliding over the smooth wood until his fingers gently, deliberately slipped over yours. He didn't just touch your hand—he enclosed your fingers inside his broad grip, holding onto you with a quiet, desperate intensity that made your breath catch.
His hands were slightly shaking from fatigue, but his grip was solid.
"I am," Euijoo whispered, his big eyes looking up into yours, completely raw and unprotected. He looked like a guy who had been running a marathon for weeks and finally found a place to sit down. "I'm so tired, it feels like my head is spinning. But... the second you sat down, it stopped hurting."
Your heart hammered violently, your fingers naturally curling back against his palm, returning the firm pressure. "Euijoo..."
"I don't want this cycle to end," he said, his voice dropping into a fierce, quiet tone meant only for you. His thumb traced a slow circle across the back of your knuckles. "If it ends, I won't have an excuse to see you anymore. You'll just go back to your life, and I'll go back to being an idol, and I... I don't think I can just let you disappear. I don't want to go back to how it was before."
The sheer weight of his confession hung in the air. He was crossing the professional line completely, shattering the boundary between idol and fan because he couldn't handle the thought of losing the one person who treated him like a human being.
"I'm not going to disappear," you said softly, your voice steady and reassuring. "Even if there are no more fansigns, I'm still going to be here. I'm not going anywhere, Euijoo."
A heavy, breathless silence fell over the two of you. Euijoo stared at you, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before rising back to your eyes. The intense pining that had been building over the last month was suddenly right out in the open.
"Moving along, please," the security manager's voice boomed, his hand already coming down to guide you out of the seat.
Euijoo didn't let go of your hand. He kept his fingers locked around yours for three seconds longer, forcing the security guard to hesitate. With his free hand, he flipped your album shut, sliding it toward you.
"Read the back cover," he whispered fast, his voice cracking slightly with nerves as the guard finally forced you to stand up. "Please. Read it as soon as you leave."
You pulled your hand from his grip, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving your skin cold. You clutched the heavy album to your chest, looking back at him one last time. Euijoo was sitting back in his chair, his face flushed a dark, beautiful crimson, his wide eyes tracking your every move.
The moment you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the auditorium and into the quiet, cool evening air, your hands were shaking. You sat down on a stone bench near the entrance, away from the crowds of fans, and slowly turned the album over to the back cover.
Right on the blank white space at the very bottom was Euijoo's neat, elegant handwriting. It wasn't a standard fan message.
*There's a quiet coffee shop called 'Glow' two blocks away from the venue. It stays open late, and nobody goes there. I have two hours before our manager takes us back to the dorms. Please. I want to talk to you without a table between us. — Euijoo.*
Beneath the note was a string of numbers—his private phone number, written hastily in silver ink.
You stared at the page for a long, breathless minute, your heart beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears. You closed the album, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders, a real smile breaking across your face as you stood up and started walking down the street toward the quiet coffee shop, leaving the idol world behind to go find the boy who was waiting for you.
Summary: Jo spots you stranded in a heavy downpour and he shares his umbrella
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The weather app on your phone had lied to you. It promised clear skies and a gentle spring breeze, but as you stood beneath the flimsy canvas awning of a closed bookstore, the sky above Seoul was a bruised, heavy grey, pouring down a torrential sheet of rain that showed absolutely no signs of stopping. You were drenched from the knees down, clutching a damp canvas tote bag to your chest, shivering slightly as the wind whipped through the street.
You were exactly three blocks away from your apartment, but looking at the mini-rivers forming along the curbs, it might as well have been a mile. You sighed, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear, preparing yourself to just make a desperate, freezing sprint for it.
"Um, excuse me..."
A voice, soft and slightly hesitant, cut through the heavy thrum of the downpour.
You blinked, turning your head toward the sound. Stepping out from the small café right next to the bookstore was an incredibly tall boy. He was wearing an oversized, cozy cream-colored knit sweater that made his broad shoulders look soft, and his dark, wavy hair was just slightly damp at the ends. He had wide, doe-like eyes that held a gentle, almost timid warmth, and in his hands, he was carefully balancing two large paper cups, steam billowing softly from the lids.
"You look really cold," he said, taking a small, cautious step closer to you, as if he didn't want to startle you. He extended one of the cups toward you, a faint, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was sitting by the window inside and saw you standing out here. It's hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows. I thought... well, you looked like you could use it."
You stared at the cup, then up at his face. He was strikingly handsome, the kind of gentle beauty that made your heart skip a beat entirely on instinct. "Oh, I couldn't—"
"Please," he interrupted softly, nudging the cup forward just an inch. "I already bought it. If you don't take it, it's just going to go to waste. And it's really pouring out there."
The sheer sincerity radiating off him completely melted your hesitation. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his warm knuckles as you took the cup. The heat of the cardboard instantly seeped into your frozen palms, sending a wave of relief straight up your arms. "Thank you so much. I'm completely saved."
"I'm Jo," he said, the shyness in his voice giving way to a genuine, sweet crinkle around his eyes.
"I'm [Y/N]," you replied, taking a small sip. It was perfect—thick, sweet, and scalding hot. You let out a quiet, contented hum, causing Jo’s smile to widen.
"Are you walking far?" Jo asked, tilting his head slightly, his long fringe falling over his eyes.
"Just three blocks, but I didn't bring an umbrella," you admitted, gesturing to your completely unprotected tote bag.
