#deadline-oriented;

[cgvibe]

I Will Do Professional 3D Product Modeling and Rendering Services

[bredforloyalty]

handed in assignment 1 minute late. should i be worried

[youjustwaitsunshine]

love that my friends unanimously characterize me as this super chill stoic person who takes everything as it comes when my internal monologue is just panicked incoherent screaming 98% of the time

[jack-of-all-daws]

I got the braincell today it seems

[girls-and-honey]

.

[hetchdrive]

awake again and you’ll never guess why 🙃

[flemingology]

L is for the way you look at me ─ alexia putellas x reader

part 1 of my l-o-v-e miniseries. full masterlist here!

in which: you meet Alexia through your work, but things take an unexpected turn

warnings: nothing i can think of, but there must be something with this being 9k words. so let me know if there's anything worth mentioning lol. fluffy though!

wc: 8.8k

an: put my whole writerussy in this series. it'll come out on a weekly basis, every sunday for the next 4 weeks. will run simultaneously with the rest of my christmas series! i hope you enjoy <3

Your tires kicked up some gravel as your car came to a halt on the parking spot next to the sports complex. You leaned your head back against the headrest and let out a deep sigh, letting the silence overcome you for a second. You bathed in the comfort of your own car and tried to come to your senses, before what would be one of the biggest moments in your professional career as an interior architect so far. Scratch that. Biggest moment, for sure. Nothing had ever been bigger or more important than this.

It was early January when you initially got the call from your boss. You were at home, working on some 3D blueprints for a new apartment complex that was being built in the city centre. Not your most exciting project, but that’s the price you paid for working in a metropolis like Barcelona. Deadlines coming thick and fast, it meant that you were severely overworked, but clients weren’t waiting. Residents weren’t waiting, either. So you worked. You worked early, worked late, worked at home, worked in the office. You’d always been career-oriented, though, so you were never going to complain, not with the opportunities your perseverance had given you already. But you wouldn’t have dared to dream about this next one, even in your wildest dreams.

Your phone shook you up from your thoughts, head deep in a few finishing touches on an elevator blueprint when your ringtone sounded through your apartment. You rolled and stretched your neck in a futile attempt to release some of the tension there, before picking up the device and bringing it to your ear.

“Y/n, I’m gonna get right down to business. I’ve got an opportunity for you that you’re not going to want to turn down.”

A combination of words you’d normally be very excited about, but with the amount of work you already had on your plate, you weren’t quite sure about that. Endless to-do lists were scattered around your apartment and you were already struggling to meet all the deadlines set, so taking something else up would definitely set you back for a good couple months on multiple projects. You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath before you replied, solely a hum.

“Look, I know you’re busy. You have a whole load on your plate right now, but if you take this, I’ll take care of the rest. We will redistribute the work. But this is once in a lifetime. And I want my best employee on it.”

You were taken aback by his words, your boss never one to willingly move work around from employee to employee once a project had been started. Your interest was piqued, so you decided to bite.

“Alright, you got me. Shoot.”

“We’ve been asked to design a new training complex for the Barcelona Women’s team.”

-

The best part of 8 months later, here you finally were. Sat outside the complex, in your car, taking a couple more moments before throwing yourself in the deep end. You had worked relentlessly on this project. If you thought you were working hard before, you’d found a new gear that left all your previous years in your professional career in the dust. You were the only designer on the project, meaning that a lot of the work fell on your shoulders and yours only in the initial phases of the process.

You were fatigued, from a lack of sleep as much as physically. You couldn’t remember how many all-nighters you pulled in trying to get the design over the line by the deadline. You experienced heightened anxiety and stress over the course of multiple months, only adding to the already overbearingly heavy weight on your shoulders. You got obsessive with it, as you always did, danced on the brink of a burn-out at some points, but you promised yourself it would pay off. Nothing would ever come close to the feeling of professional success. And you hoped, for the love of God, that you could deliver tonight. That everyone was happy with the complex, that your tour would go seamlessly, and that you had another thing to tick off in your long bucket-list of working as an interior architect. You took a couple more composing breaths in the driver seat of your car, checking your appearance a final time and attempted yourself at a pep-talk before you opened the door of your car and stepped out into the heat of the Spanish capital.

You’d seen it before, given the tour to your imaginary guests more often than you could count, but now, in Barcelona’s glistening afternoon sun, it really came into its own. The complex stands tall, but it exudes a sense of openness. It’s large, commanding, but not intimidating. Towering windows scratch across its surface, a feature that you’d grown to love across your visits to the facility. It allows plenty of natural light to pour in, the building strategically positioned so it would catch most of the afternoon sun. The entrance is wide, inviting, but nothing short of impressive. A set of smooth, glass doors that reach high, transparent so they give you a view of the lobby. The first feeling that comes over you is relief. You had seen the structure plenty of times, but with the prospect of having to guide the clients around later, it’s reassuring that you still feel excited and accomplished about your work. You approach the building, deciding to wait for the rest of your clients by the entrance.

You didn’t have to wait long, two black Cupras soon arriving at the facility after you made your way over. You weren’t fully aware how many people of the club were going to be present, but you’d tried to prepare yourself. Nine people though, that was kind of cutting it. Five people exited the first vehicle, another four quickly following short out of the other. Nine. If you weren’t nervous before, you surely were then.

The introductions went by in a flurry, but you tried your absolute best to remember the name and functions of every suited or dressed man or woman that had just shook your hand. Joan, president of the club. Pere, head coach. Marc, financial director. Lucia, facilities manager. There was one amongst them, though, that didn’t need an introduction. Not to you. Not to anyone. And really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to you that they brought a player. If anyone has to approve of the facilities, it’s the players themselves.

“Alexia. Nice to meet you.” “Y/n. Likewise.”

She gave you a firm handshake, her eyes holding yours just a second too long, and you swear, you could feel it—that spark, that something. But before you could question it, she’d already let go of your hand and joined the rest of her people. You were well aware who she was, well aware of what she meant in the world of football, but you weren’t taken aback. It was nothing more than a crossover between two people doing their jobs, and you weren’t gonna have someone like her intimidate you and throw you off your path for the rest of the afternoon. Not with the importance of this project for the future of your career.

You clapped your hands when everyone seemed to have taken their first looks at the building from the inside. “Okay! Shall we?” You mustered up the brightest smile you had in your locker, silently wishing that the nerves would settle down as soon as you got into your element inside.

“Okay, so, the main entrance. I didn’t want to have too much going on in here, more going for a calm atmosphere. Reception in the middle, and then there’s really only one hall here, leading you towards the rest of the facility.”

The entrance was, as you described, calm. It had some lounge seats here and there but you couldn’t imagine many people spending lots of time here, so you kept the extras limited. A few acknowledging and appreciating hums from your tiny crowd sent you on your way, your nerves slowly but surely ebbing away.

You slowly guided your guests towards the hallway, letting them take in the interior and space for as long as they wanted until they seemed ready to continue the tour. “On the left, first and foremost, the changing room. I thought it was handy for it to be near the entrance, as most of the players probably come straight here after arriving.”

You push open the double doors to the room, stepping aside and allowing the others to step in first. “As you can see, a large and accordingly illuminated space with rows of lockers, personalized for each player. Each locker has a charging station, storage for gear, and adjustable lighting, because who doesn’t hate bad lighting when trying to focus before a game?”

For the first time during the tour, someone spoke up then, and it wasn’t who you’d expect to take the floor first. “I’ll admit, I’m guilty of using mine as a mini closet sometimes. Good call with the extra storage.” Alexia’s admission caused some lighthearted laughs and chatter to rise from the small group of people, and you almost felt grateful for her comment. “I’m glad.” You mustered up a small but sincere smile, before turning back around and continuing your work.

You gestured towards the wall that wasn’t adorned with lockers. “The screens on here are meant for displaying tactics, team news, and whatever else you guys get up to on a day-to-day basis.” You were really coming into yourself and started to forget about the nerves of the moment. You were in your element, you were doing what you liked, what you had been doing for the past 7 years of your life. You weren’t gonna mess this up.

“Of course, showers are tucked around the corner. Communal shower room, as I’m sure you’re all familiar with. Physio beds, and everything else you would need for pre-activation before training are around the other corner. To integrate some options for relaxation, there are also some sofas in that room. I don’t know to which extent they will be used, but they’re there.”

Right as you were about to lead the group back out towards the next room, Pere spoke up. “I like the adjustable lighting. I think it’s something we struggled with at our previous facility. It was quite bright, and sometimes that’s not the vibe you want to create for your players. They need calm, especially after a training session. Good work on that one.” The man offered you a sincere smile and rested his hand on your shoulder for a split second, and you felt all warm inside at the acknowledgement of your work. You took it in your stride and continued the tour.

“Taking a left outside the locker room and moving down the hallway, it’ll take you into the tactical room. Meeting room, briefing room, whatever you want to call it. This room is more dimly lit, with one singular big screen on the wall for video analysis, powerpoint presentations, and so on. I think there’s about 30 seats, but I wasn’t quite sure on how many there would need to be, so if you need any more I can take care of those too.”

Pere and Alexia shared a look, before letting you know that 30 would be enough. “Now, moving on through the room, I designed a second section with more of a discussion place in mind. I opted for a round table, rather than a rectangular shape, because I feel like it invites more participation. A couple whiteboards here and there, but I’m sure you guys will find your own ways to use this room to your own liking.”

“There’s one thing, though, and I’m quite proud of that, if I may say so myself. One of these walls,” you started, tapping your finger on the back wall of the discussion room, “is a writable wall. You can write, pin notes, whatever you might need to brainstorm about your tactics.”

Pere’s voice sounded through the room as you finished your explanation. “So, Ale, no more scribbling on napkins during tactical meetings, huh?” You finally realized why one of your colleagues on the project was adamant about a certain type of soundproof walls for the room, because you were now grateful for the great acoustics as Alexia’s laugh sounded through the place. Suddenly, you noticed that one of the chairs around the table was slightly out of place. Your need for perfectionism rose up and as much as you wanted to leave it, to not fuss about a small detail like that, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Sorry, this chair is bothering me. Details matter, especially in places like these. Athletes notice more than they think they do.” You didn’t direct your statement towards anyone, but weren’t exactly surprised either when you heard Alexia’s voice in response. “We do? I just thought we used these rooms to throw our stuff around,” the Spaniard said with an amused, infuriatingly attractive smirk on her face. It was your turn to laugh now, and you weren’t the only one grateful anymore for the acoustics of the room.

You answered a couple questions and scribbled down a couple more suggestions from the rest of the staff, before making your way out of the discussion room and moving back towards the hallway. “Now, crossing the hallway, this is the treatment room.” There’s a calm atmosphere in the room, the soft hum of the lights the only sound as your clients take in their surroundings. “Plenty of massage tables in the middle of the room, some more space for pre-activation, shelves stretched across the walls with recovery tools. Around the corner, there’s a multifunctional hydrotherapy pool and an ice bath. These adjustable lights mimic natural daylight to help with recovery. I wanted to create a space where your body and mind can unwind together.”

“I imagine you will spend lots of your time here,” you smiled, gesturing towards one of the women that presented herself as one of the club’s physiotherapists.

“Yeah, this will be my safe haven. It’s great, honestly, better than I ever imagined. I was thinking whether there was something missing, but I can’t think of anything. You did great work.” You shot the woman, whose name you’d already forgotten, a bright smile and thanked her for the compliment. The moment was soon lost on you as you heard someone clear their throat.

“Yes, Alexia?” It was the first time you’d called the Barcelona captain by her first name that afternoon, and you were surprised at the ease it rolled off your tongue with. If Alexia was taken aback, she didn’t show it. “I’m gonna be annoying for a second. Wouldn’t it be tough for someone injured to reach that?” She pointed at the top shelves, where some of the recovery tools were stacked. You took a moment to yourself to think about her comment, before giving her a slight smile and nodding. “You’re right, thank you for noticing that.” You took out your notepad and scribbled something down, adding an exclamation mark or 5 to convey the importance of the task. The rest of the group had already moved back to the hallway, leaving you and Alexia to yourself for a little moment. You didn’t know where the flurry of confidence came from, but you grabbed it with both hands before it could slip away, leading to your next comment. “Good catch, captain.” Alexia grinned, a twinkle in her eyes as she met yours.

“You’re the expert, not me.” “Well, you’re the professional footballer amongst the two of us, so I think I could learn a thing or two still about the design of team facilities.” “You’re doing more than a good job so far. I’m positively surprised.”

You got pulled back to reality when you heard a laugh coming through the door from the hallway, reminding you of the fact that you were still working, still having to uphold a professional persona and make sure that the tour went well. This wasn’t the time and place to be making much small talk, let alone flirting. Could you even call it that? “Let’s move on, yeah?”

You lead your clients down the hall, opening the double doors that would lead to the gym. The space was just as you’d imagined it, and hearing the noises of appreciation from the people behind you, you knew you’d done a good job.

“I think this speaks for itself, really. Not entirely my area of expertise, not really one for dumbbells or barbells, but I think I got everything covered here,” you chuckled. “Resistance machines, cardio equipment, dumbbells, barbells and kettlebells. There’s also an area for stretching and functional training near the back of the room. I wanted this to be big, spacious, allowing lots of natural light in, because I know half of the training days are spent here. People tend to forget that.” 

“Dios mio, Pere, if I’m ever missing, just come find me in here. This place is a dream come true,” you heard Alexia say from across the room, letting her eyes rake over the abundance of equipment that was scattered all around the gym. You crossed the room and joined her, following her movements with your eyes as she explored more of the gym. “I think this wall here needs some more Barca colors, no?” You scoffed and shook your head slightly, but pulled out your notepad nonetheless. “Noted, but I think you’re biased. Lucky for you, I like your bias.” Alexia tilted her head at that. “Does that mean I get to say in the rest of the design too?” You knew what she was doing. And it was so wrong for you to be giving into it in this professional context, but the woman across from you was enticing and you couldn’t help but be flattered at the way she seemed to be flirting with you. “Now, don’t push your luck, Putellas.” With that, you turned on your heels and made your way back towards the front of the room, not wanting to give Alexia the satisfaction of seeing the crimson red color your cheeks had turned at the small interaction.

“Well, I think we’ve got one final room, then.” You lead your guests back through the doors of the gym. “Taking a right here, you’ll end up in the team lounge. A cozy space for bonding, relaxing, whatever you guys want to do here. There’s a coffee station, entertainment options like games and a big screen, beanbags scattered around the room, but you can fill it in the way you want, really. There’s lots of flexibility with this space.”

“A coffee station? That’s going to make you a lot of friends around here,” the ever-familiar voice behind you commented. “Honestly, the caffeine might be the most important design element in this building.”

You pointed at the seating arrangement. “I went for modular sofas so you can switch between team bonding sessions and personal space. As I said, I went for flexibility here.” Pere caught up to where you were walking and put his hand on your shoulder, just as he did earlier during the tour. “You thought of all the details, huh? Most people wouldn’t notice things like that.” You shrugged off the compliment. “It’s all in the details, I bet you know that just as well as I do.” The coach let out a warm laugh and you couldn’t help but feel accomplished, it meant the world to you that him and one of the most important players in his team felt right within the facility and were impressed with your designs.

“As for different rooms, that was it for the tour. The pitches are outside, but there’s nothing special about those. Feel free to check them out if you want. I’m gonna let you all wander around a bit now, and if you have any questions or remarks, please come to me. I’m all ears and I’m very open to feedback. I hope you’re all satisfied, though, because this project meant a lot to me and I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to have received this opportunity.”

What happened next, was the last thing you’d expected. The room went silent for a second, until you could hear a couple slow claps sounding through the room. They came from Alexia, who was ushering the other people in the room to give you an applause. Her colleagues followed shortly, and soon the room was filled with the sound of their clapping, all smiling brightly at you and sharing laughs with one another. You felt grateful, overwhelmed by your emotions, but you felt a huge weight fall off your shoulders at the acknowledgement.

It wasn’t until a couple minutes later, that Alexia found herself next to you again. Most of the people had wandered back through the corridors, checking out the rooms at their own pace. “So, how long did it take you to design this?” Alexia fell in step with you as you walked through the gym, mustering up ideas for the remark the Spaniard gave you earlier. “Uh, about 4 months for the main sections, and then a few extra weeks for the final touches. And then, a waiting game while it was being built. It’s a bit of a balancing act, you know?” Alexia smiled faintly at you before responding. “I imagine. It sounds like a lot, but it seems like you’ve got everything under control.” “I try to.”

