summary: to yudai, being engaged means he can call you his fiancee. anytime, and anywhere!
pairing: koga yudai x reader
genres & tropes: established relationship, fluff!
word count: 1,264 (excluding summary)
author's thoughts: this is like... a continuation somewhat to this fic? but it can be read as stand alone!
Kei loves, and by love, he means that he really loves addressing himself and you as fiance and fiancee – to the point it can be insufferable (not to you, you find it endearing. Maki, however, finding the word insufferable is an understatement. If he were to describe it, he would find it excruciating). Because whenever Kei opens his mouth, you’ll find him saying the words ‘fiance’ and ‘fiancee’ at least three times.
Exhibit A: The Office.
“I… didn’t know you’re into Sanrio stuff, Kei hyung,”
Maki said as he saw Kei bring a cinnamoroll lunch bag to the table, and Kei smiled widely before opening it. Maki’s jaw drops as Kei takes out a My Melody themed lunch box, Kuromi themed utensils, and a Hangyodon themed tumbler.
“Huh… you’re a fan…”
“Nope. It’s my fiancee’s! She packed lunch for me, and because we’re running out of bento boxes, she uses this instead! Isn’t it cute?”
Maki blinks his eyes rapidly – stunned at his co-worker who’s down bad for his own fiancee. Good for him, Maki thinks.
“Oh my God! My fiancee made me my favourite side dish!”
“Good for you… Hey Kei hyung, you know that you can just… not say the word fiancee that often, right? Like, you can say, oh she made me this. Because we all know who you are referring to…”
“Nope! I love saying fiancee! And what’s wrong with it? She is my fiancee,”
Maki pressed his lips into a thin line and just nod – you can’t change a man’s mind if he doesn’t want to change it. Kei takes a sip of the coffee you made, then squeals like a highschooler – causing Maki who’s about to take a bite of his food, looks at Kei in horror.
“As expected! My fiancee is really good at making coffee!”
Maki sighs.
Exhibit B: The Get-Together.
It’s been a while since Kei meets up with his high school friends, so he’s really looking forward to it. As soon as he entered the restaurant, his friends greeted him enthusiastically and congratulated him on his engagement.
“Wow… there’s a lot of good food here. I should ask my fiancee if she wants any,”
Kei said as he looked at the menu. Fumiya, who sits next to him, chuckled.
“What’s so funny, Fumiya?”
Kei asks and throws a few glances at his friend while deciding on the menu, and the food that he should buy for you.
“Nothing. It’s just, your head is full of her. When Keito initiated this whole thing too, you said ‘Oh, I’m gonna ask my fiancee first and see if she’s cool with this’.”
“Well, she’s my fiancee. Of course my head is full of her. It would be weird if it’s not,”
The get-together officially begins when everyone arrives – tons of questions, and lots of topics are brought up in the conversation. And Kei’s answer always begins with the same thing: my fiancee.
His scarf?
‘My fiancee knit this for me!’
His outfit?
‘My fiancee chose this, she said I look good in this!’
How’s work going?
‘My fiancee said I should try for a promotion,’
“Kei, how about a football session this weekend? It’s been a while since we played together,”
Aoki’s question makes everyone turn their eyes toward Kei, waiting for his answer.
“I have to ask my fiancee–”
“GODDDD,”
“Ughhhh fiancee this fiancee that. We get it! You have a fiancee!”
“Good for you for having a fiancee!”
Ruckus fills the table as everyone collectively groans and playfully gets mad at Kei for mentioning his fiancee every single time.
“I’m– I’m sorry for having a fiancee?”
“You’re not sorry! You’re trying to rub it in our faces. Ohhhh, look at me, I’m engaged to the love of my life. Fuck you!”
Everyone laughed at Fumiya’s outburst – he’s the one who had to listen to him mentioning his fiancee the most, given that he sits next to Kei.
“But really, I have to ask my fiancee–”
“STOPPPP!”
Exhibit C: The Florist Shop.
“Oh, Kei. I thought you weren’t coming,”
The florist greets Kei warmly – Kei has been stopping by every day (except weekend) without fail, and the florist genuinely thought Kei wasn’t going to come by as he’s running later than usual.
“Got caught up with work. Give me the biggest bouquet, please. My fiancee is going to murder me for coming home late AND without a flower, so please,”
The florist chuckled, before picking plenty of flowers – your favourites, which she already memorized since Kei is a regular here. She immediately whips up a big bouquet, and hands it to Kei once it’s done.
“Thank you so much! My fiancee is going to love this!”
“Your fiancee is a lucky one,”
The florist said while motioning to Kei to tap his card on the reader to pay for the flowers.
“Nah, I’m the lucky one actually. Can’t believe I got engaged to her. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
The florist shakes her head as she watches Kei dashes out of the shop, with a small smile on her lips.
“Him and his fiancee… once they get married, that boy definitely can’t stop addressing her as my wife,”
Exhibit D: A Movie Date
“Here, let me take this.”
Kei said as he tried to pry your popcorn and drinks away from you, and you shake your head since you can hold onto it.
“Wow, my fiancee is rejecting me. I’m not needed anymore, huh? What’s the point of me going to gym if my fiancee won’t let me hold her popcorn and drinks,”
“Yudai, your hands are full!”
You point at the box of nachos and drinks he’s currently holding, and Kei rolls his eyes.
“Excuses. I still have my left hand unoccupied,”
You chuckled at your fiance’s attitude, and decided to hold his hand – he instantly squeals and turns mushy when your finger intertwines with his, causing you to laugh at his reaction.
“Your hands are definitely full now, happy?”
“Yes, my fiancee.”
Yudai swings your interlocked hands as you walk deeper into the cinema, heading toward your designated hall.
“You really love calling me your fiancee, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I really do. I’m trying to let everyone in the world know that I’m engaged to you, the love of my life,”
“Why?”
“Because… because I want everyone to know that I’m proud of being yours.”
Your heart flutters at his words, and you can’t help but blush – this man looks prouder to be yours than to have won the most competitive marathon event. And he’s an athlete who owns countless medals and trophies, which says a lot.
“Oh! Oh, is my fiancee blushing? Ohhhhhhh,”
“Shut up!”
“I can’t wait to marry you so I can call you my wife. It has more kick than ‘my fiancee’, you know?”
You scrunched your face as you can feel your face become hotter – and definitely, redder, thanks to his words. Kei grits his teeth as he finds you adorable, and his cute aggression tells him to bite your red, fluffy cheeks. He suppressed that thought instead of acting on it, since both of you are in public, and leaves a peck on your cheek instead.
“I love you, my fiancee,”
He singsongs, happy to make you turn as red as a tomato like this. It gives him a boost of pride too, knowing that he’s the only one who can cause you to blush hard.
“I love you more, my fiance,”
“Nope. I love you more. I love you from the moon to the back, my fiancee,”
additional notes: thank you for reading until the end <3 hope you enjoyed it!
could i please request some fluff with yudai? i just read your husband!fuma fic and i would like smth similiar with yudai but only fluff pls ><
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ CLEANING DAY 🧸ྀི — mundane things are not so boring when they’re done with your significant other ( wc 628 )
[ extras ] kissing. very fluffy<3 not proofread :D
ੈ✩‧₊˚ notes ! i had a guests over and it was just so:( they were talking abt cleaning together and it seemed like the most romantic thing to me idc sue me!!!! i hop you enjoy it hehehe <3
@lune-net ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ˚₊ @kstrucknet
the hum of the vacuum cleaner ripped through the house, dust bunnies disappearing before your eyes. you sang to yourself underneath your breath — it's not like your vocally gifted husband will hear and judge. well, he wouldn't in the first place. but you felt a little less judged with the loud noise cancelling your singing.
even tapping your foot happily to the song, you focused on finishing cleaning the living room. the sun rays cast light, cloudless sky bringing the mood up as well.
once the floors were clean, you plugged out the machine.
"yu, how's it going?" you called, gathering the cable. the snake-alike wire was running through your fingers and you swiftly started rolling it neatly.
"almost done!" yudai replied from the kitchen. he was given the task of washing windows. they were so dirty you couldn't stand it any longer. he gladly agreed, his height allowing him to clean the windows more efficiently than you would.
"nice. i'll wash the floors now so just please, be careful. don't slip!" you declared and went to grab the mop along with the bucket. yudai had already filled it with water, added soap, and prepared your mop. you smiled at the gesture.
once the bass of the vacuum was gone, you realized your husband put on your cleaning day playlist. you huffed, not able to prevent yourself from smiling.
working swiftly on washing the floor, the squeaky clean surface reflecting the sunshine. you worked your way from the living room to the kitchen, where your husband was. the sound of music and his singing became clearer.
"beep beep!" you announced your arrival. yudai looked through his shoulder and grinned.
there was something heartwarming about how mundane this was. your casual clothing and hair messily clipped by a claw. peace radiated off your features and he halted his movements. everything that seemed simple and even boring, with you always felt like home and comfort.
he realized you're getting closer to him, back almost bumping into his. he set aside the cleaning equipment and turned around, getting ready to attack.
you put away the mop and leaned it against the furniture, wiping your forehead. the smell of detergents and freshness was filling your home, and it make you relax.
"done!" you cheered and suddenly felt two hands on your waist. you squealed when yudai lifted you up and placed you on the freshly cleaned kitchen counter. he looked around dramatically, the wet floor surrounding you two as if you were a deserted island in the open sea.
"seems like we're stuck, baby" he hummed, fox alike smirk painting on his lips. you giggled and opened your legs, welcoming him between them. yudai rested his arms next to your hips and leaned his head closer, placing a kiss on your nose. "whatever will we do now?"
"wait. you've got some strong legs, you'll survive" you teased and adored his features from up close. some sweat gathered on his temple: probably from staying in the sun. you lifted your arm and wiped it off with your sleeve, following the gesture by tucking a strand of his ear behind his ear. yudai only observed you with adoration.
"we did a great job. should we watch an episode or two later?" he asked, humming in thought. you moved your hands to rest them on the nape of his neck, nodding.
"i'll need to fold the laundry though. but sure!" you grinned and yudai scoffed.
"i'll help you" he said, fakely outraged you even thought of doing it yourself.
because what is yours is his, even the most mundane and daunting tasks. and when it came to taking care of your shared place called home, he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.
I really like some of your writing, it really entertains me and fulfills my delusions!!!!!!!
So, because I like the way you write, I want to request 'Reactions of &Team members when they found out you were hit by a boy because you defended yourself from bullying' ? Do you think any of them would immediately retaliate against the boy who hit you?
I hope you can fulfill it, hehe 🥹
-🍉
&team reaction to someone hitting you
pairing boyfriend!&team x gn reader
warnings violence duhh, some slightly descriptive fight scenes, mention of blood and injury, cursing, kind of bittersweet, barely proofread so pls comment if there’s any mistakes
playlist danger - south arcade
note um hi guys so i don’t condone violence unprovoked, but if someone hits you and you can take them i think you should absolutely defend yourself. also, i changed the scenario a bit to fit each member, i hope that’s alright. enjoy!! (p.s. this has been sitting completely finished in my drafts for who knows how long im so sorry)
kei
your man is so protective of you, he notices something is off the moment you bump into this man by accident. you apologize, but the man looks enraged anyway, landing a sharp strike to your cheek. kei nearly explodes with rage, immediately landing several hard blows to the man’s face and stomach. you have to physically pull him off of the man. kei only realizes he’s gone too far when you cross your arms and sulk, walking several feet ahead of your boyfriend. he catches up to you and holds your shoulders in place, gently touching the wound on your face and muttering curses to himself.
“yudai, you can’t just fight people in public. plus, why would you beat him up like that?” “serves him right. he’s the one who layed hands on you first.”
fuma
fuma is more than furious when someone dares to touch the love of his life. he’s already on the man before you can blink, flipping him over and holding his arms behind his back, squeezing a bit too hard when the man struggles. tells you to call the police. he practically sits on top of the man until the police arrive, subtly looking you over to make sure you’re alright. he tries to encourage you to get checked out by the paramedics who arrive out of protocol, and then takes you back to the safety of your shared home. he also encourages you to talk about what happened in order to process it, but understands if you don’t want to talk or think about it. your sweet boyfriend gives you all the hugs and kisses you can ask for, just wanting to brighten your mood.
“let’s watch television and take a nap, yeah? forget about all of that, angel.”
nicholas
we all saw nicho in the samidare music video. the second this stranger puts hands on his baby, nicholas rolls up his sleeves and swings back. he’s another one where you have to physically grab his arm to pull him away from the conflict, screaming at him and the man to stop all the violence. the second nicho snaps out of his adrenaline rush, his hands are all over you, examining you to make sure you’re alright. he’s still so angry, but he understands you just want to go home at this point, so he complies. he lets you lean on him in the taxi, and runs you a hot bath when you get home, preparing dinner as well as an apology for solving violence with more violence.
