#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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Koga Yudai

When your darling, extremely tall boyfriend had asked you to help him out in the kitchen, you'd expected a romantic cooking session with you sitting on the countertop and him cooking and love dancing in the air. You'd pictured soft lighting, maybe a glass of wine, definitely some slow music playing from his phone.

And here you were helping him boil chicken breasts.

How romantic.

"Aww, is my baby pouting?" Kei said, not even looking up from the pot he was stirring. His voice was calm and teasing—entirely too amused for someone who was making the most boring meal on the planet.

"I am not." You lied, crossing your arms. "I'm just...thinking."

"About what?"

"About why I'm standing here watching water bubble when I could be doing literally anything else."

Kei finally turned to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. He was wearing an apron that was two sizes too small—it was yours, pink with little strawberries on it—and he looked so damn gorgeous, as always.

"You're helping me meal prep for my dance classes," he said, as if that explained everything. "which is very important."

"It's chicken, Kei. It's literally just chicken." You deadpanned at your boyfriend.

He sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that was meant to make you feel guilty but only made you want to poke him. "Alright then. If you're going to be so miserable, at least sit up here so I can see your pretty face."

Before you could protest, he'd crossed the kitchen, wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you onto the counter—classic him behaviour. You squeaked, grabbing his shoulders for balance and he grinned—that expression that always made your heart do two little flips.

"There." He said, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you're officially the countertop princess."

"I hate you." You said, but you were already smiling.

"You love me." He corrected, turning back to the chicken. "You love me and my boring meal prep."

You watched him for a moment, the way his apron strings were tied in a crooked bow at his back—so silly, silly enough to make you feel the warmth of a thousand suns inside your soul.

"I'm bored."You announced.

"Noted."

"Kei."

"Mm?"

"I'm bored."

"Hmm." Your boyfriend turned around and there was that teasing glint in his eyes again. "Well now we'll have to fix that wont we?"

He crossed back to you, planted his hands on either side of your thighs and leaned in. His lips found your forehead first—a soft, quick kiss.

Then your nose. Then your cheek. Then the other cheek. Then your chin—each press of his sosft lips was light and quick, a little parade of affection that made you giggle and squirm.

"Kei—" You laughed, trying to push his face away, but he just caught your wrists and pressed another kiss to your palm.

"Better?" He asked, pulling back just enough to look at you.

You tried to keep a straight face, you really did. But the way his eyes were soft and warm (like that chicken breast trying to call for his attention from the pot), his gentle smile, the way he was standing there in your strawberry apron—you cracked.

"Maybe a little," You admitted.

Your beloved kissed your forehead one more time, then turned back to the chicken. "Good. Now hand me the salt."

Oh what were you to do with this darling man you loved so much?

Murata Fuma

It really was no surprise that Murata Fuma loved you more than many things in his life.

So much so that he would sit solemnly comforting you as you cried about the batch of cookies you'd tried to bake for him while he was gone, thinking fate would favour your unskilled hands for once.

Fate did no such thing, which led to your current position of being wrapped in Fuma's arms, flour and splatters of other ingredients covering your kiss-the-cook apron.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice soft and low against your hair. "Hey, hey, hey. They can't have been that bad."

You sniffled, pointing weakly at the baking sheet on the counter. "Look at them." Fuma looked, his eyebrows rising slightly.

The cookies were.….well. They were black on the bottom, pale on top and had spread into one giant, misshapen blob that vaguely resembled a map of a country that didn't exist. One of them had cracked in half and was now leaking raw dough onto the tray.

"Oh," he said, very diplomatically. "Oh, wow. That's...that's definitely a cookie."

"Fuma."

"It's a creative cookie."

"Fuma!"

"I'm being supportive!" He held up both hands in surrender though the grin was already breaking through. "It's got personality. It's got—" He squinted at it. "—is that a piece of eggshell?"

You buried your face in his chest with a groan. "I hate baking. I hate it so much."

"No, you don't, sweetheart." Your husband said, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. "You hate failing at baking."

"Same thing."

"Not even close." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands and wiping a smear of flour off your cheek with his thumb. "Come on. We'll do it together. How hard can it be?"

"Famous last words." You sniffled, though a little part of you was giggling inside trying to imagine him baking.