It was about half an hour later, when you all found yourself back at the entrance. You received another couple compliments from several staff members that had come along, and it felt like every single one bolstered your outside a bit more and more, upping your confidence with each one, taking them all in your stride. You’d been nervous for this, had worked countless hours, days, weeks on this project, but it all felt worth it. It was the biggest project you’d ever worked on, but it turned out perfectly and you couldn’t have wished for a better outcome.

The sun had started to set over Barcelona now, golden hour casting the building in rays of orange. It felt symbolic, a perfect ending to what had been a greatly successful afternoon. Alexia had noticed your passion for your work throughout the tour, and it was safe to say that she admired it. “You care a lot about getting things right, don’t you?” “Of course. It’s important.” “It feels right… you being here. You doing this. I feel like you understand this place.”

Alexia’s words came right from the heart, her voice growing soft as she uttered the final couple words, and you felt a fuzzy feeling coursing through your body at the admission. You raised your eyes at her, curious where the sudden comment had come from. Alexia picked up on this, explaining herself further.

“Your dedication to your work, it just resonates with my dedication to mine. The team’s dedication. It feels good, this.” You weren’t sure what she was talking about anymore, whether that be the building, your commitment, or just this–– the situation you two found yourself in at the moment. You’d tried to keep up your professional demeanor throughout the tour, but the more heartfelt comments Alexia threw your way, the harder you found it to keep up the snarky remarks or shrugging off whatever she said.

“I don’t know the word… it’s like when you do something that makes sense, like…” “Purpose?” “Yeah, purpose.”

Alexia grew bashful quickly, a shy smile covering her face. “Sorry, my English isn’t quite there yet.” You waved away her apology and were grateful for the change of tone in the conversation, not quite sure you would be able to keep up your persona had she gotten much more open with you.

“Look, I have to go now. I can sense Pero is growing impatient in the car. But, look, uhm, I like how you understand this place. Would you maybe,” she clears her throat and looks down to the ground before finishing her sentence, “want to grab a coffee with me sometime?”

You should’ve expected it, really. The way she was throwing not-so-subtle flirty remarks at you throughout the tour, her demeanor growing in confidence the longer time went on, you should’ve known this was coming. Still, it swept you completely off your feet, and quite frankly, speechless. There wasn’t a single cell in your body that thought of denying her request. But somewhere, in the back of your mind, a little rational voice sounded, saying that you had to be professional. This was your work, her work, and mixing work and dates was never a good idea. So you took a deep breath, meeting her eyes again before you gave her the answer she probably wouldn’t have expected.

“Alexia, I’d love to. But, this is a professional work context.” Alexia cocked an eyebrow at you, a small smile hinting on one corner of her mouth, and you couldn’t help the confusion that came across you. “Guapa, you are the one assuming that we are going on a date. I proposed it just to, you know, discuss insights about the building.” Your cheeks burned bright red at her words, and there was no way to escape the situation now. The taller woman in front of you let out a laugh, throwing her head back and if it weren’t for the twinkle of adoration in her eyes when her gaze met yours again, you would’ve thought she was laughing at you. “No, I get you. But look, I’ll make it worth your while. Just give me one chance, okay? You can’t deny the… how do you say, chemistry?” You nodded bashfully at the Spaniard, knowing she was completely right. You had tried your hardest to remain professional, but it grew harder and harder not to open up more of yourself to the footballer. “Look, if you don’t want a coffee, how about you come to the game tomorrow? You’ve done so much for us, you should come see what you’ve worked for these past couple months. My family can’t make it this week, so I’ve got plenty of tickets for you and anyone else you want to bring.”

That sounded like a better suggestion, all in all. If anything, you could now paint it down as just a friendly invitation to thank you for your work, and you didn’t have to think of it as a date. Although, even with what you said, you weren’t opposed to that idea either. “That sounds fair. You owe me a good performance, though” you quipped back, not letting her off the hook that easily. She had made you blush, but you weren’t gonna let her walk over you like that. “Only if you come to dinner after.” And just like that, she’d turned the whole situation around again. Infuriating. Infuriatingly attractive. “We’ll see.”

-

You struggle on deciding what to wear that day. Torn between trying to look put-together and not wanting to look like you’re trying too hard, you eventually settle on something practical but nice– enough to look professional, but not too casual. Because in the end, it’s just a game, right? Just Alexia Putellas casually inviting you to see her in her element, no big deal. And dinner. Maybe.

The journey to the stadium went smoother than expected. You’d left more than early enough, and had just about beat the flurry of afternoon traffic, as you arrived at Estadi Johan Cruyff. This is as far as outsides of comfort zones went. This was not your usual surroundings. You were a homebody, either working or relaxing, you weren’t one for the big events. Let alone sporting events. You weren’t at home in this setting, but you couldn’t help but feel an excitement bubbling up inside you as you noticed the heaps of fans dressed in blaugrana jerseys, waving flags and scarves, all coming to see their idols on a sunbathed afternoon in the Spanish capital. Nerves bubble up the closer you get to the stadium, and you tried to ground yourself by taking a couple deep breaths before taking the plunge.

You’d remembered the instructions Alexia sent you over text on how to get to her friends and family box. She asked for your number at some point that day before, and brushed it off as practicality for today’s game, but you knew somewhere that that wasn’t the last time you’d hear of her. The moment you arrive in her box overwhelms you. There’s a couple other people, and you get a sudden burst of nerves thinking about having to introduce you as… well, as what? The interior architect of her new team facilities? You were well aware of how weird that sounded. But they paid you no mind, so you thanked your lucky stars when you found your seat without all too much fuss and settled down for the next couple hours.

The crowd, the noise, there was a buzzing atmosphere around the stadium and it was such a stark contrast to the environment you’d been in yesterday. The stadium felt alive. As much as you weren’t a football or sports fan in general, you finally understood why people liked going to games. You took in your environment, scanning the crowd. A man singing at the top of his lungs, seemingly the person that needed to get the chants going. A little girl in a jersey three sizes too big, on her father’s shoulders, holding a sign that said: “Alexia, mi heroina��. A group of teenagers finding their seats right underneath the box, faces painted with stripes, yelling things you didn’t quite understand, because God forbid you were consistent with your Spanish classes. A mixed smell of popcorn, churros and questionable hotdogs suddenly hit you like a wall. It was chaos, but it seemed like the people here thrived on it. Suddenly, you couldn’t believe having missed out on this element of the city for so long. Of course, you were well aware that Barcelona had two successful, thriving first teams. You just couldn’t be bothered. Now, though, it felt like your whole world had turned upside down at the revelation of how fun this was.

As much as Alexia insisted on you bringing someone, for your own company, you didn’t. It felt too much like using her, not wanting to overstep boundaries on this first meeting. Second, in theory. But now, as you were sat here in the stadium, crowd so loud their hum vibrated in your chest, maybe you wouldn’t have minded someone else here to share the experience with. Then again, bringing someone would’ve made this feel more like a… thing. And you didn’t know whether you were ready to accept this being a thing, yet. Your thoughts circled back to Alexia, the woman you were here for in the first place. Would she be nervous now? Of course not. She was in the locker room right now, already zoned in and focused. Professional. Unlike you, who was sitting here, overthinking what a stupid invitation to a game might mean. Still, there was something about being here– her stadium, her world, that made you feel closer to her. Like it was a glimpse into the pieces of herself she didn’t give away so easily. They were all here for her, but you were invited by her. It felt different.

What you didn’t expect, at all, was your phone to chime with a message from her.

From: Alexia You here yet?

You quickly typed back a response, figuring she didn’t have much time to be on her phone. They were due for warm-ups anytime soon now.

To: Alexia: Yeah, just found my seat. Thank you :) It’s chaos out here, damn

From: Alexia Good chaos. You’ll see. Enjoy it, I’ll find you after

It’s as if Alexia’s words had a soothing effect on you, because as soon as you tucked your phone back away you relaxed, sitting back against your seat and letting the experience roll over you.

The Barca girls came out for warm-ups, and you couldn’t help but admire them. The players moved across the pitch with this kind of effortless precision that made it all look simple, though you knew it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell who was who at first, not even you lack of football knowledge, but there were so many of them, a blur of navy shorts and bright orange bibs weaving in and out of each other as the ball zipped between them.

You weren’t looking for her. At least, you told yourself you weren’t. But somehow, your eyes kept finding her anyway. You caught a flash of blonde hair and noticed the distinctive way she carried herself on the pitch. She wasn’t doing anything else than the others– passing, moving, stretching. But she stood out. There was something about her, even from a distance, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. It was like your eyes gravitated towards her naturally, without you guiding them. 

The Alexia you’d walked the tour with, who’d thrown you teasing smiles and leaned a little too close when you said goodbye, was gone. Out here, she was something entirely different– serious, focused, untouchable. She hadn’t looked up once, her eyes not searching yours, and you would feel apprehensive about it if you didn’t remember the look she had in her eyes when she invited you. After all, why would she? She had a job to do. This was her thing, as much as yesterday was yours.

You weren’t the only one watching her, obviously. You could hear little bursts of her name from the fans sitting nearby, the occasional shriek of excitement when she touched the ball during a drill. She was theirs and they were hers in a way I couldn’t quite wrap my head around, but it was beautiful. Alexia is Barca and Barca is Alexia, right?

It wasn’t long then until the game started, you got lost in your own thoughts a little bit and you were now mere seconds away from kick-off. The pitch looked impossibly green under the floodlights– that were turned on way too early, but you guessed it was better to be safe than sorry. Players were scattered around it, waiting for the signal from the referee that they could get their game going. The energy of the crowd built like a wave, rolling through the stands. People were on their feet, clapping, yelling. You didn’t know the chants, but you felt a tingle inside of you urging you to clap along, the energy of the crowd too enticing not to.

As the whistle blew to signal kick-off, the energy in the stadium shifted. You didn’t expect it to hit you like that, the way the crowd seemed to breathe, shift, move as one organism. It was overwhelming in the best way. You weren’t here to watch anyone in particular, you told yourself. You were just going to enjoy the experience, the place, to see it all in action. But once again, as soon as the ball was in play, you found yourself watching her. Tracking the way she moved, the way she gracefully handled the ball, the way she always seemed two steps ahead of everyone else.

Out here, she was undeniable. There was a precision to the way she played, a quiet authority that made it impossible to look away. It wasn’t just that she was good– and realistically, that played a huge part, it was the way she made everything look so effortless, like she’d orchestrated the entire game in her head before anyone else knew what was happening.

You were deep into the first half when the play stalled, and for the first time all game, the noise of the crowd dulled in your ears. Alexia was in the middle of the action, barking instructions to her teammates– sharp, no-nonsense commands you couldn’t hear from up there but you could feel all the same. Her gestures were deliberate, decisive, and when she pointed towards the flank, her teammates took off without hesitation.

There was something magnetic about it, about the way she owned the field without ever raising her voice too much, the way her team fell in line like clockwork because she was the one pulling the strings. Captain’s armband snug around her bicep, confidence looked good on her. It wasn’t flashy or loud, but it was undeniable.

Your eyes lingered on her a little longer than they should have, when play resumed. The way her jersey clung to her shoulders and arms wasn’t helping either. You shifted in your seat, tearing your gaze away, but the thought was already there, uninvited and impossible to ignore. You’d listen to whatever she told you to do too.

Heat rushed to your face at the realization so quickly it nearly made you feel dizzy. Nope. Absolutely not. You took a deep breath and focused back on the game, on the fluid football that was being portrayed by the girls in blaugrana. Professional. You are professional. And you are definitely not thinking about what it would be like to hear that voice closer. Louder. DIrected at you.

Saved by the bell. Or the half-time whistle. Saved by something, thank God. That’s what you thought. As the players made their way toward the tunnel, your eyes found her again. She was talking to one of her teammates, gesturing animatedly about something, but just before she disappeared into the tunnel, she glanced towards her box. It was quick, so quick you almost missed it, but your heart skipped a beat anyway. You told yourself she wasn’t looking for you. Why would she?

During half-time, a kid sitting a couple rows in front of you caught your eye. He was shouting all of the players names, his little voice full of excitement. He was waving a jersey, one with the number 4 on the back, and even though they couldn’t hear him right now, tucked away in the building, it struck you how loved they all were. How much they all meant to these people. You caught yourself smiling at the kid’s enthusiasm. At the player’s impact. It was hard not to feel drawn into it.

The second half went by quicker than the first. You’d settled, and you were starting to feel more like yourself the more time went on. Barcelona scored thrice in the second half, effectively beating their opponents 3-0. Alexia hadn’t scored, but she’d assisted the final goal and you felt a weird sense of pride overcome you as her cross was headed in by one of her teammates. The final whistle pierced the air, and with it came an eruption of cheers from the stands. Another win, another three points, and they deserved every ounce of the applause raining down on them.

Alexia didn’t jump into the celebration like some of her teammates did, instead staying composed as she clapped for the fans along with her friends, her captain’s demeanor shining through even in victory. For a second, she looked toward the family box, her gaze skimming across the seats. You thought to yourself that she might be looking for you, but as soon as it arose, you brushed it away, even though your stomach fluttered at the thought.

And then, like she’d heard your internal thoughts, answering the unspoken question, she lifted a hand in a small wave. Subtle, unnoticeable for anyone that wasn’t watching, but it was definitely there. You gave her a small wave back, and you wondered if anyone had noticed the small interaction between the two of you. This wasn’t the time to raise any suspicions, and even though no one’s eyes were on you, you felt like a spotlight had just been shone directly on you. You thought that was gonna be it, but then she stepped away from the group of her teammates for a second, and made a phonecall motion with her hands. You gave her a thumbs up in response, in hindsight probably not the most flattering thing, but it would do the job.

It wasn’t long after the team disappeared back into the tunnel that your phone buzzed in the pocket of your jacket.

From: Alexia I’m gonna get a quick shower, but I want to see you :) Meet me outside by the parking lot in 20 minutes?

A bashful smile grew on your face as you read her text, the casual tone doing little to mask the effect it had on you.

To: Alexia Yes, of course! Just gotta tell me how to get there

Alexia sent you on your way with a couple directions and off you went, not bothering to wait another 20 minutes in your seat, trying to avoid any possibility of you being late in the parking lot. The chill of the evening air hit you as you stepped outside of the stadium, as if inside there was a personal bubble of warmth created for the team. You crossed the main parking lot, that was surprisingly quiet. Most fans still lingering inside or making their way out through the main exits.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached the meeting spot, a secluded parking are for the players. It was even quieter there, and every little sound seemed amplified in your ears.

Alexia took 17 minutes after sending you her post-match text. Not that you had been counting, or anything. She stepped out of the building, freshly showered and dressed in a Barca tracksuit. Her confident and vibrant energy from the pitch faltered slightly, but you still warmed up at the sight of her. Her hair still damp from her shower, duffle bag slung over her shoulder, walking over to you with an easy stride, as if she’d done this a thousand times before. She broke out in a wide smile as she approached you.

“Hey,” she started, her voice low and warm, “thanks for waiting.” You chuckled and waved away her comment, a little awkward silence forming between the two of you that you tried not to get in your head about, before making a remark about the game. “You played well. All of you, really. It was… impressive to watch. Thank you for the ticket.”

“Are you saying that because you mean it, or because I’m standing here?” Alexia teased. She hadn’t changed a single thing from her demeanor yesterday, still as flirty and making teasing remarks. “Maybe both.” Alexia let out a soft laugh, and even without soundproof walls and good acoustics, it still wrapped around you like a warm blanket in the chilly evening air.

She grew sincere then, her eyes softening a bit. “Hey, thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.” You were taken aback a little by her words, a little sense of insecurity creeping through her voice. “Honestly, for a long time I wasn’t sure either, but I’m glad I did. It just… didn’t know if I should.” The Barcelona captain frowned at that, tilting her head slightly. “Why not?” You knew the question was coming, so you shrugged and gave her your response with a small smile on your face.

“Maybe because this feels… I don’t know, different? You’re… you.” “I’m me?” “You’re Alexia Putellas. Everyone in that stadium was looking at you tonight. And now here I am, standing in a parking lot with you, wondering why you’d want to see me of all people.” “And yet, here you are. Doesn’t that say something?”

You locked eyes for a moment, a brief pause in the conversation and the air between you both changed with unspoken words. Alexia’s expression softens further, her confident demeanor giving way for something vulnerable, something you hadn’t seen about her yet.