“i’m so sorry, sweetheart, i went too far. please forgive me?”
euijoo
calm euijoo is gone the second the man’s fist makes contact with your face. you’ve been hit so hard you’re on the ground, so euijoo helps you up and scans you for any visible injury before turning around and slapping the guy who hit you. he curses quite a bit, a stark contrast to the gentle man you know. he’s just so angry, he can’t believe there are actually people who believe in using violence to resolve problems, especially on people who don’t deserve it. after the guy leaves, finally realizing there’s not much he can do without starting a fight, juju is right by your side. he examines you again before taking you home, believing it’s the only way he can keep you safe.
“i’m so sorry that happened to you, angel. people can be so horrible.”
yuma
yuma is confused and then immediately angry because you haven’t done anything but mouth off at someone who bumped into you, and suddenly there’s punches being thrown. he jumps in for sure and shoves the guy back a few times, getting in his face and yelling at him, because why in the world would he put hands on yuma’s baby?! he does backoff if the guy tries to fight him too, though. that’s the last thing he needs when he should be making sure you’re safe. he feels so guilty for not being able to protect you, even though you assure him it was the angry dude’s fault, and probably even yours for opening your mouth. yuma assures you it was completely the guy’s fault, however, since no amount of attitude warrants violence.
“you did nothing wrong, honey. that bastard’s the one who threw hands.”
jo
jo does not like confrontation! the second the man hits you, he pulls you back, standing in front of you to protect you in case he attempts to hit you again. jo checks your face for any injuries before calling the police and letting them handle the guy. he may catch the guy and restrain him if he has to, only if the guy tries to run away. he’s shaken up, so he can only imagine how you’re feeling right now. for that reason, after you report the man to the police, your boyfriend suggests going somewhere else and getting ice cream, or whatever other sweet treat you may prefer as a distraction. he also buys a cold pack for your face. sweet boy.
“here, take this. it’ll prevent swelling.” “aw, jo, you didn’t have to…” “please, it’s the least i can do after you got hurt under my watch.”
harua
harua, although he’s angry, does not hit back. the man is quite large in comparison to the both of you, so harua is smart about it. he opts to instead threaten the man with calling the police where he’ll be arrested for assault. that, or he has to get on his knees and apologize to you. harua is a bit surprised when the man actually does get down and apologize, high off the power trip he feels. he’s proud that he’s been able to defend your honor without becoming violent and stooping to the man’s level. of course, he checks in with you to make sure you’re alright physically and emotionally, as he understands this is a lot to process. when you say you’re alright, he just hugs you for a bit, shaken up at the thought of what could have happened if things ended worse.
“let me just hold you, sweetie. i’m so glad you’re okay.”
taki
taki is concerned for you most of all, but also angry that someone’s tried to hurt you. he screams at the guy and lectures him (probably cusses him out too), definitely effectively scaring the guy off. from there he checks on you, grabbing your arm and scanning your body head to toe to make sure the guy hasn’t harmed you much. he suggests you get your face checked out because the man cracked the skin on your cheekbone a bit with his ring. taki is fuming for the whole rest of the day, and you end up having to sooth him lolz.
“i can’t believe that imbecile tried to hurt you.” “taki, that happened five hours ago.”
maki
ohh the second the guy lays hands on you maki is yanking him away from you. from there, he’d try to see if he can de-escalate the situation, but if there’s too much anger and emotion involved for the guy to stop, maki is ready to defend your. you’ve seen his arms, we all know he can pack a punch. your sweet boy is gone, it’s all angry maki. all you can do is stare in shock as maki shoves and hits your attacker. he knows not to go too far, however, and eventually just grabs your hand and runs away, leaving your attacker in shock and slightly injured. he’s frustrated when you tell him the guy had been picking on you for a bit already. most of all, though, he’s worried for you, and that’s where the frustration of you not telling him comes from.
“love, you know you can tell me anything, right? you don’t have to hide things like this. i want to help you.”
warnings: language, kissing, reader cries, taki almost cries, yuma's teasing takes a wrong turn :( , harua's and taki's is like a reverse of this whole plot lmfaoo,
****
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ KOGA YUDAI
kei hadn't seen you in what felt like days.
the last time he spoke with you, you were venting about the amount of upcomings exams and assignments you had. and so, he tried his best to be there for you.
but...he didn't want to be too overbearing. so he also tried his best to give you space.
and with him, himself, getting caught up with work he wasn't able to speak to you.
a few short messages being sent here and there, a small phone call too. but that was it.
so when kei pulled up to your front door, your favorite snacks were in a bag.
he didn't expect for you to open the door and look so...
miserable.
"baby?" was the first word he spoke to you.
and just the sight of him was enough to make your eyes well up with tears.
you pulled him into your house, he kicked the door closed behind him and felt your arms warp around him.
he dropped the bag of snacks, wrapping his own arms around you.
he swayed the two of you for a bit, one hand placed on the top of your head.
"come on, you wanna go relax? watch a movie or take a nap." he spoke to you so softly, your eyes unmoving from his own.
"yeah." you sniffled, holding now one of his hands as you two went to your couch.
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ MURATA FUMA
you think you might just have the most understanding boyfriend ever.
but you also think you might just be the worst girlfriend ever.
you've been canceling a lot on fuma lately, but it isn't your fault entirely. finals season is in action and your teachers have been throwing tests and assignments and essays at you left and right.
the second you finish one, you have another to do. and so you've been postponing and cancling a lot of data plans you two came up with.
today was too much. you took a huge test at school and couldn't even breathe when you got home. your apartment was a mess, your work unfinished and on top of all this. you just got a text from your boyfriend.
poké nerd 🫶: hey baby, the screening for the movie's gonna start soon, are you ready?
fuck.
you completely forgot. again.
you were about to shoot him a text when you heard some knocks on your door. walking over to open it, you already knew who it was.
"ready?" he asked as he stepped in, standing by the front door.
your heart burned. you wanted to throw all your responsibilities out the window just for one day with your boyfriend.
you shook your head. "im sorry, baby, i completely forgot. and i'm really busy. but my semesters almost over, i promise."
you heard a sigh from him. "no." you stepped back in shock. literally.
"what?" he walked over, closer to you now. "you're gonna come out with me, okay? you're gonna come out and we'll have fun and when we get back," he placed a kiss on your forehead. "we can have a study date. I'll help you with your work. guaranteed 100%."
"I-I don't know..." he rolled his eyes playfully, "i do know. and plus, i was a straight A student." he held your face in his hands. "you need a break, y/n. i hate seeing you like this and feeling useless. you can cancel a million times on me and i won't be upset."
he pressed his forehead against yours. "so please. just relax. just for today. you won't regret it, i promise." he smiled, looking into your eyes.
"i love you, honey. so come on, go get dressed." you nodded your head. "i love you too."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ WANG YIXIANG
you were locked in your room all day.
you weren't even eating well or anything, in your mind you didn't have that kind of time to sacrifice.
and your boyfriend was on the other side of your wall, debating with himself on whether he should give you space or go to you.
and just when he was about to knock on your door, see if you were hungry or wanted a break, he heard you shakily sigh. a curse following right after.
he finally went in, seeing you with your back hunched over your desk and your palms pressing into your eyes.
"y/n?" your throat felt so dry at the sound of his voice, "y/n, babe, are you okay..?" you turned around in your chair, your eyes red. and if that was from the tears gathering in them or the lack of sleep, you didn't know.
you shook your head, "god, nico, I just have so much. and I feel like I'm not even close to finishing." you said, your voice cracked at the last word.
wordlessly, he walked over to you, grabbing you by your forearm to stand up in front of him. and he wrapped his arms around you, placing one on the back of your head as he felt your arms go around him.
he could feel the wet tears hitting his shoulder, his heart breaking at it. your occasional shaky breaths did nothing but hurt him more.
"I know, baby. but I want you to know I'm right here, I'm always gonna be right here if you ever wanna talk or take a break." he pulls away from you for a second, looking into your eyes as he places one of his hands on your cheek, cradling your face. "don't let your work kill you. it's not worth ruining yourself over. and we can find you a tutor if you want, hm?"
you wiped your eyes, sniffling. "okay."
he smiles at you, not one of joy or sadness. just one full of love.
"I love you, y/n. you're the strongest person I know." he pressed a kiss to your nose, teasing you.
you laughed softly. "thank you, nicho." you leaned in to press your own lips against his. "I love you too."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ BYUN EUIJOO
euijoo had offered to help you study with a class that you were struggling with. and so, in desperation, you agreed.
the two of you were sitting doing the same kind of problems for the past forty minutes. every single time you thought you finally understood, ej would point out something that you missed.
you were getting sick of it all. you felt so stupid in front of him. getting it wrong every time while he just breezed through it.
and now, once again, you got another practice problem wrong.
you huffed out, dropping your pencil on the table.
"I can't keep doing this, euijoo. this is ridiculous." he shook his head at your words.
"you're getting better, sweetheart. really. you just need a bit more practice." you rolled your eyes. "no, euijoo. i'm just gonna take the F at this point."
he reached a hand over to the table, grabbing yours. "one more. please? and if you still don't get it we'll take a break and get back to it another day." you sighed, nodding your head.
and so after he pointed out your last mistake, and you corrected it he gave you the last question.
you slid your paper over to him, waiting to hear a so close, you just missed one thing. but instead, you heard something different.
"you got it!" your eyes widened, "what?" he smiled at you as he nodded his head. "see I told you, I knew you could do it." he pulled your chair closer to his, pulling you for a hug.
you smiled back, still in disbelief.
"thank you, baby. thank you so much." he blushed at your words, shrugging his shoulders, "it was all you, honey."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ NAKAKITA YUMA
you were cooped up in your room all day. yuma felt like he hadn't seen you in ages, and so of course he wanted to go and bother you.
yuma thought you were probably just tired. he had no idea that you were doing piles of homework and studying. especially considering how, as soon as he arrived at the apartment, you simply greeted him and said, "I'll be out soon, don't come in."
it's only been two hours since then.
without even knocking, he walks into the room, finding you on your bed sat against the headboard with your laptop in your lap.
"wow, y/n. ditching me for some youtube?" he teased, walking over to where you were and pushed your laptop screen shut.
"yuma!" you yelled out, swatting his hand away. "yuma, I swear to god if my work wasn't saved I'm gonna kill you." yuma furrowed his eyebrows. "you were doing homework?"
you opened your laptop, seeing that it did an automatic restart.
"yuma, what the hell is wrong with you? I've been working on that all day!" yuma's hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. "m-maybe it's not gone!"
you breathed out heavily through your nose. "Yuma, just go outside. I told you I'll be out when I'm done." he nodded his head, avoiding your eyes. "I'm sorry.." he whispered, quiet enough that had missed it.
it was an hour and a half later when you came out of your room, going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
you were just about to tell your boyfriend that you finished when you saw him asleep on the couch with a bakery box of sweets from your favorite bakery.
now you feel like shit. you yelled at him, kicked him out and never apologized even when he's been waiting for you all day.
you quietly walked over to where yuma was lying asleep on the couch.
"yuma..." you tapped his shoulder. "yuma," you brought a hand up to brush the hairs away from his face.
"mmm." he groaned, opening his eyes to see you.
you swallowed. "yuma, I'm so sorry." you pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I shouldn't have been so mean to you. I was just stressed out with school work and-" he brought his bigger hand over to lay on yours. "'s okay," he said, voice a bit heavy. "It's my fault, really."
"I should've known you were doing homework and not have messed with you." his cheeks were dusted a pretty shade of pink.
before you could speak another word, he sat up. "I was waiting for you to finish so we can chill out. y'know get your mind off the work."
you nodded your head, "I'd love that."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ASAKURA JO
you were taking night classes, your least favorite.
you got home late, didn't have much time to clean up or eat or even do your work. and you just wanted the ground to swallow you up as your professor went on and on about the subject.
now, technically, you can just get up and leave. but, you didn't pay for this semester for nothing.
you were dozing off a bit in class when you got a text from your boyfriend.
white rice 😋🤍: I'm gonna pick you up after class today, so see you soon! love you.
you couldn't help but smile at your phone, glad that after a two hour lecture, the first thing you'd see was jo.
you: okayy, love you too!! <33
and now finally, you were done.
you walked outside and saw your boyfriend sitting on a bench.
you walked up to behind him, placing your arms around his shoulders as you press a kiss right on his head.
"honey?" he asked, confusion in his voice. "mm, no. I'm a random woman kissing another girls boyfriend." you teased.
even under the campus lights, you could see your boyfriend's ears turn a light shade of pink.
he cleared his throat, "so, i-i know how you're probably tired right now and stuff...but um, I thought it'd be nice to go on a night walk together. clear our minds, you know?" your heart literally melted on the spot.
your knees? jelly.
all because of your adorable boyfriend.
you nodded your head, giving a kiss on the lips this time.
