#yuma fluff

the thought crossed yuma's mind immediately: the lower mood you've been in these past few days, your complaints about not feeling well. at first he assumed you were coming down with some sort of sickness, only to realize that it's been a few weeks since you've last complained to him about your monthly bleeding.

he left the bed, movements slow as he rubbed his eyes with both of his hands, footsteps leading him towards where he assumed you were — the bathroom. his sweatpants hung low on his waist, the waistband of his boxers peeking from underneath as he knocked on the door ever so gently, waiting for a response. he knocked again after a few seconds; a little louder this time, hearing you mumble something from the inside. he took it as a sign to go inside.

yuma opened the door slowly, the door making a small creek sound as he did so. he peeked his head first — curious eyes catching a glimpse of you inside the bathroom, his face immediately falling.

you were laying on the floor, curled up into a ball as your face contorted in an expression full of pain. your cheeks were stained with tears as you sobbed quietly, hands crossed around your stomach.

'oh, sweetheart.' yuma mumbled quietly, kneeling down next to you. his hands immediately found their way to your shoulders — massaging them gently with a comforting touch. 'is it the cramps again?'

you could only nod in response, not moving from your current position.

'did you take painkillers?' yuma asked. you nodded again. 'they didn't start working yet, did they?'

another nod.

yuma hummed quietly, thinking to himself for a minute.

'do you want to get back to bed?' he asked, voice quiet and soothing. 'i could carry you.'

this time, you shook your head in response — yuma's brows furrowing in slight confusion.

'the tiles are cold.' you mumbled quietly, voice barely audible as you remained in your curled up state, a small sob escaping your lips. 'it feels nice.'

yuma smiled at your words — eyes filled with adoration and worry, hands drawing gentle patterns along the exposed parts of your back, ones your tank top didn't cover. he wasn't going to leave you there waiting for the painkillers to start working; opting instead to lay down next to u, body encaging yours in a big, comforting hug, the warm sensation of his skin against yours providing a nice contrast to the cold bathroom tiles. although you didn't move or change your position, your body eased into his touch almost on instinct — muscles loosening and almost melting in his hold.

'the medicine will work soon, i promise.' he whispered, leaning in to plant a soft kiss to your cheek. 'i'll lay here with you till it passes, okay?'

he noticed the way your lips curved up just slightly, a weak smile appearing on your lips at his words.

'thank you.' you murmured, hand finding his in slow movements. 'i love you.'

'i love you too, sweetheart.' he said, planting another kiss to your temple. 'let's spend today in bed, hm? just us, cuddles, a movie and snacks. i have your favorite ones stored away for occasions like these.'

you squeezed his hand gently, nodding in response.

'can we order food, too?' you asked.

'of course.' yuma chuckled, head nuzzling in the crook of your neck. 'you can choose what we eat, too. as long as it doesn't hurt your stomach.'

he planted yet another kiss, this time to your neck, then another one to your shoulder. and with the soothing touch and comforting presence of yuma absorbing you from all around, you seemed to almost forget about the pain still building up in your lower stomach — letting yourself enjoy the moment as you focused on your boyfriend and just how lucky you were to have him.

'you're the best.' you mumbled quietly, closing your eyes as your back rested against his chest. yuma smiled.

'you deserve it and nothing less, sweetheart.'

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“Yeah, I’m actually dating Yuma right now,”

You put on your biggest (fakest) smile as you hug Yuma’s arm while staring at your ex, who has been bothering you ever since the breakup six months ago. You can feel Yuma’s eyes on you – instead of returning the eye contact, you continue to smile at your ex while silently praying that Yuma would just get along with the lie. 

And also mentally sighing, because what you thought was a short run to a convenience store to buy your favourite chips turns into bumping into Yuma (which is not a bad thing, it’s just that… you just don’t want to see anyone right now), then… your ex.

Is it so hard for a girl to live in peace? You just want to buy snacks to eat while watching Studio Ghibli movies, to wind down after a long week…

“Is this… for real?”

Your ex asks in disbelief. You eagerly nod, and look at Yuma who just shifted his eyes away from you – brightly, hoping that your ex can see the love (nonexistent) in your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m dating her now. We’ve been keeping it low for a while, because you know, she’s trying to process her emotions and things. And private, because we don’t want people talking,”

Yuma’s words make you feel relieved and extremely grateful to him for going along with the act. And also to heaven, because you’re being blessed with a friend that’s quick witted and able to read the room. 

“You guys are lying, there’s no way– there’s no way she’ll be in love with you, dude,”

“I think you’re the one who’s lying. To yourself, by the way. Because we’re very much in love with each other, right, baby?”

Yuma looks at you, and you nod at him while your lips curl into an even bigger smile. Your cheeks are definitely going to be sore after this interaction ends, you think to yourself, as you’re smiling really wide and keeping it steady to show that you’re extremely happy (pretending, actually).

“There’s no way, Y/N. You– we were so in love with each other! You– you’re such a fucking traitor,”

Your ex moves closer to you while getting emotional – his voice raised, eyes looking like it’s going to pop out of its socket, and face reddened. Yuma instantly steps forward, hiding you behind his back as he pushes your ex away.

“Hey. I don’t appreciate you accusing my girlfriend of such things,”

“Fuck off dude!”

“Or what? Are you going to throw a punch on me or something? For protecting my girlfriend? I can definitely take punches, but are you ready to take mine?”

You shut your eyes tightly – why men often resort to violence to settle things? You hope that Yuma’s words are just an empty threat, to get your ex off you and leave you alone. Because if not… you’re definitely in for the long night.

Yuma steps forward to intimidate your ex more, causing you to panic – you instantly tugs on his hand to gain his attention. Once his eyes are on you, you desperately shake your head, hoping that it would stop Yuma from starting the fight.

“You know what. On second thought, both of you fit each other well. A bitch and a playboy, what a good combination,”

Yuma raised his fist upon hearing your ex addressing you as bitch – your eyes turned wide and you immediately wrapped your arms around Yuma’s waist tightly, before you forced him to take a few steps back with you.

