1 - 20 of 61 Works by sphereisim
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Fuma is a generous person, maybe even to a fault, but something about Kei makes him so fucking hungry. The idea of sharing makes his heart twist and stomach juice itself. So he leaves marks all over Kei’s skin, wraps an arm around his waist, protects him with everything he has.
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Kei stares at the name in his locket. Murata Fuma. It’s a pretty name, one Kei’s never heard before. Their fates are intertwined, and the name might as well be carved into his heart.
Parasocial is the English word Maki uses to describe their relationship—or lack thereof. Kei understands he won’t know him tomorrow—can’t know him. There’s a world separating them, keeping Kei from overstepping his bounds.
Kei will see Fuma at his best and worst and everything in between. He’ll be forced to watch him from a distance and it’ll have to be enough. But Kei can’t stray too far. For whatever reason, Fuma needs him now more than ever.
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“You like it,” he says. He’s smiling in the way he always does when he knows he’s got Fuma cornered. “You like being called hyung.”
Fuma doesn’t realize his hand has moved from Kei’s hair until he squeezes his own thigh so hard he nearly passes out. Blood is traveling everywhere but his brain. Kei waits patiently for him to respond, bottom lip rolled between his teeth like Fuma isn’t actively crumbling.
Fuma must have done something really good in his past life—saved a bus full of children, maybe?—because the prettiest boy in the world is kissing his neck and calling him hyung.
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It’s times like this when Fuma feels like the older one—the hyung. The kids are long gone but he still has someone to take care of. He’s the only one who’ll ever see Kei like this, and the thought makes his alpha beam with pride.
Fuma’s gotten good at reading between the lines. Kei doesn’t say much, just hugs him a little tighter and kisses his neck again. With a soft “Fuma-kun,” he lets Fuma carry him to their bedroom and gently kick the door closed.
(or, fuma helps yudai let go.)
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“How long has it been?” Mike asks. “Since you’ve eaten?” His hand is still on top of Will’s. They’ve never been this close before.
Will moves closer. “Weeks,” he says. Mike’s eyes widen. “It’s never been this bad.”
Mike stares at him for a moment, and Will can’t bear to keep his eyes open. He can taste the air between them and it’s making him sick. Will’s suddenly too hot under the blankets, undead heart pounding against his ribcage.
When he finally opens his eyes again, Mike pulls at the collar of his shirt, revealing his neck.
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Will feels Mike’s eyes on the back of his head. They’re soft, but Will feels Mike’s gaze deep in his chest. “Can I see?” He asks. He rests his head on his hand, waiting for Will to turn around.
Will smiles softly. He shakes his head. “You can see it next week.” Mike doesn’t push, doesn’t lean closer and peer over Will’s shoulder. Instead, he pouts.
“Please?” Mike asks, staring at Will with his perfect, sparkly eyes. He’s almost whining because he knows Will is weak for him. “Just a peek?” He tilts his head, and it takes too much effort not to give in.
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“Sannie,” Wooyoung purrs. He moves even closer, until he’s practically sitting in San’s lap. San needs to feel the weight of Wooyoung on top of him. “Do you wanna kiss me?”
San swallows thickly. Wooyoung’s all over him, and his scent settles in his lungs. “I’ve—I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
Wooyoung smiles. He straddles San’s lap and circles his arms around his shoulders. “San-ah,” he breathes. “‘M gonna have so much fun with you.”
(or, wooyoung teaches san how to kiss.)
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“Dinner later?” Wooyoung asks. The morning light is blinding, but it makes Wooyoung look like an angel. “I was gonna make chicken.” His soft black hair falls past his eyes, and San stops to brush it away. Wooyoung looks up at him, pupils dilated.
“That sounds great, Young-ah,” San says. He keeps walking like his heart isn’t in his throat. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”
Wooyoung’s lips curl into a devilish smile. “Only if I get to pick.” Their shoulders touch and it’s electric. Wooyoung must know he has San wrapped around his finger.
San swallows thickly. “Anything you want, Woo-ya.”
(or, choi san faces off against the inevitable—falling for his sweet, pretty roommate and best friend.)
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“Just relax, Youngie.”
Wooyoung grits his teeth and looks up at the ceiling. It’s hard to relax when he’s willing himself not to cum on the spot. San’s hand is right above his stomach and the sight makes him dizzy.
They’ve seen each other shirtless, nearly naked plenty of times. But this is different. San’s never been this close, has never had his big hands so close to Wooyoung's dick. He’s achingly gentle, which is a blessing and a curse.
(or, wooyoung is completely normal about san giving him his first tattoo.)
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Wooyoung kisses San’s cheeks, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth. He kisses San like he’s trying to remind himself what the other man tastes like. “So you did get muscular,” he says softly.
San smiles. He’s definitely proud of himself. “You didn’t believe me?” Even with a healing cut on his lip and calloused hands, San is devastatingly soft.
“Of course I believed you,” Wooyoung whispers. His nose brushes against San’s cheek. “I just wanted to see for myself.”
(or, it's september when wooyoung's lover finally returns from war.)
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Wooyoung hums the Final Countdown and slips on his glossy black shoes. “I’ll see you out there, Sannie,” he says. San never lets him leave without a kiss.