"of course, I'd love that, baby." you linked your hand with his. "thank you, for always thinking of me."
he tried his best to hide his smile. "its natural for me, y/n. almost like breathing."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ SHIGETA HARUA
what are the odds that you missed your boyfriend's arrival back in japan.
you had promised to meet him at their dorm, you planned a huge surprise and everything.
only for it all to go down the drain.
you forgot.
you were so caught up with your own work and constant studying that you didn't even realize the date came closer than expected.
you were stuck in your room after school. doing your best to finish up as much as you can.
so when you suddenly got a text from taki, you were confused.
taki 🐣: yo, are you gonna be here soon? your bfs acting weird.
you: ??? i cant just spawn in korea
taki 🐣: we landed back here like four hours ago...
with wide eyes, you quickly pulled up the date on your phone.
fuck.
harua did just land.
you rushed out of your room, making sure you look at least put together and threw your shoes on.
you rushed to a nearby cafe that you and harua loved, getting his favorite.
knock knock.
you'd made it over to their dorm about twenty minutes after taki texted you.
nicholas was the one that opened the door for you, offering you a small smile and stepped to the side for you to walk in.
you didn't even need to ask, you knew where harua would be.
you knocked on the door gently before entering his room, pushing the door to see him lying down. back facing you.
you walked over to him, kneeling on the floor beside the bed as you put a hand in his hair. "rua...?" you called out for him hesitantly.
you heard him let out a breath through his nose, turning over as he faced you.
with a strained smile, you grabbed his hand. "harua, I'm so sorry, honey." you brought his hand up to your lips, "I lost track of time, I didn't mean to." he shakes his head, sitting up now. "i-i get it, but I still wish you were the first face I saw.."
that just made you feel like the biggest jerk in the whole world.
you couldn't hold it anymore, you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.
"never again. okay?" he nods his head, "never again." he mirrors your words.
"what do you say, you wanna go to my place and relax?" finally, he smiled. "I'd love that."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ TAKAYAMA RIKI
you had put your phone on silent.
telling yourself you were going to completely put your focus on studying.
you went into your room and left your phone in the kitchen.
now, your boyfriend didn't know this.
he didn't know you had lots of work and he didn't know you put your phone on do not disturb.
for past few days, you and taki had exchanged small texts and check-ins with each other. phone calls barely go on for more than twenty minutes.
the last time he saw you was when you two went on a date. and he thought it went well.
so to not hear from you properly was worrying him.
were you mad at him? did he do something? did you hear something about him?
everything bad was going through his mind.
he decided today he was going to make it up to you. he couldn't take not seeing you anymore.
you were his person. his love.
he bought a bouquet of your favorite flowers and made his way to your house.
it took a few knocks from him for you to finally open the door.
he was freaking out on the inside, his entire plan going out the window as soon as he saw your face.
"taki?" he cleared his throat, swallowing a lump he didn't even know was there.
"y/n, I'm really sorry." he extended his hands out, giving you the flowers. "I d-don't really know what happened but i'll make it up to you. I really hate it when we don't talk."
his voice got quieter at the end as he blinked rapidly.
he didn't even know why he started tearing up, he just did.
your heart ached for him. did you make him think he did something wrong?
you took the flowers from him, placing them down on the cabinet you had near the front door.
you shook your head, "no, baby." you pulled him into your arms, "you didn't do anything, I know you wouldn't even do anything to me." he tucked his head into your shoulder as he sniffled, nodding his head.
"I thought you were upset with me." you softly laughed at his statement. not to make fun of him, but out of his adorableness.
"never. I just had so much to do." he lifted his head, "why weren't you answering my texts and calls?"
okay, now it all made sense.
"I'm so sorry. I should've told you. I just left my phone on silent so I didn't get distracted."
he nodded his head, his expression suddenly becoming shy.
"I just feel like a kid now." he laughs at himself. "can't believe I got upset over that." you cooed at him, he was just too cute.
"no! noo, it's fine. I would've done the same. if anything I would've been more dramatic."
he grabs your hands in his, playing with your fingers.
"do you still have more work?" biting your lip, you nodded your head. "but you could stay with me. as long as you promise to not mess around."
he doesn't think he's ever nodded his head so fast. "and after, we could take a walk? if it's not too late.." he offered.
you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "that's sounds perfect. I'd love to clear my head after it all."
⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ HIROTA RIKI
maki knew how stressed you'd been this past week.
and so, with his only free day he decided to do something for you.
you and maki are both big foodies, you guys are down to try any kind of food. to an extent, of course though.
he made sure you never left your room for the afternoon, getting started on the surprise lunch.
it was a bit tough, but he was determined to do it.
probably about an hour later, maki managed to drag you out of your room.
he sat you down at the dinner table and told you to close your eyes.
confused, you hesitantly lifted your hands up to cover your eyes.
you smelled the food before you saw it, your mouth watering at it all.
"okay! open."
you gasped when you saw the plate in front of you. "maki, you actually made this?" he nodded his head, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
"I know how stressed out you've been...so I wanted to take a few minutes to just sit down with you." you couldn't help the big smile that came onto your face.
you leaned over the table, giving maki a quick kiss on his lips.
you pick up your spoon and dig into the food, tasting it.
your eyes practically sparkled. "maki this is amazing!" he had a shy smile on his face, scratching the back of his neck.
yudai walked you up the steps to your door, his warm hand in yours contrasting the cold of the night. the two of you stopped under the soft glow of the porch light. it wasn't until you turned around to face him that you noticed how close he was, the scent of his cologne mixing with the cool air.
"thank you for tonight, i had a really good time," you said a little sheepishly.
he flashed a smile – shy, almost boyish. "i had a good time, too," he replied softly.
the night had been perfect; your conversation flowing easily over dinner, and his fingers brushing yours a little too often to be accidental. and now, as you stood there, neither of you wanting to be the one to say goodbye, you felt your heartbeat fastening with anticipation.
yudai’s gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat as his thumb gently sweeped over your knuckles.
"can i kiss you good night?"
suddenly your cheeks felt warm, despite the cool night wind. his words were gentle, almost hesitant, and something in you ached at how he asked, like he gave you every chance to say no. instead, you nodded, your breath catching as he let out a soft exhale, relief in his smile.
yudai’s hand rised to brush against your cheek, his fingers tracing along your skin with a touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. you closed the gap between you, and then his lips met yours, soft and gentle, like he was savoring each second.
his lips tasted faintly of peppermint, yet the kiss felt so warm and comforting that it made you lean in just a bit closer and rest your hand resting on his chest to feel his quickening heart beat beneath your fingertips.
for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you under the porch light. the gentle pressure of his hand against your cheek, the soft warmth of his lips, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make your heart skip a beat.
when he finally pulled back, you caught the smallest, softest smile on his lips. you felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks, but you couldn't look away.
“i’ve wanted to do that all night,” he murmured, a little self-conscious but unmistakably sincere.
you mirrored his shy smile, “i’m glad you did now.”
he chuckled, his fingers brushing over yours one last time before he let go. he stepped back, giving you a final smile before heading down the steps.
"good night, y/n."
other members under the cut!
── .✦ fuma (446 words)
you took his hand, carefully placing the small box inside before letting go and telling him to open his eyes again.
he followed your instructions, looking at the box with a hint of confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
"you're supposed to open it," you said with a playful laugh.
fuma opened the box, and his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw. "tada!" you said with a bright, excited smile.
he examined the pokémon figurine more closely, almost as if checking to see if it was real.
"how did you– ?"
"i found a store the other day that sold the mystery boxes they come in," you explained, and then added a bit more sheepishly, "i really wanted you to open it, but i couldn’t resist peeking. and i knew this was the one you were missing, so...”
fuma looked at you, his smile growing wider. "did you know this one’s super rare? most people barely pull it," he said, his voice full of admiration. "you’re my lucky charm."
his words sounded platonic, but they felt like so much warmer. heat rose to your cheeks and you quickly looked down, hoping he hadn’t noticed – but he was too wrapped up in the excitement of his new collection piece to catch it. his face lit up with a smile as wide as a child’s in a candy store.
"thank you so much, really," he said, still beaming. "i was only missing this one, and i kept getting duplicates of the others and– my god, i could kiss you!" he babbled on, too caught up in his excitement to realize the slip of his words.
your head shot up again, though your face only got redder.
"you could what?"
your question pulled fuma's focus back to you. "what?"
his face paled when he realized what he'd said. "i–... i'm sorry, i..." his voice trailed off, not quite sure what to say.
you swallowed your nervousness and, with a steadying breath, asked him, "why don’t you do it?"
this time, it was his turn to look at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushing with color. yet, he slowly stepped closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he softly traced his thumb over your skin.
"are you sure?" he asked carefully, almost shyly.
instead of replying, you brought your hands to his shoulders, pulled him down a little and stepped on your tippy toes to connect your lips in a soft kiss.
── .✦ nicholas (424 words)
she'd be back in five minutes, your friend had said. over 45 minutes had passed since then, and she was still nowhere to be seen. you'd be worried if she'd been alone, but you knew she wasn't, so you felt rather annoyed – contemplating if you should just head home.
that's when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, a familiar scent flooding your senses. "there you are," nicholas said, scooting a bit closer to you. you had been on two dates with him before, but you weren't aware he'd be here tonight (if you were, you would have agreed to the party immediately.)
"nicholas?" you asked in confusion, "i didn't know you'd be here."
his lips curved into a playful grin. "well, surprise. and speaking of which, there’s something i want to show you."
he stood up and reached out his hand. you took it, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, and followed him outside the living room and up the staircase.
the cool night air brushed against your skin as he opened the door. you followed him outside, meeting his gaze in confusion.
"it’s my best friend’s place, i know how to get to the rooftop." he explained before you could ask, "you didn’t seem very comfortable back there, so i thought you might feel better here." the thoughtfulness behind his words warmed your chest, despite the chilly air.
still, after standing together for a while, just taking in the view of the starry sky above and the glowing city below, the cold began seeping through your clothes.
"i do feel better here, thanks, nico," you said, doing your best to hide the shiver running through you. "the view is beautiful."
nicholas turned to face you, his expression softening as he took off his jacket. without a word, he draped it around your shoulders, but kept his hands on it. he looked down at you, the warmth of his touch mixing with the cool night air.
"yeah, it is," he replied softly, leaning down just enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.
the butterflies were rioting by now, but you stepped a little closer.
"may i?" nicholas whispered, to which you nodded softly.
without a second thought, he pulled you closer by his jacket and brushed his lips over yours.
── .✦ ej (411 words)
there was a small distance between you as you walked, yet every so often, euijoo’s fingers brushed yours . the tiny, accidental touches sent a rush of goosebumps up your arms (which, naturally, you blamed on the cool autumn breeze).
euijoo turned to you, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “do you have plans for the weekend?”
you looked up, meeting his eyes and shaking your head, already feeling excited at the thought of spending more time with him.
his lips curled up into a soft smile, as he hesitated a moment before asking, “would you... maybe like to come over? we could make hot chocolate, try out some fall recipes, maybe watch a few movies?” he hurriedly added, “only if you’re comfortable coming to my place, of course!”
your heart fluttered at the care in his voice, the way he seemed so intent on making sure you felt safe and comfortable.
“i’d love that, euijoo,” you replied, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your lips. he smiled back, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.
you were so caught up in each other that neither of you realized you’d stopped walking until the sharp ring of a bicycle bell jolted you back. before you could react, euijoo’s hands found your arms, and he gently pulled you closer to make space for the cyclist.
the biker whizzed past you, but euijoo’s hands stayed on your arms, his touch ever so gentle. when you looked up, you found yourself pressed lightly against his chest and you swore you could hear his heartbeat under the thin fabric of his sweater – just a bit faster than healthy.
you opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, his gaze soft and his fingers lingering as if hesitating to let you go. instead, he pulled you a little closer, his face leaning down toward yours and his cheeks painted with a faint flush.
your heart hammered in your chest, and before you could second-guess it, you rose up on your toes, softly brushing your lips against his.
── .✦ yuma (389 words)
you rolled your eyes but suppressed a grin, "it's not even that good."
yuma grinned with an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. before you could react, his hands darted to your sides, fingers pressing into your ribs just enough to make you squirm.
“wait– yuma, no!” you squealed, immediately starting to laugh as he tickled you mercilessly. You tried, and failed, to push him away, your helpless attempts to get him off you drawing a chuckle from him.
“admit i was right!” he pressed, his face lighting up with an amused grin as he kept going.
“never!” you gasped between giggles, desperately twisting to escape his grasp. somehow, in the midst of it all, he managed to get a better hold, pinning you down gently as he continued to tickle you.
“say it!” he insisted.
"fine! you’re right!” you gasped out, breathless. “you win, you win!”
he stopped, both of you still laughing as you caught your breath. as your laughter died down, the room felt oddly silent – the sound of the movie playing only a faint background noise. that’s when yuma noticed the way you looked up at him – lips slightly parted and breath still coming in short bursts – when he noticed how close you were.
his face softened as he slowly leaned over just enough to place his hands on the sofa on each side of your head. his gaze left yours for a heartbeat, dropping to your lips, before he looked up again.
just as he was about to back away, you quickly grabbed his shirt to pull him down again and tilted your head up, closing the space between you. his breath caught in surprise as your lips brushed softly against his. for a heartbeat, he stayed still, then slowly relaxed, leaning in to return the kiss. he lifted one hand from the sofa to gently cup your face, sweeping his thumb over your cheek.
the world outside faded, the movie long forgotten, as you melted into the kiss. when he finally pulled back, his eyes sparkled, a slight blush forming on his cheeks.