Fuma was already rolling up his sleeves, grabbing the flour with the confidence of a man who had never once considered that baking required actual skill. You watched him dump an alarming amount of flour into a bowl and felt a fresh wave of dread.

"Fuma, that's way too much." You said, eyes widened in…fear?

"Baking is an art, baby. Art has no rules." Fuma said solemlnly, getting to work.

Twenty minutes later, you were both covered in flour and Fuma was staring at a bowl of what could only be described as cement. He'd added milk to thin it out, then more flour to thicken it, then more milk, then more flour,and now the mixture had the consistency of wet sand and the colour of regret.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So, slight issue."

"Slight?"

"I may have over-floured."

"May have?"

Fuma looked at yo and his face was so genuinely confused and so completely covered in white dust that you couldn't help but let out the loud and helpless laugh that had been bubbling in your throat ever since he asked if water and milk were interchangeable in a baking recipe. You doubled over, gripping the counter for support.

"Don't laugh!" He whined, but he was laughing too, a warm sound that filled the kitchen. "This is a serious culinary crisis."

"It's a disaster," you wheezed. "It's a war crime."

Fuma smiled mischievously, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it at you. It puffed into a cloud around your face and you shrieked, grabbing a spoon to fling batter at him. He dodged, but not fast enough—a glob landed right on his nose.

You both just stared at each other, covered in chaos and then Fuma burst out laughing so hard he had to lean on the counter too.

"Okay," he said, wiping his eyes. "Okay, new plan."

"What new plan?" You asked, curious to know what your husband's colourful mind was planning this time.

Fuma pulled out his phone, tapped a few times and held it up. On the screen was a delivery app, and he'd already added a tub of cookie dough ice cream to the cart.

"We order this," he said, "and we pretend we're eating our cookies."

"Fuma, that's not even the same thing." You giggled, slapping his chest playfully. He clicked his tongue and pulled you close by the waist.

"It's close enough." He grinned, pressing a floury kiss to your forehead. "Plus, anything's sweet when it's with you, my sweetheart."

The day you tasted something sweeter than Fuma's love would probably be the day you two finally learn to make cookies.

Wang 'Nicholas' Yixiang

There are very few things in the world that are as precious as your boyfriend's smile—and that's saying something considering you'd seen him fast asleep in your lap, yet another treasure of a memory to keep wrapped in parchment and the walls of your heart.

The radiance that filled his face when you suggested making Taiwanese food together for date night instead of going out rivalled the sun itself.

"Really?" Nicholas had asked, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "You want to make dan bing?"

"I want you to teach me" You'd said and the way he'd pulled you into a hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you once, had been worth every ounce of anxiety you felt about potentially ruining his favourite childhood food.

Now here you were, standing in your kitchen, flour dusting the counter and a bowl of beaten eggs waiting beside a stack of scallions Nicholas had chopped with surprising precision. He'd rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms and was now explaining the process with the enthusiasm of a man who had been waiting his whole life for this moment.

"So," he said, gesturing at the ingredients, "the key is the batter. It has to be thin, like, thin thin. My grandmother used to say it should be thin enough to see your reflection."

"She's going to be so disappointed in me." You said, knowing 100% that your batter was going to be thicker than foam.

"I'll defend you from her angel, don't worry." Nicholas said, raising his hand in a silly little salute.

You laughed, watching him pour the batter onto the hot pan. It sizzled, spreading into a perfect, delicate circle. He moved with such ease, tilting the pan to coat the surface, then sprinkling the scallions and pouring the egg over the top.

"Okay, now we flip." He announced.

"Wait, shouldn't you—"

Nicholas flipped. The pancake folded in on itself, crumpling into an accordion of egg and dough that landed in a sad, lumpy heap.

"Uh…." he said.

"Is that supposed to happen?"

"No….." He stared at the mess. "No, that was not supposed to happen."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. "Maybe you need to be more gentle?"

"I was gentle!" Your boyfriend defended himself, lips forming into the cutest pout to ever exist in the history of men who sulk after failing to get a very complex dish right on the first try. He pointed the spatula at you, grinning. "Okay, smarty pants. You try."

You stepped up to the pan, feeling his eyes on you as you poured the batter. You spread it carefully, added the egg and when it came time to flip, you did it slowly, holding your breath.