“Let’s not fight, please. Please. Please, Yuma,”

“He called you a bitch.”

“Nakakita Yuma, please. No. Please,”

You heave a relieved sigh when you watch Yuma slowly lowering his fist, before glaring at your ex for bringing trouble to you. Your ex chuckles, and childishly throws both of his middle fingers in the air before exiting the convenience store.

“Why did you date a fucking loser?”

“I regretted it. I really am. Thanks for stepping in, Yuma. I’ll… pay for whatever you’re going to buy as a thank you,”

“If I want to buy this store?”

You badly want to roll your eyes at his words, but he helped you earlier, so you can’t act all sassy to the man who just saved you from your ex.

“Whatever you’re going to reasonably buy as a thank you,”

Yuma chuckles as you clarify yourself, while you sigh and shake your head – exhausted with your ex and Yuma’s antics.

“There’s no need. And I’m sorry for getting too carried away. I’m allergic to men who can’t respect boundaries,”

“Please, let me pay for something as a thank you,”

“No. Let me pay for you instead. You deserve a treat after… meeting with that kind of man.”

“...Huh?”

You’re caught off guard at his words, because not only he refuses to let you treat him as a thank you – he’s also offering to treat you for having such a bad encounter with your ex.

“Pick anything, Y/N.”

Yuma then left you after saying that, heading to the aisle he intended to go earlier before being roped into becoming your boyfriend. You watch Yuma as he hums while walking away – another sigh escapes your lips, before you decide to accept his offer and begin picking your snacks. You then follow him around in silence – he did a few rounds in the convenience store before finally heading to the counter to pay.

“Do you need these to be packed separately?”

The cashier asks after confirming that Yuma is paying for yours, and Yuma shakes his head as a response.

“Eh? Separately, please.”

“I’m walking you home, so there’s no need for that. Just pack it together, please.”

You look at Yuma with a puzzled face, and Yuma chuckles at your reaction before he points outside with his eyes. You instantly realize what’s going on and roll your eyes – you’re about to seriously throw a tantrum, because why the hell is your ex waiting for you outside the convenience store?

“Sorry for troubling you, Yuma,”

“Nah. I have to get my 10k steps anyway. Let’s go,”

Both you and Yuma thank the cashier before Yuma reaches his arm out – you quickly understand what he’s hinting on, and lightly hug his arm just like you did earlier.

“Thank you again, Yuma,”

Yuma just smiles at you. Both of you exited the convenience store, and you can immediately see your ex’s figure from the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t be so tense. Pretend like he’s not here, or else he’ll notice that you’re lying. If he’s not an idiot,”

Yuma said in a hushed voice – if it wasn’t you being close to him, you definitely would’ve missed his words. You exhaled a deep sigh, trying to loosen up all the muscle and make yourself appear relaxed, while tightening your grip on Yuma’s arms.

Both of you walked in silence – you’re too stressed to say anything, and Yuma noticed that, so he didn’t bother breaking the silence. You guide Yuma into your apartment building, and bring him to the front of your house – just in case if your ex is watching both of you, somewhere.

“Thanks, Yuma.”

“It’s… nothing. Glad I can help. Let me know if he’s still bothering you, yeah?”

Yuma hands the plastic bag to you after stuffing his snacks in his hoodie’s pockets, making you chuckle as he looks like a big belly penguin right now.

“I don’t think he’ll bother me… at least for now,”

“Okay. But if he does… Don't hesitate to call me, okay?”

“Alright. Will do,”

“Great. Get inside first,”

You nod, and waved him goodbye before closing the door. Instead of making your way to the living room, you stand in front of the door while pressing your lips into a thin line – you’re contemplating on whether to say your thoughts out loud, or not. Another deep sigh escapes your lips before you open your door, and quickly turns your head around to find Yuma.

“Yuma!”

Lucky for you, Yuma isn’t that far – maybe because he’s carrying lots of snacks in his pocket, so he walks slowly.

“Yeah?”

Yuma turns his head to you, and waddles back to your door.

“I– I, uh. Thank you. For stepping in, and for being a gentleman. I– I didn’t think that you’ll actually play along… so I'm… grateful. Thank you,”

“It’s… truly nothing, Y/N. It’s an honour to be your fake boyfriend for 10 minutes,”

“Huh?”

“And I will do anything, actually, to save a pretty girl in distress.”

Yuma shot a flirty wink at you, causing you to laugh before you shake your head. There’s a reason why Yuma earned his title as a playboy in the campus – he smoothly flirts with everyone, and by everyone, you mean literally everyone. You vividly remember how red Jo’s face when Yuma flirted with him – that boy keeps fanning himself with his book despite the hall being cold as hell.

“Flirty boy. Playboy.”

“Your flirty boy. Your playboy, Y/N.”

Yuma winked again, making a chuckle escape from your lips.

“Whatever. Good night, Yuma.”

“Good night, Y/N. Dreams of me, maybe I’ll be your real boyfriend in that dream of yours?”

“Don’t push your luck, Yuma,”

“Well, a man can dream.”

additional notes: thank you for reading till the end <3

you and yuma had known each other since you were little kids - 6 years old to be exact. a heated argument over sharing the toy box in class led you to be sworn enemies, and younger you had promised herself she wouldn’t be friends with him. ever. but, by the time you were 13, the two of you had so many mutual friends that you’d ended up being in the same friend group, despite liking each other still. the universe simple wasn’t on your side when it came to yuma.

---

ever since the group had formed, you’d practically been forced by the others to get along with him. that meant no pointless arguments, no bullying, no pranks, nothing of the sort. not wanting to ruin the fun for the rest of them, you followed the order - or at least tried to. it was difficult when yuma constantly teased you for your style of clothing, your makeup, and tiny details like the way you walked. he enjoyed hearing the frustrated huff escape from you, loved seeing the annoyed expression on your face even more. what he loved the most, though, was the fact you fought back. it made things more entertaining when you’d shoot a reflective insult to his own outfit in defence.

your friends simply rolled their eyes every time. they were used to it by now, referring to you both as ‘tom & jerry in human form’.