“Maybe I don’t want to be Alexia Putellas all the time, you know? It gets quite tiring.” Alexia said quietly. You were caught off guard, but composed yourself quickly. “That’s not an easy thing to ask with your career, captain.” You chuckled quietly, but grew quiet as you noticed the sincerity in her voice. “Look, I know we barely know each other. But I think you’re the kind of person who could see me for who I am, not just the name, the number or the captain’s armband. I feel drawn to you, and that doesn’t happen often. And I know you feel it too. I can tell by the way you look at me.”

“That’s… a lot, Alexia.” You hesitated, meeting her eyes again. “Thank you for being so open and honest with me. You’re right, I feel it too. But I don’t know if I’m the kind of person you think I am. I mean… you’re you, and…” you trailed off, but you were sure she understood what you were trying to say.

“And you’re you. That’s exactly why I’m standing here right now. Why I invited you today. Why I asked you to come to the parking lot.” Her words helped you ease a little further, but not all the apprehension had worn off and she could tell. “Tell you what, let me prove it to you. Dinner? No pressure. Just food, conversation, and maybe some embarrassing stories about my teammates.” A hopeful smile grew on her face after her words and you couldn’t hold back the chuckle that escaped your lips as you listened to her. “You know how to sell an offer, don’t you?”

“I’ve got plenty. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” “Hmm, I don’t know. Feels like you’re trying too hard to convince me.” “Trying too hard? I thought I was being charming!” “Debatable.” “Come on, let me in tonight. That’s all I’m asking for.” “Fine. But only because I’m curious about these embarrassing stories.” “Fair enough.”

-

The restaurant is small but elegant, tucked away in a quieter part of the city. Twinkling string lights frame the windows, and a gold sign with cursive lettering displays the name. It was perfect, really, and you could see why Alexia liked coming here, especially after busy days like today.

The warm lighting inside created the perfect cozy atmosphere that would allow you both to unwind from the day. There were candles on every table, casting soft shadows on the walls, and there was a tinge of jazz to be heard in the background. It’s intimate but not overly formal, just right for a dinner that was toeing the line between casual and romantic.

“You’ve got good taste in restaurants,” you said, after hanging your jacket over your chair and sitting down. “Good food is one of the few indulgences I allow myself during the season. Though I have to be careful not to overdo it.” You smirked, deciding that you could tease her a little further. “You mean you don’t carb-load on patatas bravas before every match?” Alexia laughed at that, throwing her head back slightly. “I wish. I’d run for ten minutes and then need a sub.”

You indulge yourself in the menu for a second, eventually settling on and ordering a seafood risotto and a glass of white wine. Alexia ordered grilled chicken with roasted vegetables, paired with a glass of red.

You feel hyper-aware of every small detail about Alexia while you wait for your food. The way she leans forward when she speaks, the gestures she makes with her hands, the warmth in her eyes. You’re overwhelmed, in the best possible way.

“So, Putellas, do you always bring strangers here, or should I feel special?” You challenged, taking a sip from the glass of wine that was just brought to you by one of the waiters. Alexia feigned annoyance, placing a hand over her chest where her heart was. Nonetheless, her face turned into a grin soon.

“Special. But don’t let it get to your head. I needed to bribe you into liking me somehow.” “Oh, so this is a bribe?” “What can I say? I’m better with my feet than my words”

Dinner goes by smoothly, and your conversation flows easily from one topic to the other. You cover your family, Alexia’s way into football, what she’s thinking of doing after football, your hobbies, your youth, but it’s when the topic of your work is being brought up that you grow apprehensive. Alexia noticed the unease that came from you after she brought it up, and tried to reassure you.

“You know, I like hearing about your work. It’s part of who you are,” she tried. If there was one thing that you’d not gotten over yet, it’s that you met Alexia through a work context. Deep down, there were more than rational thoughts telling you that that was completely okay, it happened all the time, but with how focused you are on your image and your professional career, you had a hard time dropping the apprehension. So you paused for a second, and then spoke up softly. “But that’s the thing. I feel like I need to keep it separate. Like if I start talking too much about it, I’ll ruin this… whatever this is.” Alexia leant forward at that, like she had the tendency to do quite often you’d grown to learn. “And what do you think this is?” You met her eyes, trying to feign indifference by shrugging. “I don’t know. Something new, something unexpected.”

“Well, maybe unexpected is good. You don’t have to keep everything separate, you know. I like knowing more about you. All of you.” “Careful, I might start talking about zoning laws and blueprints.” “I’ll risk it. Besides, more fuel for me to tease you with.”

There’s a little more hesitance in your eyes, and Alexia wants to get rid of it. “Tonight, I’m not Alexia Putellas. I’m Alexia, Ale. That’s all I want to be now.” And really, how could you stay professional with someone who looked at you like that, as if they’re seeing something no one else ever had?

“I don’t usually do this either, you know? Going for dinner with someone I barely know.” Alexia speaks up after a while of comfortable silence. “Then why now?” You asked, not sure whether you really wanted to hear the answer, knowing it would only put your further into a pit of unfamiliar feelings that was growing deeper and deeper with each passing minute of sitting across the infatuating Spanish captain. “Because you feel different. I’m not sure how to explain it, but I feel like you see me. Not the player, just me.”

The night went on without too many hiccups from then on. It was only when the time came to pay, that some more teasing was thrown around. “You’ve got that look on your face. You’re going to pay, aren’t you.” You cocked an eyebrow at the women across you who was sporting a bright smile. “You caught me.” You sighed, rolling your eyes briefly. “At least let me cover dessert.”

“How about this; you get dessert next time.” “Next time? You’re confident.” “Maybe. But I’m not doubting anything.”

As you step out the restaurant, Alexia offers you her jacket when she notices you shivering in the chilly air of Barcelona. Your fingers brush as she helps you into it, and for a moment, they linger. “This was nice. I’m glad you said yes.” Her voice barely above a whisper, as if the intimacy of the evening had softened her voice. “Me too. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but… I had a really great time. Sorry for my apprehension.” “Don’t apologise. And good, because I’d like to do this again. Soon.”

For a moment, Alexia looked at you, her eyes lingering on yours like she was memorizing something important. And then she leaned in, so slowly that you could feel your heart pound in anticipation. Her lips brushed your cheek, featherlight and warm, lingering just enough to make your breath hitch. It wasn’t hurried, it was deliberate, full of quiet meaning.

Your skin tingled where she’d kissed you, and a rush of warmth spread from your chest all the way to your fingertips. It was a simple gesture, nothing more than a small brush of her lips against your cheek, but it left you feeling all kinds of ways. Ways that you weren’t prepared for, and your growing adoration for her hit you in the face once more.

When she pulled back, Alexia’s eyes searched yours for a reaction, her own cheeks tinged pink in the glow of the streetlight. Your voice felt caught in your throat, but your heart spoke louder. You knew then, without a doubt, that this was more than just a fleeting connection.

[librarycards]

Submissions open through June 30, 2024 - Mad Dykes, Queer Worlds

Hello all! I'm editing a special issue of the literary magazine Sinister Wisdom titled Mad Dykes, Queer Worlds. If you're Mad –– regardless of personal label or diagnostic status –– and identify with some aspect of dyke experience (in all its multiplicities!), I want to consider your work for publication.

The title links to Submittable, the platform Sinister Wisdom (and most other magazines) use to process submissions. It's free to use, but can be inaccessible for visually disabled people. If that's you, email Sinister Wisdom for alternative submission options.

I am particularly interested in reading work by young/new/emerging creatives, survivors of psychiatric/medical incarceration, and/or those living outside the Global North/West. Visual art and written work are all welcome!

Note: Sinister Wisdom can't pay $; they compensate in a year-long print subscription and complementary copies of the journal. If you only submit to magazines that pay, consider checking out mine, manywor(l)ds.place; we reopen for general submissions June 1.

Feel free to email me with any further questions. Don't self-reject. ID for the image both in the alt text and below the cut.

Mad Dykes, Queer Worlds

What is Madness, and how do we, as lesbian/queer creatives, wield it? Amid much feminist discourse around the figure of the “madwoman,” mostly as an archetype to be avoided or, in some instances, appropriated, in reaction to rational distress under violently cisheteropatriarchal conditions, comparatively little discussion has focused on the lived experience of psychiatric survivorship, iatrogenic harm, and abuse under the sign of “mental illness” or psychiatric disability. Behind and beyond the figure of the madwoman, or the specter of “hysteria,” are the lived (sur)realities of Madpeople of all marginalized genders.

This issue of Sinister Wisdom seeks contributions by lesbian, queer, and/or trans people self-identified as Mad, mentally disabled, and/or psychiatric survivors. Following the portmanteaue coinages “transMad” (Cavar), “neuroqueer” (Walker, Yergeau, and Michaels-Dillon), and “neurotrans” (Smilges), Madness and (gender)queerness are deeply entangled and often inextricable from each other, both as they manifest “inside” us and in our ways of relating to our words, world(s), lovers, and friends.

What, who, and where are Mad dykes, and how do we find each other in a world increasingly oriented toward cisheteronormative, whitewashed wellness? What are the legacies and ongoing violences of queer/trans pathologization in our communities and beyond? How do we live as transMad people amid cissexist, saneist attacks from the reactionary Right? And how do we share, negotiate, or conceal our experiences of trauma, altered realities, and unfamiliar access needs while also building community?

Please submit works of any, all, or no genres, including reviews and interviews, up to 5,000 words, and a short contributor biography between 25 and 125 words. We are also seeking illustrations and photographs (.jpg or .tif files only, print resolution size at least 300 ppi). Please do not send previously published work.

Deadline for submissions: June 30, 2024

-

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[tagging for spread hopefully! @closet-keys, @rebirthgarments, @fluoresensitive, @heavenlyyshecomes, @trans-axolotl, @fatehbaz @sawasawako @felgueirosa @bioethicists @campgender @candiedsmokedsalmon @sadhoc @osmanthusoolong @boykeats ]

[goldsbitch]

Right? p2

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

That is until a photoshoot gets out of hand and there is no way to go but forward.

part 1

You almost started this day with a shot from the minibar. Contemplated faking a flu. But the qualifying was too important, the sponsors seemed to love this track and your boss was very clear that he needs every photographer, even if they had a broken arm.

With a sigh, you entered the common area of the paddock, quickly heading for the media office. Sure he won't be there, he must be having some prep time now. You were not ready to face him.

Nothing happened, you tried to calm yourself down with every shiver that came around every few minutes. It was just a kiss in the heat of the moment. No one would ever know.

Oh, but if it had only been just a kiss.

You were a bit shocked when he closed the distance between you two, put a hand on your cheek and his lips on yours. This was no light romantic kiss. Your body reacted immediately, faster than your mind, which shut down completely. Butterflies in your stomach flying over the roof.

Lando pulled away few centimetres. "Is this ok?"

You nodded. Nothing else for you to do, you were hooked.

"Use your words. I want to hear it."

"Yes," you whispered and went for more.

Lando pushed you down, you were now lying on the backseat with him over you. Your bodies seemed to speak in their own language, it was all so natural. Your hands in his hair, his lip biting yours. You'd do anything to stay locked in this moment for ever. How can someone have lips so soft? You roamed around his perfect body, and he did too. His hand quickly found a way under your crop top. And it was right when he was about to touch your breast when your phone rang.

It felt like being caught by a teacher. Except you were technically not caught. Your boss was just asking if you were going into overtime or if the photoshoot was wrapped.

The ride back to the hotel was silent from both sided, reality kicking in. It was probably the longest drive you've ever experienced.

//

You had a strict deadline. Editing photos from last night was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but duty calls.

Your heart sank after you skimmed though them. Not because they would be bad - on the contrary. The last photos had Lando with the hottest look on his face you have ever seen on him, dynamic close ups and him literally eye fucking you via the picture. These can't get out. You were almost jealous at the thought of anyone being able to see him like that. Somehow, you managed to dig yourself even a bigger hole than before.

Professional, right?!

You didn't see Lando until few minutes before the start of qualifying. Focusing on taking photos of Oscar was your strategy to survive today, because the butterflies were unbearable yet again. Lando's nonchalant presence was something you were not able to tune out this time.

Taking few snaps of Oscar made you seem busy. You'd take only few pictures of Lando today. But almost as if he could feel you the same way you felt his presence, he managed to look into your lens right at the moment you were taking a picture. You could melt right at the spot.

Lando seemed less chatty than his usual self today.

//

Third in qualifying, fourth in the Grand Prix. Podium slipped through Lando's hands. But nevertheless, great weekend for McLaren. Lando beat himself up, but made sure to highlight the job of the people at the factory and the whole team.

You danced around each other all weekend, always busy, never alone and without company. It was probably for the good, right?

Days rushed over and suddenly you were sitting at the usual Tuesday PR catch up. The team was analyzing the response of the fans in their usual matter. Lando and Oscar were due to join in.

You sat rather quietly, waiting to be addressed and not trying to join in - very unusual on your part.

The whole room was watching stats and analytics, talking about the boys as if they were not human, but some sort of character. You always found that strange.

You both successfully avoided eye contact until the moment where the growing female fan base of Oscar's was discussed. This being a subtle hint that Lando is getting side tracked. Once you locked eyes, it was hard to look away. The room went silent for you, could not stop focusing on his look and the way he subtly licked his lips.

"Merch time!" This way your cue.

"Yes, let's see the latest photos," you stood up confidently to take over. Fake it til you make it, right?

As you went over the selected 15 photos and explained the idea behind them and how you believe these might work for the targeted audience, Lando seemed to be more intrigued than usually.

"Thank you, y/n. Lando, can we approve these for the launch?" asked his lead PR.

"Um." Lando seemed to be lost for words, fascinated look on his face. The room paused for a second. "Can I see them again real quick?"

What was he playing at? Your heartbeat skipped a beat.

"Yeah, sure," you skimmed through each of them again, putting them on a replay.

Lando put on a fake serious face, as if he was thinking something through. "Yeah, I think these are great," he replied, making everyone in the room relaxed again. Then he turned to you and gave you a smirk. " I think we should do more of this."

That fucker.

part 3

______________________________________________________________

@i-wish-this-was-me

[empthy1]

sugar mommy!tashi bc i need her. thank you for breaking me out of my slump once again ms tashi. ms duncan. wrote this in one night, so any errors are unintentional. i can't seem to stop imbuing unnecessary amounts of worldbuilding into every single thing i write. 941 words.

Somehow, some sixteen months after taking the internship of your dreams, you ended up here—sprawled on a beach for the second day in a row, baking comfortably under the Tahitian sun after quitting said internship the week before.

Tashi didn't intend on ending up with a sugar baby. Didn't intend to be hoodwinked by a young woman ten years her junior.

Doesn't mean she didn't kickstart the process, however unintentionally.

So she showed up to your little corner cubicle eleven months ago, tugging you from your laptop by the collar of your blouse and taking you out to a far-too expensive lunch. She doesn't exactly know why, either.

She was intending to take lunch, anyway, but usually she'd just have her assistant have it delivered, still steaming, to her high-floor office. Sit, alone in the white room decorated with her accomplishments, and eat as she kept working. The magazine waited for no one, after all, and she had a deadline.

Yet, as she'd checked the employee logs sent to her every day, detailing work hours and project progress collected by her subordinates, she'd noticed far too many hours being worked by one sweet little intern.

She'd only met you once before, when she'd dropped by to introduce herself during intern orientation—as is routine. Your smile that day was different than the one shown in your employee photo. Shyer, almost bashful at the handshake she'd culled you into and at the fingers she'd strummed along your palm during the lengthy release.

She'd hoped you'd do well. It seems you were doing a bit too well. You'd put in at-home work, contributed meaningful things to projects far above your pay grade, and smashed through every task will increasingly ruthless efficiency.

You reminded her of her, a million years ago. Crashing through barriers and putting in an unprecedented amount of hours. But it would catch up to you. It caught up to her, one day, when she was fifteen.

It's not a long story, or a particularly important one to anyone. It barely even headlined the local news, even in their small town—Local Tennis Player Passes Out from Exhaustion in the Hot Sun was ran on page 4B, tucked deep into the newspaper and only given a small segment in the sports section. But it was important to her.

It marked a moment where her ambitions were not stunted, but contained. She couldn't practice twenty, thirty hours a week and compete—she'd harm herself. Firm earfuls from both her worried parents and her stern coach confirmed it.