Somehow the universe decided it wasn't your time yet and the pancake landed perfectly. You might as well have bought lottery tickets today.

"Whoa" Nicholas breathed. "Okay, that was impressive."

"I have many hidden talents." You said, tilting your head with a smug smile, which brought a sweet one to his face. God he loved you so much.

Nicholas reached for the sauce, squeezing a line of sweet chili across the pancake before rolling it up with a flourish. He cut it into pieces and held one out to you. "Try it."

You took a bite. The pancake was warm and soft, the egg silky, the sauce just the right amount of sweet and spicy. It was simple, but it tasted like something special.

"It's good." You said, and his whole face lit up, "Really good."

Your boyfriend beamed, taking a piece for himself. You finished the rest of the batch together, laughing every time a pancake went wrong, cheering every time one went right. By the end, you were both full and happy and the kitchen a disaster zone of flour and eggshells.

"Best date night ever." Nicholas declared, pulling you into his arms.

"Now now mister." You gasped in faux offense, "Have you really forgotten the best bit?"

Nicholas raised a brow and gave you a kiss to your cheek, "Now how could I ever do that, my angel?"

You reached for your phone, scrolling through a playlist until you found something slow and soft. The music filled the kitchen and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he swayed with you, his cheek pressed against your hair.

"Now this is a date night." you whispered.

He laughed, spinning you once before pulling you close again. "Best date night ever," he repeated, and you couldn't help but agree.

Music and thin batters—there really wasn't much else to the idea of love than this.

Byun Euijoo

If there was one thing your husband loved to do, it was watch you with the widest eyes ever as you cooked him something or the other. It was practically free therapy for Euijoo, watching you calmly stir a pot and hum a song that he'd add to all his playlists later.

He'd come home twenty minutes ago, still in his work clothes— a slightly rumpled dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened around his neck. He'd kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag by the door and made a beeline for the kitchen island, where he now sat like a kid watching a magic show.

"You're staring." You said, not looking up from the pan.

"I know."

"It's a little intense."

"I know." Euijoo responded again, "You're doing great."

You finally glanced at him and he was exactly where you expected him to be: perched on one of the stools, chin resting on his palm, eyes wide and fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. His tie was crooked and his hair was slightly mussed from a long day. He looked exhausted yet utterly content—how handsome, you though.

"How was work?" You asked, turning back to the stove.

"It was alright." He hummed

"Just alright?"

"Mm. There was a meeting. Then another meeting. Then a meeting about the meeting." Euijoo sighed.

"That sounds terrible." You said, sticking your tongue out in concentration as you watched your concoctions come to life.

"It was." Your husband sighed dramatically. "But now I'm here, watching my beautiful wife cook and everything is right with the world."

You felt your cheeks warm. "You're so cheesy."

"You married me, my love." Euijoo smiled, his eyes crinkling into half moons.

"Questionable decision on my part." You joked.

"Best decision you ever made."

You laughed, shaking your head as you stirred the sauce. "Do you want to help? I could use someone to chop the vegetables."

"You sure you want me in the kitchen after the last incident?" Euijoo asked, reminding of you the time he'd somehow cut through the pit of an avocado.

"You're alright at chopping." You giggled; teasing your husband certainly was fun, especially when you looked up and he was looking at you with those pretty widened eyes again—full of mock-offense. "Okay, then what do you want to do?"

Your husband tilted his head, pretending to think about it. Then his eyes lit up with that mischievous glint you knew so well. "I could help by giving the cook some kisses."

You snorted. "That's not helping."

"It's moral support." Euijoo supported his argument with facts, "Essential for the cooking process, my love. Everyone knows that."

You couldn't even persent your side of the debate before Euijoo slid off the stool and crossed the kitchen. Before you could protest, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind and he pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

"Euijoo—"

"I'm helping." He mumbled against your skin.

"You're in the way, baby." You said, though you leaned into his warmth.

"I'm assisting."

You tried to stir the pot but he was clinging to you like a koala, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm on your neck. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, your jaw and your cheek.

"Euijoo, I can't cook like this."

"That's okay. The food can wait." His voice was a soft vibration against your skin.