Jo shifted his own drink to one hand and reached behind his back, pulling a large, transparent umbrella from where it had been resting against the café wall. "Well, I'm heading in that direction too. If you don't mind the company, we could share."
That was how it started. A rainy afternoon, a hot cup of chocolate, and a walk under a shared umbrella with a boy who was too tall for his own good, constantly tilting the plastic canopy over your head to make sure not a single drop of rain touched your shoulders, even if it meant his own left sleeve got entirely soaked.
Over the next few weeks, the ordinary routine of your life began to shift around the quiet presence of Jo. You discovered that he worked at a small, independent plant shop just a few streets away from your university campus—a place filled with trailing ivy, blooming ferns, and the earthy, fresh scent of rich soil.
The second time you saw him, you hadn't planned it. You were just walking past the shop window, your arms full of heavy textbooks, when you spotted a massive green leaf suddenly move. Behind it was Jo, wearing a faded denim apron over a grey hoodie, carefully misting a row of small succulents with a plastic spray bottle. He caught your eye through the glass, his face instantly lighting up with that familiar, bright crinkle.
He had rushed out the front door so fast he nearly tripped over a terracotta pot on the porch.
"You're back," he had breathed, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as he wiped his damp hands on his apron. "I mean, you're walking past. Hi."
"Hi, Jo," you laughed softly, the stress of your morning classes instantly evaporating at the sight of him. "Do you work here?"
"Yeah. My uncle owns it, but I mostly manage the daily stuff," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. He glanced down at the heavy books in your arms and immediately reached out, his large hands easily taking the weight from you. "These look heavy. Come inside for a minute. I just brewed some barley tea."
From that day on, the plant shop became your sanctuary. You found yourself drifting there after your last lectures, ostensibly to "study" at the small wooden table Jo had set up in the back corner, surrounded by the quiet rustle of green leaves. But more often than not, your eyes would wander away from your notes to watch him work.
Jo was incredibly gentle with everything he touched. You watched him pot fragile seedlings, his long, elegant fingers moving with a precise, loving care that made something warm flutter deep inside your chest. He was a quiet boy, prone to long silences where he just hummed under his breath, but whenever he looked over at your table and caught you staring, he wouldn't look away. He would just offer you that soft, unhurried smile, his ears turning a bright, endearing crimson.
He started leaving small things on your table while you read. A perfectly ripe strawberry. A tiny, hand-painted ceramic pot containing a single, thriving clover. A sticky note with a clumsy, hand-drawn cat on it that said, *'Good luck with studying today, [Y/N].'*
One rainy afternoon in May, the shop was entirely empty save for the two of you. The sound of the rain against the glass roof of the greenhouse section was a cozy, rhythmic lullaby. You had abandoned your laptop entirely, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Jo as he carefully trimmed the dead leaves off a massive Monstera plant.
"Why plants?" you asked quietly, leaning your chin on your knees as you watched him work.
Jo paused, his shears hovering over a stem. He looked down at you, his doe-eyes soft and reflective in the dim afternoon light. "Plants don't rush," he murmured, his voice incredibly gentle. "In the city, everything moves so fast. Everyone expects you to have everything figured out right now. But plants just take their time. They grow a little bit every day, quietly, whenever they are ready. I like that. It feels safe."
He turned his body fully toward you, dropping his tools onto the tarp. He reached out, his hand hesitating in the air for a fraction of a second before his long fingers gently brushed against the side of your face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear—exactly like he had done the day you first met. His touch was warm, slightly rough from the soil, but so incredibly tender it made your breath catch.
"I used to think this shop was the only place that felt like that," Jo whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. "But lately... whenever you're sitting in the corner, the whole world feels like it slows down. I think I like being around you more than the plants."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a sweet, dizzying rush of affection flooding your veins. You didn't say anything. Instead, you tilted your head up, your hand reaching out to gently grip the soft fabric of his knit sweater, pulling him down just enough to bridge the distance.
The kiss was sweet, slow, and tasted faintly of the barley tea you had been sharing. Jo let out a soft, shaky breath against your lips, his large arms immediately wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the floor as if you were the most precious, fragile thing he had ever held. He kissed you with a quiet, deep devotion that felt like spring after a long, freezing winter, his lips soft and hesitant at first, before deepening the pressure with a needy, sweet hunger that left you completely breathless.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing shallow and quick. He didn't let go of your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, small circles through the fabric of your shirt. His cheeks were flushed a brilliant, beautiful pink, and he let out a tiny, soft laugh that sounded completely dazed.
"I've been wanting to do that since the rainy day at the bookstore," he whispered, his eyes looking down at your lips again before he hid his face in the crook of your neck, his long arms locking you in a tight, protective hug that smelled faintly of soil, rain, and fresh leaves. "Please don't go home yet."
You wrapped your arms securely around his broad shoulders, burying your face in his soft hair, a bright, helpless smile completely taking over your face. "I'm staying right here, Jo."
Summary: Yuma fights the bond until you finally snap it, forcing him to live with the empty silence he chose.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The universe never cared about autonomy. It simply bound two people together with a shimmering, crimson thread tied around the pinky finger, looping through the miles to connect the hands of two strangers. For most, it was a source of profound comfort. But for Yuma, it was an insult to his free will.
