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oncasette · 20 days ago

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𝗣𝗟𝗨𝗦𝗛 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞

rafayel qi x fem!reader

summary: 1.7k

“Oh, so now you remember me,” he huffs. You attempt to move the bird out of your arms entirely only for Rafayel to forcefully shove him back in place. “Uh-uh, honey. You wanted him there. Made me second choice to a bird that can’t even see you, so hold on tight to him, yeah?”

or the one where rafayel gets jealous of the stuffed toy you've chosen to hold while you sleep.

content: smut, fingering-ish, cumming with clothed (both), ooc!rafayel? i'm still learning how to write him a bit, jealous!raf, little bit of biting, mentions of humping a stuffed animal, dry humping

masterlist

Rafayel’s eyes ache a bit as he trudges his way out of his studio and towards his bedroom—his ass hurts a bit, too, from sitting so long. His brain seems to short circuit as both of his hands attempt to rub at the sore spots. They seem to glitch mid-air, successfully achieving in reaching neither of the areas. By the time he’s reached his room, his fingers have gone a little tingly.

His body lights up a bit when he spots you on the bed. It’s almost instinctual, the warmth that crawls up his spine, through his ribs. Your face is shoved into his pillow, your legs tangled up in the fluffy duvet he’d bought at your recommendation. The plushie in your arms seems like it's being held hostage. His lips quirk a bit as he watches you squeeze the yellow bird tighter to you at the sound of his entrance. You’d come over a while ago, for dinner, initially, and then to stay the night despite Rafayel’s insistence that he had to finish this painting by the morning. He’s happy to see that you’d listened to his telling you not to stay up for him.

“Pretty girl,” he mumbles as one of his knees hits the edge of the mattress. One hand falls over your face and pushes a few stray hairs back away from your forehead. He warms again at the feel of you nuzzling into his palm. He pulls back hesitantly after a beat. The rustling seems to be enough to stir you from your slumber.

“Raf?” you mumble, tugging the plush tighter in your grip.

“Hi, cutie,” he hums as starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. Your gaze, still a bit blurred with sleep, tracks the movement well enough.

“You’ve come back to me,” you purr, stretching your legs out beneath the covers.

The scoff he lets out is softened by the pout on his lips. “You thought I’d stay away?”

His fingers fiddle with the buckle of his belt and he watches your eyes dilate just a bit. Your tongue slips out to wet your lips. It’s like lightning striking Rafayel, the exhaustion draining from his body in a blink.

“C’mere, fishy,” you say. Your voice is nearly a whine as it drips down your tongue.

He shakes his head softly as he yanks the leather through the loops. That gets your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“I would, but…” he drags the last word out as he starts to work at the fly of his pants. “Artsy birb seems to be in my spot.”

“No, he’s not, come here,” you beg but you keep the bird held tight.

“Yes, he is, come on,” he huffs once he’s gotten his pants down his thighs. He reaches for the plush only for you to turn away from him at the last second, pressing your face into the fuzz. Rafayel scoffs. His hands land on his brief clad hips as he stares down at you in disbelief.

“Cutie…”

“‘m comfy,” you pout. “Just come lay down. He’s not gonna get in the way.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow. His cock jumps against his already tight boxers. One knee hits the duvet, then the other, then his hands until he’s leering over your prone form. The chain around his neck dangles dangerously close to your skin, bumping and grazing and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“Raf?”

Your grip around the plushie loosens, your legs separating instinctively to accommodate his intrusion.

“Hey! He can-“ you’re cut off by your own gasp. Rafayel’s nose nudges along the edge of your shirt, pushing the loose fabric up enough to leave loud open-mouthed kisses along the newly uncovered flesh.

“What’s that?” he asks against your navel. You respond with little more than a breathy whine, trying to shove the bird away from you once again only to have him hold the stuffed animal to your chest with a firm grip. “What’d I say, cutie?”

He nips you once with the flats of his teeth. As he continues to move, you feel his hips pressing harder against your shin, then your thigh, and finally your hip when his tongue brushes the edge of your nipple. Rafayel doesn’t fight you when you shift the bird down to your side seeing as you’ve still got a tight grip on it with one of your hands. The other curls into his mussed up hair.

The sight of you stirs Rafayel deeper, despite the speckle of annoyance—jealousy, over a plushie he’d gotten you—still sitting in his stomach. His tongue laves over your skin, circling the bud while he keeps his gaze locked on yours. You let out what, first, he thinks is one of your pretty little gasps, only for it to morph into a yawn halfway. He bites down harder, then, as his eyebrows knit together in displeasure.

“So, that’s what it is, huh?” he scoffs, moving up your body with much harsher bites and sucks than before. “You don’t love me anymore?”

“No, Raf-“ a real gasp then.

“So mean to me,” he grunts. Still, he can’t help the way his dick grinds down into your hip, or the short pants he lets out against your skin.

“Rafa,” you whine.

He slides up your frame until his face is directly over yours.

“Shh, beloved, you’ve made your choice,” he whispers. His fingers skate up your side so delicately you barely feel them until they’re dipping into your sleep shorts.

“Please,” you say just as the tips of them brush the hem of your panties.

“Hm? Now you want me to give you attention?” he teases.

Rafayel can see how glazed your eyes have become, now. The way your chest heaves with each new intake of breath. The way your hips jump to meet his touch. That’ll show the stupid bird.

The pout on your bottom lips has his cock throbbing, a steady pulse he’s sure you can feel. He mimics the gesture down at you as his hand finally breaches the elastic of your underwear. His index finger quickly slides through your slick before it glides back up to press tight circles against your clit. He revels in the short squeak you let out, briefly wondering if he could get you to make the cute sound again into his phone’s microphone.

“So soft here, cutie,” he huffs as his nose sinks down to run across the edge of your jaw. The chain around his neck pools against your collarbone, the chill of it running straight through to your spine. Almost petulantly, you rut yourself further into his palm, only for him to pull his hand back just enough to release most of the pressure. The layers currently clothing you prevent him from pulling back too far, but it's room enough for you to whimper. It’s only when you’ve settled back down against the mattress that Rafayel begins to move again. This time, with two fingers, he dips down to collect more of the sticky arousal seeping from your neglected hole. You clench at the faint intrusion just as he moves back up to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Despite the–albeit, pitiful–front he’s putting up, Rafayel can’t help his hips from pressing and grinding into your thigh. He wonders, briefly, if you’ve ever used the plush toys he’s won you to get off like this. If you’ve rubbed your puffy clit over them the way he’s currently running his fingers over you. More, he wonders if you’re thinking of him as you do it. He’s the one who won them all for you, afterall. It’d only be fair.

“You gonna cum for me, cutie?” he pants in your ear, his teeth grazing the shell as he moves. You are. He can tell. You’ve soaked his hand, your thighs are clamped tight around his wrist. The hand previously holding the bird has wound itself around his bicep. He needs it, wants it, craves it like the air he breathes. Every whimper and whine falling from your lips is fuel for his own impending orgasm.

You nod against him, your eyes screwing shut. He can feel the way your abdomen tightens and his rutting proceeds to quicken against your side.

“Wanna hear you say it,” he pleads.

“‘M gonna…”

“Come on, I know you can say it for me.” He nips your pulse point.

“Cum… gonna cum,” you pant as your nails dig into the skin of his arm. He’d be smug if he weren’t dangling off the precipice of an orgasm himself.

“Yeah? Then cum for me, honey,” he says. His voice is strained as he attempts to ward his off long enough for you to finish first. Thankfully, his words seem to be the tipping point for you, your head falling back further into the plush pillows as your pussy pulses and gushes against his fingers. Rafayel cums with a low groan, spilling into the silken fabric of his boxers. He continues to work you through it for a moment longer until he no longer feels the residual twitches of your cunt.