---

somewhere along the way, you found your feelings of hatred towards yuma had faded, and something new had replaced it - love. or at least a variant of it.

his rude teasing had no negative effect on you anymore, instead you found it endearing, the way he’d look you up and down before saying,

“i can’t tell if you just rolled out of bed or not. you look a mess, sweetheart.”

however, you knew he didn’t feel the same way. it was obvious, and it made sense. the two of you were meant to hate each other, right? you were sure it was just a stupid little phase of yours, something that would fade after a couple of weeks. a month maximum.

---

your crush on yuma was pushing its 1 year anniversary when you started to notice the change in how yuma acted. his insults were less heated, becoming more playful instead. when your group of friends hung out, he wouldn’t refuse to sit next to you on the couch anymore, happily plopping down next to you, letting his leg brush yours. what really made you realise something was going on was when you’d catch him staring. during movie nights, picnics at the park, anywhere. whenever you glanced his way, yuma would already be looking at you, his classic, sly grin plastered on his face.

“whatcha lookin’ at? you look like you wanna kiss me or somethin’.” he’d taunt, as if he wasn’t the one caught daydreaming in your direction. you’d look away, praying he didn’t see the pink tint on your cheeks.

it made you wonder if his feelings for you had developed into something deeper, or if he was toying with you.

---

it was a saturday night, and the group was sardined in your bedroom, people practically piled on top of each other on the bed, some watching the movie playing on your laptop, some already knocked out. you were situated on the edge of the bed, not focused on the movie. yuma was sat between you and another one of your friends, fuma, who was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. yuma was watching the movie quietly, an occasional glance cast in your direction.

the heat of the packed room finally caught up to you, and you excused yourself from the bedroom, heading out to the balcony.

the chilled breeze helped cool you down quickly, allowing you to relax. it was late by now, and the night sky was practically pitch black, the small glistening stars scattered across it. despite feeling tired, you weren’t ready to fall asleep yet. mainly because there was barely any room left on your bed, but also because of who you had to sleep beside - yuma.

as if right on queue, the balcony door slides open and shut and yuma emerges next to you, leaning against the ledge of the railing on his elbows. he doesn’t say anything at first, simply scanning the dark skyline.

“it’s hot in there,” he says finally, breaking the silence. you let out a small laugh, nodding.

“yeah, it is.”

the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the silence stretching on longer than it usually does between the two of you. maybe it’s because the others were asleep inside, but it felt different being just the two of you. more intimate.

---

a few minutes had passed before he spoke up again.

“you know, you look really pretty tonight.” he turns his head to face you, eyes on your face. your stomach churned with an unfamiliar feeling; a mix of nervousness, confusion and flattery. you weren’t used to him being nice to you like this.

“thanks, yuma.” you manage to say, trying not to let your face hint at your inner turmoil. he shifts closer to you, arms pressed up against each other.

“i’m sorry i always tease you.”

you snap your head to look at him at the apology, surprised. his voice carried a tone of sincerity you’d never heard from him before, but you could tell it was genuine. you feel his pinky brush yours on the railing, and he interlinks them absentmindedly.

“you never actually look ugly. you don’t walk funny, either.” he admits, eyes flickering over you, pupils sparkling in the moonlight. “you’re, uh.. you’re perfect, actually.”

the heat that rushes to your face was sudden and warm, you knew yuma could probably see it. and by the faint smirk growing on his face, you could tell he definitely did.

“i’ve barely said anything and you’re already blushing.” he scoffs amusedly, nudging you gently.

“shut up,” you whisper, looking away in attempt to hide your pink cheeks. he lifts his free hand, cupping your face and gently turning you to face him.

“i need to be honest with you.” yuma says, expression more serious now. you nod, urging him to continue.

he clears his throat, thumb brushing the skin of your cheekbone.

“well, um..” for the first time in his life, yuma seemed.. nervous. it was unlike him. “we’ve always hated each other, haven’t we? it’s just how it’s been for us since we were kids. i thought it would always be like that, as long as we knew each other. but, recently, i don’t know why.. my feelings are changing.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“...i think i’m in love with you.” he admits, eyes searching yours for reciprocation. a part of you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. he’d pulled pretty believable pranks on you before, and now you were cautious.

“yuma, don’t joke about that kinda stuff.” you say quietly, huffing. his hand pulls your face closer to his, lips just centimetres apart.

“i wouldn’t joke about this. c’mon, i’m not that mean.” he grins, letting out a small chuckle.

once his laughter died down, being replaced with silence, he cleared his throat.

“please don’t tell me i’m the only one feeling like this.”

as you look up at him, the cool breeze flowing through his hair, desperate gaze fixed on yours, you realise how serious he is. he actually loves you. yuma, your childhood-enemy-now-friend, was admitting his love for you. this didn’t feel real. but you knew you couldn’t lose this chance.

“i love you too, yuma.”

yuma’s face brightens up almost immediately, disbelief and happiness visible in his eyes. without saying a word, he leans down, crashing his lips against yours, years worth of love, hatred, and everything in between put into the kiss. your hands find his shoulders, gripping them for stability.

you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, and the smile on his face was the happiest he’d ever looked.

“i would’ve never expected this from us,” he says with a giggle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “but i’m not complaining.”

---

hand in hand, you head back to your bedroom, where your friends were all fast asleep, scattered across the bed. there was basically no room. you share a whispered giggle at the positions they were all laying in.

the two of you managed to squeeze next to each other at the bottom of the bed, and yuma wraps his arms around you. pulling you into his chest, your senses are filled with him; the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the soft sound of his breathing. everything felt perfect.

“goodnight, pretty.” yuma whispers, another kiss pressing to your forehead. “i love you.”

Usually, you would've come running the second you heard the door unlock or at least yelled a lazy greeting from somewhere in the apartment. But tonight, there was nothing.

Frowning slightly, Yuma glanced around before heading toward your shared bedroom, already loosening the straps of his bags from his shoulder. The apartment felt colder than usual. Rain poured heavily outside, droplets tapping relentlessly against the windows. The power had gone out sometime earlier, leaving the apartment dim.