Yuma valued his free will above absolutely everything else. He despised the idea that a cosmic joke could dictate his choices, his future, or his heart. Long before you ever met face-to-face, he felt the side effects of the bond—the strange, ghost-like tugs on his pinky, the sudden warmth in his chest when you happened to be in the same sector of the city. But rather than wondering who you were, Yuma grew to deeply resent those sensations. He viewed the connection like a parasite trying to hijack his destiny. He spent his nights visiting sketchy spiritual specialists, buying old texts, and trying painful taboo rituals to actively clip, burn, or erase the line from his end.
Because he was fighting the connection so violently, trying to yank and tear it apart before he even knew your name, the physical backlash hit you first.
For months, you lived with a constant, throbbing ache in your hand. You’d be sitting in a lecture or walking home from your job when your right pinky would suddenly burn with a raw, blistering heat. The string wasn't a soft thread; it was a wire tightening under the pressure of Yuma's hatred. You had to hide your hand in your pockets, watching in confusion and fear as the skin around your knuckle began to form raw, weeping welts, completely unaware that across town, a boy was burning incense and reciting old incantations just to find a way to butcher the link between you.
The first time you actually met, there was no sweet realization. It was a confrontation.
You were browsing the back aisles of a quiet neighborhood library when the air suddenly turned thick. Your pinky finger didn't just twitch; it exploded in a blinding, agonizing crimson light. You let out a soft cry, dropping the book in your hands as the thick, glowing red string materialized, stretching taut across the carpet and leading straight to a boy standing at the end of the aisle.
Yuma didn't look at you with love. He looked at you with pure, unfiltered anger. The nuisance finally had a face. He crossed the distance in heavy, furious strides, cornering you against the dark wooden shelves.
"So it's you," he said, his voice a low, harsh snap. He didn't ask for your name. He just stared down at the bleeding, raw marks on your hand, then looked up into your eyes with a cold, desperate frustration. "You're the reason my chest feels like it's burning every time I try to live my life. Look at this. I don't care who the universe thinks you are to me. I value my free will too much to let a piece of string decide who I love. Tell me you feel it too. Tell me you want this thing gone just as badly as I do, because I’m not going to stop trying to break it."
You were completely stunned, your heart shattering into pieces before you even had a chance to speak. You saw the fierce, unyielding pride in his eyes—the absolute rejection of your existence.
"I didn't ask for this either," you whispered, your voice trembling.
"Good," Yuma countered, his jaw tightening as he stepped back, the red line stretching infinitely between you. "Then stay out of my way. Don't look for me. I'm going to find a way to erase this, with or without your help."
You tried your best to stay on the sidelines. You moved to the absolute edges of the city, never crossing his path, never looking for him. You tried to give him the absolute freedom he was starving for.
But Yuma didn't just ignore you; he actively tried to drown the bond out. To prove to himself that he was entirely in control of his own destiny, he began going out with other people. He dated strangers, threw himself into reckless relationships, and spent his nights in crowded bars, intentionally trying to overwrite your presence with anyone else.
And every single time he held someone else’s hand, every time he forced himself to choose a stranger over his soulmate, the red string would constrict around your finger like a razor. It sliced deep into your flesh. The emotional degradation of knowing your soulmate was treating your connection like a curse was humiliating, but the physical decay was what truly broke you. A bond choked by active hostility and constant, deliberate rejection turns deeply toxic.
Your health failed rapidly. Within months, you were spending your mornings leaning over the bathroom sink, coughing up thin, iron-tasting streaks of blood while your body literally began to waste away. Your soul was starving for a touch he was busy throwing away on people he didn't even care about, just to prove a point. You were physically dying for a man who was currently at home, looking up ways to scrub you out of his destiny.
Yet, without even realizing it, the human heart began to betray his stubborn pride.
Yuma didn't check in on you. He didn't look for you. But as the months dragged on, his reckless dates started to feel entirely hollow. He would sit across from a girl in a crowded restaurant, laughing loudly to prove his autonomy, but his eyes would involuntarily track the red line dipping out the door and into the street. He found himself memorizing the exact weight of the string, the specific cadence of its tugs. He hated it, doubling down on his efforts to break it, completely blind to the fact that his soul was quietly, stubbornly anchoring itself to yours through the very pain he was causing. He thought he was obsessed with the problem; in reality, he was falling for the ghost of the person he refused to know.
The breaking point came on a freezing afternoon, exactly one year after that brutal meeting in the library. You were sitting on a park bench, your body shivering under your heavy coat, your breath coming in shallow, painful gasps because your lungs felt like they were filling with shattered glass.
Yuma walked past. He was with a girl, laughing at something she said, looking healthy, vibrant, and entirely untouched by the sickness destroying you. He didn't even look at the bench. He didn't see how pale your face had gotten, or how you were clutching your ribs just to stay upright. The red string was dipping between you, dragging carelessly through the dirty, frozen slush on the pavement.
Right then, looking at the glowing red line that had brought you nothing but misery, blood, and a slow death, you realized there was absolutely no point in keeping it. He was never going to stop fighting it. You were destroying yourself for a boy who used your soul as a playground for his stubbornness.
"Yuma," you called out. Your voice wasn't loud, but it held a cracked, hollow finality that made him freeze in his tracks.
He turned around, his expression immediately flattening into that familiar, heavy sigh of genuine annoyance. He said something to the girl, sending her ahead, before walking over to your bench. "I told you to stay on your side of town. What are you doing here? I’m still working on finding a specialist, you don't need to corner me—"
"You can stop looking for a specialist, Yuma," you said softly, your voice entirely steady, entirely empty of the old warmth.
