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☁️
🍊—☁️Barista Euijoo falls for a quiet customer☁️
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.🍒
🐈—☁️Yuma finds out exactly how ticklish you are, and he refuses to let you escape his affection.☁️
jo
🍚—☁️Jo spots you stranded in a heavy downpour and he shares his umbrella☁️
🍚—🍒Jo and you paint each other's bodies🍒
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🍒
🐥 —☁️Jealous bakery owner Taki pouts when flirty classmates tease his favorite customer.☁️
maki
🐶 —☁️🌧when k drops you off at fuma’s for a month maki couldn't hide his displeasure about sharing his space☁️🌧
The air inside the main practice studio at the entertainment agency always feels like it has been trapped in there since the debut showcase. It is a thick, stagnant kind of heat that smells like industrial floor cleaner, rubber-soled sneakers, and the collective, bone-deep exhaustion of young men pushing their bodies past the breaking point for fourteen hours a day. The constant, rhythmic pounding of the bass from the massive wall speakers is just a low, vibrating hum in the background, bouncing off the floor-to-ceiling mirrors without actually landing anywhere.
You have your back pressed flat against the mirrors, your knees pulled tightly up to your chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of your oversized sweatpants hard enough to leave faint red marks on your skin. As a newly hired creative assistant for the group's upcoming comeback, your notebook is mostly filled with scribbled staging timelines, half-finished wardrobe concepts, and a running tally of exactly how many hours of sleep you have missed over the past three weeks. Survival in this industry is entirely a matter of mental bargaining. You tell yourself that if you can just finish this choreography observation, if you can just organize the final wardrobe mood boards for the styling team, if you can just make it through the final hour of this rehearsal block without letting your eyes close, you get your reward.
The reward is always the same, and it is the only thing keeping your mind even remotely sharp. It is the absolute, unquestionable luxury of an empty room, a rare hour where nobody is calling your name over a walkie-talkie, and the quiet comfort of The Bookstore—a tiny, brick-faced shop tucked neatly onto the corner of a narrow side street just three blocks away from the company’s massive corporate building.
Right now, however, your eyes aren't on your notebook. They are fixed entirely on Harua.
He is sitting in the far corner of the studio, completely isolated from the rest of the members who have collapsed into a pile of limbs near the water dispenser. He is wearing a ridiculously oversized black hoodie, the sleeves pulled down so far that only the very tips of his fingers peek out from the cuffs. His dark hair is a messy, sweat-damp tumble over his eyes, but his focus is locked completely on his left wrist. His thumb is slowly, restlessly tracing the thick layer of skin-toned sports tape wrapped tightly around his pulse point.
Beneath that tape lay his biggest vulnerability.
“Oh, I am so incredibly sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The words were written on his skin in a neat, delicate cursive. In a world where the first words your soulmate speaks to you are permanently inked onto your body, Harua felt entirely cursed by the mundane nature of his mark. It was a phrase uttered a million times a day by frantic staff members bumping into him with clothing racks, or fans crowded at airport barriers. For a rising idol, a common soulmate mark was a terrifying liability. Every single day, Harua met hundreds of strangers. If the bond snapped into place right in front of twenty rolling cameras, the media chaos would be absolute. So, he hid it. He wore heavy bracelets, thick leather cuffs, and stage makeup, building a quiet, polite wall around himself to ensure nobody ever got close enough to trigger the gold transition.
"Alright, that's wrapped for today," the performance director claps his hands together, his voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the room. "The company is granting a four-hour block of personal time before the evening vocal recordings. Go get some air, clear your heads, and be back in the studio by six sharp."
A collective groan of relief echoes through the room as the members begin to stand up, the screech of water bottles against the floorboards filling the air. You sigh, slinging your heavy tote bag over one shoulder and heading out the door before the chaotic energy of the group can sweep you up.
The walk down the side street feels like a physical release. The afternoon sky has turned a heavy, bruised purple, dumping a sudden, blinding torrential downpour over the city streets. The heavy drops smash violently against the pavement, turning the neighborhood into a blurred sea of gray. You push the heavy wooden door of the store open, the silver bell letting out that sharp, clean *clink* that always signals your arrival.
The heavy wave of warm paper, dried lavender, and old leather wraps around you instantly, completely consuming your senses. The bookstore is entirely empty, save for the dim, amber glow of the small brass lamps tucked into various corners, throwing long, soft shadows across the floorboards.
You trudge toward the very back corner of the store, seeking the absolute quiet of the poetry section. You are so thoroughly drained from the rehearsal block that you can't even summon your usual energy. You just slide deep into the narrow aisle, your shoulders hunched, your eyes scanning the worn spines of translated literature.
What you don't realize is that someone else had the exact same idea.
Harua had slipped out of the dorms just ten minutes before you, completely desperate to escape the suffocating air of the company. He is completely stripped of his idol persona right now—no makeup, no tape on his wrist, just his oversized cream cardigan and a dark bucket hat pulled low over his eyes. He is standing at the end of the very same aisle, his pale hand reaching up toward a beautiful, vintage edition of classic poetry perched precariously on the top shelf. He is on his tiptoes, his long sleeve slipping back to reveal the bare, black ink on his wrist.
He gives the spine a slight tug, but his fingers slip. The heavy book wobbles.
At that exact moment, you step backward around the corner of the shelf, your mind completely detached from your surroundings as you try to read the title of a lower volume.
The collision is absolute.
Your shoulder hits his chest with a soft, blunt impact. Harua gasps as his balance slips completely, his heel catching on an uneven floorboard. As he stumbles backward, the heavy poetry book finally loses its battle with gravity, tumbling straight down and striking him sharply on the shoulder before hitting the hardwood floor with a loud, resounding *thud*. He hits the floorboards hard, sitting flat on the wood, his bucket hat rolling away into the shadows.
You turn around instantly, your face going entirely pale with horror when you realize you have crashed into someone. You drop to your knees in front of him, your hands hovering over his shoulders in a state of pure panic.
"Oh, I am so incredibly sorry, I didn’t see you there," you rush out, your voice trembling with genuine distress as you look at his flushed face.
Harua goes entirely rigid.
The words strike him with the force of a physical blow. The ambient sound of the rain outside vanishes into a vacuum of absolute silence. Suddenly, a searing, brilliant heat explodes beneath the skin of his left wrist. It is an overwhelming, electric warmth that rushes through his veins like wildfire, racing straight to his heart. It feels as if a cold, empty space inside his chest has been flooded with brilliant, golden sunlight.
Slowly, his trembling hand lifts. He pulls the cream knit sleeve back.
The plain, ordinary black ink is gone. In its place, the cursive letters are glowing with a radiant, ethereal golden light, pulsing softly in perfect sync with his hammering heart.
Harua’s breath catches completely. He looks up, his wide, dark eyes locking onto your face. Without his hat or his usual styling, he looks incredibly young, vulnerable, and completely stunned.
You notice his intense stare, your eyes dropping down to his exposed wrist. You see the glowing gold script, and your jaw drops slightly. With a shaking hand of your own, you pull back the cuff of your jacket. There, written in a messy, panicked scrawl, are the words you have carried your entire life. They are shifting, bleeding into a brilliant, shimmering gold that matches his perfectly.
Harua looks at your wrist, then back to your face. The idol persona slips away entirely, leaving only him. He forces his vocal cords to work, his voice coming out incredibly soft, velvety, and laced with a deep tremor.
"Are... are you okay?" he whispers, his eyes locked onto yours. "Did the book hit you?"
The moment the final syllable leaves his lips, the golden ink on your wrist flares into a permanent, comforting warmth. The bond is sealed.
A breathless, watery laugh escapes your lips. You sink back onto your heels, a massive smile breaking across your face. "I'm perfectly fine. I think the book hit you much harder than it hit me."
Harua let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, a soft pink blush rapidly spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. The shy, guarded boy completely vanishes, replaced by a teenager experiencing something profound. "I'm Harua," he says softly, offering his right hand toward you, his fingers shaking just a little bit.
You smile warmly, reaching out to take his hand. "I know who you are. I work on the comeback team. I'm Y/N."
Harua’s smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. But before either of you can say another word, the sharp, clean *clink* of the silver bell at the front door echoes through the shop, followed by a burst of loud, familiar voices that makes Harua’s entire frame go completely rigid.
"Wow, it is absolutely dumping out there! K, shake your umbrella out before you get the floor wet!"
"MAKI, stop shouting, it's a bookstore! You're going to get us kicked out before we even find Harua."
Harua’s eyes go wide with pure, unadulterated panic. *The members.* They had obviously used their free time to track him down, and they had just walked into his absolute sanctuary at the exact moment his soulmate bond had activated.
"Hey, look, Yuma’s already heading to the back," Nicholas’s smooth, rolling voice echoes from the front counter, full of that effortless, teasing confidence. "Let's see if our little cat is hiding in the corner."