It changed the way she worked, the way she lived. She still watched her tapes over about a trillion times—but she did it relaxed and in bed, instead of on the court as she obsessively attempted to hammer out a flaw in her footwork. She carved out times for actual meals instead of protein bars and fruit.

She wanted to make sure you don't do the same thing to yourself.

This is how she ends up leaning into your cubicle, nose wrinkling at the impersonal area. There's barely any note that someone even spends time here, other than the barest hints of a gifted plant—price sticker still molded to the cheap plastic pot. Hm. It's definitely not suitable for any worker, much less one that puts in as many hours as you do.

"Hello?" She calls out with a quiet murmur of your name, voice curling in the air and seeping past the cushion of your headphones.

She sees the embarrassment on your face. She can practically taste the confusion. What's Ms. Duncan doing here? The surprise on your face makes the slightest smirk tick her lips.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go to lunch with me today."

An unexpected proposition. But who are you to say no?

She'd picked a little vegetarian spot she'd frequented. Based on the charges she's seen on your cafeteria card for meals and such, you're like her—not the biggest fan of meat.

You both settle in to a little corner booth. The angle doesn't force you to meet her eyes; it seems like you've been avoiding that, head tucked almost permanently to your chest. Out of awkwardness or embarrassment, she doesn't know, but she'd like to rectify it.

First, though, pleasantries. The head chef's already ambling over, arms outstretched and a smile curling her face. A nice older woman, with greying roots (she swears she'll let it grow out this time) that whips up the best pasta in the city. She's come out to take their order personally.

"Anything for an old friend and her date." The stressed syllable and the rather unsubtle wink she sends her way is not lost on her. Or you, it seems, she muses to herself as your head dips further.

She'd been rather invested in her life since her divorce. The thought makes her feel the lightness of her ring finger for the first time in months.

No worry, though. She won't let a nosy (if well meaning) friend ruin her date lunch meeting and attempts to pull you out of her shell.

Once the chef had left—but not without shooting her another wink—she is quick to engage you in conversation and sink into the lull of your chatter. She wants to see if the witty, smart person she's seeing in your work and hearing from others is really the truth.

You were, she muses, months later, laying next to you on that beach. And even more than that.

Your ring finger's looking a little bare. She'd never had reservations about buying you jewelry before, though.

these were meant to be headcanons but turned into a blurb. might still write the headcanons though. maybe.

[thesoftuglywrites]

Coke in the Midas Touch

UPDATED: 10/1/24

This is my first ever attempt at writing for the JJK fandom, specifically for my favorite 7:3 ratio sorcerer, Nanami. So, I hope I did the character justice. (This is also my first attempt at writing smut after having many years of reading it, so please be nice).

Summary description: Nanami Kento, after having left the Jujutsu society in exchange for a normal job as a salaryman, encounters the new hire at work who slowly becomes the object of his affections the more that she becomes the office scapegoat; Villain!Nanami.

Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that I am not Japanese, nor am I an expert in Japanese work culture. So, if there are some things wrong, or inaccurately portrayed, I do apologize.

Content warning: use of Y/N, reader insert is afab and referred to as such, sexual themes, sex between characters, violence between characters, adults being overgrown children and should behave better at their grown ages but they don't, toxic work culture, pawa-hara culture.

WC: 12.7 K (it's a novel, I'm sorry)

Minors Do Not Interact

When Nanami Kento first laid eyes on her, he thought that she was unassuming. 

On her very first day of work, he remembers that she was stood at the front of the office with the associate manager of the sales department, making the standard introduction of any new hire.

“Hello! It’s a pleasure to meet you all! My name is Y/N! I will try to do my best! Please take care of me!” Which was then followed by a full 45 degree bow at the waist. 

He noted that her eyes were bright and filled with some semblance of hope. Nanami also cynically wondered how quick it would be for the corporate overlords, demanding deadlines, and lack of work-life balance to crush her spirit. 

He had only been at this company for the past two, almost three, years, but he was already jaded to begin with. 

She was assigned to be under his supervision for the training period, which Nanami found to be somewhat irritating. It wasn’t anything against her, he just knew that he wasn’t exactly the nicest person in the office, nor did he have the patience to deal with new hires. Somehow, they always ended up under his direct supervision for training purposes. Maybe it was his superior’s way of tormenting him given the fact that he refused to engage in the locker room talk that the male employees would have about the female staff or that he didn’t partake in the after work get-togethers at the local bars where they would all drink themselves silly. Or maybe it was his superior's way of letting him know that he was doing a “great job” by giving him more tasks, because they knew that they could count on Nanami to do proper work. 

Nanami would like to think that it was the latter. However, he knew better than that. 

“Your desk is located over here, by Nanami-san. He’ll be the one that will assist you with your orientation period.” She’s led over by the associate manager to the empty desk that sits beside Nanami. “If you have any questions, refer to him. He’s been at the company for the past several years and has done a fine job of it.”

Nanami gets up from his desk to greet them as they approach. “You speak too highly of me, Akiyama-buchou,” Nanami rebukes, attempting to remain humble. His eyes fall from associate manager Akiyama to the new hire. “Nanami Kento. Pleased to meet you.” He bows. 

She bows, holding a box of items. “Pleased to meet you!” her voice chipper.

“Now, before I leave, do you have any questions for me?” Akiyama asks her.

She shakes her head. “No, sir.”

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He promptly turns away, heading to his desk that was sectioned off in his own private office, leaving both Nanami and the new hire.

Alone. Somewhat.

Together.

She turns to face Nanami, placing the box of personal belongings on her desk, a small smile still on her face. “So…what should we get started on first?” 

And thus, began a somewhat tentatively professional relationship between Nanami and the new hire. Every time she saw him first thing in the morning when the both of them were coming into the office, she would be quick to greet him with a cheerful: “Good morning, senpai!” that would be followed with vigorous waving. She always attempted to make conversation with him whenever she could, included him in small talk with other coworkers around the office, got him coffee whenever it was her turn to do the coffee runs even when he didn’t request anything or want anything in particular (and she wouldn’t allow him to pay her back for going out of her way). When the days would end, if she were to cross paths with Nanami while on they’re way out, she would give him that same vigorous wave while saying: “Have a good night, senpai! Get home safely!” 

Nanami wasn’t entirely too sure if she wanted something out of him or if she was just this nice all the time. Given, however, his previous experience with seeing the worst out of humanity and in the dealings of curses and cursed energy by proxy as a jujutsu sorcerer, could one really blame him? 

Then again. Would it be too terrible for him to consider that maybe, just maybe… that out of all the shitty people in this world… that there was at least one good person that existed to make up for it? 

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

~

“Good morning, senpai!” Nanami was greeted by her in the break room while he was getting a cup of coffee from the communal coffee machine. 

Nanami glances over his shoulder to look at her. “Good morning.” He keeps his responses short. 

There’s a small silence that follows between the two of them, the only sounds being the steady drip of the coffee machine and the whirring of the employee communal refrigerator. For Nanami, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually welcome. 

“Nanami-senpai.”

He turns to face her, holding the cup of coffee in his hand, staring at her quizzically. 

“There was talk…about wanting to go out after work for drinks, and I was wondering if-”

“No, thank you. I’m not interested.” Nanami’s response is immediate, as if he doesn’t have to think twice about it. He’s beyond accustomed to rejecting the offers to spend time with his co-workers outside of work. 

The next words die in her throat as soon as she hears Nanami’s dismissal. A sinking feeling of dejection fills her chest as Nanami rejects her offer, but she’s quick to push the feelings aside, trying to not let them deter her mood.  

“May I ask you something?” Nanami can sense the hesitancy in the question, almost as if she were afraid to ask it. 

“Sure.” 

“Forgive me if this is too forward, but why is it that you never care to partake in festivities outside of the professional setting? I mean, I’ve seen you reject offers from other colleagues around the office, higher-ups like Akiyama-buchou, and even offers from Fumiko-senpai! And she’s one of the prettiest women in the office!”

Nanami squints his eyes in confusion. “Wait, how did you hear about that?”

“She talked about it one morning while she was at the copier with Aiko-senpai. I was within earshot of their conversation. She seemed pretty upset by it.” 

I would have thought that she would have taken the hint by now, given the fact that this is the fourth time that she’s asked me out, and it’s my fourth time rejecting her, Nanami thought sullenly to himself. Nonetheless, he answers her question. “Listen to me, Y/N-chan, I’m not here to mix my personal life with my professional life. I’m simply here to clock in, do what’s expected of me for my role in this company, and clock out so I can earn enough money to make at least a decent living in this hellscape of a society. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She shrinks back just a tiny bit as he speaks, fearing that she may have crossed an unspoken boundary that he had set for himself.  She continues with her questioning. “And… What about what the superiors think? Doesn’t their opinion of you matter in the long run of your employment here? I mean… don’t you want to move up in the ranks?” 

“To be frank, I could care less about what they think. They already take up enough of my time here, they don’t need to take up anymore outside of my working hours. I hate overtime.” He turns to leave the break room, realizing how much time he’s wasted there in the breakroom, talking to her. He needs to get back to his desk.

“Nanami-senpai,” she says, almost bewildered. There was a hint of admiration behind it though. To her, he had a backbone that she could only dream of. 

He pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. He glances up at her over his shoulder, a somewhat cynical glint to his eyes. “To put it lightly, Y/N-chan, there are worse things out there than upset higher-ups simply because you told them ‘no’.” His mind flashes back to seeing the bodies of his dead friends on cold metal examination tables in the morgue room of Jujutsu Tech. The wails of curses and dying humans echo in his ears as he reminisces on his times as an up and coming Jujutsu sorcerer, but he doesn’t dare falter. 

She nods, her gaze landing on her hands that were intertwined together, digesting what he had to say. “I understand, senpai.”

There’s a pregnant pause before he faces the door again, his hand turning the knob on the door. 

“No… no, I don’t think you do, Y/N-chan.”

He opens the door to see Fumiko outside. He gives her a small polite smile and a nod before making his way around her to get back to his desk.  

Fumiko watches as he leaves, a look of longing on her face. She turns to look at Y/N and a surly look crosses her face. She enters the breakroom, heading to the coffee machine with an empty mug in her hands. 

The tension in the air was thick enough that either one of them could cut it with a knife. 

Fumiko didn’t say a word to her, but Y/N knew that in her heart of hearts that she’s done something terribly wrong to grossly piss one of her seniors off. 

~

At first, it started off small. 

Her orders were conveniently forgotten when the coffee runs or lunch runs were being made. Other office workers started to hand off their assignments to her, making her workload three times what it originally was supposed to be, making late nights a near constant for her. Anytime something went wrong in the office, to miniscule things like if if the copier ran out of ink and it wasn’t replaced as quickly as possible, to major things like if certain papers or documents weren’t delivered to another department in a timely manner, then she would be a scapegoat for the blame. 

She didn’t say a word about it to anyone, however. It’s not like she was in a position to be complaining about it. She knew that if she were to say anything, then she would be called “ungrateful”, “lazy”, and that “she should be lucky that any job decided to hire her on”.

Nanami noticed fairly quickly what was going on and found himself to be disgusted by the behavior of his co-workers. This wasn’t the first time that a stunt like this was pulled on the new hires. There was an old mentality that still existed of newcomers needing to “prove themselves” or “earn their place amongst their peers”. He honestly thought that this kind of stuff would have ended the moment that he graduated from secondary school and entered into the workforce, thinking that full fledged adults would learn how to properly behave and conduct themselves in a mature manner.

Needless to say, he was dead wrong about that. Some of them get even worse with old age. 

Though he's learned to separate his professional feelings from his personal feelings, it would be untruthful to say that the current behavior towards Y/N-chan didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

He minded. He minded a great deal, actually.

She was good. She was kind to others. She certainly didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Frankly, no one ever deserved that kind of treatment no matter who they were. 

Nanami strolls into work bright and early one morning to find her hunched forward on her desk, completely passed out. He notes that there were papers that were scattered across the surface and that there was a pen still lodged in her hand. She must have spent the night here. 

He set his stuff down on his desk before turning to her and placing a hand on her shoulder to gently rock her awake. 

“Y/N-chan, you need to wake up,” he says softly. 

He goes to stand behind her chair and places his other hand on her forehead to help sit her up, hoping that the motion and change in position will help stir her awake. 

“Y/N-chan, Akiyama-buchou will be in shortly, you need to wake up so you don’t end up in trouble.”

There’s a solid minute that passes before Nanami hears a groggy: “Mmm… senpai?” 

He lets out a chuckle before stepping back to sit at his desk. “Did you spend the night here last night?”  

“Mmhmm,” she yawns as she stretches out her arms well above her head and leans up against her chair. “I had to finish up the final reports for the department quarterly review. They’re due at the end of this week.”

Nanami pauses, then his eyes narrow. “I thought that was Kakuta-san’s responsibility to take care of that,” he says, his voice a tad stern.

“Yeah, well… he asked me to do it.”

“He shouldn’t have.”

Y/N is silent for a moment before she starts to organize the papers on her desk into a more orderly fashion. The next words that come out are small and downtrodden. “It’s not like I can say no to my superiors, Nanami-senpai.”

“Kakuta-san is not your superior, he’s your co-worker. He shouldn’t be passing off his assigned work tasks onto you. Matter of fact, none of these people in this office should be passing off their assigned tasks onto you.” He had a much more choice word to use for his colleagues but he bit his tongue. 

At this point, Nanami felt like he was scolding his own child rather than his junior.

You try telling them that, Y/N thought snidely to herself. She let his comments roll off her back. “Look, I’m almost finished with the report, senpai. It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

His gaze is hard. “You’re sure?” 

Y/N matches his demeanor, getting a little annoyed with his constant chastising. Her eyebrows slightly furrow as she sits up a tad taller, looking Nanami square in the eye. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle it,” Y/N snaps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. I’ve already wasted enough time here.”

He watches as she busies herself with the paperwork on her desk, a sour taste remaining in his mouth, making him purse his lips together into a tight line. Nanami briskly turns away, not wanting to add further dissension to their discourse. 

~

Things went from bad to worse.

On the days that she was supposed to have off, she would be called into the office to work grueling hours, usually from seven in the morning until midnight, leaving her with little to no free time. Interactions with her co-workers and her superiors became more and more hostile. The shift of blame became a near constant everytime that she was in office, the accusations becoming increased in severity, some of which would have Akiyama-buchou screaming at her in front of the entire office staff which, at times, would reduce her to tears. 

The mental and emotional stress was starting to take a physical toll on Y/N. The bags underneath her eyes were becoming darker, she had no appetite to eat anything, thus making some of her clothes start to fit a little looser. Her hair was starting to slowly come out in clumps and sleepless nights were starting to become the norm.

The anxiety and fear was starting to eat her alive, and Y/N was exhausted.

Nanami was silently noticing the events unfolding before him, and found the actions of his colleagues to be reprehensible. He’s grown to care for Y/N-chan. More than he would like to admit, but somehow she’s managed to worm her way into his heart. 

He tried finding little ways to combat the workplace harassment that Y/N-chan was facing. Tiny things, nothing too grand or extravagant that would draw attention. 

When Y/N-chan found herself swamped with work (realistically speaking, the work of others that they, continuously, passed onto her) and unable to leave her desk, not even to take a lunch break, Nanami would stop by the vending machines, leaving extra snacks on her desk when she wasn’t paying attention to the world around her. The mornings that he would find her passed out cold on her desk from pulling an all-nighter at the office, he would visit the little coffee shop across the street and “accidentally” order two cups of coffee instead of one. Just like the vending machine snacks, he would leave the cup at the corner of Y/N-chan’s desk for her to wake up to. When she would ask him about it, noticing that they were both from the same place, he would always say the same thing to her: “They accidentally gave me two. Rather than waste the extra on me, I figured that you would need it a bit more than I do.” which was then quickly followed by a “no, you don’t need to pay me back”. The times that Y/N would find herself alone in the office during the lunch breaks that the staff would take, Nanami would stay behind at his desk beside hers and silently eat his lunch. The days that he noticed she hadn’t brought any food with her, he would offer part of his lunch. It was second nature at this point, but she would always refuse, saying that she wasn’t hungry.

Whenever Y/N felt her emotions get the better of her, she would hide in the supply closet and take a moment to try and recollect herself. As a grounding point, she would try to think that her family and friends (what little she had of them) love and care about her, and other times, she would think of the small acts of kindness that Nanami would show towards her. 

She would be forever grateful for him. Even if she wouldn’t verbally say it out loud to him. 