You didn't yell at him. You didn't mention the girls, or the blood, or the fact that you couldn't sleep through the night anymore without waking up gasping for air. You simply reached down with your left hand, wrapping your fingers firmly around the glowing red string attached to your right pinky. Yuma’s eyes darted down, his brow furrowing as he finally noticed the horrific, deep scars encircling your knuckle—the physical proof of what his version of 'free will' had done to your body.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice suddenly losing its arrogant edge. A sharp, unfamiliar note of hesitation crept into his tone as he saw the absolute lack of emotion in your eyes.
You didn't answer him. You braced your feet against the frozen ground, closed your eyes, and with every single ounce of strength left in your failing, exhausted body, you yanked the red string upward with a violent, final twist.
*Snap.*
The sound didn't make a noise in the physical world, but it shattered like a bomb inside your skull. A violent, white-hot agony tore through your chest, so intense that a ragged gasp left your lips and fresh blood welled up, dripping from your nose onto the white snow below. The red string didn't just break; it withered instantly, turning a sickly, ash-grey before evaporating into absolute nothingness. Your pinky finger went entirely numb, the burning constriction vanishing in an instant.
Yuma let out a sharp, choked gasp, stumbling backward onto the pavement. He clutched his left breast, his face going completely, terrifyingly bloodless as his knees nearly gave out. For the first time in his life, the constant, background warmth of his soul was gone. The internal compass that always told him where his other half was had completely shattered, leaving a freezing, cavernous, and terrifying void in the center of his chest.
And with that void, the massive, suffocating wall of his denial instantly collapsed.
The realization didn't hit him like a gentle thought; it slammed into him like a physical car crash. As the line went completely slack, Yuma realized with horrifying, agonizing clarity that he hadn't hated the connection. He had loved you. The entire year he spent fighting the shackle, his heart had been quietly wrapping itself around your existence. The pride he had spent a year protecting vanished in a single second, leaving him with the devastating knowledge that he had just systematically murdered the only love that was ever truly his.
He looked down at his own hand. His pinky was completely bare. The string was gone.
"No," Yuma breathed, his voice dropping into a panicked, desperate register as his eyes snapped to your face. He reached out, his hand shaking violently as he tried to grab your arm. "Wait—what did you do? Fix it. Why does it feel like this? Why is it so cold?"
You stood up from the bench, easily stepping out of his reach. The absence of the bond felt hollow, like a missing limb, but the agonizing physical pain in your lungs was completely gone. You wiped the blood from your lip with the back of your hand, looking down at his trembling form with eyes that held absolutely nothing left for him. No love, no hatred, no sorrow. Just a clean, empty canvas.
"You wanted to be free, Yuma," you said, your voice entirely steady, entirely cold. "Now you don't have to fight it anymore."
You turned around and walked down the snowy path, leaving him alone on the pavement.
Over the next two months, the absolute free will Yuma had fought so hard to protect turned into a slow, suffocating death sentence.
The freedom he had craved was nothing but a miserable, deafening silence. The girls he tried to go out with to fill the void meant absolutely nothing; their voices sounded like grating static, and every single room he walked into felt completely, devastatingly empty. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. He would sit in his dark apartment for hours, staring at his bare pinky finger, his mind completely unraveled as the freezing void in his chest slowly drove him insane. He was experiencing the exact soul-sickness he had inflicted on you for a year, but he didn't have a string left to cut to make the agony stop.
He went completely crazy trying to find you. He called your number a thousand times, only to realize it had been permanently disconnected. He went to your old apartment, but the landlord told him you had packed up your things and moved away weeks ago without leaving a single trace behind. He had fought so hard to erase you, and now the universe had granted his wish with a cruel, unyielding perfection. You were gone.
When he finally managed to locate you, it was by pure, desperate chance on a freezing afternoon near the center of the city. He spotted you walking out of a small market. You looked healthy. Your skin had regained its natural color, your shoulders were straight, and you looked completely whole. You had survived him. You had healed.
Yuma didn't care about his pride anymore. He ran across the crowded sidewalk, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as he cut you off, his large hands reaching out to grab your shoulders before you could disappear into the crowd. He looked completely ruined. His eyes were heavily sunken, surrounded by dark circles, his lips dry and cracked, and his entire body was trembling violently under his coat.
"Please," Yuma begged, his voice breaking completely as he dropped every single ounce of his pride right there on the public street. Tears immediately spilled over his lashes, tracking down his pale cheeks. He was hyperventilating, his fingers clawing desperately at the fabric of your coat like a stray dog begging for shelter. "I was wrong. I was so incredibly stupid. I thought I wanted freedom, but it's cold. It's so cold, [Y/N]. I don't care about my free will anymore, I swear to god I don't. Just... let me tie it again. The specialists said we can re-forge the knot if we both try. Please, I'm begging you. I can't live with this void. It hurts so bad."
You stood entirely still on the sidewalk, looking up into his face. You saw the genuine, agonizing torture in his eyes. You saw the way his chest heaved, the way he was practically vibrating with the need for your forgiveness. You saw a boy who was ready to completely ruin himself just to have you look at him the way you used to.
But you didn't feel a single thing.