Euijoo turned you around gently, his hands finding your waist and he kissed your forehead. The gesture was so soft and tender that you felt your heart squeeze in your chest. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes tired from the long day, but still so full of love.

"You're an idiot." You said, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"I'm your idiot." Euijoo replied, pressing one final kiss to your lips. He pulled you into a proper impromptu hug, like he usually did after a long day, burying his face in your hair. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." You said, "Now let me cook."

"Five more minutes."

You sighed but you didn't push him away. You just stood there, wrapped in his arms, listening to him hum the song you'd been singing earlier.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Mm?"

"I think the onions are burning."

Whatever were you to do with this man who held so much love for you within him?

Nakakita Yuma

"Is it supposed to look like that?"

You were expecting to see the dumpling wrapper dough maybe a bit too soggy or too dry when you turned to see what your boyfriend had made. But nope.

The dough was somehow a very pretty shade of blue.

Yuma stood at the counter, staring down at the bowl like it had conspired against him. The dough was a soft, pastel blue—like someone had dyed it with a hint of sky and a splash of morning. It actually looked kind of pretty. It also looked absolutely nothing like dumpling dough.

"Yuma," you said slowly, setting down your own rolling pin. "Why is it blue?"

"I don't know," he said, his voice pitched somewhere between confusion and panic. "I followed the recipe. Flour, water, salt—that's it. That's all I used."

"Clearly not!"

"I swear!" Yuma frowned at the bowl. His hands were dusted with flour, a little streak of it across his cheek and his hair was already falling messily over his forehead from all the times he’d pushed it back.

You walked over, peering into the bowl. The dough was smooth and unmistakably blue. You looked at Yuma, Yuma looked at you, just two souls who knew batshit about cooking attempting to make one of the hardest dishes on earth.

His eyes drifted to the spatula lying on the counter—the one with a faint, telltale smear of blue food coloring still clinging to its edge.

"Oh." Yuma said.

"Oh?"

"I used that spatula." he cringed, "From the time we tried to make galaxy cupcakes."

Also known as the time you'd somehow created liquid from baked cupcakes, you thought, staring at your darling boyfriend who currently looked like a cat caught by its scruff.

“We poisoned the dough with blue.” He said, making you laugh hard. "We're hopeless," he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "We're absolutely hopeless."

"Completely." you agreed, still giggling. "But you know what? I think we should use it anyway."

He raised an eyebrow. "Use the blue dough?"

"Come on," you coaxed, nudging his shoulder. "Blue dumplings. We'll be the first people in history to make them. We'll be pioneers."

"Pioneers of disaster." Your beloved snorted though he was already reaching for the dough—he loved you far too much to question any of your creative liberties, "If we get food poisoning, I'm blaming you."

The next hour was chaos. The dough was sticky and stubborn, refusing to roll out into neat circles. Yuma's dumplings came out lumpy and misshapen, some of them more like sad little blobs than actual dumplings.

Yours weren't much better—one of yours looked suspiciously like a potato, and another had split open, leaking filling onto the tray.

"This one looks like a ghost." Yuma announced, holding up a particularly pale, misshapen dumpling.

"It looks like a blobfish."

"It looks like a blobfish ghost."

You laughed and he grinned, the chaos between the two of you feeling perfect—what is love if not the matching of each other's chaoses anyways? When the dumplings were finally assembled—all twenty of them, each one uglier than the last—you steamed them and set them on a plate.

They were blue. Very, very blue, and lumpy and a little bit sad.

"Baby, they're beautiful." Yuma declared and you were far too defeated by dumplings to argue otherwise because if you looked from an angle, indeed they were beautiful. He picked one up, blew on it and held it out to you. "Try it."

You hesitated. "If I die, I'm haunting you." You took a bite.

It was...actually not terrible. The dough was a little thick, the filling a little salty, but it was somehow nice on your tongue, your tastebuds weren't even screaming for water. Maybe you two were culinary geniuses after all.

"Well?" Yuma asked, watching you with wide eyes.

"It's good." You admitted.

"See?" Yuma said with a smug smile spread across his handsome face, "Anything made with enough love is delicious."

"Made with love and a suspicious amount of food coloring?"

"Same thing, baby"

You rolled your eyes, but you reached for another dumpling anyways. And when Yuma leaned over to press a floury kiss to your cheek, you didn't even flinch. You just smiled and the blue dumplings didn't seem so ugly after all.