"Baby?" he called again, quieter this time.

Yuma let out a quiet breath before tossing his bag carelessly into the corner of the room. The dull thud barely echoed through the apartment over the sound of the rain. Just as he stepped out of the bedroom, a soft meow reached his ears. "Kuro?"

Following the sound, Yuma made his way toward the living room, the cold wooden floor creaking faintly under his steps.

Another flash of lightning briefly shined the apartment and that's when he finally found you.

Curled up on the couch beneath a thick blanket, you looked impossibly small. Your body was tucked into the blanket for warmth, face half hidden against the soft fabric while the steady rise and fall of your breathing told him you were sleeping.

Beside you sat Kuro, comfortably pressed against your side. The cat lifted his head the moment Yuma entered, green eyes blinking up at him before letting out another quiet meow.

Yuma's shoulders softened almost instantly at the sight.

Your sleeping figure looked so cozy and warm that Yuma found himself staring for a second too long. Yuma's exhaustion melted little by little as he stepped closer to the couch. Carefully, he crouched beside you and reached a hand out. His fingers slipped gently through your hair, brushing slow strokes against your scalp.

"Koneko?" he whispered softly. Your brows twitched faintly at the familiar voice. A tiny hum escaped you and Yuma couldn't help but smile softly.

"Why are you sleeping out here,hm?" he murmured, low voice blending with the sound of the rain.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking the sleep away as your gaze met his in the dim darkness.

"Yuma..." you whined softly, your voice rough with sleep and exhaustion. The pout on your face deepened as you shifted further into the blanket. "You're late. I waited for you."

"Mmmm, I know baby. I'm sorry." He murmured gently, a soft smile pulling onto his lips as he continued stroking your hair. "Practice ran longer than I thought."

You only frowned harder at that, "Liar."

Yuma let out a quiet laugh through his nose. "I'm serious."

Your eyes fluttered shut again as his hand kept moving through your hair, the warmth of his touch making you melt further into the couch.

The rain outside filled the silence between you both.

Then you cracked one eye open slightly and mumbled, "I want cuddles."

Yuma's expression softened almost instantly at your sleepy request.

"Yeah?" he murmured as he brushed his thumb against your messy hairline. "Then sit up, hm?" A quiet grumble left you immediately, brows furrowing. You glared at him weakly before finally pushing yourself upright under the blanket.

Yuma chuckled quietly under his breath before sitting down beside you on the couch. "Come here." he murmured softly.

With gentle hands, he guided you closer, helping you climb onto his lap sideways while keeping the blanket wrapped around you both. The second you settled against him, your entire body melted into him. A tired sigh escaped your lips as you buried your face into his chest, arms lazily wrapping around his waist while his own arms came around you instinctively, holding you securely against him.

"There you go." Yuma whispered, voice low and warm right beside your ear.

One of his hands slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading slowly through your hair while the other rested firmly against your waist beneath the blanket. You hummed softly, nuzzling even closer to him without thinking. Yuma smiled faintly at that, tightening his hold just a little.

"Baby," he called softly. You let out a hum in response, barely lifting your head.

"Shall we go to the bed,hm?" he asked gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your forehead. You nodded weakly.

He shifted his arms under you with practiced ease and stood up effortlessly, lifting you into his hold without breaking the warmth between you. He held you bridal style, your blanket still wrapped messily around you as you instinctively clung to his hoodie. Your head rested against his chest, eyes slowly fluttering.

Yuma glanced down at you for a moment, a small fond smile lingering on his face. "Don't fall asleep yet. At least let me put you in bed properly, yeah?" he murmured.

He placed you down on the bed carefully, like you were something precious he didn't want to break. The mattress dipped softly under your weight as the blanket shifted around you. Yuma then walked around to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you and immediately turned toward you, closing the small distance between your bodies.

He settled behind you slowly, until the warmth of his chest pressed against your back and engulfed you completely.

One of his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you closer in one smooth motion until there wasn't any gap left between your bodies. His leg slid gently between yours, as every part of him unconsciously seeked you out. Yuma's chin eventually found its place near your shoulder, occasionally brushing against the side of your head whenever you shifted. His hand rested softly against your stomach, fingers moving in lazy patterns against the fabric of your shirt.

"Yuma..." you called for him drowsily, voice barely above a whisper as you tried to fight off sleep. He hummed in response, leaning in slightly as he inhaled the faint scent of your hair.

"Tell me about your day?" you asked, words slurring. A quiet laugh slipped out of him. "First, let's sleep and then we'll talk, okay baby?" He murmured against your hair, voice gentle.

You gave a small sleepy protest but your body was already sinking further into the mattress, the warmth of him behind you making it almost impossible to stay awake.

Outside the rain had started to ease. The steady loud sound softened into a lighter patter, just like how he calmed your messy loud world.

Yuma leaned closer and pressed a slow lingering kiss to the back of your head, "Sleep well, Koneko."

Eventually, he started to drift, his forehead resting lightly against your hair as his closed.

—🐾🪽

okay so tbh this isnt my fav one cause i feel like i could've done better but well 🤷🏻‍♀️

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he stood there for another second like he was deciding something.

then he walked straight over to the couch and quietly climbed into your space without a word, curling up against your side.

you laughed under your breath as his arms slipped around your waist.

“tired?”

“mhm.”

“did you drink a lot?”

he shook his head against your shoulder. “just enough to miss you extra.”

your heart gave the tiniest ache.

yuma sighed softly once you wrapped your arms around him, like he’d been waiting for it all night without realizing.

for a while, neither of you talked.

he just stayed close, cheek pressed against your shoulder while your fingers played with the ends of his hair.

then quietly:

“i kept thinking about coming home.”

you looked down at him. “yeah?”

he nodded once.

“i think my favorite part of going out is getting to come back to you after.”

the way he said it was so simple.

so honest.

like it wasn’t even meant to sound romantic.

you felt him shift slightly closer after saying it, like he instinctively wanted to hide from how affectionate that sounded.

“you’re being really cute right now,” you teased gently.

“no, i’m not.”