The thread wasn't just broken; the root had died inside your chest during those long, lonely months of watching him choose his stubbornness over your survival. There was no ghost of a spark left to ignite. You didn't hate him, which was the absolute cruelest part of it all. You just felt nothing but a mild, detached pity.
You reached up and slowly, firmly took his shaking hands off your shoulders, dropping them back to his sides.
"You don't love me, Yuma," you said, your voice gentle but completely, brutally final. "You're just lonely now that the connection is gone."
"I do love you!" he cried out, the words tearing from his throat, a raw, pathetic sound that made pedestrians turn their heads in shock. He reached for you again, his fingers hovering in the empty air because he didn't dare touch you without permission. "I swear I do. Please, don't leave me like this. I can't breathe."
"It hurts because you have to live with the free will you fought for," you said softly, stepping around his trembling form, your boots crunching lightly on the thin snow. "You spent a year proving you didn't want a connection, Yuma. Don't be upset now that you're entirely alone."
Yuma stood completely frozen on the sidewalk, his hands dropping uselessly to his sides as the winter wind whipped around him. He didn't chase you. He couldn't. His knees felt like water. He just stood there and watched your silhouette walk down the street, blending perfectly into the crowd of normal people, completely beautiful, completely healed, and completely out of his reach forever. He had his absolute free will, and he would have to choke on the freezing weight of it for the rest of his life.
Summary: Driven by his instincts, Fuma becomes a desperate, whiny mess who trades his composure for needy pleas as he surrenders to his heat.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
Being a bunny hybrid meant Fuma’s instincts were dialed to a frequency that was loud, relentless, and incredibly physical. In this state, he didn't want to lead or protect; he wanted to be handled, kept, and completely overwhelmed. When his cycle hit, every ounce of his usual composure evaporated, leaving him a mess of soft sighs and petulant demands.
The heat in the bedroom was stifling, thick with the scent of pine and clover that always accompanied his flare-ups. Fuma had spent the better part of the afternoon dragging pillows and blankets into a chaotic nest in the center of the bed, only to abandon the structure the moment you walked through the door. Now, he was draped over you like a heavy, feverish blanket, his skin radiating a heat that made the air between you feel like a physical weight. His long, velvet-soft ears were twitching frantically, occasionally slapping against your cheeks as he nuzzled into your neck with a desperation that was almost painful.
"Please," Fuma whined, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He nudged his head under your chin, his nose twitching a mile a minute as he inhaled your scent, desperate to ground himself in you. "It hurts. Everything feels too much. Why are you just laying there? Don't you want me anymore?"
"Fuma, I'm right here. I’m not going anywhere," you whispered, though your voice was barely audible over his restless shifting. You tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled away, only to grab your wrist and press your palm flat against his racing heart.
"Then touch me!" he cried out, a pathetic, high-pitched sound that ended in a sharp, frustrated huff. He began to wiggle his hips, grinding his front against your thigh in a slow, uncoordinated rhythm that betrayed how badly he was aching. "Don't be mean. I’ve been waiting all day. I did everything you asked. I stayed in the nest, I was quiet, I was such a good boy. Why won't you just help me? Do I have to beg more?"
He was pouting, his lower lip trembling as he looked at you with wide, watery eyes. Fuma in his heat was the most submissive person you’d ever seen. He didn't want to be the man who took charge; he wanted to be the bunny who was pampered and ruined until he couldn't think straight.
"You're being a total brat," you teased, reaching up to stroke the very base of his ears—the spot you knew made his brain go fuzzy.
Fuma let out a shattered moan, his eyes rolling back as his legs kicked out reflexively against the mattress. "More. Right there. Please, please, please. Don't stop. If you stop, I'm going to die. I’ll do anything, I’ll be so good for you, just don't stop touching me."
He was practically vibrating, his fingers clutching at your shirt so hard his knuckles were white. When you didn't move fast enough to satisfy his erratic, hormone-driven needs, he let out another long, pathetic whine, thumping his forehead against your chest over and over.
"You're ignoring me on purpose," he whimpered, his voice small and hurt, muffled by your skin. "You think I'm too much. I'm just a whiny, annoying bunny and you're bored of me. You’d rather be anywhere else than here with a mess like me."
"Fuma, stop," you laughed breathlessly, pulling his face up so you could look at him. "You know I love how needy you get. I’ve been thinking about this all day, too."
"Then show me," he challenged, though it sounded more like a broken plea. He scrambled to sit up, straddling your hips. His face was flushed a deep, feverish pink, and his ears were drooping sadly over his shoulders. "I don't want to move anymore. I just want you to make me feel good. I’ll do anything. I’ll be your favorite, I promise. Just... please."
He wasn't quiet. Fuma was never quiet when he was like this. As you finally discarded the last of your clothes, he let out a sharp, needy cry, his back arching into a bow as he waited for you to take total control.
The contact was electric. Fuma was so sensitive that even the friction of your skin against his had him falling apart before you’d even truly started. As you guided him down, his breath came in short, jagged hitches that sounded like tiny sobs. He was incredibly vocal, a constant stream of whines, whimpers, and broken sentences falling from his lips.
"It's too much," he sobbed into your shoulder, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling with a desperate strength as you moved beneath him. "It feels too good, stop—no, don't you dare stop. More. Give the bunny more. Please, I need you to fill me up, I need to feel you everywhere."