Before Harua can even scramble to his feet or pull his sleeve down, the sound of heavy footsteps moves over the wooden floorboards with a frantic pace. You stand up quickly, trying to create some distance, but you are completely trapped in the narrow aisle as three distinct figures round the corner.
Nicholas steps in first, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his dark leather jacket, a relaxed, cool half-smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Yuma walks right beside him, his backpack slung carelessly over both shoulders, his expression perfectly calm but his eyes incredibly sharp. Maki brings up the rear, vibrating with high-energy spirit, his dark hair a bit messy from the rain.
The second they see the two of you, the entire atmosphere drops ten degrees.
Nicholas’s eyes drop instantly to the floor, where Harua’s bucket hat is lying next to the heavy poetry book. Then, his gaze traces up to Harua, who is now standing up, his face burning a violent shade of crimson, his left hand desperately gripping his right sleeve to hide his wrist. Nicholas is incredibly perceptive; his inner radar instantly clocks the heavy, electric tension vibrating between you and Harua. His eyes sharpen, a slow, thoroughly amused smirk creeping across his handsome face. He decides right then and there to stir the pot.
"Well, well. Look what we stumbled into," Nicholas says, his voice turning intentionally lower, smoother, and completely full of charm as he steps directly into your personal space. He leans his shoulder against the bookshelf, his face coming entirely close to yours as he tilts his head, flashing a brilliant, lingering smile. "Hey, Y/N, right? From the creative team? I didn't know you liked old poetry. If I knew you were coming here, I would have walked with you. The sidewalk was entirely too crowded for someone as small as you."
Harua’s shoulders go completely rigid. His dark eyes narrow to slits as he watches Nicholas hover directly over your space, his long fingers casually brushing against the edge of your jacket sleeve. A low, frustrated huff escapes Harua's throat, his jaw locking tight.
"Nicholas," Harua says, his voice completely dropping its usual soft, polite ring, turning into a low, flat mutter. He doesn't look at his member at all; his eyes are burning a literal hole straight through the side of Nicholas's head. "Why are you guys here. The company said we had personal time."
"We wanted to check on you," Yuma replies smoothly, his voice entirely deadpan as he shifts his weight, looking between Harua's fierce, pouty face and Nicholas's relaxed smirk. A tiny, almost imperceptible gleam of pure, chaotic amusement flashes in Yuma's sharp eyes. He intentionally steps closer to your other side, his long arm resting on the shelf right behind your shoulder, effectively boxing you in. "But it looks like you're having a very productive meeting with the staff. Is she helping you with the comeback concept, Harua?"
"It's... we were just looking at books," Harua snaps out, his ears turning a violent shade of red. His foot begins to restlessly tap against the wooden floorboards, a quick, chaotic rhythm that gives away exactly how short-circuited his brain currently is. He glares at Nicholas like an absolute intruder.
Nicholas doesn't look intimidated at all. In fact, the more Harua glares, the more Nicholas's smirk widens. He catches the desperate way Harua’s eyes flicker down to your face, watching you blush under the attention, and he realizes instantly that the youngest member is completely, entirely crazy about you.
"Everything smells amazing in here," Nicholas teases softly, his voice carrying that natural, rolling charm as he reaches out, his fingers playfully brushing against your forearm to point at a book on the shelf. "Hey, Y/N, what do you think looks good? Recommend something for me. Whatever you like, I'll read the same thing."
A low, pathetic whimper of pure, overwhelmed frustration escapes Harua’s locked teeth. He steps forward, his broad frame completely shadowing the narrow space as his protective instincts flare up. He intentionally inserts himself directly between you and Nicholas, his chest nearly pressing against Nicholas's leather jacket as he forces the older boy to step back.
"She's busy, Nicholas," Harua rumbles, his voice carrying a whiny, high-strung edge of pure jealousy that you have never heard from him before. He turns his back on Nicholas entirely, his wide puppy eyes locking straight onto your face, completely transparent about how stressed out and needy he currently feels. He grabs your hand right there in front of everyone, his long fingers tightly, securely tangling with yours. "Y/N... you didn't even finish looking at the poetry book yet. I was... I was going to read it with you. We don't need them here. They're being too loud."
Nicholas blinks, his chin resting in his palm as he lets out a smooth, thoroughly delighted laugh. "Wow. Look at our little cat guarding his territory. Yuma, I think we're interrupting something very important."
"Definitely," Yuma says, his voice full of dry amusement as he steps back, a small, approving grin on his face. He pats Harua’s rigid shoulder as he walks past. "Don't forget the vocal session at six, Harua. We'll leave you to your... research."
"Maki, let's go grab a coffee down the street," Nicholas winks, flashing one final, playful smile down at your flushing cheeks before turning his full gaze back to Harua. "See you back at the dorms, lover boy."
The three members walk toward the front door, the silver bell letting out a loud, cheerful *clink* as they push it open and step out into the rain, leaving the back aisle completely quiet once again.
The narrow space suddenly feels incredibly large, the silence leaving you entirely alone with the boy standing right in front of you.
Harua doesn't move. He stands there for a long, quiet moment, his fingers still tightly gripped around yours, his face completely flushed a soft, beautiful pink under the warm amber lights of the shop. He looks down at his boots, a small, flustered swallow clearing his throat before his eyes slowly slide up to lock onto yours with this quiet, lingering shyness.
"I really hated that," Harua confesses quietly, his bottom lip sticking out in a heavy, miserable pout that makes him look incredibly soft and sweet. He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a soft circle against your knuckles. "Nicholas was... he was standing way too close to you. He was touching your arm. I was standing right here and my chest felt so tight I couldn't even breathe."
You let out a soft, shaky breath, your face completely matching the color of his flushed cheeks. "He was just trying to tease you, Harua. He knew."
"I've been so scared of this mark," Harua interrupts softly, his voice incredibly steady, full of a raw, honest certainty that completely shatters your remaining defenses. He steps a fraction closer, his broad frame casting a warm shadow over you as he looks down through his thick lashes. His eyes are so dark, so wide, and so completely full of devotion. "I thought it was too ordinary. I thought it would happen in front of the cameras and ruin everything. But the second you spoke... I didn't care about the company. I didn't care about the comeback. I just wanted you to look at me instead of them."
Your heart stops completely, the sweet honesty of his words echoing through your head. You tilt your hand up, your fingers tightening around his broad palm.
"I've been watching you in the studio for weeks, Harua," you whisper softly, a small laugh escaping your lips as you look at his beautiful, flustered face. "It wasn't just a coincidence that I came to this shop. I think I've been looking for you, too."
Harua’s eyes go incredibly wide, a massive, radiant, and completely breathless grin spreading across his face as his entire demeanor softens in a single second. He lets out a soft, happy sigh, his forehead resting gently against yours as his fingers tighten around your hand, the brutal stress of the idol industry completely fading away into the background.
"Can I... can I stay with you until six?" Harua whispers against your skin, his voice trembling with a mix of raw anticipation and pure excitement. "Just the two of us?"
"Always," you smile warmly, your face glowing under his intense gaze as the torrential rain continues to fall outside, completely shutting out the rest of the world.
Genre: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Strangers to Lovers (kinda)
Warnings: None
Summary: Jealous bakery owner Taki pouts when flirty classmates tease his favorite customer.
☾ masterlist ☽
☾ 18+mdni ☽
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The air inside the lecture hall always feels like it has been trapped in there since the previous semester. It is a thick, stagnant kind of heat that smells like old carpet, dry-erase markers, and the collective, low-grade misery of sixty-five college students trying to keep their eyelids open through a three-hour afternoon block. The professor’s voice is just a low, rumbling hum in the background, bouncing off the concrete walls and the rows of laminate desks without actually landing anywhere. You have your chin propped up in the palm of your hand, your fingers pressing into your cheek hard enough to leave a small red mark, while your other hand mindlessly doodles a messy spiral in the margin of your notebook. Your notebook page is mostly filled with scribbled dates, half-finished diagrams, and a running tally of exactly how many minutes are left until the clock over the door finally clicks its way to the release hour. Survival through these weeks is entirely a matter of mental bargaining. You tell yourself that if you can just finish this chapter, if you can just type out three more coherent sentences for the discussion board, if you can just make it through the final forty-five minutes of this lecture without letting your forehead hit the desk, you get your reward.
The reward is always the same, and it is the only thing keeping your posture even remotely straight. It is a tiny, brick-faced bakery tucked neatly onto the corner of a narrow side street just three blocks down from the campus edge. The place sits under a soft, slightly faded pastel awning that catches the afternoon sun just right, the large front glass window always slightly misted up from the heavy heat of the ovens running in the back.
You have been a regular face in that shop for nearly four full months now. It started out as a purely transactional habit—a desperate need for sugar and a quiet corner booth to rewrite your messy lecture notes after a brutal mid-term week. But somewhere along the line, the habit turned into a ritual. You know the exact creak the heavy wooden front door makes when you push it open, the sharp, clean chime of the silver bell hanging from the brass frame, and the immediate, heavy wave of sweet yeast, burnt sugar, and warm vanilla that hits you like a physical blanket the second you cross the threshold.