“you literally just said your favorite thing is coming home to me.”

yuma went quiet.

then he tightened his arms around you a little and mumbled into your shoulder:

“…because it is.”

you completely melted.

a quiet silence settled after that, warm and heavy in the nicest way.

then suddenly, yuma tilted his head up and stared at you for a second like he’d just noticed something important.

“what?” you laughed softly.

he didn’t answer.

he just looked at you with that sleepy, unbearably fond expression for another second before one of his hands slid up gently against your cheek.

then he leaned in and kissed you.

slow.

warm.

the kind of kiss that lingered before it even really started.

you could still feel his small smile against your lips, soft and sleepy and completely full of you.

when he finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that your noses still brushed.

“…there,” he murmured quietly, like he’d been meaning to do that since he walked through the door.

You had carried plenty of things before.

You had carried groceries with plastic handles digging into your fingers. You had carried stacks of books pressed against your chest. You had carried sleeping toddlers from couches to beds, their heads resting on your shoulder, their weight awkward but precious. You had carried babies who could barely keep their eyes open, held close and safe, and not once had their weight felt like a burden.

Weight alone had never been what made something a burden.

A backpack full of supplies could be heavy and still be useful. A child could be exhausting to carry and still be loved. Even the most awkward, cumbersome thing could feel light when it mattered to you.

That was why the dictionary definition had always felt incomplete.

Because when people spoke about burdens, they rarely meant something that was merely carried.

They meant something that drained. Something that took and took and never gave back. Something that turned every step into a struggle.

And that was what you had been.

You felt as if you had entered every room with a problem that someone else was expected to solve. Every conversation felt like it bent around your complaints, your mistakes, your needs. You felt as if people had adjusted their plans for you, lowered their expectations for you, and carried responsibilities that should have been yours.

Unlike the sleeping baby in someone's arms, you had offered no comfort in return.

Unlike the heavy box that eventually reached its destination, you had never seemed to move forward.

You had simply remained there, an ever-present weight.

Others carried you because they felt obligated to, not because they wanted to. They supported you because they were kind, not because you made their lives easier. And with every passing day, you had become harder to justify, harder to defend, harder to lift.

If someone had asked for an example of a burden, they could have opened a dictionary and found a definition.

Or they could have pointed at you and the explanation would have been much shorter.

Burden burden burden.

Undeserving, unworthy, unlovable burden.

You had felt like an unwanted presence in everyone's life. Not hated, exactly. Hate required passion, attention, investment. You had imagined something worse—that people merely tolerated you.

You had walked into rooms convinced that your absence would improve them. You had accepted kindness with suspicion and criticism with certainty.

In your mind, worth was something other people possessed naturally. They deserved patience. They deserved comfort. They deserved gifts and second chances and understanding. You could spend hours helping someone through a bad day and never question whether they deserved your effort.

Of course they did. The question never even occurred to you.

But the moment someone offered the same care to you, your brain twisted it into something else. Obligation, pity, politeness, anything except genuine affection.

If a friend listened to your problems, you told yourself they were only being nice. If someone checked on you, you assumed they felt responsible. If someone stayed, you searched for a reason other than love.

Because love, as far as you were concerned, seemed like something that happened to other people. Not you.

Never you.

You had tried to escape that way of thinking more times than you could count.

You had promised yourself that this would be the year you learned to accept kindness. The month you stopped apologizing for existing. The week you stopped measuring your worth by how useful you were to other people.

Sometimes it even worked. For a while.

You would make progress. You would convince yourself that maybe you weren't as terrible as you thought. Maybe you deserved a seat at the table. Maybe people actually enjoyed having you around.

And then one mistake, one awkward conversation, one unanswered message, one bad day and suddenly you were right back where you started.

Back at the same stupid point, the same familiar conclusion, wondering why you had ever believed things could be different.

Then you met Yuma and for the first time in a very long time, being around someone felt easy.

He wasn't loud about it. He didn't deliver grand speeches or magically fix everything that was wrong inside your head. He simply existed in a way that made the world feel less hostile.

His presence was comforting—the kind of person who made silence feel less lonely. The kind of person who remembered things you mentioned in passing. Who checked on you without making it feel like an interrogation. Who treated your feelings as if they mattered.

And that should have changed everything. Maybe, from the outside, it looked like it did.

But underneath all that progress, underneath the smiles and the laughter and the growing trust, there was still a part of you that remained stubbornly unchanged.

The same frightened person was still living there, the same people-pleaser, the same person who measured her value by what she could give. The same person who found it easy to love others and nearly impossible to believe she could be loved in return.

You could spend hours thinking about how much Yuma deserved happiness, how much he deserved kindness, how much he deserved loyalty and patience and understanding.

But when the thought turned toward yourself, your certainty vanished. Because somewhere deep down, beneath all the healing and all the hope, you still carried the old fear that one day he would see what you saw.

And when that happened, you thought, he would realize that the person he cared about was just the same girl she had always been—still trying to earn a love that had already been given to her.

And still unable to believe she was worthy of receiving it.

That was the problem with never believing good things belonged to you. You couldn't simply enjoy them when they arrived. You interrogated them, doubted them and picked them apart like splinters from a finger.

So you kept most of it to yourself. You swallowed the insecurity when it surfaced. Smiled when people asked if you were okay. Changed the subject when conversations drifted too close to the things you were afraid to say out loud.

You told yourself you were protecting everyone. You told yourself nobody wanted to hear it. You told yourself you were being reasonable.

But feelings don't disappear just because you refuse to acknowledge them. They accumulate.

One bad thought became ten. Ten became a hundred. And eventually they stacked on top of each other until the smallest thing could knock the whole unstable tower over. Some days you managed to keep it together. Some days you didn't.

Today had been one of those days.

You had been sitting on the couch with some show playing in the background. You weren't paying much attention to it. It was just noise filling the apartment while you scrolled through your phone and tried not to think too much.

Then the front door opened, Yuma coming home from work. The familiar sound comforted you, seeping in like warm butter on cinammon rolls. Your beloved never failed to make your chest feel a bit cosier.