“All of that because you were jealous of a stuffed bird,” you hum sleepily. The two of you shift once he removes his hand from your bottoms, you falling over onto your side and Rafayel pushing up onto his haunches to observe the scene. Artsy birb had been pushed onto the floor, his boxers had darkened considerably in a large patch over the head of his cock, and his fingers were still glistening with the remnants of your orgasm. Mission accomplished, he thinks, before he’s slipping off the bed with a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

He’s quick to clean himself up and change into a more suitable pair of boxers. The chill of the room leaves him shivering up until the moment he’s sliding underneath the covers to pull you into him.

Rafayel’s lips trail across your jaw once more as he mumbles, “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Sure,” you mumble, the allure of sleep calling you back down into its depths once more.

#rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #rafayel x mc

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felinecyan · 6 months ago

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Meddle About

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When something… intimate happens between you and the explosive boy, you seek out the comfort and advice from your fangirl best friend.

WC: 6832

Category: Fluff, Slight Spice/Lime, Mixed Signals

Might be ooc (I blame Chase Atlantic for this one), but I wanted to post something… interesting since it’s OFFICIALLY my birthday 🗣️🗣️

『••✎••』

Here you were, pacing back and forth in your best friend's dorm room. You hadn't said a word, only muttering incoherent thoughts to yourself while your eyes flitted around the room as if you could find the words written on the walls.

Mina watched you from her bed, leaning forward on her hands, which were planted on her mattress. She had her legs crossed beneath her, and she was rocking herself slightly. Her mouth was agape with excitement and confusion, and her eyes were wide as she watched you.

You felt bad for disturbing her sleep, but you were too overwhelmed to wait until morning to talk to her about what had happened. When it happens, you can't even wait an hour to tell someone about it, much less eight hours. So, with your impatient nature, you hunted her down after five minutes of attempting to calm yourself down and failing.

Mina, who had been sleeping soundly at the time, was jolted awake when you burst into her room and slammed the door shut. It wasn't until she heard the lock click that she realized the situation.

You were freaking out, and it had something to do with a boy.

When you first started at UA, the two of you had promised each other that you would never keep a crush a secret from the other so you could gush and squeal over the boys together. Of course, it had always been Mina with a crush, and you were giving advice. She had had her eyes on several guys throughout the year, but you had remained unfazed.

Until...

"Okay," Mina began. "I'm not even going to ask why you were walking around the dorms at one in the morning. But, seriously, tell me what happened!"

Your hands, which had been tangled in your hair, fell to your sides as you turned to look at her. Your cheeks were flushed, and your heart was racing. You didn't know how to begin. You wanted to just blurt it all out, but at the same time, you were afraid.

"I... uhm... well..." you stuttered, wringing your hands nervously.

"C'mon, I'm dying here!" Mina whined, bouncing in place. She reached her hands out and grabbed yours, tugging you forward until you were sitting next to her on the bed. "You're acting as if you had your first kiss or something."

You stared at her, blinking slowly as you processed her words. Then, without warning, she froze. You were afraid she had short-circuited. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were as big as saucers. Her grip on your hands tightened as she gasped loudly.

"No," she whispered. "No way."

"Mina..."

"You did!" she exclaimed, her voice rising to a volume that could probably be heard throughout the dorms.

"Keep your voice down!" you hissed, grabbing a pillow from behind her and smacking her across the face. She didn't react, her mouth still open.

"Tell me everything," she demanded, her voice lowered. "How did it happen? When did it happen? Who did it happen with? I want to know all the details, so spill."

"Mina..."

It was rough to have her pressuring you. She was always good at doing that. It was part of the reason why you ran straight to her. You knew that she would force you to talk about it, and you needed to talk about it. You didn't want to stop talking about it. You didn't want the night to end, and you didn't want to forget about it.

"I'm listening," Mina told you, squeezing your hands once more. "Don't be afraid to get all the gushy details. You know I love that stuff."

You couldn't stop your eyes from rolling as you took a deep breath. You decided to spill her favorite part first.

"I can't get it out of my head, Mina," you whispered. "I didn't even realize he could do that. I didn't know he was capable of it. I was so dazed by his actions that I didn't know what was going on. It felt like I was dreaming. I don't even know how it escalated so quickly. I just found myself against the wall, and he was looking at me, and his eyes... oh, his eyes, Mina, his eyes."

"Who the hell are you talking about?!" Mina interrupted. She looked like she was going to burst from anticipation, and you were slightly enjoying keeping her in the dark. Especially since she had no idea it was the guy who she least expected it to be.

"Do not yell," you warned her, pointing your finger at her face. "You won't believe me, but I swear it's the truth."

"What?" she asked. "Who was it?"

"Promise me you won't freak out."

"Okay, now I'm nervous," Mina said. She moved backward on the bed so her back was pressed against the wall. You watched as her fingers dug into her blanket, her knuckles turning white. "Now you have to tell me. I'm terrified, so you have to. Who was it?"

You took another deep breath, your heart beating loudly.

Now or never.

"Bakugo."

You were ready for your ears to bleed. You were expecting her to scream bloody murder, and you were ready to clamp your hand over her mouth to shut her up. But, instead, she broke out into laughter. And it wasn't her usual laugh, either. It was loud and obnoxious, and she threw her head back and cackled.

"Yeah, right," she breathed out, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, that was a good one. I almost believed you. Now, really. Who was it?"

Your jaw dropped, and you could feel anger boiling inside of you. She didn't believe you? I mean, yeah, it was completely unbelievable with how he acts with everyone, but you didn't joke around like this. And you were honestly offended that she thought you were.

Mina laughed again and again and again. Every time, it became harder for her to breathe, and her laughs turned into snorts. Her face was bright red, and her shoulders shook violently as she giggled. It wasn't until she finally opened her eyes to see the glare on your face that the laughs eased up.

"I mean, it's a good joke," she chuckled. "But, seriously, tell me who it really was."

You didn't say a word. Instead, you just gave her the most deadpan stare you could muster, which still took her a moment to register. Once she did, however, that smile of hers fell off her face faster than you could blink.

"Wait... you're not joking?"

"Do you really think I'd come here in the middle of the night if I was?"

She stared at you with a shocked expression on her face. She was speechless, and you were waiting for the reaction you expected. You were sure her brain had exploded.

"You mean to tell me," she said, her voice shaking. "That Bakugo... the hot-tempered, vulgar, rude, foul-mouthed, explosive asshole just kissed you? He kissed you?! Are you serious?"

"Mina, please, not so loud!"

"Are you serious?!" she screamed, leaping off her bed. "You have got to be joking. There's no way that happened. No way! It had to be a dream or something. I can't even see him doing something like that. Of all people, it's him? I even see Mineta before him! He's like... not capable of showing any emotion that isn't anger."

"Mina!"

"What the hell happened?! I want to know all the dirty little details!" she yelled, rushing forward and grabbing your arms. "How did you get that maniac to do something so... un-Bakugo-like? What did he do? How did he kiss you? Was it nice? I can't believe he kissed you! He's never kissed anyone before!"

"Mina, shut up!" you hissed, covering her mouth with your hand. She kept mumbling against your skin, and you felt her tongue swipe across your palm. You grimaced, pulling your hand away from her and wiping it on your pants.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" she squealed, jumping up and down. "How did you do it? Oh, I'm so happy for you! Why didn't you wake me up sooner?!"

"Mina, please. It's late," you told her. "Be quiet; he can probably hear you."

"Wait... how long ago was this?"

"Uhm... maybe twenty minutes or so."

She stopped bouncing, and her jaw dropped.

"You kissed Bakugo twenty minutes ago," she said. "And you just came to my room?! Why the hell are you even here? You should be with him! Get your ass back to him and make sure he kisses you again!"