“so… does this mean i won twice?”
── .✦ jo (373 words)
you two had met at the beginning of semester in an art class, and although neither of you talked much, you instantly clicked. you had started hanging out after classes, and tonight he'd invited you over to just do what you loved the most.
you both enjoyed working on your own pieces while still not being alone – it almost filled you with ease. somehow, being near jo made everything feel right, even the silence.
both of you were leaning over your drawings, your heads almost touching. every time you looked up at him, a smile tugged at your lips as you noticed the little things you shared – like how he tilted his head the same way you did when concentrating, or the way he pressed his lips together just like you often did. finding jo felt like finding another version of yourself.
you turned your focus back to the paper in front of you, continuing your sketch, when a strand of hair fell out of your bun and onto jo's drawing.
he stopped and looked up from his paper, only to realize how close your faces were when you looked up as well. your eyes immediately met his, and for some reason, you couldn't look away this time.
he let go of his pencil and brought his hand up to gently tuck the loose strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes only leaving yours to glance down at your lips for a split second before you got lost in them again.
his hand lingered on your cheek for another second, but let go when he saw the slightest flush of pink on your cheeks.
yet, he leaned in just a tiny bit, waiting almost shyly for your reaction. his action made the pull you'd already felt towards him even stronger, so you reciprocated it.
jo met you halfway, closing the bit of distance that was left between you, and gently placed his soft lips on top of yours.
── .✦ harua (421 words)
"i took so long to straighten my hair," you sulked, drawing a little chuckle from harua.
you were still too far from home and you knew you wouldn't make it before it would start pouring, but you still walked faster.
as the first drop of rain fell onto harua's glasses, he took off his jacket and carefully draped it over your head, making sure to cover as much of your hair as possible.
you felt a comforting warmth, not only from his jacket and the faint scent of his perfume on the piece of clothing, but from the action itself – the fact that he'd made sure to cover your hair only cause you'd complained about the effort you'd put into them.
as the rainfall started to become heavier – and you glanced over to see harua's hair already slightly dampened, the fabric of his sweater daring to soak up – you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a closed store, finding shelter under its small front porch.
you pressed your back against the door to offer him as much space as possible, but even though you two already stood unnervingly close, the raindrops continued to fall onto harua's back.
"thank you for the jacket," you broke the silence, your voice barely audible above the plattering of the rain. harua smiled softly and grabbed your wrists as you attempted to take his jacket off your head to give it back to him.
"keep it, it's cold," he replied, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes.
you looked up at him as if asking if he was sure, and without a word, he gave you a reassuring smile. his eyes locked with yours, only interrupted by a glance down to your lips that didn't last longer than three seconds.
your heart started pounding heavier against your chest as you noticed, and you tilted your head up just slightly, as if testing the waters.
harua seemed to understand, your action being the only thing he needed to know you were thinking the same, and lowered his head to meet yours – your lips just inches away, but he hesitated.
you brought your shaking hands up to his cheeks, gently pulling him down to close the distance between you, and finally feeling his soft, slightly wet from the raindrops, lips on yours.
── .✦ taki (428 words)
“you know what's the third date tradition, right?” he'd grinned, but you hadn't taken it seriously, as you'd slipped into the photobooth with barely enough room for two.
the machine counted down, the screen flashing a “get ready!” message in bold letters. the two of you pulled silly faces for the first couple of pictures, but as the screen showed the countdown for the final photo, taki glanced at you – his expression shifting from playful to something softer.
“can i… kiss you?” he asked, his voice quiet against the noise of the arcade outside.
your heart skipped a beat, a flurry of butterflies taking over as you looked at him, his face just inches from yours in the tiny space. but the machine was already ticking down the last few seconds, the numbers flashing on the screen, ready to snap its final shot.
without thinking, you leaned in, closing the gap between you with a quick, soft kiss just before the camera flashed. when you pulled back, you caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. then, he blinked, a bit dazed, and let out a soft laugh. “wow. you barely even gave me a chance to finish asking.”
you shrugged, cheeks warm as you leaned back against the booth wall. “the machine doesn’t wait,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
he grinned back, still seeming a little dazed. “can’t argue with that logic.”
the photos printed with a soft whir, and taki grabbed the strip, studying the last picture with a smile. in it, your lips were just barely touching, your eyes closed, his hand blurry as he'd moved it up to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but blush as you looked over his shoulder.
“i guess the photobooth captured our first kiss,” he said, his voice soft, a small, slightly shy smile on his face.
you replied with a nod, your own smile widening as you glanced back up at him.
he grinned, slipping the photo strip into his pocket. “i think we’ll have to come back here and get one for each date.”
── .✦ maki (486 words)
"kiss y/n or wash the dishes!"
your eyes widened at taki's words.
"what?" you and maki asked in unison, your voices equally shocked.
your heartbeat quickened. you'd had a crush on maki for a while now (though you'd never admit that) and you couldn't help but feel a hint of excitement bubble up in your stomach.
maki furrowed his brows, looking everywhere but your direction, and slowly shook his head after some moments of hesitation.
everyone started cheering, happy to have skipped washing the dishes for another day, but you just blinked in confusion as the excitement made way to something else that felt suspiciously much like disappointment.
you stayed silent until the round finished and slipped away to the bathroom as the game wrapped up. maki’s gaze followed you until you disappeared behind the door, and he sighed softly.
while the others headed to the living room, maki stayed behind in the kitchen, starting to rinse the plates and bowls.
when you returned, you glanced around and asked, voice a bit unsteady, "where did everyone else go?" sure he wouldn’t hear you, you were surprised when maki looked up, meeting your eyes for the first time since backing out of his dare. he turned off the water before replying, “they’re in the living room.”
you nodded and started to turn toward the door, but maki quickly dried his hands and stepped over, reaching to catch your arm. “wait, y/n… are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
"just didn't think i'm so unkissable that you prefer washing the dishes of ten people," you said with a chuckle that sounded more forced than intended.
"no!" he protested. then, he added a little more seriously, “i just… didn’t want our first kiss to happen over a silly dare.”
"don't explain, maki, i totally get it, i–", you began, but stopped short as his words sank in. "wait. what do you mean 'our first kiss'?"
maki sighed. he wished he could somehow back out from this but there was no logical excuse for what he'd said, so he decided to go with the truth.
he looked down briefly before confessing, “i like you. i have for a while now. nico said he was sure you felt the same way. and… well, a game just didn’t seem like the right time for a first kiss.”
you felt your heartbeat pick up, and a smile tugged at your lips as you took a small step closer. "would now be a better time?” you asked softly.
maki’s eyes widened a bit, a flicker of hope crossing his face. “what… do you mean?”
you chuckled, genuinely this time. “that i like you too, idiot.”
a smile spread across his face as his eyes softened. “in that case… i’d say now is perfect,” he murmured, lifting his hands to gently cup your cheeks and leaning in until his lips met yours. <3
Synopsis~ college au where you are a state champion ballerina who gave it all up for a degree. K is a hip hop dancer who started at nineteen. You find each other in a practice room on a rainy Thursday and spend the next month pretending what's happening between you is strictly professional. The mirror doesn't lie though.
Pairing~ ex ballerina college student fem!reader x rookie hip hop dancer K
author's note: heyyy, back in the &team college au. if you happen to be a ballerina or dancer please ignore any mistakes, I tried to be accurate but there's a chance something is wrong. there's a few No More Hiding easter eggs in here. Also please read the tags before getting to the smut. okay? okay. Anyways second ever post on the record. please comment your reaction. I'll totally reply. -nix
The sound of the keychains on your dance bag clinking together echoes through the hallway of the student rec center. You feel unusually light as you glide down the hall toward the practice room.
Since moving from out of state you haven't been able to find time to practice the way you used to. Being a state champion ballerina has had to be put on hold so you can finish your degree, because dancing for a living just isn't practical anymore. Not in this economy. Not in this life.
You were ecstatic when you saw a break in your schedule late on a Thursday evening, a rare window to simply get back in the studio and move. You needed this for your own sanity. To you, ballet had never felt like discipline or like something you had to force your body to do. It always just felt right. You were craving that feeling more than ever now.
As you round the corner toward the dimly lit practice room you can already hear it. The unmistakable thump of bass bleeding through the door.
Great, you think.
You loved dancing in front of audiences and other dancers who understood the language of ballet, but dancing in front of someone who specialized in hip hop or contemporary was something else entirely. The styles felt so different, the priorities so opposite, and somewhere in the back of your mind you'd always wondered if they saw ballet as rigid. Outdated. You knew the thought was probably unfair. It still stuck.
You straighten your shoulders and regain your composure before yanking open the heavy door.
The practice room is small and cozy. Your school isn't particularly one for the arts, so the fact that it exists at all feels like a blessing. Located on the second floor of the student recreation center, the room has three massive arched windows lining the wall opposite the door. Rain tracks down the glass in slow, uneven lines, catching the dim light. The vinyl floors are in great condition. The mirrors are wiped down by staff twice a day.
The best part of the whole room is the barre. Bolted to the wall underneath the massive windows. It's the only place on this entire campus where you feel at home.
Your eyes find it automatically, the way they always do.
And then you see who else is already here
A figure, tall and slender, occupies the middle of the room. The retro beats of his hip hop music seep faintly into your earbuds. You don't have much time to take in anything else before you make yourself look away. A navy blue hat sits low on his face and the hood of his loose grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head. His baggy sweats hang off impossibly long legs and the squeak of his sneakers against the vinyl floor matches the rhythm of whatever he's dancing to.
You make sure to control your face. Don't stare. He might think you're judging him.
You stride past him and set your bag in one of the storage cubbies. His steps falter slightly as he registers he's no longer alone. Then he finds his rhythm again, settling back into the routine, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.
You've never seen a hip hop dancer who managed to make the style look sharp and graceful at the same time. He glides through the moves with an ease that's difficult to fake, and you can't help but notice his control, the precision underneath the looseness of it. It's rare for someone to move their hips that smoothly and still look completely effortless. For him it seems like second nature.
You take out your AirPods to hear the song fully and pull your pocket mirror out of your bag, you busy yourself reapplying chapstick, watching him in the small reflection. Before he can notice that your lips have been coated approximately one hundred times, you snap the mirror shut and toss it back in your bag. You pretend to unlace your sneakers instead.
The speaker cuts out.
Suddenly you're both just two people in a small room, and the only sound between you is the quiet rhythm of his breathing coming down.
He walks over to the mirror and reaches for his water bottle. Takes a few slow sips, chest still rising and falling from the exertion. Then he snatches his phone up from the floor, punches in his password, and you catch the unmistakable green of the Spotify loading screen.
As if he just then remembered he wasn't alone, his face snaps up.
Your eyes meet in the mirror.
You hope he didn't notice how long you were staring.
You don't think you managed to hide it in time.
He's gorgeous. Even in a casual outfit, hood still half up, sweat still fresh on his skin, he is one of the most striking people you've ever seen in your life. His dark brown eyes hold yours in the reflection, calm and unreadable. Your gaze drops, just for a second, to where his hoodie has partially unzipped, his chest still catching its breath beneath it. His dark hair clings slightly to his forehead.
You feel heat rise to your cheeks.
Because he's still looking right back at you.
"I'm curious," he starts, and his voice cuts through the silence so suddenly it makes you flinch. "Do you think the steps leading up to the final chorus are redundant? I feel like I'm cycling through the same eight counts the whole song and I'm sick of watching myself do it. I think I've gone blind to my own mistakes."
You blink.
"Are you talking to me?"
"No, I'm talking to all the other people in this room with us," he says, and the dry sarcasm in his tone catches you completely off guard. Definitely not how a normal person talks to a stranger.
"Right, sorry." You shake your head and look down. You stand after finally prying off your left sneaker and risk another glance at him through the mirror. "I don't know anything about hip hop, honestly. But for what it's worth, it looked good to me."
He scoffs, short and dismissive.
"Here I was thinking another dancer walked in," he mutters, eyes already dropping back to his phone to scroll for another song. Then he glances up again. "Hey." His gaze travels over you slowly. "I think you might be lost. The yoga studio is in the basement."
Black compression jacket. Loose yoga pants. Baby pink headband. You don't blame him for the assumption.
But hearing it roll off his lips like an afterthought still stings more than it should.
You look at him for a long moment. Perfect face. Terrible manners.
There's nothing you love more than proving men wrong.
"I'm not lost," you say, and turn around to dig your ballet slippers out of your bag.
You could take it even further and shock him by pulling out your pointe shoes, but the amount of work that goes into breaking them in isn't worth it on a smug loser like him.
You unzip your jacket and shrug it off, revealing your long-sleeve boatneck leotard underneath. You step out of your loose yoga pants, baby pink tights and black leg warmers underneath those too. You slip your ballet slippers onto your feet quickly and tie the elastic ribbon in a neat bow. Then, before turning back in his direction, you put in your AirPods.