They were as pristine and perfect as the love that danced between the two of you.

Asakura Jo

It is said that to bake is an art (by some pretentious people who defiently did not know how to bake). And who better to join you in your adventures than your personal artist, Asakura Jo?

The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of vanilla and butter. Jo stood across from you at the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a smear of flour on his cheek that he hadn't noticed yet. He was mixing the batter with careful strokes, his brow furrowed in concentration like he was painting a masterpiece rather than making blueberry muffins.

"You're doing great." You said, reaching over to adjust the bowl.

He looked up and for a moment, his eyes caught yours. Then he looked away quickly, a faint pink blooming across his cheeks. His ears, as always, deceived him first—the tips turning a soft, rosy red.

"Thank you." He mumbled, focusing very intently on the batter.

You smiled, turning back to your own task of lining the muffin tin. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught him glancing at you again. His gaze lingered for just a second too long before he snapped it back to the bowl.

"Jo?"

"Mm?"

"You're staring."

"I—no, I wasn't." His ears went from pink to deep red in an instant. "I was just—" He gestured vaguely with the whisk. "—checking your technique."

"My technique?"

"Yes. Your...muffin technique."

You were a hundred and one percent sure you'd combust because of this man's adorableness one day. God you loved seeing him so flustered by you doing absolutely nothing.

You laughed and he ducked his head, but you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was so gentle and shy and it made your heart ache in the best way.

"Okay," you said, deciding to take pity on him. "If you're done checking my technique, can you pass me the blueberries?"

Jo nodded, reaching for the container. As he handed it over, his fingers brushed yours and his ears went tomato again.

"Thank you, baby." You said softly. Jo looked away quickly, smiling sheepishly.

You turned back to the muffins, dropping a handful of blueberries into each liner. Jo resumed his mixing and for a while, the only sounds were the soft scrape of the whisk and the hum of the oven preheating.

You could feel his eyes on you again.

You didn't say anything this time. You just let him look, let him watch you work and allowed him to admire you in his quiet way. It was sweet, really—the way he couldn't quite help himself, his gaze kept drifting back to you. You were his muse after all, the only thing those talented hands could etch onto paper sometimes.

When the batter was ready, Jo poured it into the liners, his hands steady despite his current I-will-die-because-my-girlfriend-is-so-pretty state. You watched him work, noticing the way he bit his lip in concentration, the way he tapped the tin gently to settle the batter.

"These are going to be so good." He said, more to himself than to you.

"I think so too."

Jo looked up, and this time, he didn't look away. "Thanks for doing this with me."

"Thanks for being my baking partner." You replied, smiling sweetly, which did something to his heart.

Y reached up and brushed your thumb across his cheek, wiping away the smear of flour. "You had a little something" You said.

His ears went crimson. "Oh. I—thanks."

You held up your thumb, showing him the flour. Then, on impulse, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the flour had been. Jo went completely still. His face was a brilliant shade of red now, spreading from his ears to his neck.

"Y-you—" he stammered.

"Flour's gone now." You said innocently.

The muffins turned out perfect, by the way. Neither of you noticed much, too busy stealing glances and smiling at each other across the kitchen and intertwining your hands below the counter.

What else is a lovesick artist to do?

Shigeta Harua

In hindsight, you should have known that when you and Harua decided to do cookie decorating, about half an hour would be spent deciding the icing colours.

They say like poles repel, but when it came to your collective indecisiveness? Oh, you two were two birds of a feather.

Could anybody blame you though? All the colours were far too fun to choose just one.

"Okay, but hear me out," Harua said, holding up two bottles of icing—one a soft pastel pink, the other a vibrant coral. "What if we use both?"

"We only have one piping bag, Rua" You sighed, such a tragedy it was indeed.

"We can wash it." He said, his bottom lip jutted out in that pout he knew you couldn't resist.

"Fine," you sighed. "But we're using the pink first."

"Yes!" He pumped his fist, nearly knocking over a jar of sprinkles in his excitement. You both lunged for it, hands colliding and then you were both laughing—the joy of love—the jar safely caught between your palms.

"Careful." You said, your voice softer than you intended.