For the first few months, you had lived in a complete, study-induced fog. You would walk in with your eyes half-closed, slide your backpack onto the faux-leather bench of the corner booth, and point blindly at whatever pastry looked the most colorful before burying your face right back into a laptop screen. You knew the shop was owned by Fuma, and you knew K was the guy who practically lived behind the massive, gleaming espresso machine, leaning his long elbows on the counter and chatting with anyone who walked in.
And then, there was Taki.
Taki was the constant burst of noise and light that completely disrupted the quiet, sleepy atmosphere of the neighborhood shop. He didn't just work the register; he practically vibrated behind it. He was a whirlwind of pure, high-energy spirit, always moving, always doing three things at once, his dark hair falling into his eyes in messy, unruly layers that he was constantly shaking out of his face with a quick jerk of his head. He was the kind of person who treated every single customer like they were a long-lost friend returning from a grand journey. He would wave enthusiastically from across the room while holding a box of cake boxes, shout greetings over the hum of the milk steamer, and bounce on his heels behind the counter with a genuine, crinkly-eyed grin that made it impossible to stay in a bad mood.
You had spent months receiving that high-energy welcome, accepting your brown paper pastry bags from his hands, and offering quick, polite smiles before retreating to your study corner. He was your favorite part of the neighborhood, a safe, joyful constant in a chaotic semester. He already knew your exact schedule without you ever having to explain it. He knew that on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your heaviest lecture ended right at three, and by three-ten, you would come walking through his door. Because of that, he had started a quiet habit of his own—saving the specific cherry blossom pastries with the light pastel pink frosting in the back case, ensuring they didn't sell out before you arrived. It was a comfortable, unspoken routine.
Until three weeks ago.
It had been an absolute nightmare of a Tuesday. You had failed a pop quiz, your laptop charger had frayed in your bag, and a sudden downpour had soaked the bottom hem of your jeans on the walk over. You had pushed the bakery door open, the bell chiming weakly, and you had felt so thoroughly drained that you couldn't even summon your usual polite greeting. You had just trudged up to the register, your shoulders hunched, your eyes fixed on the grain of the wood counter.
Taki had taken one look at your slumped posture and his entire energetic demeanor had shifted into something incredibly soft. He hadn't shouted his usual loud hello. Instead, he had quietly leaned over the counter, his broad forearms resting on the glass, bringing himself right down to your eye level. He had looked up at you through his thick lashes, his face filled with this immense, genuine concern. There was a small, white smudge of flour right along the curve of his jawline, and his dark eyes were so wide, so bright, and so completely focused on your face.
*"Bad day?"* he had murmured, his voice dropping into a velvety, gentle register that you had never heard from him before. He had reached back without even looking, pulling a fresh, perfectly iced baby pink pastry from the tray and sliding it across the counter toward you, his fingers lingering on the wax paper. *"On the house today. You look like you need a win really bad."*
You had looked from the pastry up to his face, watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave you a small, encouraging nod, his hair falling softly over his forehead. And right then and there, you felt your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. The academic fog in your brain had cleared instantly, and you realized you were completely, entirely crazy about the boy behind the register.
Ever since that afternoon, your entire life had become a tiny bit more intentional. Suddenly, you weren't just dressing for comfort; you were spending an extra ten minutes checking your hair before leaving your apartment. You started inventing little reasons to walk down that specific street. You would go in because you finished a difficult chapter, because it was a Monday and Mondays were hard, or simply because the sun was out and you wanted an iced drink. Every single trip to the register felt exciting. You would practice what you were going to say while waiting in line, your face flushing a soft pink the second Taki’s eyes would find yours across the room.
He had definitely noticed the frequency of your visits increasing, and his puppy-like enthusiasm had only doubled because of it. The second the silver bell would ring, his head would snap up, his entire face lighting up as he waved a pair of tongs or a handful of receipts. He would bounce on his heels, leaning over the display case to ask you about your classes, his voice carrying that bright, happy ring that made your chest ache with how sweet it was. You were making progress, building a tiny bridge of small talk and shared laughter over the glass counter.
The clock over the lecture hall door finally hits the hour with a sharp, metallic click. The professor claps his hands together, his voice cutting through your thoughts.
"Alright, that's it for today," he says, throwing his dry-erase marker into the tray. "Before you all scatter, don't forget the syllabus. The three-person presentation projects are locked in. I've randomized the groups to keep things fair. Check the monitor on your way out to find your partners, and I expect an outline from every group by Friday morning. Have a good weekend."
A collective groan echoes through the room as everyone stands up, the screech of metal chair legs against the floor filling the air. You sigh, slinging your backpack over one shoulder and joining the slow-moving line of students shuffling toward the front of the hall where the giant digital screen is glowing with columns of names. You scan down the alphabetical list, your eyes hopping past the lines until you find your own name in bold print.
Your eyes trace across the row to see your assigned group.
*Partner 1: Yuma.*
You blink, a small sense of relief washing over you. Yuma is a quiet, incredibly sharp student who usually sits near the back of your lecture hall. But more importantly, Yuma is one of the part-time workers at the bakery. He usually works the late afternoon shifts, helping Taki pack the custom cake boxes and wiping down the coffee prep stations. You’ve seen him around the shop plenty of times, his apron tied neatly around his waist, always giving you a polite little wave whenever he recognizes you from class. Working with him means you have an automatic excuse to hang out near your favorite spot.
Your eyes slide to the final name in your group row.
*Partner 2: Nicholas.*
Your stomach does a slight, nervous twitch. Nicholas is a legend in your department, but for entirely different reasons. He is effortlessly, naturally, and almost aggressively flirty. He doesn't even try; it is just woven into the way he moves and talks. He has this sharp, handsome face, a constant half-smirk playing at the corner of his lips, and a relaxed, cool confidence that makes everyone in his immediate radius flustered. He is the kind of guy who leans into your personal space when he asks to borrow a pen, flashes a brilliant, lingering smile whenever you make eye contact, and speaks in this low, smooth tone.
"Well, well. Looks like we're a team."
The smooth, low voice speaks right next to your ear, making you jump slightly. You turn your head to find Nicholas already standing right beside you, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his dark leather jacket. He is leaning his shoulder against the edge of the screen frame, his head tilted slightly as he looks down at you with that exact, effortless smirk. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and there is a playful, knowing glint in his eyes.
"Oh! Nicholas," you stammer out, adjusting the strap of your backpack. "Yeah, looks like it. We have the presentation."
"Don't look so scared," Nicholas teases softly, his voice carrying that natural, rolling charm as he steps a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours. He reaches out, his long fingers casually flicking a stray strand of your hair back over your shoulder. His eyes linger on your face, his smirk widening just a bit. "I don't bite. Usually. We just need a quiet place to get this outline done so we don't have to stress about it over the weekend."
"I'm in the group too, you know."
Yuma walks up from the side, his backpack slung carelessly over both shoulders, his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. He looks between you and Nicholas, his expression perfectly calm but his eyes sharp as they track the way Nicholas is currently hovering right over your space. Yuma arches a single eyebrow, a small, subtle smirk tugging at his own lips.
"Hey, Yuma," you say, feeling your face warm up a little from the sudden attention of both classmates. "Nicholas was just saying we should find a place to work on the outline."
"I know the perfect place," Yuma says immediately, his voice completely casual, though his eyes spark with a sudden, mischievous thought. He shifts his weight, looking straight at you. "The bakery down the block. Fuma's place. I have a shift there in two hours anyway, it's quiet right now, and the food is good. Plus, we can sit in the corner booth."
"A bakery?" Nicholas echoes, tilting his head as he looks at Yuma, then down at your flushing cheeks. Nicholas is incredibly perceptive; he doesn't miss the way your eyes widen slightly at the mention of the shop, nor does he miss the subtle, knowing glint in Yuma's expression. Nicholas's smirk turns into something much more calculated, his inner radar instantly clocking that there is a story here. "Sounds perfect. I love sweet things. Lead the way."
The walk down the three blocks feels entirely too fast. Nicholas walks right by your side, his shoulder consistently bumping against yours with every few steps, his long strides easily matching your pace. He doesn't stop talking—asking you about your major, teasing you about how intensely you were staring at the clock during the lecture, and leaning down closer to your face whenever the sidewalk gets crowded. It is just his natural, flirty baseline, but it keeps your nerves completely fried. Yuma walks on your other side, completely quiet, just watching the two of you with a calm, unbothered posture that gives absolutely nothing away.
When you finally reach the corner, the soft pastel awning comes into view. Your heart begins its familiar, frantic thumping against your ribs. You push the heavy wooden door open, the silver bell letting out that sharp, clean *clink* that always signals your arrival.
The heavy wave of warm sugar and fresh yeast wraps around you instantly, but today, you don't even have time to breathe it in before Taki notices you.