You looked up when he stepped into the living room. And there they were.

Your favorite flowers.

Held carefully in one hand while he shrugged off his jacket with the other. For a moment, you just stared.

It was just a random day. He had been out living his life, working, dealing with whatever stress came with his job, and somewhere in the middle of all that he had seen your favorite flowers and thought of you.

A normal person probably would have smiled.

Instead, your stomach dropped. The first thought arrived so quickly you barely noticed it.

Why would he do that for me?

Then another.

I didn't do anything to deserve that.

And another.

He's too good to you.

The floodgates opened and suddenly your brain was dragging up every mistake you had ever made. Every conversation you wished you could take back, every time you had been needy, every time you had overreacted, every awkward moment, every insecurity, every flaw, as if you yourself weren't a big flaw (burden, burden, burden).

It was as if your mind had been waiting for an excuse.

You looked at those flowers and somehow ended up staring directly at everything you hated about yourself.

Yuma was smiling as he walked over. And all you could think was that he was wasting his kindness, that there had to be people more deserving of it. People easier to love, people less exhausting, people who weren't a hassle.

The flowers sat in his hands like evidence that he cared, that he thought about you, that you mattered.

And the thought sat at the bottom of your throat like a stubborn dust-bunny that if he cared this much, then one day he was going to be disappointed.

One day he was going to realize you weren't the person he thought you were. One day he was going to see all the things you saw.

"Hey," Your boyfriend said, holding the flowers out toward you. His smile was warm as the sun on a winter afternoon. "I saw these on the way home." His smile was every sweetness in the world combined to make big beautful thing even poetry couldnt describe.

You took them carefully. Your hands felt strangely unsteady.

"They're beautiful," you managed.

And they were.

But as you looked down at them, all you could think was that beautiful things never seemed to belong in your hands.

Yuma sat beside you on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours, close enough that you could feel the familiar comfort of his presence. The venomous moth that sat on your lungs unfurled its wings and made the pressure on your ribs even more evident.

He was being kind for no reason other than wanting to be and you didn't know what to do with that.

The moth kept buzzing inside of you, listing all your flaws like a declaration and reminding you of every reason you supposedly didn't deserve to be sitting beside someone who cared about you this much.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Yuma hummed, tapping your thigh with his finger.

You looked at him, taking a shuddering breath and then looking back to the flowers. You ran a finger along one of the petals, feeling the softness of it. Though you'd given up everything other than numbness a long time ago, still, it was comforting to feel like softness. The petal bent beneath your fingertip, delicate enough that you worried you might damage it if you pressed too hard.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The television continued murmuring in the background, some half-forgotten show neither of you were really watching. Beside you, Yuma shifted.

"Are you okay?" he asked, quieter this time.

The question settled between you. You stared at the flowers. The moth beat its wings.

"No," would have been the honest answer.

Instead, you smiled faintly. "Thank you for the flowers."

Yuma's expression softened. "You're welcome."

"They were really sweet."

"They made me think of you."

The moth dug its claws deeper. You swallowed. "Which is still kind of crazy."

His eyebrow lifted. "Why?"

You laughed softly. The sound came out wrong. "I don't know." You traced another petal. "I just don't think I deserve things like this."

The words escaped before you could stop them. The moment they did, you regretted them. So you immediately tried to smooth them over.

"You know. Because I'm obviously a terrible flower owner." You held up the bouquet slightly. "These poor things have no idea what they've gotten themselves into."

Yuma didn't laugh. He knew you from head to toe and he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Pretending that was a joke doesn't make it one."

You groaned quietly. "Wow. Harsh."

"You know I'm right."

Unfortunately, he was. You focused very hard on a flower that suddenly seemed fascinating. The moth continued buzzing, listing, accumulating.

You felt Yuma move beside you. Then his hand slipped into yours. His fingers threaded between yours and squeezed gently.

"Why do you feel like that?" he asked.

You stared at your joined hands. "I don't know."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You sighed. "I genuinely don't know."

"You do."

The annoying thing about Yuma was that he always said things softly, patient enough that lying felt like an impossible task. You looked away—the television, the coffee table, the wall, anywhere but him.

"I think you're giving me way too much credit."

His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "That's not an answer."

"It kind of is."

"It isn't."

You huffed a laugh. "You're very persistent."

"I learned from the best."

You rolled your eyes. The gesture lacked any real annoyance. The silence stretched again.

The moth fluttered violently against your ribs.

You hated how vulnerable this felt, how difficult it was to say something that had lived inside your head for years. Your fingers tightened around his.

"I don't think I deserve you."

Your voice was barely a whisper. The confession sat in the air, small and fragile like a child in a church that had no idea what god it worshiped.

You laughed nervously. "There." You gestured vaguely. "Now we've identified the world's most pathetic thought."

Yuma's hand squeezed yours..

You risked a glance at him. There was no disappointment on his face, or frustration or exasperation. Just…..sadness.

"Baby."

Your eyes immediately dropped again. "I know."

His voice was gentle. "So do I."

You blinked. "What?"

"I know all the reasons you think that."

The moth went still, for the first time all evening.

"You've told yourself the same story for years." His thumb moved slowly across the back of your hand. "That everyone else deserves kindness more than you do."

Your throat tightened. "Yuma—"

"That if somebody helps you, they're doing it out of obligation." You looked away. "That if somebody stays, eventually they'll realize they shouldn't have."

The pressure behind your eyes became difficult to ignore. That was it. That was exactly it—the ugly thing you'd spent years trying to hide. Yuma looked down at your intertwined hands. Then back at you.

"And I think you've repeated that story so many times that it feels true." His smile was small and tender.

"But you've never stopped to consider that maybe you're just wrong."

"And what if I'm not?" You said, feeling a stupid tear roll down your cheek, the moth stirred again, "And what if I'm not wrong Yuma? What then?"

Silence stretched again, taut like mesh stockings. Yuma took a breath and just assessed you. He smiled again and chuckled.

Yuma huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. "It's funny."

"What is?"

"I was actually going to suggest we go to the beach tomorrow."