A silent message. Leave me alone.
You notice him stiffen slightly where he stands as you stride toward the barre and begin to stretch.
You quickly forget about the sting of being belittled and fall back into your old rhythm of warming up. Right leg, then left. Working each joint carefully until you're convinced you won't hurt yourself. Then your arms, your shoulders. You roll your neck and stretch your fingers one by one.
The stress of college life fades instantly. Your body reverts to autopilot and you finally feel like yourself again, like something that had been held too tight is slowly releasing.
When you turn to stretch your inner thigh against the barre you steal another glance at him. He's doing his very best to pretend he isn't staring, but you can tell he has been. You can see it in the tight line his mouth has pressed into, like he already regrets opening it.
Once every joint feels like elastic you reach for your phone and drift to an open spot in front of the mirror, about ten feet from where he's standing. You let your eyes meet his for just a moment, casual, unbothered, not giving him anything to read. Then you queue up your favorite song, set your phone gently on the floor, and wait for the first note.
When it comes, your limbs move without being told.
You float into it. Legs and arms weaving together, painting the air with whatever the song asks of you. School fades. Your job fades. The insufferable stranger ten feet away fades. You melt into the music and throw yourself around the room until you forget there's a floor beneath you at all.
When the song slows and the final note fades, you blink away the daze that always settles over you when you dance. Refocusing takes a second. Coming back to the room takes another.
This time, pretending the figure standing ten feet away doesn't exist is impossible.
He hasn't moved an inch since the last time you acknowledged him. Something caught between pure shock and something softer, something closer to yearning, is written plainly across his face.
Good.
Your chest rises and falls as you make your way to your dance bag and dig for your water bottle. You're already anticipating the relief of cold water against the burning thirst in your throat. Your victory is cut short when the bottle feels oddly light the moment you pull it free.
Of course.
You let out a slow sigh and are starting to push yourself off the floor when an ice cold sealed blue powerade bottle appears in your peripheral vision. You turn. It's the grey hoodie sleeve, arm extended, holding it out to you without a word.
"I guess yoga was wrong, huh?" he says, and there's something almost playful in the way he looks at you now.
You snatch the bottle out of his hand and drink half of it in one go. You wipe a stray drop from your chin with the back of your hand, and when you glance up you catch him watching that exact moment. You're not entirely sure how to feel about it.
"I told you I wasn't lost," you say matter-of-factly. "And don't discredit yoga. I know girls who do yoga that could fold themselves completely flat if they wanted to."
"Right. Right." He nods, like he's actually conceding the point. "So, uh, what's your name?"
Who is this guy, and what happened to the outspoken stranger who discredited you fifteen minutes ago?
"Y/N," you say plainly.
"Y/N," he repeats out loud, nodding slowly, like he's turning the syllables over for the first time. He doesn't say anything after that. Just kind of stands there and looks at you.
This is so weird.
"Usually this is the part where you tell me your name."
"Oh. Right." A smirk crosses his face. "It's K."
"Like K-A-Y, or just the letter?"
"Just the letter," he clarifies. "My real name is Yudai Koga. But when I started university I wanted to go by something different. So. K."
"Ah." You screw the cap back onto the bottle. "Well, K. Thank you for the Powerade."
"Yeah, you're welcome."
This time you actually look at him. Not through the mirror. Not from ten feet away. Not while he's in constant movement. Just directly, unhurried, in the full light of the room.
Yeah. You really have to give it to him. He could absolutely model.
He's smiling down at you with a cocky grin, but there's something sheepish living just underneath it, something in the way his eyes catch the light. He's still embarrassed and trying very hard not to show it.
"I've never seen anyone dance like that," he finally admits. "It's like you aren't even human."
You snort, which genuinely seems to catch him off guard.
You look at him for a second. "You're not so bad yourself," you say, and mean it. "That thing you were doing before the chorus. I couldn't take my eyes off it."
Something shifts in his expression. The cockiness softens just slightly, like he wasn't expecting that.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You set the water bottle down between you. "Your control is insane. I was watching your footwork in the mirror and I kept waiting for you to lose the timing and you just… didn't."
He's quiet for a moment, looking at you like he's deciding something.
"I'm sorry," he says finally, and it comes out flat and genuine at the same time, like he's not used to saying it but means it anyway. He lowers himself to the floor a few feet away from you, leaning back on his hands and crossing his legs. "The yoga thing was out of pocket."
"It was," you agree easily.
A beat of silence settles between you, but it's different from the one before. Less charged. More comfortable than it has any right to be given that you've known each other for approximately twenty minutes.
"How long have you been dancing?" he asks.
"Since I was three." You lean back on your hands, mirroring him without meaning to. "You?"
"Since I was nineteen." He tilts his head. "So you've got some years on me."
"You're lying," you say, laughing. You know that his level of talent would take far more than a few years of practice. "Be serious. When did you actually start?"
"I am being serious." He gives you a bewildered look.
You study his face for a moment, searching for the punchline.
There isn't one.
"Nineteen," you repeat.
"Nineteen," he confirms.
You let out a short breath that's almost a laugh, shaking your head slowly. Three years old versus nineteen. You spent your entire childhood being shaped by ballet, every weekend and holiday and summer poured into a studio. And he just decided one day, apparently as a fully formed adult, and ended up here.
"That's actually insane," you say, and you mean it as the compliment it is.
He shrugs, but you can tell he's pleased. "I just loved it. Couldn't stop once I started."
You understand that more than he knows.
"I know that feeling," you say.
"I could tell." His gaze drifts to the spot in front of the mirror where you were dancing. "It was like you morphed into something completely different the moment you started. I couldn't hear your music but the way you moved made it so easy to track the rhythm anyway."
"I do morph into something different," you admit. "The music starts and it's like…"
"The whole world disappears," he finishes.
You go still for a moment, looking at him.
"Exactly," you say quietly.
A comfortable beat of silence passes between you.
"I was thinking," he says, "why don't we call a truce."
"I'm listening."
He shifts where he's sitting, and for the first time since you walked in, his confidence seems to quietly leave the room. "I've been working on something, but I haven't been able to show anyone yet." He pauses. "I choreographed a contemporary routine. But I'm not sure it's right, and I can't figure out what's missing." His eyes find yours. "Would you be willing to watch?"
"Knock yourself out," you say, extending a hand toward the empty room.
You adjust yourself on the floor while he carefully stands and moves to turn his speaker on. You pretend not to notice his hands trembling slightly as he pulls up the music on his phone.
He takes a sharp breath. His eyes find his own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment he just looks at himself. Steadying.
Then the song starts.
Your ears perk up the second you recognize it. A deeply emotional, atmospheric song, one you only ever let yourself play at midnight when you needed somewhere to disappear to. A private song. The kind you didn't expect to share with anyone.
And here this man was dancing to it.
You laser focus on every move his body makes. Every sharp beat is met with a perfectly timed jolt of his body. Every slow, cycling melody is answered with a graceful extension of a hand or a leg. He's completely mastered his turns, spinning with an ease that looks almost careless. Almost.
The routine is beautiful.
You catch yourself quietly humming along without meaning to, the melody surfacing in the back of your throat on its own. As you watch him glide and jump and sweep his legs across the floor, you find yourself arriving at a quiet conclusion.
He is a prodigy. Or a god sent down specifically to humble you with the presence of his dancing.
Either way, you're not sure you deserve to be in the same room.
You watch intently. It's good. Really good. But something's missing, like his movements are incomplete, a quiet question waiting for an answer.
When the last note fades he drops his head, chest heaving, and the room goes quiet again.
You don't say anything for a moment. Then the answer hits you.
"Can you run it again?" you ask.
He looks up. "Yeah." He wipes his forearm across his forehead. "Was it that bad?"
"No," you say simply. "I just want to watch it again."
He studies your face for a second like he's trying to read something in it, then nods and reaches for his phone.
The song starts again.
This time you don't just watch. You map it. Your eyes track the places where his body hesitates, not from lack of skill but from lack of an answer. The choreography keeps asking a question and then moving on before anything can respond to it. By the time the bridge hits you're already on your feet, and by the time the chorus swells you're already moving.
You don't ask. You just join him.
It doesn't feel like freestyling. It feels like being a poet finally spilling out the words you could never say onto a page. Your arms reach for him and his arms catch you in return.
The electricity between your bodies is undeniable. But neither of you feel it yet. Not really. Because the music has started and the whole world has disappeared, just like you both said it would. There is only movement and breath and the space between you closing and opening like a conversation finally being had out loud.
You dance like smoke curling off the end of a cigarette into a starry night sky. His movements pick up exactly where they faltered when he was alone. His hands find their place on your waist and it's like a puzzle clicking into its last piece.
You fall in and out of his arms. Spin in time with him, your bodies finding a language neither of you had to teach the other. And when the music finally comes to a slow, you're left breathless in his arms, staring up at him, right into those lethal brown eyes.
Neither of you speak.
You just breathe. Catching your breath together, not breaking eye contact. He moves first, but only to curl the corner of his lips up, slow and certain.
You feel like you never want to be anywhere else again.
Which is insane, you realize, when you remember you met the man currently holding you for the first time less than an hour ago.
"I think I found my missing piece," he says quietly. "And I don't think I'm the only one who already knows this dance needs you in it."
When he finally lets go of you, you both sink to the floor and talk through the dance. You discuss the logistics of the routine, what's working, what could be refined, how to truly polish it into something complete. You decide to keep the fact that the song means something to you entirely to yourself. That feels like too much to offer a stranger.
You don't know why this idea excites you as much as it does. You don't have a lot of free time. Your schedule is already pulling at the seams.
But this feels important. This feels real.
You're lacing your sneakers back up when his phone screen appears in front of your face. He's already opened a new contact with your name at the top.
"We'll probably need to stay in touch if we're doing this," he says.
You take the phone from his hands and punch your number in without overthinking it.
"Just so you know," you say, handing it back, "I'm really busy. I might not have much time for this."
He takes the phone. Looks at the number. Then looks at you.
"You'll make time for me," he says simply, and turns and walks out the door.
You sit there for a moment in the empty practice room, the rain still tracking down the arched windows, the speaker silent, the barre waiting.
And that was your first interaction with Yudai Koga.
A week later a sense of déjà vu washes over you as you walk down the hallway toward the practice room. The same sound of keychains dangling from your bag. The same even pace of your footsteps. But this time, when the familiar thump of a hip hop track reaches you from down the hall, instead of anxiety you feel something warm settle in your chest.
You decide not to examine what that means.
When you pull open the heavy door K stops dancing immediately, smiling at you through the mirror. Like he genuinely wasn't sure you'd show up.
"Well, well, well," he says. "There's my little ballerina."
You cringe.
"Don't call me that," you say, and fling your bag onto the floor. You sink down and start unlacing your sneakers, beginning your warm up ritual like this is any other day of practice. You'd come dressed for the studio today, pink leotard under your cream bolero, white tights disappearing into pink leg warmers, ballet slippers already sitting at the top of your bag waiting for you.
You make your way to the barre to begin stretching when a familiar figure appears beside you.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Stretching," he replies. "Obviously."
"If you're going to do it, at least do it right," you say, and reach over to guide his ankle up onto the barre. He winces visibly as you test his flexibility, and you pretend not to notice the way he writhes slightly under your guidance.
He's wearing a white tank top today and low black sweats, and this close you really get to take in his frame for the first time. His legs are three quarters of his entire body, his arms are perfectly toned like Michelangelo himself sculpted them, and his back-
Stop.
This isn't like that, you tell yourself. Except the feeling sitting low in your stomach isn't listening, warm and inconvenient and getting harder to shake off every time he gets within arm's reach of you.
You laugh watching him attempt to stretch anywhere close to as far as you.
"How are you doing that?" he says, nearly toppling off the barre trying to reach his hamstrings.
"Since I was three, remember," you reply.
The warm up winds down naturally and silence fills the space between you. You both drift toward the center of the room and then just sort of stop, the open floor suddenly feeling very large.
"I don't really remember how it even happened last time," you admit. "Or where to start."
"Me neither," he says plainly, reaching for his phone to pull up the music.
You'd listened to the song obsessively for the past week. Mapping out in your head where your body would go for each lyric. But somewhere between the choreography your mind kept drifting back to him. The way he moved, delicate and powerful at the same time. The way his hands felt when they found your hips like they already knew where they belonged.
There you go again.
That dark corner of your mind that wanted him, quietly and completely, in a way you hadn't invited and weren't ready to look at directly. You'd been pushing the door closed on it all week.
It kept drifting back open.
"Why don't we just go with the music?" he suggests, knocking you out of your daze. "If we find something that works we can go back and refine it."
"Sounds good," you say, and shake yourself back into the room.
When the music starts you both fall into a steady rhythm, stopping whenever something clicks and working it until it's right. The night stretches long around you without either of you seeming to notice, the practice room holding the two of you in its own small world while the rain continues its quiet work against the arched windows.