"Hey! You're here!"
Taki’s voice rings out brightly across the entire shop, loud and full of that pure, joyful puppy spirit that always makes your chest squeeze. He is standing behind the register, a fresh white apron tied over his dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had been in the middle of counting out a stack of paper napkins, but the second the bell chimed, he had dropped them entirely. He bounces twice on his heels, a massive, bright grin spreading across his face, his dark eyes instantly locking onto you. "I already saved the cherry blossom ones from the morning batch, they're in the back so nobody—"
Taki’s voice suddenly cuts off, the words dying right in his throat.
His eyes slowly slide past your shoulder to freeze on the person standing directly behind you.
Nicholas has his hand resting lightly against the small of your back, a casual gesture he had used to guide you through the narrow doorway. He is leaning down slightly, looking over the display case. Yuma steps in right after, letting the door click shut behind him, a completely blank look on his face.
The entire atmosphere behind the counter drops ten degrees in a single second.
Taki’s massive, radiant puppy grin completely vanishes. His shoulders go completely rigid. His dark eyes narrow as they lock onto Nicholas's hand where it is resting near your shoulder. His bottom lip instantly pushes out into a massive, heavy pout, his jaw locking tight. He stays completely glued behind that register counter, his long fingers gripping the wooden edge hard.
"Yuma," Taki says, his voice completely dropping its usual high-pitched ring, turning into a low, flat mutter. He doesn't look at his coworker at all; his eyes are still burning a literal hole straight through the side of Nicholas's head. "Why are you back early. Your shift doesn't start for two hours."
"Group project," Yuma replies smoothly, his voice entirely deadpan as he unslings his backpack and drops it onto the floorboards near the staff door. Yuma looks between Taki's fierce, pouty face and Nicholas's relaxed smirk, and a tiny, almost imperceptible gleam of pure, chaotic amusement flashes in his eyes. He slides his hands into his pockets, intentionally stepping closer to you. "The professor paired us up today. We came here to use the corner booth and get some work done."
"Oh. A project," Taki mutters, the word tasting like vinegar in his mouth. His foot begins to restlessly tap against the wooden floorboards behind the counter, a quick, chaotic rhythm that gives away exactly how short-circuited his brain currently is. He glares at Nicholas like an absolute intruder.
Nicholas doesn't look intimidated at all. In fact, the second Taki starts glaring, Nicholas’s eyes sharpen. He catches the way Taki's eyes flicker desperately down to your face, watching the way you are blushing and looking at the floor, and then looks back at Taki's tight knuckles on the counter. Nicholas realizes instantly that this bakery boy is completely crazy about you—and he realizes that you are just as flustered by him. A slow, thoroughly amused smirk creeps across Nicholas's face. He decides right then and there to stir the pot.
"Wow, everything smells amazing in here," Nicholas says, his voice turning intentionally lower, smoother, and completely full of charm as he leans his chest almost entirely against your shoulder, looking straight at Taki. He reaches out, his fingers playfully brushing against your forearm as he points at the glass display. "Hey, what do you think looks good? You come here all the time, right? Order for me. Whatever you like, I'll have the same thing."
Taki’s ears turn a violent, burning shade of crimson under his dark hair. A low, frustrated whimper escapes his locked teeth, his eyes tracking Nicholas's fingers on your arm. He grabs a clean yellow microfiber cloth from the counter shelf and begins to viciously scrub a single, non-existent smudge on the glass display case right in front of him. He is scrubbing so hard the entire glass structure is rattling against its metal frame, his breath coming in short, irritated puffs through his nose.
"Everything is good," Taki snaps out, his voice a whiny, high-strung rumble as he continues to scrub the glass. "But we're almost out of the special items. The corner booth is open. You should go sit down."
"Let's go grab the seats before someone else takes them," Yuma says, his voice filled with a suspicious amount of calm. He catches Nicholas’s eye for a fraction of a second, and the two classmates exchange a silent look of mutual understanding. Yuma turns to you, his hand gently catching your elbow to guide you toward the back. "Come on. Nicholas, you grab the drinks."
"On it," Nicholas winks, flashing a brilliant smile down at you before turning his full, smug gaze back to the counter. He reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out his wallet and leaning his hips against the counter edge, entirely comfortable under Taki's intense glare.
You let Yuma guide you to the corner booth, your mind completely spinning. You slide onto the soft faux-leather bench, pulling your laptop out of your bag with trembling fingers, your face still burning from the sheer intensity of the energy at the front of the shop. Yuma slides onto the bench right next to you, throwing his arm casually over the back of the booth, his long fingers tapping against the cushion right behind your shoulders. He is leaning into your personal space, his head tilted toward your screen, looking for all the world like the most attentive, close partner imaginable.
Across the room, K is standing right next to the massive espresso machine, and he is absolutely suffocating from trying not to laugh out loud. He has a steel milk pitcher in his hand, but he hasn't turned on the steam wand once; he has just been watching Taki's absolute puppy meltdown with a massive grin spreading across his face. K leans over the counter edge, his shoulder bumping into Taki’s rigid frame, his voice a low, teasing whisper.
*"If you scrub that glass any harder, it's going to crack,"* K laughs quietly, nodding toward the booth. *"Look at how he's smiling at her, Taki. And now Yuma is sitting right next to her. You better go over there before you lose your chance."*
"He's just... he's being too loud," Taki whines out, a pathetic, desperate whimper escaping his throat as he stomps his foot softly against the floorboards behind the register. He throws the yellow microfiber cloth down onto the counter with a soft *slap*, his bottom lip sticking out so far it looks painful. "He's ruining the cozy bakery vibe. And Yuma is supposed to be working later, why is he touching her notebook like that? It's just a project. They don't need to sit that close."
*"Then go over there and do something about it,"* K laughs quietly, tapping Taki’s shoulder with the base of the pitcher. *"Or are you just gonna stay here and watch them share a pastry?"*
Nicholas walks over to the booth a minute later, holding a tray with two iced lattes and a small porcelain plate. On the plate is one of the delicate, cherry blossom pastries with the light pastel pink frosting—the exact one Taki always saves for you. Nicholas slides onto the bench directly across from you and Yuma, setting the tray down with a soft click. He pushes the pink pastry right to the center of the table, directly between your space and his.
"The tall guy at the machine made the drinks," Nicholas says, leaning his chin in his hand as he smirks across the table at you, his eyes darning to the front counter where Taki is currently standing like a frozen statue, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your booth. "But the kid at the register looked like he wanted to punch me when I ordered this pink one. He kept staring at it like it was his personal property. Is he always that intense?"
"Taki?" you murmur, your heart doing a violent flutter as you look down at the pastel frosting. "Oh, no... he's usually really high-energy and happy. He's like... a puppy."
"A puppy?" Yuma repeats, his voice carrying a dry, amused ring as he leans closer to your side, his eyes scanning your laptop screen. He reaches out, his long fingers wrapping around your pink pen where it’s lying on your notebook, casually twirling it between his knuckles. "He looks more like he's guarding his territory right now. Nicholas, look at the espresso machine."
You can't help it; you glance up from your screen, your eyes traveling across the warm, dimly lit shop toward the front counter.
Taki is standing exactly where you left him, but his puppy demeanor has completely short-circuited into a state of pure, miserable desperation. He has his hands gripped flat against the wood, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he glares at Nicholas and Yuma. But the absolute second your eyes lock with his across the room, his fierce glare instantly drops into the most pathetic, needy puppy pout you have ever seen in your life. His large, dark eyes go incredibly wide, turning soft and glassy, looking at you with this silent, whiny plea that says everything his mouth can't. *Why are you letting them sit so close to you? Why are you sharing my pink pastry with him? Why aren't you looking at me instead?*
Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your jeans under the table. He looks so thoroughly miserable, so transparently jealous, that it makes your entire chest swell with a wave of heat so intense it leaves you completely speechless. He likes you. He actually, truly cares about you enough to look that broken just seeing you with someone else.
"Alright, let's look at the presentation outline," Yuma says, his voice breaking through your panic as he taps his finger against your notebook page, his face completely deadpan though he can feel the sheer tension vibrating off you. "Nicholas, what's your section?"
"I can handle the introductory slides," Nicholas says smoothly, his eyes sliding from your burning red cheeks back to the front counter where Taki has just let out another visible, frustrated huff. Nicholas's smirk turns thoroughly delighted. He stretches his long arms out, purposely leaning his upper body across the table, his face coming entirely close to yours as he points a finger at your screen. "But I think we should do the main research part together. What do you think? We can meet up after hours this week. Just the two of us, so we don't get distracted."
Behind the counter, Taki’s brain completely fries. He watches this guy lean across the table, his face inches from yours, talking about meeting up alone. Taki whines out loud this time, a high, strained sound of pure, overwhelmed frustration that makes K muffle his loud laughter into his sleeve.