You blinked. "The beach?"

"Yeah." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "The beach." Yuma shifted closer on the couch. "Can I tell you my favorite thing about the ocean?"

You shrugged. "Sure."

He glanced toward the flowers in your lap before looking back at you. "Have you ever noticed how the waves keep coming back to the shore?"

You tilted your head and nodded, unsure where he was going with this. If this was a distraction mechanism, then damn was it working.

"The waves." His voice was soft. "They keep returning." He traced absent patterns against the back of your hand. "Again and again and again." You stared at him. "The shore pushes them away every single time." A lump formed in your throat. "But they come back anyway."

Yuma's gaze never left yours. "They know exactly what's going to happen." You looked down. The moth had gone strangely quiet. "They know the shore isn't going to leave with them."

His fingers squeezed yours gently. "They know they're going to be sent back." Another tear rolled down your face. "They even leave little gifts sometimes." His eyes flicked toward the flowers. "Shells, sea glass, little pieces of themselves."

Your vision blurred. "Yuma..."

"But they still come back."

His voice remained steady. "Again." The tears spilled freely now. "And again." You looked away. "And again." The bouquet trembled in your hands.

"They don't stop because the shore can't love them the way they love the shore." You sucked in a shaky breath. "They don't stop because it's difficult." The moth felt smaller now. "They don't stop because it would be easier to stay away." Your chest hurt. "They come back because that's where they want to be."

The room had become impossibly quiet. Only the television murmured somewhere in the distance. You stared down at the flowers.

The shore.

The sea.

You.

Yuma.

The realization hit with enough force to make your chest ache.

"Yuma..." Your voice broke completely.

His expression softened instantly. "Oh, sweetheart."

You covered your face. A sob escaped before you could stop it. The moth unfolded completely, and, for the first time in years, it stopped fighting.

Because you were exhausted. Exhausted from carrying it. Exhausted from arguing with every act of kindness. Exhausted from trying to earn things that had already been freely given.

"I don't understand why," you choked out.

"Why what?"

"Why you stay." The words came out through tears. "Why you're still here."

Yuma's eyes widened with heartbreak. He carefully took the flowers from your lap and set them on the coffee table. Then he turned back toward you.

"As if there's anywhere else I'd rather be."

You shook your head. "You don't get it."

"I do."

"No." Your shoulders trembled. "I'm a burden." The word tasted poisonous. "I am."

Yuma sighed. Then he reached up and gently brushed tears from your cheeks.

"Okay."

You blinked. "Okay?"

"If that's what you think." His hand cupped your face. "If you genuinely think you're a burden." His smile returned. "Then I'd still carry you."

Fresh tears spilled over immediately. Yuma laughed softly at your expression. "I mean it." His forehead rested against yours. "If you're a burden, then you're my burden."

"Yuma—"

"I'd carry you tomorrow." His nose brushed yours. "The day after that." Another tear slipped free. "Next year." You made a wounded sound. He smiled. "When we're old." Your eyes squeezed shut. "When we're grey." His voice dropped to a whisper. "When we're sitting on some beach somewhere complaining about our backs and arguing over what to have for dinner."

A laugh escaped through your sobs. "And if you're still convinced you're a burden then..." He kissed your forehead.

"I'll carry you then too."

The last of your defenses finally collapsed. You buried your face in his shoulder. Yuma immediately wrapped both arms around you, ho;ding you close as he always did. His hand moved slowly through your hair.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until the pressure in your chest loosened enough to let you breathe.

The waves really didn't know when to give up did they?

For a long time neither of you spoke. You simply sat there in his arms, the flowers resting nearby, the television forgotten, the moth finally quiet.

Maybe the dictionary had been right after all.

Here, wrapped safely in Yuma's arms, you realized something important.

Being carried and being loved had never been opposites. Sometimes they were the very same thing.

And if Yuma were to carry you?

He'd be carrying the weight of his entire world.

fin.

A/N: hahaha nooo this is totally not based off of irl experiences lmao wdym lol yes it is anyways wow we're on quite the fluff run nowadays is this a minhosimthings record

divider by @chrisssiren

@eu1joo @7yataki @frenchkisstheabyss @yumangel @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll @solairemelo @cece0710 + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!

yuma has always the jealous type. there was no reason for him to hide it, you genuinely liked how worked up he’d get over the slightest things. just like today. you, him, and a few of his members chose to hang out on the hottest day of all days. 

it's just an excuse to go and hang out somewhere less closed off. everyone planned to go to the beach and you already had him irritated. the second he saw you step out in those shorts and that stupid ass bikini top he was pissed. jaw clenched, arms crossed like you just killed someone.

y: “fuck no, please take it off.”

you: “b-”

he took a deep breath, cutting you off before you could even get a word out. hand sliding down his face.

y: “other men are gonna be there babe.”

you: “yuma, its literally the beach, calm down.”

he scoffed, eyes trailing over your body. he’s really trying to keep it together but that fucking top is testing evey inch of his self-control.

y: “calm down? i would’ve been calm if the bikini covered more than just your nipple.”

you: “what do you expect me to wear then? sweats and a hoodie.”

y: “that would be nice but you could at lease cover your fucking boobs.”

you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t even speak before he tossed one of his tees he grabbed from the chair. you don't even reach out to grab it, you just let it hit your chest then fall to the floor. you stare at him. he glares right back at you, not moving an inch.

y: “put it on or we’ll stay home.”

even though you felt bold, you bent over and picked it up. letting out a small sigh before tugging it over your head. he would much rather prefer to keep you home. but instead he opens the door for you with a hand on your hip, voice low in your ear.

y: “if anyone stares too long we’ll have a problem, pretty girl.”

the drive to the beach wasn't long. you were already sweating. thighs stuck together because of the heat. the boys were already there and set up, a couple of towels, and a few snacks. only harua, nicho, juju, and kei were there so yuma felt a little less stressed. 