The pace was frantic, driven by his relentless, instinctual need for friction. He was grinding against you with a desperate hunger, his tail giving sharp, erratic flicks against your legs that felt like soft electricity. Every time you hit a sensitive spot, his ears would lock back against his skull and a long, high-pitched whine would tear from his throat, echoing off the walls of the quiet room. He was a submissive wreck, begging for your hands to be firmer, for your touch to be heavier, for you to just *keep him* in place.
"Look at me, Fuma," you commanded, and he obeyed instantly, his eyes unfocused and swimming with heat, pupils blown wide until the brown was almost gone. "Who do you belong to? Tell me who owns this whiny bunny."
"Yours," he gasped, his voice cracking and wet. "Only yours. Please, mark me. Bite me. Make me stay right here. I don't want to be anywhere else but under you."
He was reaching the point of over-stimulation, his body shaking with the force of a climax that was building too fast. He spent the next hour being a complete handful—whining piteously when you paused for even a second to catch your breath, begging with wide eyes when you slowed the pace, and crying out your name as if it were the only word left in his vocabulary. The sheer submissiveness of him was intoxicating; the way he offered himself up, completely open and vulnerable, stomach bared, just waiting for you to satisfy the instinctual itch burning under his skin.
When he finally hit his peak, it was violent and loud. He let out a shattered, animalistic sound, his body locking up in a rigid line as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He was sobbing softly, the release so intense it left him limp and twitching in your arms. He stayed connected to you for as long as possible, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage.
As the fog of his heat finally began to settle into heavy, bone-deep exhaustion, Fuma stayed slumped over you, a mess of soft fur, damp skin, and tangled sheets.
"Best... best mate," he huffed, his nose giving one final, weak twitch against your collarbone as he drifted off into a deep, sated sleep.
Summary: Convinced that loving both Taki and Fuma is a mistake, you vanish after a messy confession, only to realize they have no intention of letting you go.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The practice room lights always felt way too bright when you were trying to hide. For as long as you could remember, you had been the one constant in Taki’s life. You were there since the days of shared headphones and school uniforms, long before the lights and the cameras. When he joined &TEAM, you were just... always there. You were the girl in the corner of the room, the one the other members high-fived without a second thought because you and Taki were inseparable.
But lately, the air between you had turned heavy. You were falling apart, crushed by the weight of loving your best friend while simultaneously craving the silent, solid strength of Fuma. You were convinced that neither of them could ever return your feelings—that you were just a fixture in their lives, someone they were used to having around but didn't actually *see*.
The breaking point happened on a humid Tuesday night.
You were trying to slip out of the studio before the others finished their session, but Taki was already at the door. He didn't say a word, just leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. His hair was damp with sweat, his eyes dark and sharper than you’d ever seen them.
"Why do you keep looking at Fuma-san like that?" he asked. No jokes, no teasing. Just a question that stripped you bare.
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me," Taki stepped into your space, crowding you against the mirror. He cornered you, his presence looming large as he waited for an answer you weren't ready to give. "You look at him like he’s the sun, but you hold my hand like I’m your lifeline. You’re shaking. Tell me why."
The confession felt like blood in your mouth. "I love you, Taki!" you sobbed, the words finally tearing free. "I’ve loved you since we were kids. But I'm a mess because I can't stop looking at him, too. I want him to look at me like a woman, but I'm just your friend. Neither of you would ever want someone like me."
You didn't wait for him to speak. You didn't even look at his face to see the rejection you were so sure was coming. You shoved past him, your heart hammering against your ribs, and bolted out of the practice room. You ran until your lungs burned, disappearing into the night and cutting off every line of communication.
For three weeks, you were a ghost. You stayed in your apartment and ignored every call until the doorbell rang so long you thought it might break. When you opened it, Taki and Fuma were both standing there.
The silence in your small living room was deafening. Taki looked wrecked, his usual bright energy replaced by a jagged, restless anxiety. Fuma, usually so composed, looked dangerous—his jaw tight, his shoulders squared like he was barely holding himself back.
"You really thought running was the answer?" Taki’s voice was a low rasp. He walked toward you, stopping just inches away. "You told me you loved me and then you vanished. Do you have any idea what that did to me? Thinking I’d lost you because you were scared?"
"I didn't think you'd want this," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I want you... but I want him, too. I thought you'd both hate me for it."
Fuma finally moved, his heavy footsteps echoing on the floorboards. He stepped into your line of sight, his large hand reaching out to tilt your chin up until you were forced to look at him. His eyes weren't filled with disappointment; they were burning with a dark, concentrated heat.
"I’ve spent months watching the two of you, wondering when you’d finally see me," Fuma said, his voice a low, commanding velvet. "I didn't hold back because I wasn't interested. I held back because I didn't want to break what you and Taki have. But the night you confessed... he came to me. He told me everything."
You looked at Taki, wide-eyed. "You told him?"
Taki nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I told him because I can't be the only one for you. I’ve known for a long time that you needed both of us. I didn't want to choose, and I didn't want you to have to, either. I want you, and I want you to have everything you crave."
Fuma’s thumb traced your lower lip, his touch firm. "We’re finally claiming what’s been right in front of us. Because neither of us is letting you go now."
Once the bedroom door clicked shut, the air turned electric. Fuma moved first, his large hands reaching out to anchor you. He didn't just touch you; he claimed you, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he hauled you flush against him.
"You've been driving me crazy," Fuma growled against your ear, his breath hot and jagged. He turned you around, pinning your wrists above your head with a single hand, the strength in his grip making your knees weak. He used his free hand to guide your head back, exposing your throat so he could sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your shoulder.