"I can't just stand here," Taki mutters frantically, his voice cracking slightly as his high-energy spirit turns into pure, reckless determination. He grabs a small steel tray from the shelf, throws three fresh, powder-coated sugar cookies onto it, and grabs a clean order pad. "K, I'm doing a table check. The back booth needs a table check right now."
*"Go get 'em,"* K gasps out through his laughter, waving a hand dismissively.
The sound of quick, heavy footsteps echoes over the wooden floorboards, moving with a frantic, hurried pace that makes the silver bell on the door jingle slightly from the sheer wind of his movement. You look up from your laptop just as a tall, broad frame completely shadows your table, cutting off the light from the front window.
Taki slams the steel tray down onto the edge of your booth with a loud, metallic *clack* that makes your iced latte glasses rattle.
He stands at the edge of your table, his hands shoved deep into his apron pockets, his dark hair a total, messy tumble over his forehead from how fast he just walked over. He is pouting so hard his lower lip is practically trembling, his cheeks flushed a dark, angry crimson as he looks down at the three of you. He doesn't look at Nicholas or Yuma at all; his wide puppy eyes lock straight onto your face, completely transparent about how stressed out and needy he currently feels.
"Complimentary cookies," Taki announces, his voice dropping into a rough, slightly whiny rumble. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his boots scuffing loudly against the floor. "For... for group projects. Fuma says we have to support student groups. But you guys are being... you're taking up a lot of space. It's distracting. You shouldn't meet up after hours anyway. The library closes early."
Nicholas blinks up at him, his chin resting comfortably in his palm, his smirk reaching an absolute peak of pure, chaotic satisfaction. "Oh, really? Thanks for the cookies, man. But we actually like working in pairs. It's more efficient."
Taki’s shoulders square as his protective instincts flare up. He steps a fraction closer to the table, his broad chest nearly pressing against the edge of the laminate wood as he finally snaps his eyes down to glare at Nicholas. "You're being too loud. It's distracting for the other customers."
Yuma lets out a soft, sudden snort from right next to you, his calm posture finally breaking as he buries his face in his hand, his shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable giggles. He looks up at Taki, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief. "Hey, Taki. Don't worry about it. I'll make sure Nicholas doesn't get too distracting during our meetings."
"You're not helping, Yuma!" Taki whines out loud, completely losing his remaining composure as his foot stomps hard against the floorboards. He looks back down at you, his face completely falling into this incredibly sweet, pathetic, and desperate expression, his voice dropping into a soft, breathable whisper. "You... you didn't even taste the pink pastry yet. I saved it for you. I kept it in the back for three hours so nobody else would buy it."
Your entire heart completely melts inside your chest, the sweet, raw vulnerability of his voice making your hands go entirely weak. You look at his wide, pouty eyes, his flushed cheeks, and the absolute desperation radiating off his broad frame, and you realize you don't care about the project at all right now.
"I'm gonna eat it right now, Taki," you whisper softly, a massive, warm smile catching the corners of your lips as you look up at him through your lashes. You reach out, your fingers gently sliding the porcelain plate closer to your side. "I was just waiting for the outline to get done. Thank you for saving it for me. You always know exactly what I need."
Taki blinks down at you, his rigid, tense posture instantly softening at the sound of your voice. The fierce glare completely dissolves, his eyes turning back into those wide, shining golden-retriever pools as a small, flustered, and incredibly sweet smile starts to pull at the corners of his lips. His broad shoulders relax, a soft, happy sigh escaping his nose as he shakes his hair out of his face.
"Yeah?" Taki murmurs, his voice returning to that bright, high-energy ring, his heels doing a tiny, involuntary bounce against the floor. "I... I always save the best ones for you. Every single time."
"Alright, I think I've caused enough trouble for one afternoon," Nicholas laughs smoothly, standing up from the booth and sliding his wallet back into his leather jacket. He looks between your blushing face and Taki's proud stance, and he gives you a warm, friendly wink. "Yuma, let's go finish the slides in the library. I think our third partner has some important bakery business to take care of."
"Good idea," Yuma says, his voice full of dry amusement as he stands up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He pats Taki's shoulder as he walks past, a small, approving grin on his face. "Don't burn the croissants while I'm gone, Taki. See you at five."
The two classmates walk toward the front door, the silver bell letting out a loud, cheerful *clink* as they push it open and step out onto the sunny sidewalk, leaving the shop completely quiet save for the low hum of the espresso machine in the background.
The corner booth suddenly feels incredibly large, the empty spaces across from you leaving you entirely alone with the tall, broad boy standing at the edge of the table.
Taki doesn't move. He stands there for a long, quiet moment, his fingers restlessly tracing the edge of his order pad, his face still flushed a soft, beautiful pink under the warm evening lights of the shop. He looks down at your laptop screen, then down at the pink pastry, before his eyes slowly slide up to lock onto yours with this quiet, lingering shyness.
"Can I... can I sit down?" Taki whispers softly, his voice dropping into that low, velvety register that makes your stomach do a violent flip. He nods vaguely toward the empty bench across from you, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "Just... just until my next order comes in?"
"Please," you say softly, your building butterflies making your pulse hammer against your ribs as you shift your laptop to the side, clearing the space. "I want you to stay."
Taki slides onto the faux-leather bench with a slow, careful movement, his long legs stretching out under the narrow table until his boots accidentally, softly brush against yours. The contact sends a sharp shock straight up your spine, but neither of you pulls away. He leans his broad forearms on the laminate wood, his chin resting in his palms as he looks across the small table at you, his face completely illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the hanging light above your booth.
"I really hated that guy," Taki confesses quietly, his bottom lip sticking out in one final, lingering pout that makes him look incredibly soft and sweet. He looks down at his fingers, a small, flustered swallow clearing his throat before he looks back up at you through his lashes. "The one with the leather jacket. He was... he was touching your hair. And he was leaning way too close to your face. I was standing behind the register and my chest felt so tight I couldn't even breathe."
You let out a soft, shaky breath, your fingers tracing the edge of your porcelain plate as you lock eyes with him, your face completely matching the color of the pastel frosting. "He was just trying to tease you, Taki."
"I'm always looking at you," Taki interrupts softly, his voice incredibly steady, full of a raw, honest certainty that completely shatters your remaining defenses. He reaches across the small table, his large, flour-dusted hand moving slowly, hesitantly over the wood until his fingers gently, warmly settle over yours, his thumb tracing a soft circle against your knuckles. His eyes are so dark, so wide, and so completely full of devotion. "Every single time the bell rings, I look up hoping it's you. I’ve been doing it for months. Yuma knows it, K knows it... I think everyone knows it."
Your heart stops completely, the sweet honesty of his words echoing through your head. You tilt your hand up, your fingers tightly, securely tangling with his broad ones, feeling the warm, comforting weight of his palm against yours.
"I came here because of you, Taki," you whisper softly, a small laugh escaping your lips as you look at his beautiful, flustered face. "It wasn't just for the pastries. I've been completely crazy about you for a really long time."
Taki’s eyes go incredibly wide, a massive, radiant, and completely breathless grin spreading across his face as his entire puppy spirit reawakens in a single second. He bounces twice on the bench, his fingers tightening around yours with an intense, joyful grip. "Really? You... you came here for me?"
"Always for you," you smile warmly, your face glowing under his intense gaze.
Across the room, K is leaning against the espresso machine, a fresh white towel over his shoulder as he watches the two of you holding hands across the corner booth. He lets out a soft, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he turns back to wipe down the milk steam wand, finally giving the two of you your quiet, comfortable space.
Taki leans across the small table, his broad frame casting a warm shadow over your lap as his face comes close to yours. The sweet, heavy scent of vanilla and sugar on his skin wraps around your senses, completely consuming your mind as his eyes drop down to your mouth, his breathing turning short and shallow.
"Can I kiss you?" Taki whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with a mix of raw anticipation and pure, golden-retriever excitement, his thumb still tracing your hand. "Right now?"
"Yes," you breathe out, your eyes closing as you lean forward to meet him halfway. "Please, Taki."
The first kiss is everything you had spent months pining for—soft, comforting, and completely filled with a deep warmth that tastes faintly of sweet yeast and powdered sugar. His lips are warm and incredibly gentle, pressing against yours with a slow, lingering reverence that makes your entire body go completely liquid under his touch. He doesn't rush a single thing, his large hand moving up from the table to gently, securely cup the curve of your jawline, his long fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer until your breath is completely swallowed by his.
When he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, their noses are still brushing against each other, his dark eyes beautifully soft and crinkled at the corners as he looks down at your face. Taki lets out a soft, happy giggle, his forehead resting gently against yours as his fingers tighten around your hand, the brutal stress of the college semester completely fading away into the background.
"You're my favorite customer," Taki whispers sweetly, his high-energy spirit returning in a soft, rumbling vibration against your chest as he smiles against your lips. "But I'm really glad you're mine now."
"Yeah," you laugh softly, leaning up to press one final, slow, and completely sweet kiss to his warm lips, the light pastel pink pastries sitting forgotten on the table as the afternoon sun fades into a cozy, quiet evening.