You were taken aback by her sudden outburst, and your cheeks flushed. The thought of going to him now sent a wave of anxiety through you, and you were beginning to regret waking Mina up.

"I can't go back there," you told her. "Not yet. I can't... I can't look him in the eye."

"Why the hell not?" Mina questioned, furrowing her brows. "This is a huge! He still hasn't even called me by my actual name. But, he kissed you? That's insane. He's gotta be a secret softy or something. I need details."

"Mina, you don't understand," you said, sighing. "I- I never felt like this before. I'm... I'm stuck. My mind is blank. I can't get him off my mind. It's driving me crazy. I didn't realize someone could affect me like this."

Mina stared at you for a moment before a smirk appeared on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at you with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "How did he do it?" she asked.

"Mina," you said. "I just told you that—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but did he just walk up and kiss you or what? Like, how did it happen? You have to start from the beginning."

You rolled your eyes but obeyed her orders.

And the truth was, you honestly still didn’t know how it happened. You were yelling at each other over something dumb, as usual, but then the conversation took a strange turn. You had no idea where it had come from, and the memory was hazy, but you remembered what he had said.

"You wanna know what I fucking think?" He was seething, his fists clenched at his sides. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were burning holes into your head.

You didn't remember what you had said, but you remembered what he replied and the way he walked towards you.

"I think," he growled, and you were backing away from him. "You're so fucking desperate for attention that you're willing to do anything. Just admit it. You're so lonely that you'll try to make friends with anyone."

The scoff you had given him was followed by a few insults that you didn't remember. In all honesty, the things that were said weren't worth remembering. It was always the same old fight. But, for some reason, it was the actions in between that had caught you off guard this time.

You didn't realize how much you were trying to create space between the two of you, but every time you took a step back, he took one forward. You were trying to keep your voice steady and strong, but your hands were shaking, and your legs were weak.

It was only a matter of time before you were backed against the wall, and you could feel his breath hitting your face. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing was heavy. You couldn't focus on his words because his body was too close.

He noticed, too, because his insults were slowing down, and you could feel his eyes studying your face as it was turned away from him. When your gaze met him, the room became still. You were frozen in place, unable to move. He just... stared at you.

Neither of you said a word, but there was something in his eyes that changed the atmosphere of the room. It was like a flip had been switched. He was no longer angry or irritated. His eyes were gentle, and his gaze was intense. You had seen his gaze before, but you couldn't figure out why it felt so different.

Until you saw the flicker of his eyes. A millisecond change that anyone could've missed, but you didn't. You caught it as you caught the next one. You felt him move forward, and your mind went blank. Your senses were overrun by him. You could feel the heat from his skin.

He could probably hear your heartbeat; it wasn't very subtle. Your mind was racing, and your vision was hazy. All you could see was... him. And maybe you were just imagining it, but there was something in his eyes that showed you he wasn't mad anymore.

He looked different now, and it scared you. It scared you how you started counting his eyelashes. It scared you how much you wanted to reach up and run your hand through his hair. It scared you how badly you wanted to know how soft his lips were.

And he could tell because he leaned closer. Closer than you didn't think possible. Your breaths mingled together, and your noses brushed. He wasn't there yet, though. His mouth was just barely touching yours, and the feeling sent tingles down your spine.

His gaze was intense, and he looked like he was holding back. You could feel his chest pressing against yours, and he was taking shaky breaths. It was so strange, seeing him like this. Your eyes locked onto his, and you were sure he saw the curiosity behind them.

And then... his gaze fell into a look you've never seen before. Something was swimming behind those crimson eyes, and you found yourself drowning in the intensity. He was staring into your soul, and somehow, you could see the meaning in his eyes.

He was giving you a choice. He was asking a silent question. His eyes were pleading. They were begging. His face was so close to yours, and you were frozen. The way he was looking at you, you could see it. You could see what he was thinking.

He was waiting for you to do something. To push him away, to smack him, or to speak out. He was waiting for the rejection, the denial, the refusal. But you did none of those things because, for some reason, you didn't want to. You were enjoying the closeness, the intimacy, the... vulnerability.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe you were just insane, but the way he was looking at you made your stomach flip, and a strange warmth filled your chest. It was the way he was holding himself back, the way you could see his fingers trembling, the way his breath was unsteady.

For some reason, seeing him so weak, so open, so defenseless made you feel... something.

He was waiting for a response. It was up to you. You were the one in control, and if you had said the word, he would have walked away. But that's not what you wanted.

You didn't want him to go.

And, so, you had tried to speak out, but the words were caught in your throat. They wouldn't form, and the air was thick. Your tongue was tied, and your fingers were shaking. You were afraid. Afraid of the unknown.

He was patient. His gaze never faltered. His eyes were still looking at you with the same intensity, and you were getting lost in it. He didn't move closer, but his breath fanned across your lips. Your mind was blank, and you had no idea how long the two of you stood like that.

All you knew was that you needed him to do something. You needed him to know he was allowed to, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. You were terrified, and the anticipation was driving you insane.

So, you used another way to answer.

You grabbed him, jerked his body forward, and pulled him as close as you could. He wasn't prepared for your sudden movement, and the air was forced out of his lungs. His hands found the wall, and his arms caged you in. You could feel his muscles flexing against you, and his eyes widened as they looked at you.

He didn't expect it. He wasn't prepared. It was a shock, but he wasn't about to deny himself the opportunity. Not when you were offering it to him. So, his eyes fell back into that look, and his head moved closer. He hesitated, and his lips grazed yours. You could feel the way his heart was beating.

The first kiss was chaste and barely there. You could've missed it, and you might've imagined it. But then he did it again, this time with enough pressure to make you aware. To make your eyes fall shut and a small sigh escapes your lips.

The next one was a little deeper, and he lingered a bit longer. His movements were slow, and he was giving you plenty of time to push him away, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because the moment his lips met yours, you lost all self-control.

Your body melted against his, and you found yourself falling into the kiss. You were sure you'd end up a pile of mush on the ground if his hands hadn't shifted to your hips, holding you up. The grip he had on your sides was gentle but firm, and the tips of his fingers were digging into the flesh of your hip bones.

Your hands had found their way into his hair, and your fingers tangled themselves in the blonde locks. You were always curious about his hair in that regard, and you were pleased to find it softer than you'd expected. With its jagged spikes, you'd expected it to be sharp and stiff, but it was just as smooth as silk. You really needed to get a hold of his hair products.

But you didn't have time to dwell on the subject because his mouth was moving against yours, and your entire being was focused on the feeling of his lips. Damn, he knew exactly how to use them.

You were already lightheaded, and he barely did anything. It was only a matter of time before you couldn't even think anymore. All you knew was his scent, his taste, his touch, and his breath. He was overwhelming all of your senses, and you could feel your mind shutting down.

But, before you could, you gathered enough sense to do something that caught him completely off guard. When he pulled you even deeper, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, and your hands tightened in his hair. He froze for a second, his movements stopping completely, and you were terrified that you'd crossed a line.

However, that fear was quickly erased because he let out the most guttural sound you'd ever heard. It was low and deep and... fuck. It sounded like a growl, but it was filled with need. It was hungry and rough and sent a jolt straight down to your core.

A moment later, he was kissing you harder than before. He was practically attacking you, and you were glad he still had ahold of your hips because those legs of yours would have given out long ago. His mouth was moving so fast that it was hard for you to keep up, and your lungs were burning.

It felt like a dam had been broken.

He devoured you like a starved man. There was no hesitation, no fear, no nervousness. It was pure desperation, and you weren't doing much better. His kisses were hard and bruising, and his grip on your waist was tight.

When he went to your neck, that was it.

Your head fell back against the wall, painful, but you couldn't care. You couldn't focus on anything except the way his mouth was working its magic on your throat. Your nails were digging into his scalp, and you could hear his sharp breaths.