When he leaves, San wills his heart to stop racing and his cock to stop throbbing. The scent of Wooyoung’s cologne clouds his mind and San feels like he’s taken an upper. It sticks to his brain like plastic film and all he can think about is Wooyoung.
He pictures the other boy on his knees for him, on top of him. He needs to be inside him—beside him.
“Dancers on in three.” His pager beeps in his pocket. San swallows down the want in his chest and walks out of the dressing room, hiding the problem in his pants.
(or, wooyoung debuts a new hairstyle during his tour. san likes it too much.)
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The other man goes quiet. San blinks like he’s got something in his eyes, and he swallows thickly. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”
Wooyoung wants to trace lines into his broad chest. He hums softly. “Don’t tell me you flirt with all your clients.”
San shakes his head. “Just you.”
Wooyoung smiles. He resists the urge to pinch San’s cheek. “We’re gonna get along just fine, San-ah.”
(or, wooyoung falls face-first for his new bodyguard.)
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“Yunho said something about a honey cooler,” he says. “You’re really okay with that?” A handsome man like Seonghwa could be seen with any beautiful broad.
Seonghwa nods. “I knew it would be an Alan Turing-type picture,” he says. “Most men won’t partake.”
“And you will?” Hongjoong stares at Seonghwa as softly as he can. Seonghwa nods. Their legs touch and Hongjoong hopes no one can see them. His thoughts are running away from him like a criminal on the lam. Within a year, Seonghwa will kiss him and he’ll be okay with it.
(or, kim hongjoong finds puppy love on the set of his latest film, circa 1933.)
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“We’ll be okay, Mick,” Mike says. His hand brushes against Micky’s and his touch is electric. “We just gotta stay vigilant.”
“And carry pepper spray,” Davy says.
“That too,” Mike replies. “C’mon,” he grabs his arm. “Let’s get ready for the gig.”
Micky follows Mike like a loyal dog, but half of his mind is occupied by thoughts of a masked intruder breaking into their pad or cornering them on the street.
(or, tensions run high in the monkees' pad when a madman terrorizes the streets of hollywood.)
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Mike takes a cigarette between two fingers. “You got a lighter?” Micky instinctively reaches for his breast pocket before he stops.
Micky narrows his eyes. “You don’t smoke,” he says. “And you’re not Mike."
(or, three-fourths of the monkees stop in an eerie ghost town for the night.)
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Sunghoon pulls away for a moment. Pink sunlight streams in through the window and covers his face. Jake finally sees the faint shadow of Sunghoon’s facial hair. “‘M sorry, baby,” he says. “I didn’t shave this morning.”
Jake nearly whimpers at that. He presses their lips together again, slowly licking into Sunghoon’s mouth. When they pull apart, Jake’s hole throbs.
“Jaeyunie,” Sunghoon purrs. “You like this?” Jake nods quickly.
“You’re so strong, Hoonie,” Jake whispers. He wraps his fingers around Sunghoon’s arms and squeezes gently. “So big—it’s like you’re my hyung.”
(or, sunghoon treats his sweet boyfriend to breakfast in bed.)
Series
- Part 3 of training wheels
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“Fuck,” Jake whispers. He looks down at his phone and tries not to pass out. In his latest Weverse update, Sunghoon is standing in front of a big mirror, biceps bulging, white tank top wrapped tightly around his body. He’s smirking because he knows Jake is seeing it, seeing him.
Sunghoon’s looking right at him. Everything about him is so big and it’s driving Jake insane. His long, veiny fingers wrap around the phone like he’s holding Jake by the throat.
(or, sunghoon's newest gym selfie drives his boyfriend wild.)
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“Hello?” Sunghoon says. “Who’s out there?”
There’s some shuffling, and Sunghoon is suddenly face-to-face with a boy. He looks about Sunghoon’s age. The boy tilts his head. “It’s Jake,” he says, gesturing to himself.
Sunghoon slowly opens the door with his free hand. Jake doesn’t jump at him. He looks normal, like someone Sunghoon has seen before. Jake is cute, in a strange way.
Sunghoon swallows. His hands are stuck by his sides like the limbs of a rusted tin soldier. “Jake,” he says. “Do you wanna come inside?”
(or, sunghoon falls in love—and lust—with his alien roommate.)
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Jake smiles. “My first role,” he says softly. “I was sixteen back then, wasn’t I?” Sunghoon nods. “You’re a real fan, Sunghoon-ah.”
Sunghoon nods. “You’re my favorite,” he replies. He ruffles Jake’s hair until it looks like he just crawled out of bed.
“Actor?” Jake asks. He turns around in his chair and Sunghoon chokes. “Or person?” Sunghoon nearly comes unglued. Jake laughs softly. “I’m just teasing you, babe.”
(or, sunghoon finally works with his favorite actor.)
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Jake swallows. “You were staring at me.” He’s acutely aware of the smile on his lips and the color on his cheeks.
Sunghoon smiles softly. “You’re beautiful.”
Jake tries and fails to regain his lost composure. Jake’s faithful feet nearly give out on him. “You probably say that to everyone."
Sunghoon pouts. “Do you really think that?”
(or, jake falls head over heels for his first teen idol.)