At some point, though, the tension reached a head, and Nanami couldn’t idly stand by anymore. 

 One afternoon, Nanami was leaving a meeting room with the other department leaders when he heard a loud cry ring out in the office, ripping him out of his reverie. He whips his head up to see Y/N barge out of the staff break room and rush past him, tears welling up in her eyes, and a large brown stain covered the front of her white blouse that she was wearing. Alarmed, he watches as she runs to the women's restroom, the door slamming behind her. 

What caught his attention next was the sound of laughter that came from the break room. A sinking feeling of dread sat in his chest, before the subtle burn of anger began to ignite in his heart. 

His eyes narrow as he saunters towards the breakroom, finding both Fumiko and Aiko standing there, giddy as school girls. They became deers in the headlights as soon as they saw Nanami. 

He noticed that Fumiko was holding an empty mug with coffee dribbling down the side of it.

“I saw Y/N-chan run out of here. She seemed upset,” he muses. “What happened?” 

The two women stare at him like gaping fish, neither one of them saying a word. 

A beat of silence passes before he speaks again, his eyes locked onto them. “Something clearly happened.” 

The sound of the coffee machine brewing in the corner of the room catches his attention. Nanami glances at Fumiko and Aiko from the corner of his eyes, his gaze disapproving, before walking over to the coffee machine. The smell of a freshly brewed pot assaults his senses as he approaches. He raises a hand and gently presses two fingers to the side of the pot. 

It’s hot. Scalding hot, actually. 

“Judging by the behavior of you two, I’m going to assume that you intentionally spilled hot coffee on Y/N-chan’s front,” Nanami muses, as if he were speaking to himself. He turns to face them, leaning up against the counter. “Am I wrong?”

Silence. 

Nanami knows that neither Aiko or Fumiko don’t have to say anything to explain themselves. 

He lets out a loud sigh and raises a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I thought.” 

After finally getting the answers that he needed, Nanami pushes off the counter, wasting no time to grab the first-aid kit as he exits the breakroom, heading towards the women's restroom.

Y/N is sitting on the toilet, her blouse pulled open as she applies wet tissues of toilet paper to the large burn on her chest in order to find some relief from the pain. 

She’s stopped crying, but now the feelings of embarrassment and shame are starting to set in.  

Leaning forward to hold her head in her hands with her elbows resting on her knees, all of the emotions that Y/N has been holding in for the past several months begins to boil over and comes to the forefront of her mind. The mistreatment from her colleagues and her superiors, the sleepless nights, the constant overtime (overtime that she was not adequately paid for, by the way), the endless workloads, etc. was laid out in front of her. 

Y/N never considered herself to be a downtrodden person, but having since been in this job, it was as if every single day she woke up with dread filling her chest. She tried to be a good sport about it, by trying to give herself some grace and the people that she worked with the benefit of doubt, and tried to rationalize their behaviors towards her. However, it was difficult to ignore the persistent hostility and how quick she was to be sold down the river whenever things went horribly wrong.

A lump rose in the back of her throat and tears began to well up in her eyes again. Her mind was beginning to create a snowball effect of everything that has happened ever since she started at this job. Her face crumbled, and the tears spilled over. 

A knock at the door brings her out of her mental turmoil. “Y/N-chan?” 

Nanami. 

“I have some burn ointment for you. I know it’s not much… but I hope that it will help with the pain.” 

Y/N grabs some extra toilet paper to wipe away at her face, and throws away the wet toilet paper that was stuck to her chest, before buttoning her blouse back up. She stands up and looks into the mirror, making sure that she was… somewhat presentable to her senpai. 

She cracks open the door and pokes her head out to see Nanami standing there with several packets of burn ointment presented in an open palm. 

“Thank you,” Y/N murmurs, reaching out to take the packets from him. 

“I’ll talk to Akiyama-buchou to see if you can get the rest of the day off,” Nanami says, letting his hand fall back to his side. “You clearly need it.” 

She looks up at him in worry. “N-no! That’s not-!” 

“Y/N-chan. You’re injured. You’re overworked. You need rest. I assure you that the office will not burn to the ground because you’re not in. I promise.” There was a tone of finality to his words. It was clear that there was no room for argument with him as Nanami had clearly made up his mind. 

A passive look forms on Y/N’s features before she nods once and disappears back into the restroom. 

What follows next are tense interactions and conversations had with others around the office as Nanami forcibly returned work assignments to those that had pawned off their work to Y/N. Those that protested were quickly met with an icy glare that shut them up immediately. 

The conversation with Akiyama left Nanami in a rather foul mood than he already was.

He straight up laughed in Nanami’s face when he said that Y/N would be taking the rest of the day off. 

“You can’t be serious! Since when do you actually give a shit about that little brat?” he guffaws. He looks like he’s about to start crying from laughing as if he’s been told the funniest joke in his life. 

Nanami doesn’t falter. His gaze is as hard as stone as he stoically answers, “The same way in which you fail to do your due diligence as a member of upper level management to ensure that the work environment that you create isn’t a hostile one. You’ve got the vindictiveness of a fourteen year old child. You’re pathetic, really.” 

Akiyama’s smug look quickly fades as Nanami speaks his piece, his face turning into a shade of dark red from being flustered and embarassed. 

Nanami has held in his emotions for the entirety of his professional career, but now he could give a damn. The floodgates have opened and now he’s speaking his mind. 

“Now, listen here-”

“Frankly, I don’t care what you have to say. You’re the most incompetent man that I’ve ever encountered and I’ve seen a fair amount of them. The immaturity, the lack of consideration on both a professional and personal level, the harassment that you feed your employees if they don’t meet your standards by even the most minute level. It’s despicable.”

“Nanami Kento-!”

“You’ve lost my respect… though, I never really had that much respect to give you in the first place.” 

The weight lifts off of his shoulders as he finishes speaking, though, the responsibility of getting you home safe and sound is still on his mind. 

“I’ll be escorting her home. Don’t expect to see me the rest of the day.”

“Nanami-!”

He briskly turns away before Akiyama can say anything to him, leaving the office and letting the door slam behind him. He stops by Y/N’s desk, gathering all of her belongings and putting them in her bag that hung on the back of her chair. 

“Y/N-chan? Are you ready?” Nanami asks, standing outside of the women's restroom.

“Um… I don’t think I’m really…presentable to leave the restroom…”

She poked her head out again, Nanami catching some glimpses of her white blouse with the large coffee stain on it. She looks a bit more put together, the puffiness in her face has somewhat dwindled.

Nanami pauses, before setting down both his and her items and shrugging out of his suit jacket. He gently nudges the door open a bit wider with his foot so they’re both face to face with each other as he tenderly places his suit jacket over Y/N’s shoulders, giving her a bit more coverage and allowing her to pull the sides of the jacket over the gigantic brown stain. 

A blush began to creep over her cheeks as she dropped her gaze from his, suddenly feeling bashful. 

“Thank you.” 

The two of them left, feeling all the eyes of the office workers on them as they departed. Akiyama came barging out of his office, screaming at the top of his lungs at their backsides.

Y/N startles, going to look over her shoulder at him, but Nanami stops her by putting an arm around her shoulders, forcing her to look forward. 

For the remainder of their trip back to Y/N’s apartment, he doesn’t remove his arm from around her shoulders. Nanami doesn’t know why he didn’t want to remove it from around her. Not a word is spoken between them… but for the both of them, it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

They were given strange looks by onlookers on the streets of Tokyo, but the pair were somewhat comfortable in their own little world. 

“You didn’t… have to do this, you know?” Y/N shyly says, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eyes. They’re now on the train, moving from the district of Shinjuku to Koto, where Y/N’s apartment was located. 

“I know I didn’t,” Nanami responds, looking down to meet her gaze. “I wanted to.” 

After some time, they eventually reach their desired train station in Koto. From there on, it’s a twenty minute walk to the apartment. 

“Will you come inside? I feel like I should make you a cup of tea or something…” Y/N says, shrugging off Nanami’s suit jacket to give back to him as they stand in front of the entrance to Y/N’s apartment.  

“That’s not necessary, Y/N-chan-”

“Please? It’s the least I can do. Especially after everything that you’ve done for me.” 

He ponders on it, before giving her a single nod with a small smile starting to grace his features. “If you insist, I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. A cup of tea made by you sounds lovely.” 

She gives him a wide smile as she fishes into her purse to find her keys to let them into the apartment.

It was tiny, but that was to be expected. Slightly messy with various items strewn around the den and the kitchen areas, but nothing too egregious that Nanami couldn’t overlook. 

“I’ll put the kettle on if you’d like to have a seat. I’ll just be a moment,” Y/N says as she shuffles out of her high heels in the entryway. Trying to be sly, she immediately picks up the discarded clothes so that Nanami wouldn’t notice as she retreats into her bedroom so she can change out of the stained blouse and into a clean shirt. In a quick glance in a mirror that she has in her bedroom, she sees a rather large, angry red patch mark her chest where the coffee branded her. 

A flash of humiliation strikes through her core, but Y/N does her best to not dwell on it. Even if her chest is still throbbing from her injury, regardless of the ointment that Nanami was so kind to give to her. 

Nanami silently makes his way to the den and sits at the kotatsu table in the center of the room, letting the futon cover his lap, waiting patiently for Y/N to exit her room. 

She comes out of the bedroom, changed into a fresh set of casual clothes, and wastes no time getting started on the tea that she promised Nanami.

“I hope you don’t mind my appearance,” Y/N calls out, glancing over her shoulder to look at him. “I don’t think I could stand to be in that stained blouse another minute.” 

“Please don’t think I’m offended, Y/N-chan, I’m a guest in your home. I’d rather you be comfortable.”

Y/N gives him a toothy smile as she fills up the electric kettle with water. 

“I have sencha tea. Is that okay with you?” 

A singular nod. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

To Y/N, it felt strange to have her senpai in her home, sitting at her little kotatsu table that he seemed rather too large for. She stole a look at him while he wasn’t paying attention and fought back a giggle, thinking of him as a bull in a china shop in her microscopic apartment. 

From the corner of his eye, Nanami noticed a pile of vinyl records leaned up against a record player. 

“Do you listen to vinyl, Y/N-chan?”

“I do, actually. I enjoy collecting records whenever I can.”

“Any particular genre?” 

“Hmm…my father was always big on music from the 50’s and the 60’s. I remember listening to a lot of cassette tapes and vinyls from those eras. He said that there was a certain romantic aspect that just couldn’t be replicated in today’s music.” Y/N comes into the den with two steaming mugs of tea, setting them both down onto the kotatsu. “However, he could be just a bit biased because that’s the music that he grew up on.” 

Nanami chuckles. “Just a bit. Thank you for the tea and hospitality, by the way, Y/N-chan. You didn’t have to do this.” He gently grips the handle of the mug and brings it to his lips, taking in a small sip. 

Y/N softly sighs, letting her shoulders slump the tiniest degree. “I felt like I needed to.” 

“Y/N-chan-”

“Senpai, I just…” She starts to wring her hands in front of her, suddenly nervous. “I just wanted to show my appreciation for all that you did for me when I was struggling. The snacks and coffees that you would leave at my desk, offering to share part of your lunch with me… All sorts of things that you went out of your way to do for me, when you really had nothing to gain from it. I don’t know why you did it to begin with, but… I’ll be forever thankful to you that you did.” 

Seeing her be so open and candid with everything that had happened within the past several months, made Nanami reminisce on his old secondary school classmate, Yu Haibara. Perhaps that’s why he had such a fondness for Y/N. She shared a lot of characteristics that Haibara had.

Happiness. Genuine kindness. A fondness for life and living. 

Maybe that’s why Nanami was doing his damndest to try and help her.

Protect her. 

In a way that he wasn’t able to do for Haibara. 

Y/N notices Nanami’s silent reverie. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Hm? Oh… nothing in particular.”

Unconvinced, she prods a tiny bit more. “Are you sure? You look like you’re deep in thought about something.”

Nanami quickly changes the subject. “How’s your burn doing? It’s not hurting you too much, is it?”

At the mention of her injury, a flare of a dull ache makes its way to the front of her mind. She brings a hand up to her chest to rub at it. 

“It’s manageable.” 

He gives her a knowing look before getting up from the kotatsu and goes into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of paper towels and running them under cold water.

“Here, this should help.” He offers her the wet paper towels, but she simply stares at his hand. 

Y/N glances at his hand and back up to his face, before she reaches out to grip his wrist and uses his arm as leverage to pull herself up into a standing position. She doesn’t let go of his wrist.

“I hope… that you’ll allow me to thank you. Properly,” Y/N says, peering up at Nanami, a certain… emotion displayed that he wasn’t able to place his finger on. She takes a step closer to him, decreasing the distance between them. 

All Nanami could focus on in that moment was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears and the sudden warmth that flushed into his cheeks, all of which led to one question in his mind: Where was she going with this?

“Seeing as how we’re being personal and open with one another, would it be silly of me to admit I sort of… developed a little bit of a crush on you?” Her eyes drift down from his for a moment, maybe due to embarrassment, before raising her eyes to meet his, a slight blush starting to color her cheeks. “I didn’t want to say anything at first, especially considering how you always preached about how you always separated your personal life with your professional life… but now feels like a good time to come clean.” She reaches up and gently places a hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth that his skin offered as her thumb tenderly stroked his cheekbone. 

Nanami’s heart feels like it's in his throat, unintentionally tensing up at the feeling of her hand on the side of his face. “Y/N-chan.” 

Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? This wasn’t the first time that a woman tried to be physically close to him, and all those other times he was able to gently reject their advances with ease. 

Why was she suddenly the exception to this rule? 

“Are you… uncomfortable with this?” she asks, unable to gauge his current state of mind due to his stunned silence. The last thing that Y/N wanted to do was encroach on his boundaries. 

Nanami remains silent, his eyes still locked onto her face. 

Y/N takes that as a sign to halt her advances. She begins to pull away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward-” she begins to apologize, but finds herself cut short by the feeling of another mouth covering hers. 

Nanami, finally snapping out of his trance, allows himself to feel something for the first time in a long time. Gripping both sides of her face, he bends down and pulls her into a rather heated kiss, their teeth accidentally clacking against each other from the force of impact. 

Y/N, startled at first, melts into the kiss, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck to try and pull him closer to her, his hands sliding from her cheeks to thread his fingers through her hair, allowing him just a bit more grip on her. Y/N’s chest aches at her burn site at the friction of Nanami’s body against hers, but she could care less about it in the current moment. 

With her lungs screaming for oxygen, she pulls away, gasping. “Nanami-senpai!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he gasps out, trying to catch his breath. 

“Don’t be.”

They remain still for a moment, just taking in their presence. 

Nanami leans down to press his forehead against Y/N’s, closing his eyes. “It’s no secret that I’ve come to care for you, Y/N-chan. Perhaps, a bit more than I initially let on.” 

A breathy chuckle escapes from her. “Is that so?” 

He gives a small nod, a gentle smile forming on his face. “Yes.”

One of his hands, still entangled in her hair, falls from her head to softly grip the side of her neck, his thumb gently rubbing alongside her jawline. 

“I should have asked you this properly, before I got physical with you,” Nanami whispers. “Is this something that you would want to pursue, Y/N-chan? A relationship… with me?” 

A slight pause as Y/N digests his proposal, before she smiles and nods. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always have you, so long as you put up with me and my broody behavior.” 

“You’re not broody.” She reaches up to softly push back several strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes. “Matter of fact, I find you to be very kind and considerate. I have all of the ‘extra coffees’ and vending machine snacks to thank you for.”

Y/N grabs at the hand that’s on the side of her neck and guides it down so that Nanami is now cupping one of her breasts through her shirt. She glances up at him, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting to see what his next move will be. 

Filled with new found lust, and a rush of heat down to his groin, Nanami closes the gap between the two of them, pressing his lips to hers once more, allowing his tongue to slip past his lips and into her mouth, massaging hers with his own. There’s urgency to their motions now, their exhaled breaths coming out much harsher and heavier than before. 

Nanami’s hands slip underneath her shirt to fully cup her breasts, allowing him to roll her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. 

Y/N lets out a little squeak at the sensation, but takes it all in stride. She grabs at his clothes, attempting to undo his tie and the buttons to his shirt, but struggles at the Windsor knot on his tie, unsure how to loosen it. Nanami, lost in the moment, comes to at the sensation of her prying hands and quickly undoes his two piece suit at a much faster rate than Y/N ever could, stripping down to be completely bare and vulnerable in front of her. 