The bass is honestly so loud it feels like a physical weight pounding straight against your ribs, vibrating the floorboards of the warehouse until your legs feel completely numb. Everything around you is just a sweaty, suffocating blur of thick fog machine smoke and hot pink strobes cutting through the dark in these sharp, blinding flashes. You can barely even breathe with how hot it is, the air completely heavy with the smell of cheap drinks and everyone dancing too close, but you’re just sort of losing yourself in the middle of the crowd, wearing a really short skirt and a tiny crop top that leaves a lot of your skin completely bare to the purple UV blacklights humming overhead.
But then you catch sight of this guy standing near the edge of the floor by a concrete pillar, and your entire brain just completely freezes.
He is so unbelievably tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking out the wall behind him, but he looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. You can tell immediately that his friends completely dragged him here and then ditched him, because he just looks so out of place and painfully shy, his long fingers nervously tugging at the strap of his black tank top. The tank top leaves his broad shoulders and collarbones completely bare under the purple light, and his dark, messy hair keeps falling right into his eyes while he anxiously looks over the crowd. He is just so gorgeous it low-key hurts to look at him, standing there all quiet in the shadows while everyone else is going wild.
You've been watching him from across the floor for a good ten minutes, your eyes totally locked on the sharp lines of his face whenever the purple UV light sweeps over his corner. He just looks so completely lost and out of his comfort zone, and it gives you this sudden, wild rush of adrenaline that makes you want to do something crazy.
Holding a pair of wooden brushes and two little plastic pots of glowing paint—one electric blue and one hot pink—you start pushing your way through the sweaty crowd. The bass thuds hard in your ears as you dodge the moving bodies, keeping your eyes straight on him until you step right into his personal space.
Jo blinks, his breath completely catching in his throat when he suddenly realizes you're standing right in front of him.
He tilts his head down, his dark eyes wide and startled as he looks at you, his gaze instantly dropping to take in your short skirt and tiny top before snapping right back up to your face, his cheeks turning a deep dark crimson under the ultraviolet light. Before he can even try to stammer out a confused hello, you look him straight in the eyes, holding his gaze with total confidence.
"Hey," you say, speaking up so he can hear you over the loud thud of the music as you open the electric blue paint. "Hold still."
Before his brain can even process what you said, you dip the brush deep into the glowing blue cream. Stepping a fraction closer until the heat radiating from your body is practically brushing against his, you lift your hand and press the wet brush right against his bare shoulder.
Jo’s entire world completely short-circuited.
His jaw goes tight, his eyes going wide in absolute shock as his face flushes a burning red that goes all the way down his neck and chest under the blacklight. He is so incredibly flustered, his chest rising and falling so fast as this little breathless sound leaves his lips. He stands completely rigid against the concrete pillar, his long fingers twitching at his sides while you slowly start dragging the brush across his skin.
You trace a long, smooth, glowing line from the curve of his shoulder, moving inward across his collarbone, and then dragging the wet bristles straight down over the black fabric of his tank top, mapping the hard lines of his chest in burning blue.
He is breathing so heavily, his throat clicking hard as he swallows, his dark eyes completely glued to your face while you work. You don't use your hands yet; you keep your movements super precise, your tongue poking out just a tiny bit between your teeth as you dip the brush again, drawing a sharp cross-hatch pattern right over his biceps. Every time the wooden handle of the brush accidentally grazes his skin, a visible shiver runs through Jo’s massive frame, his muscles flexing automatically under your touch.
"Your turn," you murmur, a playful smile catching the corners of your lips as you cap the blue paint and open the burning hot pink pot, pressing the clean wooden brush into his long, trembling fingers.
Jo looks down at the brush in his hand like it's a live wire.
The crowd is surging all around you, people laughing and dancing just inches away, completely oblivious to the intense bubble of tension hardening between the two of you. Jo swallows hard, his knuckles turning white around the wooden handle as he dips the bristles into the hot pink paint.
"I... where do I..." he stammers, his deep, velvety voice cracking just a little bit, completely showing how flustered he actually is.
"Wherever you want," you reply, stepping even closer until your short crop top is nearly brushing against his tank top.
Slowly, with his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, Jo lifts his hand. He is trying so hard to be respectful, his eyes flickering down to the bare skin of your collarbones with this mix of intense awe and pure hesitation.
When the wet bristles finally touch your skin, you let out a soft, sharp breath. Jo’s touch is agonizingly slow, his hand shaking slightly as he drags the pink paint in a long, elegant curve right over the slope of your shoulder, tracing the soft skin just above the edge of your tiny top. He moves with a quiet, intense focus, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks only at the path of the brush, finally finishing the glowing lines right as the beat drops violently in the background.
Instead of pulling away, you set the paint pots down on the ledge behind the pillar and step straight back into his space, your hands sliding up to rest lightly on his unpainted shoulders.
"Dance with me," you murmur, your hips already catching the heavy, pulsing rhythm of the music.
Jo freezes for a split second, his dark eyes wide as he looks down at you, completely caught off guard by how fast the night is moving. But the music is loud, the energy of the crowd is completely intoxicating, and with your hands warm against his skin, his initial shyness slowly starts to dissolve. He lets out a shaky breath, his large hands hesitating in the air for a brief moment before he firmly settles them on your waist.
At first, his movements are stiff, his cheeks still burning a dark crimson under the blacklights as he tries to keep his composure. But as the crowd surges around you, pushing bodies closer together, Jo finally starts to let go. He steps into the rhythm, his long legs moving perfectly with yours, his hold on your waist tightening until there is absolutely no space left between you.
The dancing turns incredibly heavy, the heat radiating between your bodies turning completely suffocating. You start to tease him, deliberately rolling your hips against his thighs, watching his jaw go completely tight every single time you grind against his length. Jo lets out a low, ragged gasp right against your ear, his grip on your waist turning possessive and firm as he follows your lead, his movements getting deeper and more intense as he matches your rhythm perfectly. The friction through your clothes is absolute torture, his chest heaving against yours as the slow-burn tension of the dance floor thickens until it’s nearly impossible to breathe.
You lean up on your tiptoes, your lips brushing right against the shell of his ear as you give his waist a teasing squeeze. "Too crowded out here, isn't it?"
Before his shy hesitation can trap him in his own head again, you grab his free wrist, your fingers wrapping tightly around his warm skin.
"Come with me," you say, giving him a firm, determined tug.
Jo doesn't even resist. He lets you drag him straight through the heavy crowd, his massive size helping you part the sea of people as you guide him away from the floor. You lead him through the heavy velvet curtains at the back, navigating a maze of dark corridors until you push open a heavy wooden door to a private, dimly lit lounge room near the back exit.
The room is completely quiet, the booming bass softening into a dull, thumping heartbeat behind the thick walls. A single UV blacklight bar hangs on the wall, illuminating a low-profile leather couch and casting a deep, saturated purple glow over everything. On a small glass table in the center sits several open pots of neon body paint.
You shut the door behind you, locking it with a sharp, heavy click before turning around to face him. The neon lines on his shoulders and your chest are glowing with a fierce, blinding intensity in the quiet space.
Wanting to completely break his restraint, you take the initiative. You step right up to him, your hands flying to the hem of his black tank top and slowly sliding it up his torso, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the floorboards. Then, you reach for the zipper of your short skirt, letting it drop to the floor along with your crop top until you are standing bare before him under the purple light, entirely driving the pace.
"Touch me," you whisper, guiding his large hands down to your hips.
That bold move completely shatters whatever shyness Jo had left. A deep, gravelly growl tears from his throat, his dark eyes turning entirely black with pure need as he completely takes control of the situation. He physically lifts you off your feet, slamming you gently back against the leather cushions of the couch, his massive frame hovering over yours instantly as he strands his long legs on either side of your hips.
"You're driving me completely crazy," Jo chokes out, his voice a deep, rough rumble as his mouth finally slams onto yours with a terrifying ferocity.
It was an incredibly heated, messy makeout session right from the start. His thick tongue pushes deep into your mouth, tangling with yours without a single shred of restraint, completely consuming your breath. He tastes like pure heat, his large hands digging deep into your hips, leaving dark, bruised fingerprints on your skin.
While your upper bodies are completely locked together in the kiss, your hand blindly trails back toward the glass table behind the couch, just wanting something to anchor yourself. In your frantic haste, your knuckles accidentally knock against the edge of a wide-open pot of electric green paint. The little plastic container just tips over on its side, the thick neon cream slowly spilling out across the smooth glass surface.
It doesn't splatter all over you, but your palm accidentally slides straight through the wet pool as you try to steady yourself. When the kiss gets too intense and you blindly reach up to wrap your arms around Jo's broad, bare back, your paint-slicked hands press firmly against his skin.
You can't stop touching each other, your fingers desperately scratching and digging into his shoulder blades as he pushes your thighs further apart. Every time you grab at his back, your palms leave bright, glowing green handprint marks all along his skin under the ultraviolet light, smudging his clean back with the physical evidence of how tightly you're holding onto him.