You find it deeply satisfying the way his contemporary style compliments your ballet. You're able to absorb more about the genre than you expected, and you genuinely enjoy watching him break down his interpretation of the lyrics, the way his body becomes a translation for something words can't quite reach.
The dynamic between you settles into something slightly teasing and quietly competitive. He enjoys critiquing your difference in timing. You enjoy critiquing his flow and his frankly embarrassing flexibility. Neither of you lets the other get away with anything.
The more comfortable you become around him the more you start to notice small things.
Like the mirror.
K loves watching himself in the mirror. Not out of vanity exactly, more like he thinks better when he can see himself. And more than that, you notice, he loves watching you in it. Rather than turning to face you directly when he has something to say, he almost always finds your eyes in the reflection first, like the glass is a safer distance somehow.
When you dance he uses the mirror to its full potential, taking in every angle of the way your body moves through the song. You notice. You say nothing.
When the second meeting wraps up there's that same strange feeling sitting low in your gut. You don't want to leave. You'd enjoyed this far more than you expected, and now that the two of you are getting more comfortable you can feel something growing quietly in your chest that's becoming harder and harder to dismiss.
But you do. You're good at that.
You pack your bag and swing it over your shoulder, turning to give K a small smile before pushing open the heavy door.
"Goodnight," you say.
"Goodnight, little ballerina," he replies.
You roll your eyes. You also can't quite control your face fast enough to hide the smile that follows, wider than you mean it to be, spilling out before you can stop it.
You let the door fall shut behind you.
You spend the following week pretending your mind isn't completely and utterly occupied by brown eyes and long legs. Everywhere you go on campus you keep an eye out for him.
After a brief social media stalk you find out he's a sociology major. One year above you. You start pausing outside the sociology building whenever you pass it, just in case some alignment of the universe puts him walking out at the exact moment you're walking by. It never does.
You think you catch a glimpse of him in one of the campus cafes one afternoon. Dark hair catching the light, a flash of brown eyes, and then he's gone, swallowed back into the crowd before you can be sure.
Thursday creeps up again and you pretend to be less excited than you are as you walk down the hallway toward the practice room.
This time you aren't met with pounding bass. You pull open the door and the lights are off.
You beat him today.
You flip the lights on and begin your ritual. Halfway through your stretches the door flings open and there he is, the fluorescent light of the hallway framing his figure like he's being presented to you. Like a piece of art that wasn't asking to be looked at but can't help it anyway.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, slightly out of breath like he sprinted up the stairs. "I got caught in a meeting with my ethics GE." You can tell he wasn't thoroughly prepared for the rain. His dark hair clings to his forehead and his face is speckled with small water droplets.
"It's alright," you say. "It's not like you can do these stretches anyway."
"Careful, I might start thinking you're happy to see me." he says, throwing his bag on the floor and joining you at the barre.
You continue stretching and laugh at his attempts, guiding him through easier beginner level stretches so he can actually warm up properly.
"Woah," he says, testing the muscles in his shoulder with quiet amazement. "I feel like I could do the splits if I wanted to."
"Please don't attempt that. I have no interest in a trip to the ER."
You fall back into the same rhythm you left off the week before almost immediately. Teasing each other shamelessly, laughing in each other's faces when you get too close, both of you far too unserious to acknowledge out loud that the chemistry between you is completely undeniable.
Once you finish blocking out the first chorus you both collapse onto the floor for a water break. You crawl toward your bag and when you glance up you catch his eyes in the mirror. Looking directly at where your thigh high leg warmers meet the thin strip of bare skin before the shorts of your leotard pick up.
Okay. So maybe you did wear a slightly more scandalous outfit on purpose today. But if anyone asked you would blame it entirely on not wanting to do laundry.
You end up sitting across from each other on the floor while he grills you on your competitive career.
"How many medals do you have?"
"Too many to count."
"Okay but if you had to guess."
"Maybe just under a hundred?"
"Really?!" He looks genuinely astounded, staring at you like you're the most interesting thing he's ever encountered. Like he should consider himself lucky to be sitting on this floor across from you.
"I told you, I was the state champion," you say, laughing. "I have trophies too. And scholarships."
"I can't believe I never saw you in the news."
"Ballet doesn't get a lot of coverage as a sport. Or as an art form honestly." You pause. "Did you dance in high school or did you start after you graduated?"
"I ran marathons in high school," he says. "That's why I'm able to keep up with you. I have good stamina."
You pretend to ignore what that does to you. But your cheeks are already warming and you drop your gaze to the floor, just for a second.
He doesn't say anything about your cheeks. Just files it away behind those observant eyes and moves on.
"Hey, so I wanted to run something by you," he starts.
"What's up?" you ask, completely unprepared for what comes next.
"So I found out there's a dance showcase in a couple of weeks, run by the dance club." You feel your stomach flip slightly. "My friend Jo sent me the flyer. I was wondering if you'd be down to perform this." He motions between the two of you.
You've never seen him like this before. Awkward and genuinely nervous, watching you with a careful kind of hope like he already knows what he wants the answer to be and is trying not to show it. His eyes give him away though. That quiet pleading glimmer, like he's holding onto the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you'll say yes.
"Oh!" The question catches you off guard.
You give it a moment. In the scheme of things this isn't a good idea. You have school on top of work and committing to extra rehearsals just for a showcase sounds like a death wish on your schedule. But then you think about how dancing with K actually feels. The one evening a week where everything else goes quiet. The one place you've felt like yourself since leaving home.
You don't think any harder than that before answering.
"I'd love to," you say, smiling.
K looks like the wind got knocked out of him.
"Really?" he asks, and there's nothing performative about it.
"Don't make me regret saying yes."
"I definitely won't." The grin spreading across his face is absolutely insufferable.
You cannot stand him.
After running through more of the song you both pack up your things, joking with each other like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like you've been doing this for years.
The next week comes. Then the week after that you're meeting on Monday, then Tuesday, then Thursday. You've been quietly getting your shifts at the pub covered and front-loading all your homework as early in the week as you can. Just so you have more time in that practice room.
Just so you have more time with K.
Being with him has become the highlight of your week and you've mostly stopped pretending otherwise, at least to yourself.
When you see your friends every other Friday you bring him up in passing. Carefully, casually, not insinuating anything. Just mentioning that you love getting to dance again. That you found someone to practice with.
You leave the rest to them.
"Is he cute?"
"What does he look like?"
"He sounds mysterious."
A symphony of giggles fills your apartment when you explain with a completely straight face that your interactions are purely friendly.
You almost believe it yourself.
Finally the week of the showcase arrives. You meet K on Thursday, the day before.
"Hey, little ballerina," he says.
The familiar nickname makes you roll your eyes on instinct. You pretend you haven't grown quietly fond of the syllables, the way they come out easy and automatic every single time he sees you.
"Did you forget my name?" you say flatly, giving him your best unimpressed look. "Be honest."
"Nope," he says, throwing his bag on the floor and digging through it. "I just love seeing you annoyed." He produces a blue Powerade and tosses it in your direction. "Got this for you."
How romantic.
"Wow," you say, pressing it dramatically to your chest. "Just like the day we met. I'll cherish it forever."
"If you're going to be weird about it just give it back," he says, pulling a red bottle out for himself. "They only had one blue one left and everyone knows that's the best flavor."
"So you gave it to me?"
He doesn't answer that. Just twists the cap off his red bottle and takes a long sip, very deliberately not looking at you.
You smile at the Powerade in your hands and say nothing.
The practice goes smoothly. The choreography is completely polished and after running through it four times you could both probably perform the whole song in your sleep. You take a well deserved break, settling into your usual spots on the floor. The blue Powerade is surprisingly refreshing after all that work.
"Wow, what's it going to be like when all this is over?" you joke.
You ignore the pit that opens quietly in your stomach. You never wanted this to end. You never thought you could have this much fun away from home, or feel like you belonged somewhere new. But here you are in this warm little practice room with this boy who somehow completely changed the shape of your days without asking permission.
"Let's not focus on that," he says. You sense the same feeling radiating from him. Neither of you are ready to look at it directly.
"You're right," you sigh. "Have you decided what you're wearing tomorrow?"
"Yes, but it's a surprise," he says, smirking. "You?"
"You'll see," you say, standing and offering him a hand up.
You run through the choreography two more times for good measure. When the song ends for the last time that night you feel that aching feeling settle back into your chest. It never truly leaves when you're around him. You both take longer than necessary packing your things, moving slowly, neither of you in any real hurry.
"I'll see you tomorrow, little ballerina," he says softly, shouldering his bag and heading for the door.
"Hey, K?" The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
He turns. And the way he looks at you in that moment, patient and still, like he's been waiting for you to say something real for weeks, makes your heart climb into your throat.
But you don't. You freeze. The words dissolve somewhere between your chest and your mouth.
"What is it?" he asks softly.
"Oh, uh, sorry. I was just going to thank you for the Powerade," you say, and even as it comes out you can hear how hollow it sounds.
A beat passes.
"Anytime," he says quietly, and disappears into the hallway.
You stand there in the empty practice room for a moment, the rain long gone from the windows, the barre waiting in the silence.
You really have to stop doing that.
You hardly sleep in anticipation for the showcase. When morning comes you pull your outfit from the closet and smile. You always loved this one, rarely getting to wear it because of the strict guidelines of competitive ballet.
You press it against your chest in your full length mirror. A simple black dress, chiffon skirt draping softly around the bodice, sequined lace appliqués climbing up both sides, the neckline gathering into a delicate mock neck. You can't wait to see his reaction.
You get ready, slip into your dress, do your hair and makeup, and head to the showcase rehearsals.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
Yudai had been there for twenty minutes already when the room shifted.
He didn't see you walk in so much as he felt it, some change in the atmosphere that pulled his attention across the crowded backstage before his eyes had even found you. And then they did.
He forgets how to breathe.
You're standing on the other side of the room in a black dress, arms and legs on full display, your hair neatly pinned up, your makeup doing something to your features that makes it genuinely difficult to look directly at you. Like staring into something too bright.
He's seen you in leotards and leg warmers and ballet slippers every week for over a month. He's watched you move like the floor doesn't quite apply to you the way it applies to everyone else.
None of that prepared him for this.
His friend Jo appears at his shoulder.
"Is that her?" Jo asks, following his eyeline with obvious interest.
Yudai doesn't answer immediately.
"Yeah," he says finally. "That's her."
Jo looks between the two of you, taking in the yearning his friend is hardly bothering to mask anymore. He can't help but smile.
"What?" Yudai asks.
"Nothing," Jo shrugs. "I'm just sensing that you're in trouble." He claps him once on the shoulder and walks away.
Yudai watches him go.
He doesn't argue.
Before he can admire you from afar any longer you spot him across the room and begin weaving through the crowd of other dancers toward him, smiling slightly as you go. Like you're just as happy to see him as he is to see you.
Almost.
"Hi," you say when you finally reach him, huffing out a small laugh at the sheer number of bodies you had to navigate to get here.
He can't quite find words. But he tries anyway.
"Hey, little ballerina," he says, his voice coming out softer than usual. His eyes drop briefly to your dress, gaze lingering just a moment at the spot where the chiffon rides up your thigh. "Look who dressed up."
"Not too bad yourself," you say.
He glances down at his outfit. Black pants and a white flowing button down one shade away from being sheer. Simple, clean. He's glad he went with it. You deserve to be the main event tonight.
"Are you ready for this?" he asks, because it's the only thing he can think to say that isn't everything else currently running through his head.
You look up at him, completely unbothered, completely certain.
"I've been ready since I was three."
You both head to the main stage for the rehearsal.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
You and K sit backstage sharing your usual blue Powerade, both of you doing a poor job of pretending you aren't nervous. His phone lights up on the floor beside him and he smiles at the screen.
"My friends just got here. Come on, let's peek through the curtain."
You agree immediately, curiosity getting the best of you. You've wondered about his friend group for weeks.
You both make your way to the wings and position yourselves at the edge of the curtain, looking out at the auditorium slowly filling with students.
Before K spots his friends you spot yours. All four of them settled into the second row, smiling too wide and laughing with each other about something that is almost certainly about you and K. Then their attention shifts, drawn to the other students filing into their row. Eight seats next to them, eight other guys settling in, greetings exchanged.
You watch your friend on the end of the row go completely still, leaning sideways to mouth something into your other friend's ear. You catch the words "history" and "office hours" from across the auditorium. She smiles at one of the guys and he gives her a quick nod back.
Then, as if fate itself decided to test you, the guy on the aisle seat makes direct eye contact with you and waves enthusiastically.
K waves back.
"That's them," he says, grinning. "Looks like they made some friends."
He turns to look at you and you burst out laughing.
"Looks like they did," you manage, and one of your friends finally spots you through the curtain, waving, the other three following immediately after.
K shakes his head slowly. "Of course they found each other."
Out in the auditorium the entire group of twelve are now fully mingling, animated and buzzing. Presumably about the both of you.
When the showcase finally starts everything stops being funny and starts to feel too real. You and K are fourth, and after the first two acts finish and the third starts you both get called to the wings. You feel like you're about to throw up. You never felt like this at ballet recitals or even in competition. But this is different. You're nervous because you don't want him to look bad. You don't want to let him down.