While Fuma marked you, Taki was in front of you, his hands frantic as he stripped your clothes away. He looked up at you with those dark eyes, but the childhood warmth was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry lust. "You're ours," he whispered, his hands sliding up your thighs, bruising the soft skin as he forced your legs apart.
Taki didn't wait. He prepared you with a desperation that had you arching off the bed, your breath hitching as his fingers worked with a frantic pace, stretching you until you were sobbing his name. When he finally pushed into you, it was a searing friction that hit every nerve ending at once. He moved with a restless, driving rhythm, his forehead pressed against yours as he rasped out how much he’d missed you.
But then Fuma was there, looming over both of you. He replaced Taki’s hand on your wrists, his rings cold against your skin, before leaning down to swallow your moans with a kiss that tasted like years of suppressed desire. When Fuma finally took his turn, the sheer size and depth of him made your vision fracture. He moved with a grounded, rhythmic power, hitting your sweet spot with every heavy, deliberate thrust.
"Look at me," Fuma commanded, his voice a low vibration in your chest. He pulled your hair back, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Tell me you're staying."
"I'm staying," you sobbed, your body trembling. Taki was behind you now, his hands sliding over your stomach to pull you closer to Fuma, his lips finding the back of your neck. The over-stimulation was absolute—the heat of Taki behind you, the relentless pace of Fuma in front of you, and the weight of their combined devotion.
Fuma surged deep one last time, his body tensing as he let out a low, animalistic groan. Taki followed right after, his hand finding yours and interlocking your fingers, his heart hammering against your spine as the world dissolved into pure heat.
The doubt was finally gone. You weren't a burden, and you weren't an outsider. You were exactly where you belonged—caught between the two people who loved you most.
Summary: Fuma trades his gaming strategy for a hands-on lesson after noticing your obsession with his hands.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
Fuma’s voice was a low, steady hum in the quiet of the apartment, a comforting soundtrack to the afternoon. He was mid-tangent about the competitive viability of his favorite team, but the actual words were starting to blur into a soft, melodic white noise. Your focus was elsewhere.
Specifically, your eyes were locked on his hands. Fuma had incredible hands—large, steady, and veined with long, nimble fingers that moved with a restless, rhythmic grace as he gestured to emphasize a point. You watched the way his knuckles shifted under his skin as he gripped his phone to show you a stat spread, and the way his gold rings caught the light every time he moved.
"...and if you don't account for the speed tier, the whole strategy falls apart," he said, his thumb idly stroking the edge of the device.
You weren't thinking about speed tiers. You were thinking about the weight of those hands. You were imagining those long fingers tangled in your hair, or the feeling of those broad palms pressing firmly against the small of your back. There was something so grounded and capable about them—the kind of hands that could build something complex, but also hold you with terrifyingly beautiful precision.
Fuma paused, noticing the heavy silence from your side of the couch. "You're doing it again," he murmured.
He set the phone down on the cushion and slowly reached out. You tracked his hand as it moved through the air, your breath hitching as he finally rested his palm against your cheek. His skin was warm, his touch incredibly gentle, but the sheer size of his hand made you feel tiny in the best way possible.
"You haven't heard a word I’ve said for the last five minutes, have you?" he asked, his voice dropping into that low, velvet register that always made your knees weak.
"I was listening," you whispered, though your eyes were still fixed on the way his thumb was slowly tracing the line of your lower lip.
Fuma let out a short, huffed laugh, but it didn't sound annoyed. It sounded hungry. He shifted closer, his large hand sliding from your face down to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape. He applied just enough pressure to tilt your head back, forcing you to finally meet his dark, blown-out pupils.
"You like these, don't you?" he breathed, his other hand coming up to grip your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you to him. "You’ve been staring at them all day."
He leaned in, his lips hovering a hair's breadth from yours. The sweet, nerdy boy talking about Pokémon was gone, replaced by a man who knew exactly what his touch was doing to you. "Since you're so fascinated," he whispered against your mouth, "I think it's time I gave you a much closer look at exactly what they can do."
He didn't give you a chance to breathe before he pulled you into him, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted like the coffee he’d been sipping. His hands were everywhere at once, mapping out your body with a practiced, steady confidence. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, guiding your movements, while the other slid under your shirt, the heat of his palm against your bare skin making you gasp into his mouth.
He moved you to the bedroom with a surprising amount of strength, never once breaking the contact. When he finally had you beneath him, he took his time, pinning your wrists above your head with just one of those massive hands. He looked down at you, a soft, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you try to catch your breath.
"Still staring?" he teased, his voice a low vibration. He released your wrists only to trail his fingers down your throat, his touch light as a feather but heavy with promise.
He didn't rush into anything. He wanted to show you exactly what those hands were capable of. He moved lower, his large fingers deftly undoing your clothes until you were shivering under his gaze. He reached between your thighs, his palm cupping you through your underwear for a long, heavy moment until he felt you start to drip.
When he finally slid two fingers inside, the contrast was overwhelming. His fingers were so long, so thick, filling you with just a slight curl of his knuckles. You let out a broken sob, your hips arching off the mattress to meet his hand. He watched the way your body reacted, his thumb working in a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm against your clit.
"You're so sensitive," he praised, his voice dropping into that protective, steady tone. "Look at how much you want me."