Jo feels the cool smear of the paint on his skin and lets out a low, breathless growl against your neck, his bare palms sliding up your waist. His long, slender fingers are completely clean, keeping you perfectly safe and sanitary as he presses the soft pad of his thumb right against your clit, circling it with a heavy, slow pressure that makes your hips helplessly twitch off the couch. Slowly, he slides his slick fingers straight inside your tight channel, the natural warmth of his skin making your eyes flutter shut as a loud gasp rips from your throat. He drives his fingers in and out in a deep, rhythmic pattern, the wet sound echoing loudly in the quiet room until you're completely unraveled.
He pulls his fingers out with a loud, wet click, leaving your core completely open and wet under the blacklight.
Jo stands up for just a brief second, his hands flying to his own pants, shoving his clothes down his long legs until his thick, heavy length springs free into the blue light. It is imposing, massive, and fully erect, dripping a slow bead of pre-cum. He kneels back down on the couch, aligning the broad, heavy head of his shaft right against your weeping entrance. He grips your hips with his large palms, anchoring you flat against the cushions.
He lets out a heavy, ragged breath as he presses his hips forward, the thick head of his length slowly sliding past your outer lips, stretching your tight walls wide.
He pushes forward with a slow, unyielding, and completely relentless pressure, the broad width of his shaft stretching your core smoothly as he sinks deeper and deeper into your untouched heat. You let out a sharp, choked whimper, your hands blindly reaching up to grab his forearms, your fingernails digging into his skin as he goes millimeter by millimeter, letting your body give way to his massive size without rushing a single second.
"Fucking hell, you feel so good," Jo groans out, his head throwing back as he finally bottoms out against your cervix, his entire length buried to the hilt inside you. He stays perfectly still for a moment, his chest heaving against yours, letting you adjust to the sheer, impossible volume of him filling you up to the brim.
Then, he begins to move.
His hips deliver a slow, heavy, and deep pace, his long strokes pulling almost all the way out before driving back in to hammer heavily against your g-spot. The friction inside your core is absolute insanity, your inner walls completely locked around his shaft, hyper-sensitive and pulsing erratically with every single slide. Every time his pelvis slams against yours, your fingers dig even harder into his back, adding more messy, glowing handprints across his skin as the blue and pink lines on your chest smudge together into a beautiful mess of neon colors.
"Look at you, look at how perfectly you're taking all of me," Jo praises, his voice a ragged grunt of pure pleasure as he accelerates the pace, his thrusts turning fast, ruthless, and completely deep. "You're such a good girl, taking it so deep."
"Jo, *please*, it's too much, I'm gonna—" you sob out, your voice cracking as you completely lose touch with reality, your vision going entirely white from the intense overstimulation. You have absolutely no control over your own movements, your body acting on raw, primal instinct as your hips blindly roll into his thrusts, your head rolling uselessly on the cushions as a long, thin string of drool slips past your parted lips.
Jo doesn't slow down, his grip on your waist staying iron-clad, physically lifting your hips up to meet his downward drives in a fast, relentless rhythm that drives you straight over the cliff of sanity. The wet, raw sound of your skin slapping against his thighs echoes through the small room, driving the heat to an absolute breaking point. His chest is heaving, his veins popping along his neck as your tight internal contractions begin to squeeze his shaft to the point of pure agony.
"Come for me, beautiful. Clamp down tight," Jo roars out, his pace turning into a frantic, blurred motion that slams your backside against the couch.
With a desperate, full-body shudder, your core completely breaks, a violent, toe-curling orgasm ripping through your entire frame as you clamp around his length with a crushing force. The intense pressure instantly shatters Jo's restraint.
He lets out a feral, guttural roar, his hips delivering three final, devastating drives before he bottoms out completely, his entire massive body stiffening over yours as he unloads a thick, burning torrent of his release deep inside your womb. He bucks his hips upward, holding himself deep inside you as he cums, completely filling your tight core to the absolute bursting point, mixing with the neon paint until the cream overflows heavily out of your stretched entrance, dripping down your thighs in the deep blue light.
The room falls into a dead silence, save for the heavy, synchronous sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. Slowly, carefully, Jo pulls out of you, leaving your core completely open, slick, and weeping his thick heat onto the cushions.
He doesn't move away, immediately collapsing his heavy, exhausted frame right next to you on the leather couch, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist to pull your trembling, sticky, and completely marked body flush against his chest.
You stay like that for a long time, just listening to the distant, muffled bass hum through the walls while your breathing finally slows down. Jo's chest is rising and falling against your shoulder, his skin covered in a wild mix of sweat, smudged pink lines, and the bright green handprints you left all over his back. He reaches down, his long fingers gently tangling with yours, pulling your hand up to his lips to press a soft, lingering kiss against your knuckles.
"My friends are going to ask so many questions when they see my back," Jo suddenly whispers, his voice dropping into this incredibly soft, breathless chuckle that makes your chest feel completely warm. The familiar, sweet shyness is right back in his eyes as he tilts his head down to look at you under the purple light. "But I honestly don't care at all. I don't even want to go back out there."
You smile against his chest, your fingers tightening around his as you look up at him. "Then don't. Stay right here with me."
"Yeah," Jo murmurs, his dark eyes turning beautifully soft as he leans down, pressing one final, slow, and completely sweet kiss to your lips, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world. "I'm staying right here."
hii love, if you like this req could you please consider writing it?
i absolutely love your style of writing!
req- a fluffy fic with yuma x reader where she's super tickly and starts breaking out into laughter even if his breath fans her neck. so yuma teases and kisses her everywhere on the face and neck while shes giggling and trying to get away?
it lowk sounds stupid as i type it but i know if you write this youre so gonna eat it up.
if you decide not to write this, thank you for reading it anyways <33
Hi anon hope u enjoy🩷!!!
Trust i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing
Pairing: Yuma x Reader
Genre: tooth-rotting fluff
Warnings: None
Summary: Yuma finds out exactly how ticklish you are, and he refuses to let you escape his affection.
☾ masterlist ☽
☾ 18+mdni ☽
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The quiet hum of the television is just background noise at this point, completely ignored in favor of the way Yuma has his arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. It’s a lazy evening, the kind where neither of you wants to move, perfectly content just sinking into the plush cushions of the couch. Yuma rests his chin heavily on your shoulder, letting out a soft, contented sigh that sends a warm puff of air straight against the sensitive skin of your neck.
You instantly flinch, a high-pitched giggle slipping past your lips as you try to shrug your shoulder up to block him.
Yuma blinks, tilting his head back just a fraction to look at the side of your face. A slow, mischievous smirk spreads across his lips as he realizes exactly what just happened. He leans in again, intentionally breathing out a long, warm sigh right against the crook of your neck, watching with absolute delight as your entire body arches forward, breaking out into breathless laughter.
"Wait, are you seriously that ticklish?" Yuma chuckles, his voice dropping into a low, amused rumble that vibrates directly against your back.
"Yuma, stop! It tickles, don't do that!" you gasp out, twisting your torso as you desperately try to wiggle out of his iron-clad grip. Your hands fly up to push at his forearms, but your strength is completely zapped by the giggles already bubbling up in your chest.
"No way," he teases, his eyes sparkling with pure affection and a sudden, playful hunger to completely unravel you. "I just found your weakness. There's no way I'm letting you go now."
True to his word, his fingers begin to dance lightly against your ribs, sending you straight over the edge into full, uncontrollable laughter. You're squirming frantically against him, your legs kicking out slightly as you try to slide down the couch to escape, but Yuma easily uses his weight to anchor you down, his own bright, boyish laughter joining yours as he watches you completely lose your mind over his lightest touch.
"Please, Yuma! I can't breathe!" you wail, tears of mirth pricking the corners of your eyes as you bury your face into his shoulder, trying to muffle your screams of laughter.
"You're so cute when you're helpless like this," he murmurs fondly, his heart completely melting at the sound of your joy.
He shifts his fingers from your ribs, but before you can even catch your breath or celebrate your brief freedom, Yuma attacks with a completely different weapon. He leans over you, his soft hair brushing against your forehead as he begins to rain down a relentless storm of sweet, loud kisses all over your face. He places a loud pop on your cheek, then your chin, then right on the tip of your nose, making you scrunch your eyes shut as you continue to giggle and whine under his affection.
You try to turn your head away to hide your mouth, your hands blindly cupping his jaw to push his face up, but Yuma just kisses the palms of your hands before nuzzling his face straight back down into your neck.
"Yuma, no, not there! *Please!*" you shriek, your voice cracking as his lips press a soft, lingering kiss right against your pulse point. Every single breath he takes, every word he murmurs against your skin, leaves you entirely weak, keeping you completely trapped in a state of breathless, giggling bliss.