If all kisses were like this, then you have no idea how people survived without them. It was addicting. The feeling of his lips and tongue and teeth against your skin was euphoric. Your mind was swimming, and your heart was pounding.

Mina was squealing in front of you, but you were too lost to care. You were back in the moment, and the memory was flooding through your body. The feeling of his fingers gripping your hips. The warmth of his mouth. The heat of his body. His hair was so soft. The sound of his breath. His lips. His tongue.

"I... don't remember much after that," you told Mina, your eyes unfocused. "The next thing I remember is me leaving the room and going straight to yours."

She was grinning at you. It was a wide, Cheshire-like smile, and her eyes were gleaming. She looked like she was about to explode, and she was holding herself back.

"This is insane," she said, her voice cracking. "Actually, I take back what I said earlier. This is better than the best day of my life. The fact that it was him—I mean, I'd expect this from someone else, but the thought of him being that good is... wow."

You sighed. "Mina, please. What am I going to do? I'm... I'm..."

"Lost in the clouds?" she offered. "A mess? Unable to function like a normal person?"

"All of the above," you said, running your hands over your face. "I just... I don't understand how someone could make me feel like this. He's a dick, Mina. He was literally insulting me just a few minutes ago, and then... this."

She hummed, tilting her head and looking at the ceiling. Her smile never left her face. "So, what now? Are you guys dating, or...?"

"I didn't ask," you told her. "I just ran out."

"Wait, I thought you meant running away, as in after talking it out and stuff?"

"I mean, running away, as in pushing him and sprinting down the hall to your room."

Her eyes widened. "What?!" she exclaimed. "You're telling me that after he gave you the best kiss of your life, you ran away?!"

You nodded.

"Are you insane?!"

"Maybe a little," you said. "But I was so overwhelmed, and it was too much. I couldn't stay there, or I'd have done something embarrassing."

"You mean something more embarrassing than leaving? Girl, you need to get back there and find out what the hell is going on between you two. I can't believe this. I just..." She let out a frustrated groan. "He's probably pissed off. And confused. And, honestly, I can't blame him."

"What? You think he's regretting it?"

"Oh, honey," she said, her expression changing. "You've got it all wrong. How do I know more than you about this situation? That boy doesn't show anyone this kind of side, I mean... shit, and you're telling me he was the one to initiate it?"

You nodded. "Yeah, he was."

"Well, then... damn. You're special. If he didn't want it, he would have punched you or something, but the fact that he went and did that... then there's no way he would ever regret it. Hell, if I were in his position, I'd have taken you right there, too."

"Mina!" you shrieked, smacking her shoulder.

She laughed. "What? I'm your bestie. I gotta have your back. Now, listen, you've done messed up by running away. There's no way he wouldn't take it as an insult; his ego's too big. So, what you need to do is get back there and tell him what's going on. Be honest. Don't lie, and don't sugarcoat. Just tell him the truth."

"But--"

"No, no buts. No ifs, no ands, or anything. Bakugo is the type to appreciate honesty. You can't be wishy-washy with him. I've learned that after seeing him treat everyone. He doesn't hold back, and neither should you. The good thing is that you know he really likes you; otherwise, none of this would've happened."

You bit your lip.

"Even as sudden as it was, it was a choice," she told you. "He knew exactly what he was doing. That kiss wasn't some spur-of-the-moment thing. He knew what he was doing and what he was feeling, and there's no way he would have done it if he didn't want to."

You thought about her words. "You're right."

"Damn right I am," she said, leaning forward and grabbing your shoulders. "He doesn't regret it. At least, not in the way you're thinking. If he's regretting anything, it's letting you run away without saying anything. So, what you're going to do is march back there and kiss that boy senseless. Got it?"

"But it's almost two in the morning," you said.

"If you think you both are sleeping anytime soon, you're delusional," she stated. "The guy is probably pacing in his own room right now, trying to figure out why the hell you rejected him. He's a wreck, and I'll bet you anything that his thoughts are just as bad as yours."

You frowned. "I guess, but..."

"But what?"

"It's just... he's Bakugo, and I'm... well, me. There's no way this could ever work out. He's too focused on being the best to date anyone, and I'm not the kind of person he'd go for. We're complete opposites. We fight all the time, and he's always yelling at me over something. Even now, I'm still wondering what the hell he was thinking when he kissed me."

"You need to stop doing that," Mina said, her tone firm. "You can't think like that. I told you he wouldn't have done it if he didn't see anything. Sure, you guys don't get along all the time, but that doesn't mean it's a lost cause. The fact that he's showing interest in you is enough to prove that he's attracted to something."

"Okay, fine, but what is it? What does he see in me? Why did he choose me? Why did he—"

"Girl, shut up. I can't handle any more of your doubts. This is a waste of time, and it's just making your brain more and more confused. Stop. Thinking. Go get him and just talk. I swear, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you keep this up."

"Fine," you relented, throwing your hands up. "I'll—"

Then, there was a knock on the door.

You paused, staring at Mina. She stared back, her eyebrows furrowing. The two of you were quiet, not moving, not breathing. Then, another knock came, this time a bit louder.

"Iida?" you asked, your voice quiet. "We were pretty loud, weren't we?"

"Probably," Mina replied. "I hate that guy sometimes. What the hell does he have against us having fun? It's not like we were causing trouble."

"He's just being a good student," you said. "We should probably—"

Another knock and this one was harder. And something in the back of your mind was telling you that it wasn't him. It was different.

You and Mina shared a look before she shrugged and got off the bed. She went to the door, and you stayed seated. You were nervous. The tension in your stomach was building up again.

The thought was already in your mind, but it wasn't until Mina's face fell that you knew for sure.

She turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, but the emotion was clear in her eyes. It was the same look you'd given her before when you talked about the kiss.

And, you knew.

He was here.

"Where is she?" His voice held annoyance, but you could detect the change in tone.

"Bakugo," Mina said, trying to cover for you. "Why are you here? Is everything okay?"

"Cut the crap," he said, his voice a growl. "I know she's in there, Raccoon Eyes. Just... I need to talk to her."

You were frozen.

You were afraid.

You didn't know what to say or do.

Your heart was pounding, and your palms were sweating. You couldn't breathe.

"Send her out here," he said. "...Please."

Mina looked back at you. The pure shock in her eyes told you she'd heard him use the word, and you couldn't help but think the same. Bakugo wasn't a person who asked nicely. Ever. But the way he said it made it sound like it pained him.

You both stood there for a few moments. It was a stalemate, and neither of you could speak. Now that he was here, all the confidence Mina had built up was gone, and you were back to square one. You felt helpless.

Then, there was a sigh, not from him, but from her. It was the sound of defeat and the sound of surrender. She turned back to the door, opening it up to reveal those damn eyes of his.

His expression was hard and unreadable. It was blank, and his eyes were cold. They were the same ones you were used to seeing, the ones that held no emotion, the ones that only held anger. But they weren't as harsh as usual. They were softer.

He looked past Mina and saw you on the bed. The moment his gaze locked on yours, you knew you were going out in that hall whether you wanted to or not. His stare was strong, and it was demanding. It was like the world would crumble if you didn't follow his order.

So, you did.

You got off the bed and made your way to him. Your feet were heavy, and your heart was racing. With every step, the pressure got worse. When you were close enough, Mina shoved you towards him and then closed the door.

It was just you and him now.

You didn't know what to say. He was quiet, and the silence was killing you. It was making your head spin. You felt nauseous, and your stomach was in knots. It was too much.

"You..." He spoke, his voice low. "You're the most annoying person I've ever met."

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your throat was dry, and your tongue was like sandpaper.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating you are?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "You're such a fucking mess."

Back to this.