"How are you feeling?" you ask shakily, finally looking up at him. He's practically vibrating.
"I can't wait to get out there."
Well. That wasn't what you expected. You aren't surprised that he loves to perform but you also wish he felt at least a little anxious. Just so you could feel slightly less alone in it.
The third act ends. The dancers walk offstage. The wings go quiet.
He gives you one last look, something unwritten living in his expression, something he's been carrying around for weeks that neither of you have found the words for yet. Then he reaches out and takes both of your hands, and the shock of it roots you completely to the spot.
"Stop thinking," he says quietly. "You've been doing this since you were three, remember?"
You look up at him.
"Don't let go until we're out there," you say.
He doesn't
The lights illuminate the two of you and suddenly the stage feels enormous. You're frozen, trying not to think about the hundreds of faces watching from the dark. You fix your eyes on the floor in your starting position and before you can spiral any further the music starts.
Before you even recognize the shift in yourself you're back in that small practice room. Just the two of you. Nothing to worry about.
You move through the first verse with ease, floating around and with each other like two swans who learned the same water. Every time you move he meets you there. Every time the distance grows his hands find you again. Every time the music slows before the chorus you get to look at him, really look at him, and nothing else exists. Not school. Not work. Not the hundreds of people watching from the dark.
Just you and him.
Your bodies collide when the bridge hits and you're back in his arms, and you savor every second of it. The more you practiced with him the more aware of him you became, how he feels beside you, how he looks at you when he thinks the music has your full attention. This is the boiling point. When his arms find you for the last time and you tip toward the ground and your eyes meet, it's undeniable.
Your heart aches. You want him so badly it fully consumes you.
An eruption of applause shatters the moment. The second row is practically on their feet, all twelve voices combining into something that sounds less like applause and more like a small riot.
"That's my best friend!" someone hollers, and you can't help but giggle even from the stage, even still tucked in his arms.
You look up at him.
He's smiling in a way you've never seen before. Full and unguarded and entirely real. Something happened in the last three minutes and you can feel it sitting between you, warm and undeniable and impossible to put back.
You both bow. You wave to your very enthusiastic second row fan section. And then you walk off the stage together.
As soon as you're out of the audience's line of sight you barely have time to breathe before you're back in his arms. He picks you up and hugs you tightly, lifting you clean off the ground.
"We did it," he says, setting you back down. You barely have time to process what just happened in the last four minutes before the stage managers are shooing you both away toward the green room.
When you arrive you sink into chairs across from each other and immediately start dissecting the performance, the way only two people who have been practicing it together for over a month possibly could. Every moment that worked, every transition that felt better than it did in rehearsal, every small thing only the two of you would notice.
The showcase ends and you make your way out to the lobby to find your friends, who have of course already become completely inseparable from each other. Your girlfriends shriek when they see you, pulling you into a group hug and shoving flowers into your arms. Beside you K's friends are clapping him on the back and raising their eyebrows pointedly when their eyes move between the two of you. The shorter one who waved from the aisle seat produces a bottle of champagne you recognize immediately from Trader Joe's. Three dollars
Your four friends just stare at the dynamic with matching expressions.
The whole group is mid argument about where to go to celebrate when K interrupts.
"You guys go ahead," he says. "I need to grab my speaker from the rec center." He looks at you. "Y/N, want to come with me?"
You gulp.
Who are you to deny him anything right now.
"Sure," you say, and say your goodbyes to the group. As you and K slip out through the exit you hear one of the more enthusiastic boys suggesting the college bar down the street to your friends. They agree immediately and far too eagerly.
It makes you happier than it should.
When you and K round the corner toward the practice room a steady silence has settled over you both. Neither of you acknowledge the shift. He pulls the door open and holds it for you, and you step inside and flip on the lights.
You feel warm immediately. The same place where it all started. The same barre. The same arched windows with rain tracking quietly down the glass. The same four walls that have held every version of this thing between you for the past month.
You don't ever want to lose this.
K strides to the corner where he left his speaker and takes a slow breath, looking around the room the same way you are.
"Good to be back," he says.
He turns and looks at you, and something in your expression gives you away. The twinge of sadness you weren't quite fast enough to hide.
"Wanna run it back one more time?" he asks. "You know. For old times sake."
"Only if you dip me lower this time," you reply, smiling despite yourself.
"Try to keep up, little ballerina."
He starts the music.
And there you both are again. Two stars tracing constellations across the same floor you met on. This time neither of you pretend to be serious about it, smiling widely at each other the whole way through, laughing when he nearly misses your hand at one point and catches it anyway. You move through the routine like two people who have been dancing together for years, like the choreography was always yours, like this room was always meant to hold the two of you.
When the song begins its slow close you feel it rising in your chest before you can stop it. This isn't the last time, right? You'll see him again. This means just as much to him. It has to.
When he dips you for the final beat and the music fades to nothing he looks down at you.
And sees the tears streaming quietly down your face.
You look at each other in the silence. You sniffle once, soft and helpless, and then his hand finds your face. His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek with a gentleness that undoes you completely.
Before you can find a single word his face dips down to meet yours.
And your lips collide.
You let out a muffled noise against him. Your whole world has just shattered, you don’t have to question anything anymore, the way his lips move against yours are proof in themselves to how he feels. You can’t let him do all the work, so you kiss him back.
He slowly lifts you to your feet, not breaking the kiss, and his hands settle on the side of your face, like he's making sure you're real. Your lips work together in the same way your limbs do when you dance. In perfect rhythm, each of you picking up where the other left off. Finally you break the kiss, just to look at him.
“You don’t know how long I've wanted to do that.” he says in a breathy voice, looking down at you, those brown eyes slightly glazed over.
“I think I do know,” you say softly, and stand on your toes to meet his mouth again.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue grazing your lips slowly, like a question. You answer by parting your mouth and letting him in. Your tongues, still blue with the remnants of the Powerade, dance in tune with each other.
His tongue navigates yours like uncharted territory, unhurried and deliberate, like he never fully believed he'd get here and now that he has he has absolutely no intention of rushing it. Like he's committing every second of it to memory.
Your hands find the top buttons of his shirt. You undo them one by one, unhurried, and when his chest is fully exposed your palms slide up and down the lines of his stomach, feeling the definition beneath your fingertips. The same frame you've been pretending not to stare at for weeks. You finally let yourself look. He shrugs off his shirt completely and your arms loop up around his neck and pull him closer.
He breaks the kiss.
His hands find your waist and without a word he turns you both slowly until you're facing the mirror. You catch your own reflection and feel heat rise immediately to your cheeks. His chin drops to your shoulder, eyes finding yours in the glass, steady and dark and completely certain.
"I want to watch," he says quietly against your ear.
Your breath catches.
Oh.
It makes sense, you realize distantly. He always loved the mirror during practice. You just never thought it went any deeper than that. A knot forms low in your belly, warm and insistent. You love what this is doing to you. What he's doing to you.
"I'll put on a show then," you say, keeping your voice low and even. It doesn't rattle him even slightly.
He just looks at you in the mirror for a long moment. Then his lips find the skin of your shoulder, and his mouth moves slowly against it.
"You won't need to."
Then he gets to work on your neck, eyes still fixed on the mirror.
Watching him move his mouth against your skin in the reflection is almost too much. Soft breaths leave you before you can stop them, quiet sounds you don't bother trying to suppress. His own small groans vibrate warm against your skin in response. His hands begin to move, one settling at your hip like that's simply where it belongs, the other cupping your breast through the fabric of your dress.
"This is cute," he murmurs against your ear.
His hands snake around to your back, fingers finding your zipper, and he drags it down slowly. Deliberately. When he reaches the base of your spine he peels the fabric away from you, leaving your skin bare to the cool air of the practice room. His palm slides up the length of your back and a shiver runs all the way through you. In the mirror you watch him press small unhurried kisses into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his eyes never leaving the glass.
The pure shock and adrenaline of it all moves through your body like a current. Goosebumps rise across every inch of exposed skin. He notices immediately.
"y/n," he says softly, his voice dropping into something low and steady. "It's okay." His arms tighten slightly around you. "You can relax. I've got you."
You sink into him, barely trusting your own legs anymore.
He presses his lips to the taut skin of your throat, bites softly, then soothes the sting immediately with a scatter of gentle kisses that make your eyes flutter.
His hands leave your back and find your thigh. His fingers graze the skin there lightly, the thin layer of chiffon gathering and rising the further up his hands travel.
When his fingers finally reach the thin line of your underwear he hooks one finger through the fabric and pauses.
You can feel the restraint radiating off him. The deliberate, careful way he's holding himself back and taking his time with you.
"This okay?" he asks.
"God, yes," you breathe.
In the mirror you watch him smile, slow and satisfied, as he draws your black lace thong down. You take a small step away from him to shrug the rest of the ensemble off entirely. You figured it was time.
Now your full body is revealed to him in the mirror. A stark contrast to his own mostly clothed frame still standing behind you.
He yanks you back against his chest without hesitation.
The feeling of your bare skin meeting his bare chest hits you somewhere deep, like something you've been quietly craving your whole life without knowing what to call it. He still towers over you, looking at you fully in the mirror, both hands resting on your shoulders like he's grounding himself. Like he needs a second too.
"Look at you," he says quietly. "I knew you were perfect."
He catches your chin in his hand and turns your face until your lips meet his. He's hungrier this time. More urgent, kissing you with a restrained desperation that tells you exactly what he's holding himself back from. Barely breaking away he drops his forehead to yours.
"I want you to watch too," he murmurs, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it slowly. "I want you to see me make you cum."
His long fingers find their place between your legs. He pauses there, deliberate and unhurried, just long enough to make you buck your hips up toward him before he finally gives you what you want. His fingers sweep slow and devastating through your already slick folds, and the sensation crests so sharply your whole body sways back into him.
In the heat of it your eyes fall shut.
A hand closes around your chin.
Your eyes flutter open.
"I told you to watch, didn't I?"
In the mirror his grin is wide and completely satisfied, dark eyes fixed on the reflection like he's been waiting for exactly this. Like this is everything he wanted to see.
You force yourself to keep your eyes open.
It's the hardest thing you've ever done.
He works you diligently, coaxing sounds out of you while his fingers find a steady rhythm against your most sensitive spot. The hand wrapped around your chin tightens slightly every time your head tries to turn away, and every time your eyes threaten to close he stops touching you entirely. He's winding you up in a way you have never experienced before, patient and merciless in equal measure.
The knot in your belly pulls tighter when he finally slides one long finger inside you. A choked sound leaves your throat. In the mirror you can see exactly what it's doing to him too, his eyes glazed over and dark, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, holding himself back by a thread. He needs to savor this. He doesn't want to rush.
You're too important to rush.
He slides in a second finger, moving them in and out with devastating ease. When the pressure builds past bearing he curls them and a sharp jolt rockets through your entire body.
"K, I'm close," you whimper.
His fingers retreat entirely.
You slump back against him, breathless and desperate, nothing left to anchor you except that unrelenting hand still wrapped around your chin, still holding your gaze forward.
He looks at you in the mirror for a long moment.
"Look at you," he says, and the satisfaction in his voice is almost unbearable. "Doing so well for me without even having to, what did you call it?" A beat. "Put on a show?”
"K." You give him a desperate look in the mirror. "Please. Please don't stop."
"Who am I to deny you anything right now?" he murmurs, and his teeth catch the soft flesh of your earlobe as his fingers find their way back inside you.
His pace is steady but his breathing is climbing. He pulls you even closer and you feel it, pressed firmly against your lower back, the undeniable hardness of him. He grinds against you slowly, chasing any friction he can get, and you can sense how desperate he is by the way small sounds have started leaving him too, quiet and unguarded, matching yours.
He tears his eyes from the mirror only to bury his face in the curve between your shoulder and neck, taking a sharp inhale like he needs to steady himself.
Your orgasm builds again and he knows it before you say a word. He can feel it in the way your legs begin to tremble and your breathing goes shallow and uneven.
"Look at me, baby," he murmurs gently when your head starts to tip back.
You try. You genuinely try.
But the moment you face forward his thumb finds your clit and your orgasm detonates through you. White stars swallow your vision. Your head falls back against his chest despite everything and you hear both of your voices tangled together somewhere above you, his hips grinding steadily against your back as his fingers guide you through every last wave of it.
When you finally come back to earth you're gasping, leaning the full weight of yourself against him.
This time when you look up he isn't looking at the mirror.
He's looking at you. Just you. His hand lifts and tucks a loose strand of hair gently behind your ear.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and sincere. The tenderness of it combined with his hand warm against your cheek sends an entirely different kind of heat through you. You feel the tips of your ears burn.
"I'm perfect," you say. "What about you?"
You turn to face him fully now, your back to the mirror. Your eyes travel down his front and land on the visible strain against his pants. You reach out and grab him through the fabric without overthinking it.
His hips buck immediately into your touch. He hisses at the sudden contact, the sound escaping before he can stop it.