He won't even give you a second to recover, his head burying deeper into your shoulder as he finds new spots to torture you with. His lips trail down to the soft dip of your collarbone, peppering tiny, light kisses that feel way too intense with how sensitive you are right now. You're shifting under him, your hips rolling unsteadily on the cushions as you try to wiggle away, your fingers tangling into the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him back, but it only makes him press down closer against you.
"I'm going to kiss you everywhere," Yuma whispers directly against your skin, intentionally exaggerating the breath of his words just to hear you break out into another frantic wave of laughter. He presses a trail of sloppy, sweet kisses up your jawline, his fingers gently squeezing your waist to keep you still while your body completely gives up from delight. "You can't run away from me, angel. You're stuck right here."
You try to bury your face in his neck to hide from him, but that just puts your cheek right against his skin, and Yuma takes it as an invitation to lean over and catch your lips in a messy, breathless kiss that completely cuts off your complaints. You're still smiling against his mouth, the low hum of your giggles vibrating between you two until he finally pulls back just an inch, his eyes looking down at you with so much warmth it makes your chest ache.
By the time he finally relents, his chest is heaving with his own laughter, his arms still wound tightly around you as he collapses his forehead against your shoulder. You're completely spent, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you catch your breath, a wide, goofy smile permanently etched onto your lips. Yuma lifts his head, his dark eyes looking down at your flushed, beautiful face with so much raw affection. He reaches up, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of laughter from your cheek before pressing one final, incredibly soft, and lingering kiss right to your lips.
heyy cutie i love your writing i get really excited when when you post
i was wondering if you could do something with ej meeting someone whilst he’s working sort of like the other ej one you’ve written
also can i be 🪷 anon?
LOVE YA
Hi 🪷 anon!! I hope you enjoy
Pairing: Euijoo x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Warnings: None
Summary: Barista Euijoo falls for a quiet customer
☾ masterlist ☽
☾ 18+mdni ☽
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The street outside is completely washed in gray, rain hitting the pavement in thick, heavy sheets that turn the neon open sign in the window into a warm, blurry pink smudge against the glass. Euijoo is leaning against the espresso machine, his fingers tapping a quiet, absent-minded rhythm against the cool metal bar as the steam wand hisses softly in the quiet shop. It’s a slow afternoon, the kind where the hours just sort of bleed together into a hazy, warm lull, and he’s mostly just staring at the floorboards, completely lost in his own head.
The little brass bell above the heavy door lets out a quick, bright chime, cutting straight through the low hum of the indie playlist humming from the speakers in the corners. Euijoo looks up out of habit, blinking once as he sets down his wiping cloth, his customer service greeting already resting on the tip of his tongue. But the moment he catches sight of you standing on the rug, shaking the stray drops of water off your umbrella, his throat completely clicks shut.
It hits him like a sudden, heavy wave—a complete rush of love at first sight that leaves his chest feeling entirely tight and hollow all at once. He can’t even breathe right for a second, his dark eyes wide as he takes in the way the warm overhead lamps catch the edges of your damp hair, the soft, flushed look of your cheeks from the cold air outside. His heart starts hammering against his ribs so loud he’s almost certain the sound is echoing across the empty counter, his long fingers completely freezing where they’re gripping the edge of the wood.
You don’t notice at all. You’re just standing there fixing your jacket, completely oblivious to the absolute, chaotic storm you just started inside him with a single step.
"Welcome in," he stumbles out, his voice a little rougher and lower than he means it to be, his cheeks warming up instantly as he tries to force his usual polite smile. "What can I get started for you today?"
You walk up to the register, your eyes lifting to the menu board behind him, your brows furrowing slightly as you think. You order a simple iced latte, your voice quiet and carrying a tiny, hesitant hitch that makes Euijoo's pulse skip a beat. When you hand him your card, your fingers brush against his for a fraction of a second—just a tiny, accidental touch that makes a hot spark shoot straight up his arm, making his knuckles twitch as he slips the card into the reader. His hands are slightly trembling when he passes it back to you, his professional distance completely shattering underneath the counter where you can't see.
"I'll have that right out for you," he murmurs, turning his back to you far too quickly, his heart racing as he desperately tries to focus on pouring the milk and pulling the espresso shots without messing up the measurements.
He watches you from the corner of his eye as you take your cup and walk straight to the furthest corner table by the window, sliding into the wooden chair and opening your laptop. You wrap your hands around the plastic cup, staring deeply into the screen, completely focused on whatever you're working on. Euijoo stays behind the bar, his chest heaving as he wipes down the same clean counter over and over again, his dark eyes constantly tracking the quiet shift of your shoulders, completely under your spell from that very first moment.
Weeks go by, and the routine completely cements itself into his life, turning into a quiet, slow burn that consumes every single one of his afternoons. You start coming in every day at exactly three forty-five, always wearing that same soft, comfortable style, always walking straight to the counter with that same shy, quiet energy. You always order the exact same iced latte, your fingers always brushing his when the card changes hands, leaving Euijoo overthinking every single syllable you speak to him.
He becomes completely hyper-aware of your presence, his mind entirely occupied by you from the second the clock ticks toward three thirty. He starts doing the absolute most just to get a few extra seconds of your attention. He starts memorizing your order, reaching for the plastic cup before you even open your mouth to speak, his heart hammering when a soft, genuine smile breaks across his face. "Iced latte, right?"
Your cheeks instantly flush a deep, pretty pink at the realization that he knows your habit, and you give him a small, breathless nod as you slide your card over. "Yeah, thank you."
Euijoo feels his throat go completely dry when he sees the color flood your face, his fingers lingering on the edge of the plastic as he hands it over, his voice dropping into a softer, much more personal register. "Coming right up."
The walls between you two start to crack in the most quiet, subtle ways possible. Euijoo starts writing little things on your cup—sometimes just a small, neat smiley face near the lid or a little *have a good day* in his clean handwriting, his heart doing a wild flip when he watches you notice it from across the room, a soft smile breaking across your lips as you take a sip. He starts taking his breaks right when you're sitting in the corner, bringing a rag out to clean the empty tables right next to yours just so he can ask you what you're working on, his professional composure completely dissolving into this nervous, hesitant curiosity where he stumbles over his own words, desperately trying to keep the conversation going.
Then everything shifts on a Thursday afternoon. The clock ticks past four thirty, then five, and your corner table stays completely empty. Euijoo keeps checking the front door every single time the brass bell chimes, his chest tightening with a strange anxiety as the hours crawl by without any sign of you. He gets completely distracted, messing up an order for another customer because his brain is entirely consumed with wondering where you are or if something happened to you to break the routine.
The real panic sets in when he finally sees you about an hour later, but you aren't coming inside the shop. You're standing just across the street, right under the awning of the bookstore, laughing softly and tilting your head up to listen to someone else talk under a shared umbrella.
Euijoo’s heart completely drops straight into his stomach, a sharp, sudden wave of intense jealousy and real fear hitting him so hard it leaves him breathless behind the counter. He stares through the glass window, his fist clenching around the microfiber cloth in his hand as he realizes with absolute, terrifying clarity that he can't just keep being the stranger who makes your coffee every day. He doesn't want to just watch you from behind a counter anymore; he wants to be the one holding the umbrella for you, he wants to be the one making you laugh like that, he wants to be the one you look for when you walk through the door.
The next day, the cafe is completely quiet during the late-night closing shift. The rain is pouring down in thick sheets against the glass panels outside, and you are the absolute last customer left in the shop, packed up at your usual corner table, staring out at the dark, wet street while the indie music plays softly in the background. Euijoo walks to the front, flipping the sign on the door to *closed*, his hands slightly shaking as he takes off his green apron and sets it down on the counter.
Instead of staying behind the bar, he walks slowly over to your table, holding a fresh, warm drink in his hands. He sets it down right in front of you on the wooden surface, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet room. "On the house, since it's so miserable outside."
You look up in surprise, your eyes wide as you see him slide into the empty chair directly across from you, his dark eyes looking right into yours with a vulnerability that completely stops your breath. "Euijoo? Thank you, you didn't have to."
"I did," he murmurs, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looks at you, his usual polite composure completely gone, replaced by a nervous, beautiful sincerity that makes his pulse race. "I really did. Because yesterday when you didn't come in at your usual time, I couldn't focus on anything at all. And then I saw you across the street and I just... my heart completely dropped."
You stare at him completely stunned, your mind trying to process the words as Euijoo lets out a quiet, shaky breath, his long fingers messing with the edge of the table before lifting his gaze right back to yours. "I know I’m just the guy who makes your coffee every afternoon, but it’s turned into the absolute best part of my entire day. I look for you every single time that bell rings, and I don't want to be strangers anymore. I want to actually know you."
You reach your hand across the wooden table, your fingers gently brushing against his knuckles. His eyes widen slightly, a soft, relieved smile slowly spreading across his face as he turns his hand over to lock his fingers with yours, the quiet shop fading away until it's just the two of you in the warm light.
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 ☽
⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ˚ 。
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."