"Yeah, I get it," you told him, finding your voice. "I'm a mess. It's been established. But you know what, Bakugo? So are you. You're an asshole."

"Me?" he laughed. "You think I'm the asshole? You're the one who ran away. I didn't do shit."

"You're the one who cornered me," you shot back. "What the hell was that, anyway? Insulting me into a corner, and then—"

The pause of your sentence spoke louder than any words you could have said. It was a statement, an unspoken accusation, and the meaning was clear. It was obvious.

His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. "You know, if I had a dollar for every time you pissed me off, I'd be richer than All Might."

"If I had a dollar for every time I had to hear your rants about being the future number-one hero, I'd be able to retire," you retorted. "You're so fucking arrogant."

"Well, at least I know what I'm good at. You made that much clear, didn't you?"

Offended, you stepped closer to him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

You knew exactly what he meant. It was obvious. He was calling you out, and the fact that he had the nerve to even use those words after the incident in the common room made you see red. So, you might've done something that would get you in house arrest, but it was worth it.

You slapped him. Hard.

He didn't seem fazed, though. In fact, the only thing you did was piss him off even more. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, towering over you. "Are you that much of a dumbass? How the hell did you make it this far in UA with that stupid brain of yours? Do you have any idea how dumb you are?"

"I'm not an idiot," you said through gritted teeth. "I have my strengths, too. I'm not weak."

"Oh, really?" He was mocking you, his voice a challenge. "Then, why did you run away?"

"That's—"

"What? It's not because of weakness? Then, why did you leave?"

You didn't have an answer.

"Exactly," he said. "You're a fucking coward. You ran away from your problems, and that's all you do. That's all you're capable of. You don't know how to deal with situations, and you just run."

"I'm not—"

"You are," he said. "Every damn time. You ran from me. From arguments, from training, from everything. It's all you ever do. And you don't seem to care, do you? You don't care how much it pisses me off. You just do it anyway."

"Bakugo—"

"Tell me, damnit," he interrupted, his eyes flashing. "I... I let you in. I let you see something, and this is what I get? A slap and an escape? How the hell is that fair?"

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did," he growled. "And it fucking hurt, okay? You don't know how much I..."

The silence was back, and it was more deafening than before. The tension was thick, and the air was heavy. You could feel the heat rising, the pressure building.

You had no idea what to say.

He was right. Mina was right. You had messed up, and you knew it. You knew you had hurt him. The pain was evident in his voice. But it didn't excuse him for being an ass about it.

"Why'd you come here?" you asked. "What did you expect to get out of this? Was it just to yell at me and make me feel bad?"

"No, moron, I came to ask if I fucked up. If I had crossed a line. I know what it looked like, but with your stupid ass, I don't know."

You rolled your eyes, but he made sure to keep them locked on him.

"You pulled me in. You returned it," he said, his voice dropping. "You even deepened the damn thing. What was I supposed to think, huh? You're not telling me anything. You're not giving me anything. If anything, you're taking. So, I'm asking. Stop running away, damnit. Talk to me."

The sincerity of his words struck a chord in your chest. He was right. He was absolutely right. You were running away. You were avoiding him.

You were a coward.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice soft. "I shouldn't have done that. I... I didn't know what to do, and I was scared."

"What the hell are you scared of?"

"This," you told him. "Of you. Of the kiss. Of... what it meant."

"You're acting like you're the only one involved here," he said, his voice holding an edge. "What about me? Do you have any idea what I'm feeling right now? I'm just as confused and scared as you are, but you know what I'm not doing? Running away."

"I didn't mean to, it's just—"

"You did," he said, interrupting you. "You did, and you knew it. You were running, and you didn't want to deal with the consequences. That's what it was, wasn't it? You didn't want to face the truth. You didn't want to face me. You wanted to run. Like always."

"It's not like that."

"Then, what is it?"

You paused.

"Exactly," he said. "Nothing. You don't have an excuse. You were just being a coward. That's all it is. So, tell me. Tell me why the hell you ran. Tell me what the kiss meant to you. Because if you don't, I'll—"

"It meant everything!" you cried out, only to remember the late hour and quiet down. "It... it meant everything, okay? And I didn't want to lose that. I couldn't. It was... It was everything. It was so much. Too much. I didn't want it to be ruined. I didn't want to ruin what fucked friendship we had."

His expression was unreadable, and it made your stomach sink.

"So, I ran. I didn't know what else to do," you confessed, your voice quiet. "And... I didn't want you to find out the truth. Because if you did, you'd... I'd... Everything would change, and I didn't want that."

"We changed the moment that damn kiss happened," he said, his tone firm. "I'm not blind. You're not subtle, and I can tell that you've had feelings for me. And I think... I've had them for a while now, too. But if you're gonna act like this, if you're just going to run from your problems, then there's no point in doing anything. I can't have a relationship with someone who's just gonna hide and run away. It's not fair to either of us."

"Bakugo..."

"Don't 'Bakugo' me," he growled, his eyes burning. "What are we gonna do about this, huh? Are we gonna keep dancing around each other and pretend it didn't happen? Are we gonna pretend it doesn't exist? Because if we do, I'm not wasting any more time. It's not worth it. I have better things to focus on."

"It's not like that."

"Really? Because it seems like it."

"But—"

"Tell me, damnit. What the hell are we gonna do? What's it gonna be? I can't wait around forever, and I won't waste my time. I don't have the patience for it. If you're not willing to do anything about it, then there's no point in trying. It's just a waste of time. So, decide. Now."

He didn't ease up, and his gaze didn't falter. He was staring straight at you, waiting just as he had said. But you didn't know what to say or do. He was putting the ball in your court, and he wasn't budging. He wasn't backing down.

"Well?" he asked, his voice harsh. "I'm waiting. Make your choice."

"I—"

"It's not that hard," he cut in, his eyes narrowing. "Either we try this, or we don't. So, make a damn choice. If not, I'm walking out, and I won't look back."

You knew the decision was easy. It was obvious. It was obvious, but your mind was spinning. It was hard to concentrate when his hands were on your arms, and his eyes were burning holes into your soul. It was impossible to think.

But, you knew. You knew the answer. You knew what you wanted.

"Do it."

The words left your lips without hesitation, and for a moment, he faltered. His expression changed, and his eyes widened. His grip on your arms loosened, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. He was silent, and his eyes were focused on yours.

"You don't want me to run?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper. "So, make me stay."

The words were simple. They were easy. But they were enough to see the twinkle in his eye. It was enough to see the shift in his demeanor and feel his grip tightening. His body was pressed against yours, and his hands were on your arms. He was leaning forward, his face inches from yours. His breath was hot, and his eyes were dark.

In an instant, you were flung back into the same position you had been in hours ago. His lips were on yours, and the intensity was there, stronger than ever. The kiss was rough and passionate. He was pushing against you, his grip firm. He was in control, and he was demanding.

You kissed him back, and the emotions were overwhelming. They were consuming. His hands met the small of your back, pulling you into him. He was firm, his touch strong and his kiss powerful. It was rough, but it was gentle. It was intense, but it was loving.

The kiss was everything.

The moment his lips left yours, you found yourself wanting more. You couldn't help but pull him back in, kissing him deeper and harder. He met your desire, his movements matching yours. You didn't know how long the kiss lasted, but the moment it broke, you knew.

You knew that this was right. You knew that this was what you wanted. You knew that he was the one.

"Katsuki," you whispered, his name leaving your lips in a breathy sigh. "Katsuki, I..."

"I know," he breathed, his voice husky. "Me, too."

Then, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. He held you tight, his warmth enveloping you.

You knew this feeling now; you understood it. This was the love that Mina had been talking about. This was the emotion she had been describing. This was what it was like.

It was the best damn feeling in the world.