You rise onto your toes, something you happen to be incredibly good at, and bring your lips to his ear.
"We should probably do something about this, huh?"
Both his hands reach behind you instantly, squeezing the soft flesh of your backside between his fingers. His lips find yours again, his breathing coming in short unsteady bursts against your mouth as he tries to keep himself quiet. Your hand continues working him through the fabric until he lets out a couple of sounds that are entirely unguarded and you decide you've taunted him long enough.
You make quick work of his pants, unzipping them and letting them drop. Then after spitting in your hand you start working him again.
"Fuck," he groans into your mouth. You can't help but smile against him.
His hands find your waist and he steps out of his pants, he doesn’t stop walking you backward, deliberately, unhurried, like he already knows exactly where he's taking you. His lips stay on yours the whole time, steering you with quiet certainty across the practice room floor. When your lower back finally meets something solid he breaks the kiss just long enough to glance at it.
The barre.
Of course.
He looks back at you, eyes dark and completely certain.
“Grab it.” he says against your mouth, “both hands.”
You give him one of your tentative looks and he's already smirking back at you.
Then he turns you around.
You reach for the barre in front of you, hands finding the familiar wood without having to look. The same barre your hands have known since the first night you walked into this room. Interesting, you think, that this is where it all started. And where it finally reaches its climax.
His hands find you immediately, tracing every line of you slowly, deliberately, cataloguing every reaction he draws out. You turn your head to the right and find him in the mirror without even meaning to. Old habit.
His palm settles flat against the center of your back and presses you into an arch.
He leans down and peppers slow kisses up and down your spine, his hands roaming your chest as he does. You can feel him sometimes brushing against your entrance, the contact fleeting and maddening, but you're too entranced watching him work in the mirror to do anything except grip the barre tighter.
Finally he lines himself up.
The reality of this actually happening, here, in this room, crashes over you and your breathing picks up. You deliberately push back against him, trying to speed things along.
He lets out one of those insufferable smirks and pulls away.
You could scream.
He catches your eye in the mirror, completely unbothered.
"You like watching too, huh?" he asks, slightly breathless. A pause. "Then let's both watch."
His hand wraps around your throat, gentle but deliberate, angling your head until you're facing the mirror directly. The slight pressure of his fingers against your pulse point sends heat flooding through you instantly. Your reflection stares back at you, his hand at your throat, his eyes dark and fixed on the glass.
When he pushes into you your mouth falls open. Every inch of him is devastating and satisfying in equal measure, a slow consuming stretch that makes your fingers tighten around the barre. Like this is what you were always meant to find each other for. Like every practice session, every stolen glance in the mirror, every almost moment was leading precisely here.
When he finally begins to move you see stars.
He doesn't build to a fast pace. Instead he pulls back as far as possible, almost completely out of you, and then drives himself back in until he's buried to the hilt. Slow. Purposeful. Devastating.
You watch the place where your bodies connect in the mirror, letting your choked sounds do all the talking for you.
His own sounds are exactly what you'd expect from him. Breathy and low, almost like he's laughing, like this is the most satisfying form of entertainment he's ever discovered. Like he's incredibly pleased with himself for getting you exactly where he always wanted you.
"You're doing so good for me," he says. "Do you like watching me fuck you like this?"
The words should probably embarrass you. Normally they would. But something about the complete certainty in his voice, the quiet confidence of it, makes it the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life.
He plunges into you again and stays there, not pulling back. He bends forward and you watch his mouth find the shell of your ear in the mirror.
"I asked you a question."
"Y-yes," you manage. "Fuck, K. Yes."
He finally settles into a steadier rhythm. His hand leaves your throat and you feel the absence of it immediately.
"I'm trusting you not to look away anymore," he murmurs.
His arm reaches around your front, his palm settling flat against the skin just below your navel. And then he presses.
You feel him driving in and out of you through his own hand. The contact forces him to glide over your most sensitive spot with every single thrust and your orgasm climbs faster than it ever has before, sudden and consuming and completely out of your control.
"K, I'm close," you manage to squeak out.
He picks up immediately, moving harder and faster, his hand pressing firmer against your lower belly. This feeling is all consuming. All you feel is him. Even the barre you're practically about to snap in half between your hands fades away entirely.
You writhe, your head dropping down between your hands, and before your forehead can meet the wood his fist bunches in your hair and snaps your head back.
"Sorry baby," he says, and he doesn't sound sorry at all. "But I told you to watch."
You use the last of your strength to face the mirror.
Your orgasm crashes through you with one final thrust and your vision goes completely white. The room dissolves into flashes and through it you can just barely make out his face behind you, brows pressed together, jaw tight, continuing to drive into you through every wave of it. His hand, still twisted in your hair, begins to tremble. The only truly human thing you've witnessed from this version of K you've been discovering tonight.
You're still riding the last of your high when his hips begin to falter. His hand releases your hair and drops to your hips instead, gripping hard, using the leverage to intensify his thrusts. His eyes never leave your conjoined bodies in the mirror. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth.
Then, with one final guttural groan, he drives into you all the way to the hilt and stills.
You feel him release inside you and take the opportunity to flex, tightening yourself around him. His voice cracks. His hips stutter through the last of it, riding it out until there's nothing left.
The sight of you both in the mirror, breathless and undone, makes heat rise to your cheeks all over again.
He gently pulls out and drops to his knees behind you, taking a moment to simply look, watching himself seep down your thigh. Then he presses one slow, soft kiss to the back of your thigh, stands, and disappears to his bag to retrieve a clean towel.
You can't help but laugh at your own reflection, watching yourself stranded in place, unable to move without making a mess of everything. He hurries back over, towel in hand, and begins cleaning you up carefully. Starting at your thighs and working up. Taking his time with it.
"Was I too much?" he asks while he works. You glance in the mirror and notice he's deliberately not making eye contact. He's looking down, focused on his hands. That awkward K from the first night in this room is back, standing right in front of you.
"K," you say. "I can't even pretend. I've been wanting you for so long and I never expected it would be that good."
That earns you one of those insufferable smirks.
"Yeah?"
"Yes," you confirm.
You both quietly make your way to your things and swap your performance outfits for the spare changes of clothes you've both taken to keeping in your practice bags. Once you're dressed you sit down and fidget with your fingers before speaking.
"K?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think I can go back to normal after this. After you." You meet his eyes. "I don't want to."
"Me neither, Y/N." He sits down beside you, closer than he ever has before. "So let's not."
He kisses you gently this time, unhurried and soft, like he's setting something new in stone. You melt into it completely. When he pulls back he's grinning wide and unguarded, the most open you've ever seen his face.
"Should we go see what chaos our friends have caused at the bar?"
"Yeah," you say. "Absolutely."
You both grab your bags and head for the door. Before stepping out you turn and give the practice room one last look.
Same barre. Same arched windows. Same mirror. Same four walls.
❪ 雪明かり ❫ vampire au established relationship vampire!k x human!reader 750 cw ノ blood and knives mentioned, biting/bite marks, yudai tastes some blood lol (not reader's), mentions of killing someone, yudai is a bit possessive but it's hawt, not proofread 〃 @lexeees ⸝⸝⸝ okay yami is entirely at fault here planted this idea in my brain i could never recover from it so here i am past midnight writing this... / 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
Yudai's thumb runs across your cheek, wiping the scatter of blood that sits there. He leans closer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You've told him almost ten times to not worry, that it was just a small scratch, but he has a feeling you're not telling the full truth. There's one way to prove it. He studies the red stain on his thumb for a few seconds, first sniffing it before finally bringing it up to his mouth to taste.
He almost gags.
"I knew you were lying," he mutters, coughing out the taste of it. The rusty tang that clings to his tongue tastes foul, the blood no doubt several days old and rotting. It isn't fresh, and more importantly, it isn't yours.
"Who did you kill?" He poses the question seriously without a hint of surprise. You gasp.
"'Who did I kill?' Kei, I didn't touch anyone."
He frowns, not satisfied with that answer. "Did you stab them?"
You sigh, looking away. Yudai has his answer.
"Stab? Really? With a knife?"
"What else would I stab someone with?"
He laughs, "Well, lots of things. A fork, a pen, a fire poker…"
"It was a knife. A kitchen knife," you confess, not brave enough to look him in the eye.
Years ago you made a promise that you would summon him if you were ever in danger. Tonight you had broken that promise, albeit by mistake. But it doesn't ease your guilt. You know how Yudai gets—protective, worried, possessive. You just hope he doesn't find out about the other—
"Is that a bite mark?" He pulls the collar of your shirt down, exposing the bruise that's starting to form underneath your collarbone. A failed attempt at getting to your neck. He breaths, calming the fury that starts to bubble inside at the sight.
"Why didn't you call me?"
This time he sounds defeated, torn halfway between betrayed and heartbroken, like it's his fault that you were ever in danger. He didn't do enough to make sure you were safe.
"I forgot. There wasn't much time when he was lunging at me, and the knife was right there," you trail off, the story sounding more pathetic the more details Yudai pulls out of you. "I can protect myself. You don't have to worry about me all the time. I handled the situation."
His finger traces the outline of the bite. It's faint. If he wasn't already familiar with bites of every shape and size, he would probably miss it. The mark itself is enough to prove your words wrong. In Yudai's eyes its as clear as day. You're sitting in front of him unscathed, but one wrong move and you could have died. He won't take that chance again.
"I worry about you because I couldn't bear to lose you—especially to my own kind," Yudai mutters bitterly, hand now resting on your neck, thumbing over your pulse point gently. A reminder that you are still alive and breathing.
"It didn't even puncture, see? He didn't even get a taste," you reassure, grabbing Yudai's hand with your own, bringing it up to your cheek. "I'm fine. I promise."
He sighs again. He won't fight you on this. Not now at least. He'll bring it up later when you've slept and he's dealt with whatever lowlife vampire dared to make an attempt on you. For now, he nods, letting the situation go and watching your face relax.
He takes a moment to trace your features with his eyes. Your piercing eyes, the round of your cheeks, the dip of your cupid's bow. Your beauty has him breathless every time. He can't resist leaning in and capturing the taste of your lips one more time. Sweet, familiar, like home. You pull him closer like a habit, because he always seems too far away. He maps out your mouth as if he hasn't already memorized every curve and passage. Your tongue draws across one of his fangs—one that you've let taste the joint in your neck too many times to count.
Yudai's nature once bewildered you. You were fascinated by him all those years ago, eager to uncover his secrets. You know them all now. What your mouth once explored with curiosity is now replaced with familiarity. You know Yudai better than you know yourself. He's loved you for years, given you his entire world, and you know he'll be by your side until your dying breath. A vampire's love is eternal.
Synopsis : Giving two romance tropes to the teamies
Member : Koga Yudai
Main tropes : Brother's best friend & rivals to lovers
Warnings : He is a prick in the rivals to lovers
Words : 548
Brother’s best friend
K is the best friend of your brother. He is the type of guy you do not really care about, three years older, has clearly dubious social choices and globally not interesting.
Yudai also do not really care because you are just the little sister of his best friend, the girl walking around with a facemask on her face and eating Nutella with a spoon straight out of the pot.
Everything changes when he sees you for the first time in a year, you’re not the silly teenager anymore, but a studious college student. More mature, calm, clever but still reckless.
He is the one that falls first after picking you up from a party, he swears it is just because you are the little sister of his best friend but at the bottom of his heart, he knows its more than that.
After that he starts noticing you, asking about you, caring for you.. Deeply he knows nothing can happen, after all you are the little sister of his best friend.
But yet, the way your eyes look at him changes, the atmosphere is changing whenever you are in the same room, during movie night your fingers sometimes brush against one another.. Can love truly be build in silence and in secret of someone precious to the both of you ?
Rivals to lovers
Prince!Yudai is someone that grew up in a deeply shouldered environment, being taught that as the prince and future king he has the right to do whatever he wants. He is unstoppable, proud and cocky.
So the day a knight beat him in a duel, he naturally starts to grow weary of him. Then he notices him wherever he goes. He is strong, a great archer, amazing at sword fighting. He was also clever and kind to everyone.
He despised that knight. And the knight, you, also despised him.
As a young girl, you were born in a noble family, and when your older brother passed away at 9 from the fever, your parents ordered you to replace him to keep the family standing. Officially, you had died, and he lived.
You had been brought up to hide, be discreet but still represent your family. Be strong.
So, when at 22 years old you had to go the palace, become a knight and met the prick of a prince you could not help but hate him. He was nothing but an arrogant idiot who thought he was better than everyone else.
The two of you started a rivalry, fighting whenever you could, dueling whenever. The most random things became the reason, the pretense for fighting.
Everything changed when one day, on your period you fainted during training. That day Yudai realised that maybe he cared a bit for you.
Following that event everything changed, he noticed more, cared more.
You still hated him though.
One day, he was going to see you in your room, officially to get back one of his poetry books. But that day, he saw you, not the male you, but the female you.
And perhaps, that’s when he realised that maybe you were not that bad. Following that day, he progressively became a huge puppy following you around and falling for you deeper and deeper.