Y/N truly began to appreciate what a fine specimen Nanami was. He’s toned. He’s muscular. He’s built like a Greek god, if she was being totally honest with herself. 

She looks down at Nanami’s cock, sucking in a sharp breath when she notices how girthy it was. It wasn’t fully erect, but Y/N remembers some of her old friends from university going on about how some men are “growers”. Their words, not hers. 

“Can…can I?” she stutters out, her eyes locked onto his growing erection. 

“God, yes, please.”

She sinks to her knees in front of him, coming face to face with his cock. The sight alone makes Nanami’s respiration become labored. 

With gentle hands, she reaches out and grasps him at the base and points him upright. Her eyes glance up at him, trying to gauge his reaction, before pressing a kiss to the head. One hand goes to stroke the length as the other falls to massage his testicles. With a deep breath, and a whole lot of fraudulent courage, she sinks her head onto him, trying to take him in as much as she could without activating her gag reflex. 

“Y/N-chan…” Nanami gasps out, the warm, wet sensation of her mouth sending shockwaves through his core. His hands twitch by his sides, wanting to bury his fingers into the crown of her head, but he restrains himself, not wanting to rush her into things. 

Slowly, Y/N finds her rhythm. She begins to bob her head up and down his length with added vigor, her hand stroking the parts that her mouth cannot reach. Saliva begins to dribble from her mouth and down her chin, the more that she bobs her head. The sound of squelching fills the room as Y/N continues her assault on Nanami. 

Nanami’s head had fallen back and his eyes were closed in ecstasy. “Fuck, Y/N-chan,” he gasps out, foregoing his original plan of self control and reaching one of his hands to grasp at the back of Y/N’s head, desperate to try and hold onto something. He begins to move his hips, just enough to thrust forward to meet her mouth. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he tilts head forward to look down at Y/N to see her eyes locked onto his face as she persisted with her movements. She pulls off his length, but with the tip still in her mouth, she wraps her tongue around the tip and simply sucks. 

Nanami’s vision goes white for just a moment, and he swears that he had died and gone to heaven in that second. 

Y/N pops off his member, strings of saliva attaching from her mouth to Nanami, gasping for breath. He stands fully erect now, his cock now slapping against his abdomen the moment that Y/N lets go of him, and the tip begins to ooze with pre-ejaculate. She offers him a cheeky smile, meeting his wanton gaze with playfulness. “Is this to your liking, Nanami Kento?”

She leans forward and suckles one of his testicles into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his face. Something inside Nanami snaps, and he can no longer hold himself back anymore. 

“You little minx,” he rasps out, reaching down to push her shoulders back, putting some distance between the two of them. He pulls her up into a standing position, before reaching down to grasp at her hips. He pulls her into a feverish kiss, his lips entangling with hers. He lifts her up into the air, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist, giving him the freedom to blindly make his way from her living room to her bedroom. He gently sets her down on the edge of the bed, pulling away from the kiss. 

“Can I take your clothes off, Y/N-chan?” His hands grab at the hem of her shirt, waiting for her approval to do so. 

She nods, lifting her arms up over her head, making it easier for Nanami to pull her shirt off, leaving her bare-chested in front of him. The cool air hits her skin, making goosebumps start to rise throughout her trunk. 

Nanami takes in everything that she has to offer. Every curve, contour, stretch mark, including the large burn on her chest. A flash of anger flares up in his chest at the sight of it, but he does his best to extinguish it. He doesn’t want to sour the mood with a foul mood. 

Feeling his eyes on her, Y/N can’t help but become self conscious in his observant gaze as she instinctively raises her arms to cover her chest to make herself as small as possible. Nanami, however, notices her attempts to cover herself up and catches both of her wrists in his large hands, stopping her from doing so.

“Stop. You don’t need to hide yourself in front of me,” he says, nearly chastising her as he forces her arms back down to their sides. “I want to see all of you, as you have seen all of me.” He sinks to his knees in front of her and leans forward to press gentle kisses to her chest, making sure to linger his lips on her injury. “Will you allow me to make you feel good, Y/N-chan?” he asks, peering up at her with tender eyes. 

Y/N gives him a soft smile, threading her fingers through his hair. “I’d like that.” 

He returns the smile, before he presses his lips to hers once again, only this time it’s not as rushed and frenzied as before. It’s slow and reposeful, as if they don’t want to rush the moment to its end. 

Nanami, still on his knees, reaches up with both hands to cup her jaw, his thumbs smoothing at her cheek bones as he continues to kiss her. He begins to gently guide her back further onto the mattress, allowing her to lay down and for him more room to explore her body. He lets his hands trail from the sides of her face down to the hems of both the bottoms that she was wearing and her underwear. He pulls away just a fraction of an inch from her lips, looking into her eyes as he gets more of a hold on the clothing, silently asking her permission to remove the rest of her clothes.

Y/N instinctually lifts her hips up, giving Nanami the freedom to remove the rest of the barriers, leaving her totally bare in front of him. 

He sits between her legs, his eyes narrowing down on her center, before glancing back up to meet her gaze. “May I taste you?”

She nods, watching with heavy anticipation as he changes position so that he’s now flat on his stomach, now faced with the most intimate part of Y/N. It wasn’t an understatement to say that she was incredibly nervous. It had been some time since she last had sex with another man. 

Noting her silence and her tense position, Nanami asks her, “Are you alright?” 

His question pulls her out of her silent dilemma, realizing that he was locked in on her face.

She nods, not trusting her voice right now.

His eyes are quizzical, but he doesn’t push it any further. “You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable, yeah?” 

She nods again.

“I think I’m gonna need a little more confirmation than that, Y/N-chan. I need you to actually say something.” 

A flush of heat makes its way towards her core at his command, arousing her a bit more than she would like to admit. “I… yes. I promise I’ll say something,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

He gives her a smirk. “Good girl.”

He hooks his arms around her thighs, pulling her closer to him, his face now just mere nanometers away from her center. Maintaining eye contact with her, he flattens his tongue on her clit, massaging it with smooth, languid strokes. 

Y/N lets out a gasp at the sensation of his tongue on her, her head falling backwards on the pillow, letting the pleasure build from her core and flow throughout her body. 

Nanami starts out slow, letting her adjust to the stimulation before he begins to flick her clit at a rapid pace, trying to build on her satisfaction. His eyes never leave her face as he continues with his movements. Reaching further around, he uses his hands to spread her lips wide open and sucks her clit between his lips.

“My god, Nana-mi-senpai,” she moans, her toes curling at the feeling of him sucking her in. Unable to make sense of what to do with herself, her hands fly to her chest grabbing at her breasts. She begins to pant now, the pleasure beginning to build upon itself as Nanami’s tongue continues to ravish her. The waves are crashing over each other now, and the familiar coil within Y/N’s abdomen starts to tighten, alerting her of her impending orgasm. 

Switching tactics, Nanami diverts his attention to her opening. Replacing his tongue with this thumb on her clit, he gently prods his tongue through, thrusting it in and out.

“Nanami!” Y/N cries out, jerking at the sensation. She squirms and twists at his ministrations, unable to maintain her composure anymore, before he uses his other hand to flatten it on her abdomen, in an effort to hold her still. She glances down at him to see his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his fingers splayed out on her abdomen, a warning look in his eyes, as if to say don’t move. He brings his mouth back up to her clit and presses a single kiss to the sensitive nub before, for lack of a better word, devouring her. He engulfs her entire clit into his mouth before suckling on it and his tongue furiously stroking her, trying to fully push her over the edge and bring her to orgasm. 

The coil within Y/N tightens further and further the more Nanami’s mouth works her, the pressure within herself mounting to an almost uncomfortable point. Her hands fly down to grab at Nanami’s hair, desperately trying to anchor herself to something, but she’s quickly getting swept up into shockwaves of ecstasy. 

With one final suck, the coil snaps and Y/N is rendered completely helpless as her orgasm comes crashing over her in waves. She lets out a loud cry as her abdomen clamps down on itself, her body shaking with each pulse of her core, her hands becoming a vice grip in his hair. 

Nanami’s moans at the feeling of her hands in his hair, releasing her core free from the confines of his lips, panting out several breaths before going in with his tongue again to lap at her release. Y/N jerks at the sensation, slowly becoming overwhelmed with the constant stimulation.

As Y/N comes down from her high, she looks down to Nanami giving him a weak, breathy chuckle, gently untangling her fingers from his hair. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He leans away from her, flashing her a relaxed grin. He kisses his way up her abdomen, gently pressing his lips to her skin as he makes his way to her face. Once he reaches his intended destination, he captures her lips into an all-consuming kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist in an effort to pull her as close to him as humanly possible. In response, her legs go to encircle his hips, pressing her lubricated center to his leaking cock. 

Nanami lets out a hiss at the contact, a flash of pleasure striking through him, making him almost recoil from Y/N’s body. 

She looks at him, concerned. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I just… I’m a little more sensitive than I initially thought,” he reassures, leaning up to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Well… I’m yours for the taking.” She spreads her legs open, sending the message to him wide and clear. 

A sinking realization dawns on Nanami as he looks down at his bare self, now just coming to terms that he’s missing a very key component to this whole encounter. “Y/N-chan, I… I’m sorry, but I don’t have any protection on me,” he whispers. “I don’t want to end this moment with you… but I don’t want to risk you getting pregnant for my own selfish desires, either.” 

Y/N props herself up on her elbows, leaning over to the nightstand beside the bed and opens the drawer, pulling out several packages of condoms, making Nanami do a double-take. “An old friend of mine from university gave them to me as a gag gift for my birthday before I started to work at the office. I really haven’t had the opportunity to use them… well, up until now at least,” she explains, a bit of a sheepish grin gracing her face as she hands them to Nanami.

“Some friends you have,” he says, ripping a package open, grabbing the plastic wrapping before placing it on his tip and rolling it down his length. He doesn’t question it, he’s just thankful that he doesn’t have to stop. He positions himself between Y/N’s legs, sitting back on his haunches, as he grabs hold of his length and guides his tip to her slit. “Are you ready for me, Y/N-chan?” 

She inhales a deep breath. “Yes. I’m ready, Nanami-senpai.”

He lets out a chuckle. “Kento.” 

“Hmm?” She looks at him, confused.

“I think we’re way beyond the point of just acknowledging each other by our surnames, Y/N-chan. All things considered.” 

“I suppose you’re right… Kento.” 

With one hand, grabs hold of her hip, while with the other, he slowly guides his tip into her entrance. When he has the assurance that it won’t slip out, he pauses his motions. “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much, yeah?” 

She nods. “Yes.” 

“Good.” 

He softly guides his hips forward, pushing his cock past her opening and letting him be enveloped by her warm, wet walls. He almost has to stop himself from getting ahead of himself and snapping his hips in. A thin layer of perspiration begins to form on his forehead as he concentrates all of his will power into not burying her into the mattress and pounding into her in that moment. Nanami looks to her, trying to gauge where she was at in terms of comfort after fully sheathing himself in her. 

Y/N was in a bit of pain, to say the least. With the stretch of Nanami as he penetrated into her, came the uncomfortable burning sensation of almost being split open. She lets out a hiss and closes her eyes, immediately tensing herself up. Nanami was not small, by any means necessary. Matter of fact, he was much more well endowed than any of Y/N’s previous partners or one night stands, leaving her uncomfortably full with areas that Nanami was touching that had initially been left undisturbed. She could feel the tip of his member twitch inside of her, causing her to unintentionally clamp down on him. 

Nanami stutters out a groan, nearly throwing his head back in pure, unadulterated pleasure, but he forces himself to hold steadfast. He knows that she needs to adjust to him, and he would not move until she gave him the say so. 

The seconds that pass feel like years to Nanami as he remains stagnant. His selfish desire is eating away at his restraint, but he deliberately ignores it, instead focusing all of his attention on her. Gritting his teeth, he gently squeezes her hips, trying to draw her back into the current moment. “Are you alright, Y/N-chan?” 

With her eyes still closed, she nods her head. She reaches down and grabs at one of his hands on her hips, relocating it to her center, with his thumb just barely brushing up against her clit. He slowly begins to swipe at it, hopeful that the stimulation of it would overcome the pain. She repositions herself now, letting her legs interlock around his hips with her ankles linking together, giving him the nonverbal permission that he so desperately required.

Slowly, with careful precision, he begins to roll his hips forward, each time burying himself to the hilt of her. Her warm, velvet walls encasing his cock made his vision nearly go white every time that she clamped around him, whether if it was intentional or not.

Y/N goes slack jawed, the motions painful at first, but the more he pistoned his hips against her, the constant pulsing of his cock within her, the warmth that he offered her, and the haphazard stroking of her clit with his fingers, the more she began to enjoy herself. Her arousal slicked her walls, further lubricating her, loosening her up as Nanami continued with his assault on her. Some of it began to seep out and dampen his pelvis where it met hers, with strings of her connecting them to each other in more ways than one. 

He could have cried right there, if he wanted to.

Nanami’s hips pick up the pace, now slapping against her, filling the room with body parts colliding with one another and uneven breathing and soft moans, and the aroma of sex beginning to flood the enclosed space. Wisps of his hair fall into his eyes, somewhat blocking his view on her as she falls apart underneath him, slowly becoming a pile of jelly and limbs. 

“Y/N-chan, Y/N-channn…” he cries out, his hips now slamming against her, his hands gripping her in a vice grip as he chases the high that he so desperately craves. The motions cause the bed frame to shake and rattle with the headboard starting to bash against the wall. His eyes are locked on her, watching her as she is completely lost to the pleasure that he’s feeding her. Her eyes are closed with her eyebrows furrowed as if she were concentrating on something, her body jerking with each thrust that he plows into her, her breasts even more so, and her hands are white-knuckling the bedsheets. 

It’s a sight truly to behold in his eyes. 

The tension in his abdomen is building to an uncomfortable tightness, the coil close to snapping as his orgasm nears. His hips start to buck into now, the pace almost inhuman. 

“Y/N-chan…I’m close. I’m so close, I can’t…ha…I can’t hold back anymore…Y/N-chan!” 

“On me…I want it on me…” she moans out, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes in a lustful gaze. The corner of her mouth turned upward into a small smirk. 

His brain nearly short-circuits at the thought of his seed painting her abdomen and chest and face. 

It takes everything within Nanami to stop what he’s doing and pull his cock out of her. He rips the condom off, replacing it with his hand as he starts to vigorously stroke his hand up and down his length, a piss poor replacement for her warmth. He leans over her, putting his free hand by her head, locking eyes with her as he continued to masturbate, the sound of her wetness filling the room as he rapidly stroked up and down his length. She, in a heated second, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to press her lips to his, eager to feel his mouth on her again. He doesn’t stop his movements, as he slips his tongue into her mouth, eager to explore her mouth once again. 

The coil in his abdomen snaps, causing warmth to flood through him in waves throughout his entire core, with his seed finally spurting out of his red, angry tip. He has to stop, pulling away for just a moment as a gasping moan slips out of his mouth.

Y/N startles at the feeling of his heated droplets as they spray onto her abdomen and chest, some of them going as far onto her neck, but quickly relishes in the feeling of it. The majority of it pooling onto her abdomen as it flows from his tip. Nanami stutters out a groan as he slows his hand down, sitting back on his haunches, looking at the canvas that he painted on Y/N’s body, his slowly deflating cock twitching at the sight of it. 

Feeling mischievous, Y/N props herself up on her elbows as scoops up a glob of his seed off of her body. In her post-coital gaze, she maintains eye contact with him as she sticks her tongue out of her mouth, bringing the dollop of seed up to her mouth and places it onto her tongue. Nanami’s eyes nearly dilate to the size of quarters as she pulls her tongue back into her mouth, as this may be one of the most erotic things he’s ever encountered in all of his years. 

Y/N lets out a squeak as Nanami grabs hold of her hips and roughly pulls her down the mattress, fully placing her core against his length.

“If I remember correctly, I don’t think you came around me as we fucked, did you Y/N-chan?” 

Stunned at the sudden motion, all Y/N can really say is: “I, it’s fine Kento, I-”

“Bullshit.” 

“You made me come with your mouth, it’s fine-”

He shoots her a glare. “Let me do this for you. I want to make sure you feel good.”

He reaches up past her to grab a pillow at the head of the bed. “Lift your hips up for me,” he instructs. She follows his command wordlessly and he stuffs the pillow underneath her, placing her pelvis at a bit of an upward angle.