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aesthetically-dying101 · 17 days ago

Text

Trainwreck

A/N: *sighs* can you guys guess who i wrote for? yes its nanami

warnings: innapropriate workplace behavior (this is all so unrealistic pls), thats mostly it, maybe a bit OOC? idk obsessive behavior, lowkey creepy

Nanami Kento prides himself on being a man of structure. He clocks in at 8:00 AM sharp, organizes his desk with ruthless efficiency, and approaches every task with a quiet, burning determination. But recently—recently, you’ve ruined him.

Completely, utterly ruined him.

You’re not even his boss. No, you’re her secretary. Just the secretary, really.

A pleasant smile in the hallway, the click of heels passing by his office door. You’re always polite, professional. Efficient. And yet, you’ve utterly dismantled every ounce of his composure.

He notices everything about you.

He notices too much.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're focused, the faint scent of your perfume (something floral but not cloying, clean and perfect). The way you laugh softly with the receptionist when you think no one is listening.

God, you never wear a wedding band.

He’s looked.

He’s ashamed of how often he’s looked.

He hates himself for it—hates the way his chest tightens when he hears your voice. Hates the way his thoughts stray in the quiet moments of the day, imagining what it would be like if you looked at him the way he looks at you.

But you barely notice him.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Why would you? He’s just another cog in the machine, another suit with no significance beyond his output.

Nanami lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s supposed to be working, but instead, he’s replaying that moment from earlier today: the way you’d popped into the breakroom, looking fresh and radiant in that blouse that he’s now convinced was designed to torment him.

“Oh, hi, Nanami,” you’d said, smiling at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It had been such a simple, innocent thing. And yet, his brain had short-circuited.

“Morning,” he’d managed, stiff and awkward, and he’s sure you noticed. God, why did his voice sound so clipped?

“You doing okay? You looked a little stressed in the meeting earlier.”

And that had really done it. Your concern—casual, effortless—had hit him like a freight train. He could barely stammer out a reply before you were gone, leaving him standing there, coffee untouched, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

He wants to believe he’s subtle about it, but he knows better. He’s not subtle. Not when he hangs back in the breakroom just to hear you chatting with someone, filing away every detail like the pathetic little moth he is, hopelessly drawn to your flame.

“Yeah, no, I’m just focusing on work right now,” you’d said once, when someone asked if you had any plans for the weekend. No mention of a boyfriend. No hint of anyone waiting for you at home.

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it feels like the cruelest kind of hope, igniting in his chest despite himself.

Nanami leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’s disgusting. Obsessed. You’re probably not even aware of his existence beyond the bare minimum. Why would you be? You’re smart, funny, stunning—and he’s just him. Dull. Predictable. The kind of guy women settle for when they’re tired of the fireworks.

But oh, if you ever gave him the chance. If you so much as glanced in his direction with anything resembling interest, he’d fall to his knees. Worship you. Do anything to make you happy.

It’s humiliating. The longing, the yearning, the ache.

And yet he can’t stop.

His thoughts spiral as the hours drag on, oscillating between bitterness and hope. He tells himself to stop—orders himself to focus—but his mind keeps circling back to you.

Always you.

The end of the day finally comes, and as he’s gathering his things, he hears the soft sound of your voice drifting from the hallway.

“Night, Nanami!”

You wave as you pass, the gesture casual but bright enough to light up the entire goddamn floor.

“Goodnight,” he replies, quieter than he means to. His hand tightens on his briefcase.

You disappear around the corner, and Nanami stays frozen for a moment, staring at the space where you’d been.

*-*

It’s Christmas in the office.

The annual “holiday celebration,” a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to slack off in the name of festivity. Nanami hates it—or at least he wants to hate it. Forced camaraderie, cheap decorations, music that grates on his nerves. It’s the kind of chaos he typically avoids.

But then you walk in, and every ounce of self-discipline he’s built over the years shatters into irreparable pieces.

The pencil skirt.

The goddamn Christmas-colored pencil skirt. It’s shorter than usual, clinging to your hips in a way that feels engineered to destroy him. The matching blouse, festive but just tight enough to drive him completely fucking insane.

It’s not fair.

You’re smiling as you step into the breakroom, chatting with a coworker, utterly oblivious to the wreckage you’re leaving in your wake.

Nanami’s pulse spikes. His gaze darts away, but the image of you is already seared into his brain, lingering like a bad habit.

He adjusts his tie, swallowing hard. Don’t be a creep. Don’t be a fucking creep. But then his eyes flick back, just for a second, and—oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His pants feel too tight.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fumbles with a stack of papers on his desk. His hands tremble slightly. He’s mortified, but there’s no stopping it. Not when his traitorous brain is already spinning, conjuring images he really shouldn’t be entertaining in the middle of the office.

Images of you. That skirt riding up higher, your thighs bare beneath his hands. The sound of your laughter softening into breathless gasps. The way your lips would feel against his skin—

Nanami bolts.

He mutters something vague about needing a minute to no one in particular and beelines for the bathroom. The fluorescent lights are harsh as he leans against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses to his reflection. His tie feels like a noose around his neck.

He splashes cold water on his face, but it doesn’t help. Not when every time he blinks, he sees you. The soft curve of your waist, the way your hair catches the light.

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic. You’re just trying to celebrate the holidays like everyone else, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, wrestling with his own shameless thoughts.

The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that it’s not just the dirty shit. Oh, no. His brain is crueler than that.

He imagines quiet mornings with you. You in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, smiling at him over a mug of coffee. Your hand brushing his as you pass him a plate, the warmth of your touch lingering long after.

It’s insidious. It’s relentless. It’s everything he doesn’t deserve, and yet he wants it so badly he feels like he might choke on it.

Nanami drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan that echoes in the empty bathroom.

She doesn’t even notice you, idiot.

He stays there longer than he should, collecting himself—or trying to. Eventually, he straightens his tie, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to return to his desk.

But when he passes by the breakroom again, you’re laughing, radiant, and he knows this torture is far from over.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, he doesn’t.

But it’s impossible not to overhear you when you’re in the breakroom, talking to someone about the bouquet on the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, these are lovely,” you say, your voice light and cheerful. “But if I had to pick, I’ve always been more into bold flowers. Red dahlias, spider lilies, roses—things like that. Dark, dramatic colors. They’re so beautiful.”

Nanami freezes in the hallway, a stack of files in his hands. His heart does this stupid little stutter, the same one it always does when he hears your voice. But now it’s worse because his mind is spinning with the image of you holding a bouquet like the one you’ve just described.

Red dahlias, spider lilies. The thought of you cradling those flowers, smiling at them, smiling because of him—he has to physically shake his head to clear it.

He’s pathetic.

He knows he’s pathetic. He clenches the files tighter, willing himself to keep walking, but the image won’t leave him.

Over the next few days, he thinks about it more than he wants to admit. He imagines walking into a flower shop, carefully selecting each bloom, making sure they’re perfect. He imagines handing the bouquet to you, watching your face light up—

And then he imagines the aftermath. You smiling politely, awkwardly thanking him, wondering why the hell one of your coworkers is giving you flowers.

No.

He can’t do it. It’s wildly inappropriate. He’s already teetering on the edge of unprofessionalism just by thinking about you like this.

But then, one quiet afternoon in the office, he hears you mention your birthday in passing.

“Oh, it’s in a month or so,” you say, laughing softly. “I don’t usually do much for it, though. Just a quiet day, you know?”

Nanami marks the date down the second he gets back to his desk. He feels like a creep for it, but the thought of letting the day pass without acknowledgment feels unbearable.

He’s spent weeks overthinking this, debating whether or not he should go through with it. But as he stands outside the florist that morning, the door handle cold in his hand, he decides he can’t let it go.

He picks each flower carefully: crimson dahlias with velvety petals, a few spider lilies that curl dramatically, and deep red roses. It’s a small bouquet—not too extravagant, just enough to feel thoughtful.