He kept working you, his fingers sliding deep and then pulling back, mimicking the motion he was about to replace. He was meticulous, finding every sensitive spot with a precision that made your toes curl. Only when you were a panting, desperate mess did he finally replace his hand with his own weight.
When he finally pushed into me, it was a slow, agonizingly deep sink that made my vision fracture. He groaned, a low, animal sound of pure contentment as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. He didn't rush; he moved with a rhythmic, grounded grace, his large hands reaching down to lift my hips, tilting me just right so he could go even deeper.
"You're so soft for me," he whispered, his praise warm against my skin. "Everything about you is so perfect."
Every time he pushed forward, the friction was searing, a slow-building fire that he stoked with every steady thrust. He reached out, his fingers interlocking with mine against the mattress, his rings cold against my knuckles while the rest of him was a solid, radiating heat. He squeezed my hand with every deep drive, a quiet reminder that he was right there, completely focused on me.
He shifted his weight, pinning my legs back against my chest to open me up even further. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, and the sound of our bodies meeting—a wet, heavy thud—filled the quiet room. I was coming apart, the over-stimulation starting to blur my vision.
"Fuma... please," I sobbed, my head thrashing against the pillow as I felt the first ripples of a climax starting to take hold.
"I've got you," he rasped, his pace finally becoming more frantic as he felt me tighten around him. He didn't let go of my hand, his grip like iron as he chased his own release. He was relentless, his chest crushing mine, his breath hot and jagged against my ear.
He stayed focused on my face, watching my eyes roll back, his own expression one of dark, arrogant triumph. He didn't just want me to enjoy it; he wanted me to be consumed by the weight of him.
The heat in the room was suffocating as he hit his peak, his entire body trembling with the force of it. He surged deep, holding me tightly as he finally let go, his heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
He stayed there for a long time, buried deep and heavy, his breathing finally beginning to steady in the quiet of the room. He eventually pulled back just enough to kiss the tip of my nose, his large hand returning to my cheek to wipe away a stray tear.
"See?" he murmured, a soft, tired smile finally returning to his face. "Told you the strategy was important."
Summary: Yuma pushes you to your limit and watches you break, proving his total control.
☾ 18+ mdni ☽
☾ masterlist ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
The bedroom door was locked, and the muffled sounds of the rest of the world felt miles away. Yuma wasn't on the bed with me; he was kneeling on the floor at my feet, his arms resting casually on my knees as he looked up at me. His expression wasn't soft. He had that signature, mischievous smirk playing on his lips the one that told me he knew exactly how flustered I was.
"You’ve been squirming since the movie started," he drawled, his voice a low, teasing vibration. He reached up, his fingers digging into the meat of my thighs, anchoring me to the edge of the mattress. "I told you that you weren't allowed to go to the bathroom until I said so. Are you being a good girl, or are you about to break?"
My face was burning. "Yuma, please... I can't wait anymore."
"I know," he whispered, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer until I could feel his breath on my skin. "But you aren't going anywhere. If you're really that desperate, do it right here. Let’s see how much of a mess you can make for me."
I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. "Right here? On the floor? Yuma, your clothes—"
"I don't care about the clothes," he snapped playfully, though there was an underlying layer of iron in his voice. He looked at me with a challenge in his eyes, his grip tightening on my legs. "I want to see you lose that control you’re trying so hard to keep. I want you to ruin this shirt. Do it. Now."
The command was what did it. Under his intense, unwavering gaze, I finally let go. I felt the hot, sudden rush hit his chest and lap, soaking instantly into the fabric of his white t-shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified, but the sound that came from Yuma wasn't one of disgust. It was a low, guttural groan of pure triumph.
"Look at me," he commanded.
When I opened my eyes, he was looking down at himself, watching the dark stain spread across his lap with a look of arrogant satisfaction. He reached up, wiping a stray drop from his collar with his thumb before looking back at me, his pupils so blown out they were nearly black.
"Look at the mess you made," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, jagged register. He stood up slowly, the wet fabric of his clothes heavy and clinging to him, and crawled onto the bed until he was looming directly over me. He pinned my wrists to the mattress, his body weight crushing me into the sheets.
"You’re shaking. Is it because you’re embarrassed, or because you can’t believe how good it felt to finally stop fighting me?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He captured my lips in a kiss that was bruising and deep, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth with a possessive rhythm. The heat of the room seemed to fuel him, his hands sliding down to grip your waist with a bruising force.
He moved with an aggressive urgency, stripping away the remaining barriers between you with zero grace. He wanted to feel every inch of you, slick and overstimulated from the release. When he finally pushed into you, it wasn't gentle. It was a sharp, demanding claim that made my head snap back against the pillow.
"You're mine now," he groaned against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he began to move. "Every part of you. The mess, the shame, all of it. I'm the only one who gets to see you like this."
The friction was electric, the dampness of the sheets making every slide of his skin against yours feel twice as intense. Yuma was relentless, his pace frantic as he chased his own release, his eyes never leaving yours. He wanted to see the exact moment you broke again not because of the pressure, but because of him.
As he finally hit his limit, he let out a jagged, triumphant sound, collapsing against you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He stayed there for a long time, his heart hammering against your chest, his grip on your hands never loosening.
"Good girl," he whispered, his voice returning to that low, arrogant drawl. He pulled back just enough to smirk at you, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek. "I think I like you much better when you're a mess."