He leans forward over her, placing his hands on either side of her, and places his cock straight onto her clit, and begins to thrust upward, using the external stimulation of his member to rub on her, trying to get her to orgasm once more for him. 

Y/N lets out a soft moan at the feeling of him on her, the filthy sound of her slickness filling the room as Nanami thrusts up on her. She grabs onto her breasts and squeezes them against her chest, desperately trying to ground herself in the moment, but with Nanami’s relentless assault, she finds herself drifting further and further away into the pleasure of it all. 

“I want you to come for me, Y/N-chan,” he growls out, his eyes animalistic and unflinching. “I want you to come undone on my cock. I want you. In every sense. In every way.”

Y/N, once again rendered to a helpless pile of mush, finds herself unable to respond. The feeling of Nanami’s cock on her clit begins to tighten her abdomen once again, causing white hot sensations to build within her. Her toes curl, she grasps onto Nanami’s forearms with her nails digging into his skin. He lets out a hiss, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare. 

“Come for me, darling. I want you to come for me. Can you do that for me? Be my good girl and come for me?” 

His words send her into overdrive with flushes of heat making their way directly to her core, more slickness slowly oozing out of her and dampening Nanami’s cock the more he moved against her. He can feel himself hardening again, but he couldn’t care less. 

The more the heat and tension built within Y/N, the more that she squirmed and thrashed into the mattress. All of it mounting up to the point that Nanami was desperately trying to get her towards. He maintained his pace, but he leaned down onto her, smearing his seed on his chest, his lips right at her ear now. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Kento, I… Oh my fucking… Christ!” Y/N cries out, wrapping both her arms and legs around Nanami’s trunk. “Please! Please, god! I can’t take it anymore!” 

He teasingly licks the outer shell of her ear. “No one’s stopping you, Y/N-chan. Come for me.” 

As if her body were waiting for verbal permission from him, even though he had given it to her several times before, her abdomen collapses on itself, making her vision go white and her ears ring. She loudly cries out, her body jerking with each pulse of her orgasm. He can feel it on his length, and he swears he could have orgasmed once again just as he was. 

He pulls away from her ear and looks at her blissed out face, her eyes closed as she tries to regain control of her breathing. He reaches up and gently cups the side of her face, tenderly brushing the sweat-dampened strands of hairs from her face behind her ears. “Are you okay?” he quietly asks. 

She nods, her eyes still closed. 

“Look at me, Y/N-chan.” 

She tiredly opens her eyes, looking at him blearily. 

He offers a warm smile, before pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead before kissing his way down to her mouth, carefully tender pecks to where he could place his lips. He leans his forehead down, resting it upon hers. “I want you to stay home from work tomorrow.”

She looks at him in confusion, her eyebrows furrowing. “What? Why?”

“There are some things that I need to take care of in the office. I would rather you not be there to witness them. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, Y/N-chan.” His eyes are unfaltering, his tone absolute. There was no room for argument with him.

She hesitates, trying to digest what he’s telling her, a sinking feeling of unease starting to fill her abdomen. She trusts him, though. 

And against her better judgment, she nods, a frown forming on her face. 

“Will I see you later then, after work?” she asks, almost timidly. 

He leans down and presses another kiss to her lips. “I’ll do my best to see you, that is, if Akiyama doesn’t have my head on a silver platter,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

There were people that still needed to be dealt with. 

~

He left her apartment early in the morning, while Y/N was dead asleep to the world. A sense of longing fills him as he looks upon her sleeping form, not wanting to leave her only for her to wake up alone, however, there was urgent business that needed attending to. 

On the elevator ride to the floor where the office was located, his briefcase weighed a bit heavier than it normally did. As soon as he stepped into the common area where all of the other employees were, the majority of them did double-takes at him, all their gazes locked on him as he slowly stalked his way to Akiyama’s office. He didn’t bother to knock on the door or wait for any notion that it was okay for him to enter into the enclosed space, he simply barged in, catching Akiyama off guard as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his computer.

“Nanami-san!” He jumps, startled at the sudden intrusion, before a rather sour look crosses over his face as the memories of the day prior begin to flash through his mind. He regains control of himself, and puts on a rather tight expression on his face. “Have a seat. We need to have a discussion about your petulant behavior yesterday.” 

“I don’t think I will. I’ll remain standing for the rest of this conversation,” Nanami cooly responds. He knows that it’s not going to last long.

“Fine. Stand for all I care.” 

Akiyama then goes on a tirade about how Nanami’s behavior yesterday was inexcusable, how it’s totally unprofessional for him to speak to his superior in the manner that he did, and how he has grounds to fire Nanami and Y/N for abandoning their work duties with unexcused work absences, and so on, so forth. 

The more Akiyama ranted, the more Nanami’s hearing started to drown out due to a loud whistling sound in his ears. Red, hot anger was flooding in his chest, making both his heart rate and respiration rate increase in rhythm. 

Though Akiyama can’t see it, the blue glow of cursed energy started to fully envelope Nanami’s body the more that his anger grew. He wasn’t on overtime, but his emotions were getting the better of him, not allowing him to think clearly and making him tap into his excess cursed energy that he stored within himself. 

Akiyama, clearly not paying attention, continues on, now going on about something that Nanami can’t hear due to the whistling in his ears. His eyes analytically looked at Akiyama’s face, the invisible ratio line starting to form on his center, beginning from the base of his jaw to the tip of his receding widow’s peak. The increment markings began to form, and the seventh ratio line formed at his glabella, the point in between his eyebrows and just above his nasal bone. 

Nanami sets his briefcase down on one of the chairs. 

Akiyama can’t make it to another point as Nanami’s fist connects to the glabella and smashes his face and skull inward. 

The impact of the blow is fatal. 

Incident Log # 207

Multiple casualties were reported on the seventh floor of the Fujimoto Office Complex in the ward of Shinjuku, in the prefecture of Tokyo. Thirty two bodies were accounted for out of thirty four employees. Seventeen men, and fifteen women. The nature of injuries closely correlate to that of a sorcerer instead of a cursed entity. Residuals of cursed energy left behind strongly indicate that of former Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College student and graduate Nanami Kento. Nanami Kento is an employee at the Fujimoto office and has been missing since the attack occurred. The only other survivor is Y/L Y/N, as she had not been reported to be at the location when the incident transpired. 

Special Grade Sorcerer Gojo Satoru is assigned to the case.

The natures and causes of death are reported as followed: 

Akiyama Hinata, aged fifty seven, nature of injuries: concave trauma to the frontal lobe of cranium. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.

Fumiko Asami, aged thirty one, nature of injuries: body sliced in half at the anterior inferior iliac spine of pelvis, causing bilateral femoral arteries to be cut open and massive blood loss to occur. Cause of death: blood loss and hypovolemic shock.

Aiko Marina, aged thirty, nature of injuries…

Y/N can’t even stomach her way through the rest of the report and she throws it onto the table in front of her. She’s sitting in an interrogation room with a silver haired man that sports a blindfold over his eyes. He’s introduced himself as Gojo Satoru, the main investigator on this case and she’s been presented with pictures of the crime scene and surveillance footage of the office as the attack went down. She watched as Nanami, for lack of a better word, butchered the entire office as he wielded a giant blunt knife that was wrapped in a white cloth with black spots all over it that was secretly concealed within his briefcase that he brought in that morning. 

She wants to vomit. 

“Is there anything else that you might be able to tell me involving this incident?” Gojo pries, as he leans back into the chair, placing his feet on the edge of the table. “It was reported that Nanami Kento did have a bit of a soft spot for you leading up to the attack. Is there any chance that he might have mentioned something to you about it?”

Y/N shakes her head, her eyes locked onto two pictures of Nanami that lay on the table. One of him when he was a student, with his long, sandy blonde hair that swooped over both of his eyes to one side, and the other looking as if it had been taken yesterday, with his hair in a professional side part, dressed in his regular two piece attire. “He didn’t mention anything like this. To be frank, I didn’t even know that he contained such power within himself.” Which, to be fair, wasn’t a total lie. Y/N didn’ know that he was a jujutsu sorcerer to begin with. “He was very big on keeping his personal life separate from his professional life.” 

She doesn’t dare tell them of the intimate moments that she shared with him the night before. She doesn’t tell them of the note that Nanami left her in her apartment that morning that sits in the back pocket of her pants. To her, in that moment, it feels as if it weighs over a thousand pounds.

It’s the last thing that she has of Nanami. She won’t give it up. Not now, not ever. 

Gojo sighs, before taking his feet off the edge of the table, letting his chair lean forward back into its normal position. He digs into one of his pockets and offers her a contact card. “If you remember anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I’d be more than happy to meet you in a different place than this dreary old place.” 

He tries to make her laugh, but it’s futile. 

“Am I free to leave?” 

He nods. “You were never imprisoned here to begin with.” 

She gets up, does a 45 degree bow at the waist, and quickly takes her leave, eager to be off the campus of the Jujutsu Technical College campus. There’s a sense of unease that fills her the more time that she spends there. 

On the train ride back to her apartment, she pulls the note out of her pocket and reads it through, like it’s the first time. His handwriting is scribbled onto the paper, his characters completely lacking the neat and orderly fashion that she’s so accustomed to seeing from him. 

Dearest Y/N,

By the time that you’re reading this, I have no doubt in my mind that the news stations will be reporting on what I’ve done to our co-workers. Or should I say “former”. 

I’m sorry that it took me so long to stand up to the rest of them, especially for the sake of what they were doing to you on a daily basis. You didn’t deserve to be treated like you were nothing. You didn’t deserve to be humiliated and bullied by them. I will always be forever regretful that I allowed it to continue on for such a long period of time. I wanted to make things better for you, Y/N. 

I’m sorry that this is the way things have to end between the two of us, even though our relationship had only just barely begun. You are the first woman that I’ve encountered in my life that made me want to better myself. Be kinder. More tender with my actions and how I interacted with the world and the people in it.  

It’s a shame that I’m reduced to such callous actions on my part. 

I’m a coward for running away. I know I am. I know that they’ll be looking for me. They most likely will try to interrogate you, coerce information out of you. I won’t begrudge you if you did. You would be doing the right thing, of course. With the actions I’m about to commit, it surely would be the only way. 

I love you. 

I should be saying this directly to you, and softly caressing your face while I do so, but this is the next best option. I love you. Granted, we only spent so much time together, but as I’ve said previously before, I’ve grown to care for you. Much more than I initially let on. 

I can only hope to see you in the near future, but I don’t know if that will ever come to fruition or not. 

Please take care of yourself, Y/N-chan.

-Nanami Kento

Thank you for reading 💕

[oistak]

MORE poly!Vees x Reader please🥺

yess, i love themmm

‎♡‧poly!vees x assistant reader‧♡

#cw:none

you’d be owned by vox and he’d send you around in an attempt to keep val and vel on track, with vel it goes great and you bond over gossip and socials, i think vox and vel would care a lot about their stuff being done on time and would be very strict

about deadlines, whereas val would be very lax about actual work and while you try to help him try to stay on topic he would flirt and try to seduce you. his attempts would be quite annoying and frustrating at first, making it the most challenging part of your day, but soon he’d start to wear down your walls just as vel and vox had.

vox is basically the hinge for all of you. you and vel are close in a “bro” type of way, you are both into fashion and social media, have the same kind of humor, and are absolutely done with val, though vox and val were on and off for years. you have a very begrudging relationship with val, he’s like rejection, something you don’t want but need once in a while. when you do all spend time together, it’s often at the mall where val and vel act like excited children, rushing into each and every store and you and vox stay behind on your phones.

being an assistant means you do many of their daily tasks, one of which, vel insisted, was buying their coffee. vox’s order is the easiest: black coffee with ice cubes so he can drink it faster, on the off chance you’d get him an energy drink too. vel likes “anything pretty”, you usually get her a frappuccino, or an espresso fusion if she’s extra tired, from late work nights. val would get any order that takes longer than a minute to explain, take a sip, and then throw it in the trash while saying “something is wrong with this order.”

when you cuddle, it’s more often with vel than vox because of how busy that man is. if the week has been extra long you’d go into his monitor room with val or vel and one of you'd sit on his lap, stand behind him holding his shoulders, or sit at the base of his chair. at the end of the day the thing that brings you all together is vox and you'll do whatever to make him comfy.

sry this ended up being alot vox oriented :/

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Buzzing Static Burns The Silence Between My Ears

So, @lexthegremlin1 requested that I do a story about cat hybrid! König and Horangi taking care of a reader when dealing with ADHD/ADD. Funnily enough, I struggle with ADHD and autism, so I might have written this with a bit of an autistic take, so please forgive me. I find the two tend to entwine themselves inside me so it's hard to see one from the other. However, I did my best and I really like this story.

I've struggled writing lately, so writing this story really helped me. I hope it helps you all when dealing with an ADHD/ADD episode yourselves.

TWs: Panic attacks, over stimulation, ableism, people not understanding ADHD

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Buzzing Static Burns The Silence Between My Ears

Your fingers buzzed with static currents. Your skin crawled with an army of invisible ants marching up and down your body in an endless march. You could hear the buzzing in the air. It was loud, so loud. Why was it loud? It wasn’t this loud before. It’s not supposed to be loud. It’s maddening but you can’t so much as orient your head to look around you. You’re locked in place like a cadaver to an examining table. You’re muscles ripple as currents flow from head to toe. You feel like you’re being born, you feel like you’re dying. It’s all throughout your body and you don’t know how to handle it.

You feel something under your touch. It’s a new feeling. This isn’t the metal of your pen. It’s not the plastic of your keyboard. It’s something… Soft. Soft? What’s soft in your apartment? You have your stuffed animals, but those are in your room. You’re in the living room now, right by your laptop. You can see in the far distance that you’re looking at the screen, but nothing is making sense. All the letters loop together and tangle into a sea of nettles. It’s not your stuffed animal, what’s soft in this room?

There’s throw pillows, but those are on the sofa. You’re sitting by your small table, the one you made into your desk. You have some stickers on the organizer trays, but they’re too bright to look at, too overwhelming. All those fun and familiar characters are too overwhelming now.

Soft… Soft… Soft… What’s soft?

You take a deep breath. You feel like your head is breaching above water for a moment. In the middle of the storm, your eyes flash with lightening clarity. You can see the sky bend and crack above you, can feel the currents of the sea desperately try to suck you back into the inky depths. You can feel it all as it whirls around you. You take another breath, and again the waves recede briefly to give you some semblance of relief. It’s brief, but it’s what you need. Another breath, the sea falls away, you feel yourself coming to solid ground.

The chair is solid beneath you. It’s a nice comfy chair that your friend found for you at a thrift store. It fits your room, it makes it look more organized.

Organized.

The sea wells up again, this time rising all the way back up to you neck and threatening to take you under.

Right, that’s why you’re like this. You’re unorganized.

Teachers always told you to be more careful with your school work. You keep losing your papers. I don’t have an endless supply here; you need to learn to take care of your things. Your parents got so mad at you. How do you not know where it is? I gave it to you five minutes ago! Your partners never understood. What do you mean you don’t remember? Over and over and over again, and now you’re hearing it from your boss. You lost the paper you needed. You lost it right before the deadline. You can’t meet the deadline without that report. How did you lose it? You thought you were better, you thought therapy and medications were working. Everyone told you that you were getting better, but now you’re stuck back at square one, staring down at your shoes as your teacher sighs and tells you to be more careful again.

You feel like you’re breaking down. It’s too much. Your chest heaves up and down, but you don’t know why. You try to breathe but the air catches in a ball in the back of your throat, thick and coagulated like old blood. It feels like fleshy masses are consuming your body, draining your life out of your sorry shell.

The softness pushes back into your hand again. Soft… Soft… Soft… What in your apartment is soft?

You feel something tugging at the front of your shirt. It’s familiar, but you can’t remember what’s meant to do that. It does that for a reason. It wants your attention.

You feel like you’re cracking apart chunks of granite when you move your neck, messily putting them back together when you finally look down at your lap.

What’s this meant to be? This isn’t a stuffed animal. It’s big and black, and it has such big wide eyes. Big big yellow eyes like twin harvest moons hanging in the night sky. Such big and beautiful eyes. Why do they look so sad?

They’re looking at you.

You know these eyes. These eyes are familiar. They look friendly, but so sad. You can’t bear them looking so sad. You need to make them happy. What makes them happy?