By the time he gets to the office, his palms are clammy, and he feels like he might actually pass out.

He doesn’t give it to you right away. He waits until the middle of the day, when the office is quieter and most people are out at lunch. He finds you at your desk, bent over some papers, your hair falling slightly into your face.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice more formal than he intended.

You look up, blinking in surprise, and when your eyes land on the bouquet in his hands, they widen slightly.

“I, uh—” He clears his throat, trying not to fumble. “I overheard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”

You take the bouquet slowly, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer—something warmer.

“Oh my gosh, Nanami, these are gorgeous,” you say, holding the flowers close to your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. “Just… thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” Your smile is radiant, and for the first time, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice sincere.

He nods, forcing himself to meet your gaze for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before quickly retreating to the safety of his desk.

But that's what happens in his mind, in his fantasy... in reality, he simply left those at your desk while you were in a meeting, though he did hear you gasp when you saw them.

As he sits at his desk, his heart pounding, he allows himself a small, private smile. For once, his yearning doesn’t feel quite so pathetic.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. But it’s impossible not to hear you when your voice floats down the hallway like that, soft and full of joy.

The bouquet sits proudly on your desk, vibrant reds catching the fluorescent light, and you’re standing nearby, talking to another employee.

“I still can’t believe it,” you’re saying, your tone carrying this sweet mix of wonder and delight. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. It’s just… so thoughtful, you know?”

Nanami, passing by with his usual quiet efficiency, freezes mid-step. His breath hitches in his throat.

“I mean, look at them,” you continue, gesturing to the flowers. “They’re perfect. Whoever picked these out really put a lot of thought into it.” You laugh softly, a sound that makes his chest ache. “I’m not even sure how they knew these are my favorites.”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She’s talking about me. She’s talking about me.

He feels ridiculous for the way his stomach twists, for the heat creeping up his neck. A grown man shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feel this weak, over a few kind words. But goddammit, he can’t help it.

The idea that you’re gushing about something he did, that he made you happy, even for a moment—it’s enough to undo him completely.

“Whoever it was,” you add, your voice softening, “it’s just… it really made my day. Probably my whole week, honestly.”

Nanami swallows hard, clutching his briefcase like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His emotions are a mess—a chaotic tangle of pride, relief, and something deeper, something that makes his throat feel tight.

He knows he should walk away. He shouldn’t linger here, shouldn’t keep listening like some lovesick fool. But he’s stuck, trapped by the sound of your voice and the warmth in your words.

When he finally moves, it’s with a heaviness in his chest that he can’t quite define. He makes his way back to his desk, sitting down and staring blankly at his computer screen.

*-*

Weeks bleed together in the monotony of office life, except for the moments where Nanami lets himself carve out little spaces of joy—tiny gestures that go unnoticed by most but feel monumental to him.

It starts with a single chocolate, placed carefully on the corner of your desk one morning before you arrive. Just a small thing, barely bigger than his thumb, wrapped in shiny foil. He doesn’t linger to see your reaction. He couldn’t stomach it, not when he knows he’d fold in on himself if you so much as tilted your head in confusion.

But the next day, you’re chatting with the receptionist, that same soft laugh spilling from your lips.

“It’s so weird,” you’re saying, holding the empty wrapper in your fingers. “I found this little chocolate on my desk yesterday. I don’t know who left it, but it was sweet. Made my morning, honestly.”

Nanami ducks his head, pretending to be engrossed in the stack of reports he’s holding, but inside, he’s practically vibrating. She noticed. She noticed.

He tells himself to stop, to leave it there, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The yearning is too big, too loud, and it demands an outlet, however small.

After a grueling conference one afternoon, he slips a bottle of chilled water onto your desk when you step away. Nothing extravagant—just a quiet act of care. You’re gone for no more than a minute, but when you return, you blink down at the bottle, tilting your head in that way he finds unfairly adorable.

“Huh,” you murmur, glancing around. “Did someone leave this?”

You shrug, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, and Nanami has to fight the urge to look away too quickly, lest anyone catch the faint pink blooming across his cheeks.

It’s pathetic.

The way he lives for these small moments, like a man stranded in a desert, savoring droplets of water. Every tiny gesture, every unnoticed offering, feels like a prayer he’s too afraid to voice aloud.

He notices everything about you. How you seem to perk up on Friday afternoons, your shoulders relaxing as you chat about weekend plans. How you wrinkle your nose just slightly when you’re concentrating. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening—a soft, tuneless sound that drives him to distraction.

He doesn’t need grand gestures. He doesn’t want them. He just wants to make your days a little brighter, even if you never know it’s him.

And god, does he yearn.

He daydreams when he shouldn’t, his thoughts slipping away from spreadsheets and into fantasies that make his chest ache. He imagines brushing your hair back from your face, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He imagines quiet evenings, your laughter filling the silence of his apartment. He imagines the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

And sometimes—sometimes, when he’s alone, when the ache feels unbearable—he lets himself imagine things he shouldn’t. Things that make his heart race and his breath catch and leave him staring at his own reflection in shame after.

But he never acts on it. Never says a word. Instead, he keeps leaving his little tokens: a coffee cup placed carefully on your desk when he overhears you complain about a late night, a pack of your favorite pens after you mention running out.

You smile every time, and though you never suspect him, that’s enough. It has to be enough.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

*-*

You’re not an idiot.

No, you may be a little dense sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Someone has been leaving you small, thoughtful little gifts over the past few weeks.

And you have absolutely no idea who it is.

It started innocently enough—chocolate on your desk one morning. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it kept happening. A bottle of water after a long conference, a cup of coffee after a particularly brutal meeting. At first, you thought maybe it was just a mistake, someone leaving things around and not realizing it was yours. But no, they were always right where you’d find them. Right when you needed them.

It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it's also starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of you because, for the life of you, you can’t figure out who’s doing it.

You’ve spent the past few days trying to narrow it down, your brain doing mental gymnastics over every damn interaction you’ve had at work. And frankly? You’re getting tired of it.

“Alright, let’s break this shit down,” you mutter to yourself as you sip your second cup of coffee of the day, pretending to focus on an email.

Option one: Your boss.

Ha. Right. She’s too busy scheduling her hair appointments to think about leaving chocolates on anyone’s desk. Plus, she’s got the whole “I don’t care if you live or die” attitude, so yeah, not her.

Option two: Kevin from accounting.

Kevin’s an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but still. He’s the type to forget the coffee in the breakroom and then call it “the best thing ever” for two hours, as though anyone cares about his “discovery.” You’re not buying that.

Option three: That one guy from marketing, Tom.

You nearly burst into laughter just thinking about it. Tom’s an over-caffeinated golden retriever in a human’s body. He’s the type of guy who thinks sending a “Hey, just wanted to check in!” email twice a day is “checking in” on people. He probably couldn’t even remember to get a chocolate from a store, let alone leave it at your desk.

Option four: Nanami.

You pause mid-sip, blinking rapidly. Nanami? The quiet guy from finance? The one who barely says more than a handful of words in a meeting?

Now that’s an intriguing thought. He’s always… there. Always around, like a quiet shadow, observing. Sure, he’s not exactly filling the room with energy, but there’s something there, right? Something beneath that perfectly structured exterior.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No way. That’s ridiculous.

But then you think about it. Nanami’s the type of guy who doesn’t get distracted by office chaos. He’s methodical. Focused. The guy who lives on routine. He’d be the one to sneakily notice when someone’s overworked and needs a small pick-me-up. He’s just... quiet about it.

But then again, who leaves water bottles, chocolates, and coffee? It’s not like he’s ever said anything about it. Not a single “hey, I thought you might like this,” or anything remotely close to an acknowledgment. Hell, he doesn’t even smile much.