being outside was nice. the ocean breeze, the sunset glow, everyone doing their own thing. kei was laid out in the sand somewhere with his girl curled into his side, all soft kisses and shared headphones. juju had disappeared with yuma earlier, giggling about something and dragging him toward the shoreline. you didn’t think much of it. just sat between nicho and harua, the three of you scrolling, laughing, teasing each other like it was just another beach day.

you were doubled over laughing at a dumbass video harua showed you, head resting on his shoulder while your fingers brushed against nicho’s thigh. harmless? nah, you knew it wasn’t. you did it with intent, intent to piss yuma off. you didn’t realize how nicho had stopped laughing. how his eyes had stayed on your face a little too long. how harua’s smirk twitched when you playfully leaned into him.

yuma noticed. quick.

he saw everything the moment he returned. saw your pretty smile aimed at someone else. your thighs tucked under you, pressed too close between two other guys. saw nicho looking at you like he wanted to kiss you. saw your hand on harua’s arm like you didn’t belong to someone already.

and then?

nothing. no words. just silence and a blur of movement. you gasped as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. not gently either. he yanked you up from the sand so fast your phone tumbled into the blanket. he didn’t even look at the others. didn’t say a single word.

he just started walking, dragging you behind him. his grip was tight. too tight. jaw clenched. steps sharp. your heart thundered.

you: “yuma-?”

still nothing.

he walked you all the way to the car in silence, shoved the door open, and gestured for you to get in. when you didn’t move fast enough, he leaned in close. too close. his breath, hot against your cheek.

y: “get in the car.”

you’d never heard him voice sound this way. voice low. quiet. dangerous. you slipped into the seat, pulse racing, thighs pressed together, suddenly very aware of what you’d done. yuma slammed the door shut behind you and walked around to the driver's side. when he got in, he didn’t start the engine. just sat there. staring at you.

until he finally spoke, voice cold as ice:

y: “you wanna tell me why you were all over them?”

you: “w-wha-”

y: “you wanna act stupid now?”

you look away, heart pounding the second he leaned in closer.

y: “you were all touchy, smiley. holding onto harua like you’re with him or something.”

you: “yuma, i wasn-”

y: “dont fucking lie to me. if i didnt come back, harua would’ve had your ass in his lap. nicho was damn near ready to kiss you. and you? you just sat there eating it up.”

you flinch at his tone. he was sharp, possessive. you stay silent, lips parted like you had something to say. but, you didnt. you liked this. you liked the way he talked to you. the way he watched from afar, the way you knew you’d piss him off. you just didn't think it would get this far.

you: “they’re our friends.”

y: “that wasn’t friendship. you wanted a reaction.”

you: “maybe if you didn't walk off with-”

y: “i don't wanna hear that shit. you knew what you were doing.”

he’s right. but you won’t give him the satisfaction. his voice cracks sharp like a slap, eyes blazing. you shift in your seat, thighs squeezing, heat rushing between your legs. he doesn’t even speak. he just opens the door, walks around, yanks your door open, and pulls you out by the wrist again.

you: “yuma- what are you-”

y: “get in the backseat.”

you: “are you ser-”

y: “now.”

your breath stutters. you climb in. he slams the door shut behind him. your heart was pounding like a warning siren. the air in the car is thick. too hot, too tense, like the argument is still echoing off the windows. you sit on your knees, turning around just in time for him to slam the door and lunge across the seat toward you.

you: “yuma-”

he kisses you hard. more teeth than lips. all spite and jealousy, hand already shoved under your top to grope your tits with no patience. he’s breathing like he just ran a mile, every part of him buzzing with restraint.

y: “you wanted this, right? wanted me pissed off? wanted to make me jealous?”

you: “i-i wasn’t trying-”

he drags your shorts down so fast you yelp, underwear tearing halfway off when he pushes them aside instead of bothering to pull them down.

y: “shut up. i don’t wanna hear you lie.”

his fingers find your slit, already soaked. you moan into his shoulder, thighs twitching when two fingers slide in without warning. he curls them slow and deep, smirking when you gasp.

you: “yuma- please-”

y: “nah. say it.”

he scissors his fingers inside you, thumb pressing hard on your clit.

y: “you were doing that shit, on purpose.”

you try to hold it in, head dropping forward, but he grabs your face with his free hand, thumb digging into your cheek.

y: “say it.”

you: “i-i was just-”

y: “say. it.”

he pulls his fingers out and slaps your pussy. your whole body jolts.

you: “i wanted to piss you off.”

he freezes.

you: “i wanted to see how mad you’d get. wanted you to- fuck- want me like this.”

his lips twitch. not a smile. something darker.

y: “you’re a real piece of work.”

he grabs your hips, flips you onto your stomach, pushes your face into the seat cushion. the next thing you feel is his belt unbuckling behind you. fast. messy. the slide of denim and heat against your bare ass making your mouth go dry.

he doesn’t prep. doesn’t ask. just spits in his hand, strokes himself once, and sinks into you in one brutal thrust. you scream into the seat.

y: “this what you wanted, right?”

he fucks into you like he’s trying to silence every bratty word you’ve ever said.

y: “you wanted me to lose my shit? drag you out of there like you’re my fucking property?”

he pulls out and slams back in. the car shakes with every thrust. your fingers claw the leather seat. you're babbling. moaning, gasping, eyes rolled back.

you: “yuma- f-fuck, its’too much-”

y: “no it’s not.”

he grabs your throat, lifts you up slightly so he can fuck into you at a deeper angle.

y: “you can take it. little tease like you can take it.”

you’re crying by the time he brings his hand back to your clit, rubbing it hard and fast as his cock pounds you open from behind. your legs are trembling. your mouth won’t stop spilling apologies and curses.

you: “i’m sorry- i’m sorry- i just wan-”

y: “you got what you wanted.”

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. it rips through your spine and leaves you shaking, thighs twitching uncontrollably, drool smearing the seat cushion. yuma doesn’t stop. not until you go limp, not until he spills deep inside you with a grunt and stays there, breath ragged, arms caging you in.

silence.

you’re still panting when he leans forward, presses a kiss to your shoulder.

y: “next time you wanna make me jealous,”

he bites your neck, slow.

y: “just fucking ask.”