"Always," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The next hour was pure chaos.

Harua's cookies were a menagerie of questionable decisions—a star with googly eyes, a heart with legs, a gingerbread man who had somehow acquired a monocle and a top hat. Yours weren't much better. You'd made a snowman that looked more like a wailing ghost and a tree that had more sprinkles than actual cookie.

"Okay, okay," Harua said, waving his piping bag like a conductor's baton. "I'm about to create something masterful."

You leaned over to watch as he worked, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. He piped carefully, his hand steady—a round face, two little eyes, a smile, then a body, small and neat, with little arms and legs.

"Is that...?"

"Us." He confirmed. "It's us."

You looked closer. There was a little figure with fluffy hair that was unmistakably Harua, and beside it, a smaller figure with your style of hair piped very masterfully indeed. They were holding hands. Tiny hearts floated above their heads.

"Harua…" You breathed, not knowing what to say.

"Do you like it?" His voice was shy and hopeful, his eyes searching yours.

"I love it." You said; you loved it with your whole being.

Harua's whole face lit up like a sunrise, his magnificent features captivating you. Before you even really thought about it—you dipped your finger into the pink icing and swiped it across his nose.

"Hey!" He gasped, touching his nose and coming away with a pink smear. He was already reaching for his own icing. Before you could dodge, he swiped a line of blue frosting across your cheek.

"You started it!" He said, laughing.

"I regret nothing." Your laughter turning into a surprised shriek as he lunged, dodging around the counter. He chased you in a circle, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Finally, he caught you, his hands gentle on your waist, pulling you close.

"Got you." he murmured. He looked at you, his eyes soft, his smile warm. The pink icing was still on his nose and the blue was still on your cheek. Neither of you moved to wipe it off.

Harua leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Can I kiss you?"

"You have frosting on your lips." You giggled, understanding his plan immedietely.

You kissed him anyway—his lips tasting even sweeter with all the sugary love in the air. When you pulled back, your boyfriend was smiling like he'd just won the lottery.

"We should eat our cookies." he said, a statement to which you solemnly agreed.

You picked up the cookie with the two little figures and he picked up his monstrosity with the monocle. You bit into yours, he bit into his and you both chewed in comfortable silence.

"Yours is better." he said.

"They're the same cookie." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"Yours is made with love." Harua said, leaning in once more to press a kiss to the corner of your lips which made you giggle.

"You made both of them, Rua!"

Who was Harua to argue with his beloved?

Takayama Riki

"I'll get it right this time, I swear."

Was the sentence you had been hearing for the past hour as you watched your poor boyfriend struggle to get an omelette right. Truly, it was now your life's mission to fight whoever had invented this damned recipe—how dare they bring a frown upon your Taki's face?

He stood at the stove, shoulders slumped, staring at the pan where his third attempt at a Japanese omelette sat in a broken heap. The first one had been too runny. The second one had stuck to the pan and torn apart.

This one? This one had folded in on itself like a crumpled letter, all wrong angles and uneven layers.

"It's okay." You said gently, stepping up beside him.

"It's not okay." His voice was small and frustrated. "It's supposed to be soft and fluffy and—and pretty. And I can't even make one stupid egg roll without it falling apart."

Taki set the spatula down with a clatter, running a hand through his hair. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed and the sight of him so defeated made your chest ache.

"I practiced, okay? I watched like ten videos. I thought I could—I wanted to make you something nice, and I just—"

"Taki."

He stopped, finally looking at you. His eyes were a little glassy and your heart broke just a tiny bit. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands.

"Hey. Look at me." He did, staring up at you with those darling eyes that could have convinced even the moon to come down, "I don't need a perfect omelette," you said softly. "I need you. And I need you to stop being so hard on yourself."

Your boyfriend opened his mouth to argue, but you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. You repeated the same to each of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

"What are you doing, baby?" He asked, his voice cracking with a hint of a laugh.

"Kissing the frustration away."

He snorted, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes.

"Now," you said, picking up the spatula, "we're going to try again. Together You show me what to do, and I'll help. If it fails, we fail together, yeah?"

Taki merely stared for a long moment, wondering how the universe had gifted him such an amazing soul to call his.

"Together." He said, finally.