God, he’s so damn mysterious it makes your head spin.

You glance over at his desk. There he is—quiet, as usual. Focused, pretending the world isn’t falling apart around him.

It could be him.

But no. You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. He’s not the type. Right?

It’s just… weird. And you’re not even sure why it feels so weird. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve got a secret admirer at work, which is fucking hilarious because it sounds like something out of a shitty rom-com you wouldn’t even watch if someone paid you.

"God, I’m going insane," you mutter under your breath, checking your watch. "Seriously. Who the hell is doing this?"

*-*

It took weeks.

Weeks of small gestures.

You’ve figured it out.

It took some careful observation, a bit of deduction, and honestly, a lot of staring at Nanami when he wasn’t looking. But there’s no doubt in your mind now. The quiet, stoic, almost painfully composed man from finance—the one who always has his tie perfectly in place and whose voice could melt butter—he’s your secret admirer.

And oh, it’s delicious.

At first, you weren’t sure. Nanami wasn’t exactly the type to scream “hopeless romantic” or even “mildly interested.” But the more you watched him, the more obvious it became. The way his eyes linger on you just a second too long, the way he tenses when you get too close, the way he seems to disappear right after you find something thoughtful left at your desk.

You caught him once, hovering near the break room as you raved to a coworker about the flowers. He didn’t say a word, but the way he froze mid-step, his jaw tightening ever so slightly? Yeah. That was all the confirmation you needed.

And honestly? You’re thrilled.

Nanami’s hot. Not just conventionally attractive, but smart-hot, the kind of guy who could ruin you with a PowerPoint presentation and a sharp comment about fiscal responsibility. He’s also maddeningly composed, which makes you want to poke at him, see what’s underneath that calm, collected exterior.

So, naturally, you decide to fuck with him.

Just a little.

You can feel the tension building in the air as you move through your day, the little comments, the subtle glances. Nanami’s still trying to play it cool, but it’s clear. He’s a mess. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away when they linger on you a second too long. You can hear it in his voice when he answers you—a little too stiff, a little too forced.

So, you decide to push him.

You start small. Little things. Nothing too obvious, just a few well-placed gestures to see how far you can take him before he finally snaps.

You walk past his desk, and you’re definitely not trying to make sure your skirt hugs your hips just right. You bend over just so to grab a file from your bag, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of your cleavage.

You’re certain he’s trying not to look—hell, you can practically feel him forcing his eyes up to the ceiling, but you know. You know he’s been watching.

When you straighten up, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s gripping his pen like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles pale, and his jaw is tight. You smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

“Need something, Nanami?” you ask, the words dripping with an edge of playful mischief.

He swallows, clearly doing everything in his power to maintain his usual stoic expression. “No,” he replies, too quickly, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

You laugh lightly, keeping the tension alive as you pull away. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Oh, this is too good.

You don’t stop there, though. No, you want to see how much he can handle.

The next day, you make sure to wear a skirt that’s just a little tighter, just a little shorter than usual. The fabric clings to you in all the right ways, and when you walk past Nanami’s desk, you make sure to let your hip brush against the edge of his desk, just lightly enough to catch his attention.

As you bend down to grab a report from the printer, you give him the tiniest, most casual look over your shoulder. You’re sure you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your legs before he quickly looks away. Gotcha.

You straighten up, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you walk back past him, barely stopping yourself from humming in satisfaction when you feel his gaze linger on the curve of your back.

It’s all too easy.

And now? Now it’s time to turn it up a notch.

You’ve been toying with him for days now, watching as he stiffens every time you get a little too close, testing how much he can take before his composure cracks. You see the way his breath catches when you “accidentally” brush your arm against his as you pass by. He doesn’t say a word, but you know. You can see it in the way his eyes flash with something darker, something needy, before he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

You know what you’re doing to him.

And you’re fucking loving it.

*-*

For two weeks, you’ve been shamelessly pushing Nanami to his limits.

You flirt, you linger, you brush your hand against his arm just a little too long, your skirts are shorter, tighter—designed to test the boundaries of his sanity.

And he notices.

Oh, he notices.

But what you don’t see is what’s going on beneath that perfectly calm, stoic exterior.

Because Nanami is losing his fucking mind.

Every look, every casual touch, every time you lean just a little too close—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire inside him. He’s never been this affected by anyone, and now it feels like he’s constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He tries—he really does—to keep his composure. He’s a professional, damn it. A man of control and discipline. But you? You’re unraveling him piece by piece.

*-*

She knows. Oh, God, she fucking knows. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she doing this on purpose? She’s doing this on purpose. That skirt—did it get shorter? That’s not appropriate for the office, right? Should I say something? No. No, shut up, you idiot. Just focus on your work. She’s walking toward you. Act normal. Act—

“Hey, Nanami, could you help me with something?” you ask, your voice sweet, with just the faintest hint of teasing.

His throat goes dry. He looks up, forcing his expression to remain neutral, professional. “Of course. What do you need?”

You lean closer, your hand brushing his shoulder as you point to your tablet. “I can’t figure out this formula. Can you show me?”

He doesn’t miss the way your perfume lingers in the air, soft and floral, and it’s driving him mad.

“Sure,” he says, his voice even, betraying nothing of the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

But inside? He’s screaming.

*-*

This is a problem. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. That look she gave me this morning? That wasn’t casual. No, that was calculated. She’s testing me, trying to see how far I’ll go. Does she know how much I—

He can’t even finish the thought. Because the truth is, his daydreams are becoming increasingly inappropriate, increasingly desperate.

He imagines you sitting on his lap in his office chair, your arms draped around his neck as you laugh at something he said. He imagines kissing you—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate, until he’s completely lost in you. He imagines everything he wants to do to you, and it’s enough to make him clench his fists under his desk, trying to hold himself together.

*-*

One afternoon, you’re standing next to his desk, going on about some report, and he can’t take it anymore. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and the way you’re looking at him, with that mischievous little glint in your eye—it’s too much.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low, controlled.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He stands, towering over you, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on yours. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though the slight curve of your lips betrays you.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The teasing. The looks. The... whatever this is. If you’re trying to drive me insane, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Your grin widens, and you cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his confidence unwavering now. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and he feels his chest tighten all over again.

“Okay, Nanami. You’ve got yourself a date.”

*-*

The date is perfect.

Nanami shows up at your door precisely at seven, looking sharp in a navy suit and holding a small bouquet of red dahlias—your favorite. Dinner is a mix of light conversation and laughter, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm that feels like you’ve known each other forever.

When he walks you back to your apartment, the air between you is warm, charged with something unspoken.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice soft, your eyes searching his.

He hesitates for half a second before nodding. “Yes.”

*-*

Your apartment is cozy, filled with little touches that are unmistakably you. Nanami takes it all in—your bookshelves, your mismatched throw pillows, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

But then you’re there, standing close to him, your eyes meeting his, and everything else fades away.

The first kiss is tentative, a soft meeting of lips that quickly deepens as he pulls you closer, his hands resting on your waist. You sigh against him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans softly, losing himself in the warmth of you.

“Nanami,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch your breath.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

You laugh, your forehead resting against his. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I hate the way you consume my thoughts. I hate the way you make me feel so... so...”

“Alive?” you offer, grinning.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

Before things can go further, your cat jumps onto the couch, meowing loudly, and you both break apart, laughing.

“Excuse me,” Nanami says, his voice soft but firm as he picks up the cat and carries it to another room. “We need privacy.”

When he returns, you’re still laughing, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands cradling your face.

Between kisses, he whispers things that make your heart ache in the best way.

“You drive me crazy... but I don’t want it to stop. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

By the time the night ends, you’re both a mess of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, and for the first time in weeks, Nanami feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

A/N: sorryyy, this might be ooc for him? im unsure...

Masterlist.

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