You stood side by side, Taki's hand over yours as you whisked the eggs. He guided you through the process—how to pour them into the pan, how to tilt it just right, how to roll the layers with the chopsticks. His voice was patient, his movements gentle and when the omelette started to take shape, you both held your breath.

It wasn't perfect, of course the perfect one needed years of practice in an isolated cave. It was a little lopsided on one end and the layers weren't as clean as the ones in the videos. But it held together and was edible enough.

"We did it." Taki whispered. He slid the omelette onto a plate and held it out to you with both hands, like it was a gift more precious than gold. You took a bite and it was fluffy and a little bit salty.

"Perfect!" you said, "So when are we opening our restaurant?"

Taki laughed and you pulled him into a kiss—soft and sweet, tasting just a bit like eggs, effort and wholly like love.

Riki Wilhelm Mauss

All it took Maki Wilhelm Mauss was one puppy-eyed look and one whiny "Baby please?" for you to join him on his "amazing chef time where spiciness itself will be conquered."

And now here you were, comforting a grown man as he continued insisting that he was completely fine, even though his eyes were half red and he looked close to passing out.

"I'm fine," Maki croaked, gripping the kitchen counter like his life depended on it. "Totally fine. This is nothing."

"Maki, you're sweating."

"It's hot in here."

You glanced out the window at the snowflakes falling in a perpetual motion and decided not to say anything, choosing to look pitifully at your boyfriend, his eyes watering, his lips slightly swollen from the heat.

The plate of doom sat between you—a monstrosity of crushed hot Cheetos, chopped chilies, a suspicious amount of tajín and whatever else he'd thrown in during his "creative process."

"Baby…" you said softly.

"I'm fine." He replied quickly.

"Your face is red."

"It's my natural glow."Maki said, opening his mouth to argue further, then let out a tiny, pitiful whimper instead. His hand flew to his mouth and he turned away, trying to hide the way his eyes were now streaming.

You sighed—fondly, because it was impossible to be anything but fond of this disaster of a man—and walked to the fridge.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Saving you."

You pulled out the tub of vanilla ice cream and grabbed a spoon. Maki watched you with confused, watery eyes as you hopped up onto the kitchen counter, settling yourself right between his hands.

"What are you—"

"Open up."

You scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and held it to his lips. He blinked at you, his mouth falling open slightly—not to accept the spoon, but out of sheer bewilderment.

"Eat."

Your boyfriend obeyed. The moment the cold sweetness hit his tongue, his whole body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, his eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a sound that was almost a moan of relief.

"Oh my god," he breathed.

"Better?"

"So much better."

You scooped another spoonful, and he accepted it eagerly, his eyes fixed on you with that look—the one that made your heart do little flips. Puppy-eyed and soft and full of something that felt a lot like adoration. It was the way he usually looked at you, his beloved who was half his soul.

"You're amazing." He mumbled around the spoon.

"I know."

"You're my hero."

"I know."

"You're the love of my life."

"I know."

He pouted. "You're supposed to say it back."

You laughed, scooping up another spoonful. "I love you too, you spicy disaster."

He grinned, his cheeks still flushed, his eyes still red-rimmed. But all that mattered at the moment was that damn smile.

You fed him the rest of the ice cream, spoonful by spoonful, your legs swinging gently from your spot on the counter. He leaned into you between bites, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, mumbling little "I love you"s into your sweater.

"I love you." He said again, his voice muffled.

"I know, baby."

"I love you so much."

"I know."

"I'm never eating spicy food again."

"Liar."

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. "Okay, maybe I'll try again. But only if you're here to save me."

He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss was soft and sweet, tasting faintly of vanilla and the lingering heat of chilies. His hands came up to cup your face, gentle and warm, and when you pulled back, he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" You hummed, and you could already feel that he was about to say something weird.

"For being my ice cream."

Yep, half your soul.

A/N: ik this is really simple i lowkey dont know how to write simple scenes lol but yeah yipeee i hope you guys enjoyed the stuff of which half i wrote in my notes app at work

divider by @starrliqhtt

@eu1joo @7yataki @frenchkisstheabyss @yumangel @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll @solairemelo @cece0710 @/someonerandom909 @saturnsfae @cottonauroras @kpoplover-00005 @heeseungswifeee + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!

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.

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.”