You move an arm made of lead to fall upon this black spot’s back. You slowly push your hand through the softness, then move back up to pet it again. The petting helps. It’s a simple, easy actions. Repetitive. It’s comforting. You can feel the warmth soaking into your lap. The eyes blink slowly. These are happy eyes, you think to yourself.

You can feel the waves receding. The water flushes away to leave you bare to the world. You can see the sky again, can see the clouds slowly whispering away into nothingness. They’re soft, much like the little storm cloud in your lap. But this isn’t a cloud you want to let go of, it’s a good cloud. This storm is a good storm. It’s a summer rain against the windowpanes at night. It’s a familiar pitter-patter on the rooftops. It’s a good storm, a happy storm.

It rolls with thunder, and it takes you a minute to find the name for this rumble. It’s called purring. Purring is a good thing. That’s something you know. You know purring is good. Purring is a very good thing. Hearing purring makes you feel a bit calmer. It’s easier to think now. The buzzing on your skin fades slightly. Your thoughts aren’t murky clouds, they’re starting to come into focus. The chatter is slowly dimming. It’s not so loud. It’s something you can tolerate. It’s not great, it’s still loud, but you can hear the chatter clearly now. It’s not talking about failure or loss or inevitable tragedies, it’s talking about this thing called ‘cats’.

Cats are good and wonderful things. Cats are innocent, good, pure. Cats don’t want to hurt you. Cats don’t get scared of you. Cats don’t think you’re a disappointment. Cats are good things that love and care for you, regardless of who you are. If you love them, they’ll love you back. They won’t hold your flaws above your heads. Cats take you as you are.

This little storm cloud, this cat, he is a nice and sweet animal. He’s waiting for you. Waiting for what? He’s waiting for you to calm down, one of the voices in the chatter says, louder than the rest. Normally, the voices in the chatter stress you out, but this one is a good voice. You like this voice. You want to listen to it more.

His name is König, it says, he loves you.

Does he love you?

He loves you very much.

Well that’s a wonderful thing, now isn’t it?

You smile and pet the cat more, this time scratching at his ears and his ruff. He rolls his head into the palm of your hand, eagerly lapping up all of your affections. This cat wants you, it needs you. This cat cares for you.

You feel another tug on your sleeve. You look down at your side and, would you know it, there’s another cat! You’re so surprised that you make a little squeak that has both the cats on edge. You relax, and they both calm down beside you.

Unfortunately for you, this striped cat is sitting on some of your papers.

Right, papers. You were doing some work. You needed those papers.

You scoot the cat away and take a look at the papers.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’re holding.

The missing report, the voices clamber over each other, the missing report!

All the anxiety that had been lingering wafts away in a long sigh.

You have the report. You’re okay. You’re not going to be fired. Everything will be okay.

You take a final breath.

You’re going to be okay.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[thegildedbee]

@mydogwatson's latest!!! 🖊️🎁⚕️🔍💛

I am desperately scrambling to finish my grading and have to wait 😿, but YOU can head right over to get started on the sure to be epic The Beginning of Always by @mydogwatson (all of whose fics are exquisite, but the historically-oriented ventures are special indeed). This one uses the idea of 19thc Edinburgh surgeon and medical school lecturer Joseph Bell [the inspiration, in part, for ACD in creating Holmes because of Bell's methods of observation and deduction] as the setting for when and where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson become aware of each other and join forces. As you can see, I have The Beginning of Always cued up in the tab next to my teaching tasks for which the deadline of the end of the semester is ticking down precipitously 🗓️⏱️💣, as a way to spur me to get finished so that I can be able to start reading as soon as possible as a reward 🥳 Hoping to join you all soon!!! 😘

@calaisreno  @totallysilvergirl  @friday411  @peanitbear  @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels  @a-victorian-girl  @keirgreeneyes  @starrla89  @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely  @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @jobooksncoffee  @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat  @bluebellofbakerstreet  @dragonnan  @safedistancefrombeingsmart  @jolieblack

@msladysmith  @ninasnakie  @riversong912  @dapetty

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

pretty boy | jeonghan

I can't help myself from writing enemies to lovers Jeonghan, because he provides the source material himself. Also big thanks to Hani @vanillacheol for letting me use her name and likeness to a) provide our MC with a bestie and b) provide Seungcheol with a girlfriend. Anyway, here are the details: Word count: 8.3k Summary: After a complicated first date, you swear to hate Jeonghan forever, but fate has other plans >:) Genre: E2L, academic rivals to lovers, royalty au kind of, college au kind of Warnings: reader is referred to using feminine pronouns and other identifiers, reader is mentioned to be wearing a skirt and a gown on separate instances, Jeonghan calls reader "princess" a lot (because she is), there are pranks mentioned, pressure to choose someone to marry is mentioned, lots of name-calling, a couple of arguments, lots of kissing, some suggestive language, some brief actual bullying (not between Jeonghan and MC), long-hair Jeonghan (def needs a warning), and Jeonghan is an absolute menace as per usual.

“Are you listening to me?” your friend Hani asks, bringing you back down to earth.

The truth is, you hadn’t been listening to her at all. You’d been miles away in your mind, daydreaming of home. “I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Would you mind repeating?”

Hani rolls her eyes. “I was asking,” she says pointedly, “if you’ve got a flight for my birthday ball yet.”

“Of course,” you reply. “Why?”

She fidgets nervously — a telltale sign she’s hiding something. “Oh, no reason,” she says, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. 

Your grin drops. “He’s coming,” you realize. “Jeonghan is coming to your birthday ball after all.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I need you to be rational about it. Jeonghan is Seungcheol’s best friend, and I couldn’t just not invite him.” Hani plays with her pearl bracelet, a gift from her boyfriend, and avoids eye contact with you. She’s gotten more assertive since she started her relationship with Seungcheol, the prince of a nearby country, who’d fallen in love with your friend at freshman orientation at your posh private college. They’d been together for a year and a half, and six months ago she never would’ve said any of that to you, carefully concealing her real feelings behind a placid smile. 

It’s for this reason you’re grateful for Seungcheol. He’s helped your friend feel confident and strong, and you can tell how much he loves her. He’s also kind and thoughtful and genuine and funny, very down-to-earth despite being a prince, and full of good advice when you need it. Becoming his friend has been a huge perk of the relationship he has with Hani. 

The one major downside? Yoon Jeonghan. He’s Seungcheol’s best friend from home, the son of a high-ranking military leader in Seungcheol’s home country, and apparently they were raised like brothers. Unlike sweet and harmless Seungcheol, though, Jeonghan is a devil in disguise. Blessed with the face of a fairy prince, with intellect to match, he was confident to the point of arrogance and seemed to always get exactly what he wanted. He could sweet-talk even the strictest professors into extending deadlines just for him, and had a penchant for connecting especially accommodating students and teachers to job opportunities and networking events and even really nice favors — once he paid for one of the school secretaries to fly to a tropical island with her new husband just because she straightened out an attendance issue for him. 

You had butt heads with Jeonghan almost upon first sight, which had coincidentally been on a date that Hani insisted you go on. “You’ll love him,” she had oozed. 

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to fulfill your lifelong dream of us dating brothers?” you’d grumbled, trying to avoid showing how nervous you’d been.

“They’re not really brothers,” Hani had reminded you, “but of course I would love it if you dated Jeonghan for real. He’s perfect for you, trust me.”

She’d had to eat her words when you came home from the date soaked to the bone, a murderous glare in your eyes. “He is without a doubt the most bull-headed, self-important, cocky, absolutely despicable human being I’ve ever met. I never want to see him again,” you’d fumed. 

“What happened?” Hani had exclaimed, rushing to grab you a towel. She listened sympathetically as you recounted how it had all gone down.

It had actually started off well. Jeonghan struck you as the kind of person who could make a brick wall feel clever and important, and he was a perfect gentleman at first. He’d even addressed you as “my lady”, a reference to your position as eldest princess of a small island country, until you begged him to relax, but the level of decorum he’d approached you with had bolstered your confidence a bit.

“So...princess,” he’d said cautiously after you’d insisted he call you by your name, and you’d rolled your eyes at this. “How’s the island these days?”

“Are you asking me about foreign policy on our date?” you had asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m asking you about your home,” he’d countered. “What’s it like there? It’s one of the few places I’ve never been.”

“Oh, really?” Your eyes lit up. “Well, it’s much warmer than it is here.”

“Naturally,” Jeonghan had said. “Do you miss that?”

“More than anything,” you’d said, frowning at the snow falling in soft piles outside. “Near the palace is this one stretch of beach -- you sort of have to hike through a small jungle to get there, but nothing too bad, you know -- and when it snows like this I have to remind myself that it still exists and I can go back there one day.”

Jeonghan grinned. “What does it look like?”

“Well, there’s a thick treeline since it’s just past the woods, but that means it’s very private. It’s got the most beautiful sand -- it’s pink!”

“Pink sand?” Jeonghan had repeated, his head propped up by one hand as he gazed at you, rambling on excitedly. 

“Yeah, it’s from a micro-organism that lives in the coral reefs that grow around the island. There are a few different pink beaches on our island, but this one is special. Hardly anyone knows about it. Seokmin -- my cousin, you know, the theater major -- found it first, and I’ve been going there ever since.” You caught sight of him watching you and felt your face heat up. “Uh, sorry. I got carried away.”

“No, no, it was cute,” he reassured you, which made you feel even more embarrassed. 

“What about you?” you had asked, and you’d listened with rapt attention as Jeonghan had described the mountainous region he hailed from, with so many clever little asides that made you laugh. You were generally more of a “black cat” type personality, but Jeonghan was bringing out an eager, girlish side of you that almost no one got to see. He made you feel like your blood had become carbonated -- like little tiny bubbles were flowing all over your body, all tingly and excited.

The conversation had lasted hours, covering everything from your families (yours was close, his was rather distant) to your favorite foods (seafood for you, fried chicken for him) to the most unusual kinds of music you liked (film scores for you, musical theater songs for him). Finally, with all your food eaten and the drinks all but drained from their fancy bottles, it had come time to talk about education. “If you weren’t a princess, what would you be studying?” Jeonghan had asked. 

“I think I would still want to learn about public policy, especially as it relates to nonprofits,” you had replied. “At my core, I want to use what I know to help others, and there’s almost no easier way to do that than improve the legal conditions for charity work.”

Jeonghan nodded thoughtfully. “You might be the biggest nerd I’ve ever met,” he finally said with a grin.

You had gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “Even bigger than you, Mr. Political Science?” 

He shook his head. “Imagine how cool I’d have to actually be to be studying poli-sci and still be considered cool.”

“Oh, are you considered cool?” you’d teased. “I hadn’t heard that.” (Which was a lie. When a girl in your dorm had found out who you were going on the date with, she’d almost keyed your car out of jealousy. Jeonghan was notoriously cool.)

He clapped a hand over his chest. “Please don’t wound me like this. My reputation is all I have.”

You looked him up and down in the way that tabloid articles had called your “man-eater move.” “Just your reputation, pretty boy?” you questioned lightly. “How disappointing.”

Jeonghan’s eyes got wide, but he recovered quickly. “I actually have one more thing. Way more important than my reputation.” He said it so seriously that you leaned forward in interest.

“What is it?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned forward to match you and whispered in your ear softly, “A fully completed Death Star Lego set.” 

And you had burst into laughter. People were generally easy for you to read, but Jeonghan took you by surprise every time. The rest of the meal was full of giggles and simmering tension. More than once you caught yourself staring at him and wondering what it’d be like to kiss the smirk right off his gorgeous face.

Which is how you found yourself in the custodian closet at that very restaurant twenty minutes later doing exactly that.

He had begun it -- suggesting a quick bathroom break that you somehow understood with your eyes, and on your way in he’d pulled you right into that tiny closet and pressed his mouth to yours like it might be the last thing he ever did. You were surprised at how strong this lithe boy was as his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands tightening into fists around the fabric of your skirt at your hips as he pressed you up against one of the shelves, knocking several bottles of cleaning wipes onto the floor. You had gasped and pulled away, just enough that you could look at him. “Careful, pretty boy,” you’d hummed breathlessly as you pulled him back for more, and he’d groaned.

“Call me that one more time, princess, I dare you,” he’d murmured against your lips.

“Is that a threat?” you’d whispered back, knotting your fingers into his long hair, perfectly content to let him do whatever it was he’d had in mind.

But then his cellphone, which had somehow slipped out of his pocket onto the floor, rang. Loudly. You both dived for it, worried that someone would hear, and you reached it first. After silencing it, you saw a familiar notification pop up on Jeonghan’s phone.

“No way!” you’d exclaimed quietly. “Are you in Exploration of Debate?” It was an online class you were taking as a general, where you posted anonymously on an online debate forum. The person with the highest number of won debates was the person with the highest grade, and to your chagrin, you were in second place after a devastating loss to “TwinkleToes17”. In fact, so ruthless was TwinkleToes that they’d gained a reputation outside the class as someone who was a pure psychopath, willing and ready to twist every word to their advantage. It seemed like everyone on campus had heard of this person.

Which is why you’d burst out of the closet two minutes after. “I can’t believe this,” you’d yelled, not caring that the other restaurant patrons and the wait staff were staring at you. You’d ripped your coat off your chair, grabbed your bag, and ran out into the wet, snowy evening, Jeonghan hot on your trail. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It’s a class,” he’d insisted, jogging to keep up with your dramatic pace, a laugh in his voice that only made your anger more overwhelming.

“Okay, firstly, even outside the class everyone knows you’re a monster,” you’d said. “And secondly, you manipulated me and twisted every word that I said to win that debate.” The third thing, which you hadn’t said, is that you couldn’t bear looking stupid in front of anyone, even if no one knew it was you. Mistaken, fine. Naive, sure. But never stupid.

And Jeonghan had made you look really stupid.

So you’d ignored his repeated calls after you, until he’d finally got frustrated and stopped following you. You’d walked the entire five kilometers home in the snow, arriving soaked and cold and grumpier than you’d possibly ever been. Worse was when you shared classes with Jeonghan for the next two semesters, unraveling your plan to never see him again.

When recounting this story to Hani, you left out the part about the short-lived makeout session in the closet and the undeniable chemistry between the two of you. You, instead, focused on the massive betrayal of learning about his online activities, Hani had scolded you for being too stubborn, prideful, and competitive, and that had been the end of it.

But the true rivalry had begun six months ago. You had had to go over to Seungcheol’s apartment to take care of Hani while he was away. Hani usually stayed at his place when she was sick, mainly because Seungcheol was the world’s biggest worrywart and called her constantly when he couldn’t be there while she wasn’t feeling her best.

So you had driven to his place, to hopefully ease some of her suffering (and Seungcheol’s), completely forgetting who he lived with. To your shock, it was Jeonghan who answered the door. “Ah, princess,” he’d exclaimed. “Welcome.”

The way he’d beamed when he saw you was infuriating. Peeking around his shoulder, you made venomous eye contact with Hani, who was sitting in a heap on the couch, her eyes red and watery with her illness. “How are you?” you asked, pointedly stepping around Jeonghan to go to her.

“I’m suffering,” she said. “But Jeonghan has been taking really good care of me.”

“Has he, now,” you’d said in a deadpan voice. 

“Well, now that you’re here, I need to run some errands,” Jeonghan had said, quickly excusing himself to go to the grocery store. You had tended to Hani while he left, not turning when he’d called a goodbye over his shoulder as he stepped out into the night.

Watching Hani was mostly uneventful. You brought her water when she finished her glass and watched TV together until Seungcheol came back. As you’d stood up to leave Hani and Seungcheol, who were snuggled together on the couch, Hani asked if you would grab the ibuprofen out of Jeonghan’s bathroom.

You had been surprised (and a little annoyed) at how clean it was inside, but he had left his toothbrush out on the counter, which immediately made you think of the fluorescent blue dye you had in your bag that you had needed for a recent experiment in your geology class. The dye, coincidentally, was colorless until it reacted to saliva, and stained everything around it a shocking shade of blue for several hours before fading completely. You had tried to be good, you really had -- you’d almost left the bathroom without doing anything to the toothbrush -- but there was a petty streak in you that desperately wanted Jeonghan to feel even one bit as foolish as he’d made you feel. Plus, when were you ever going to get an opportunity like this again?

This had been the beginning of the prank war between you and Jeonghan. The following week, you’d come home to a flock of confused pigeons trapped in your apartment. “Where did he even get a flock of pigeons?” you had muttered as you mopped your hardwood floors free of all the lingering gifts that the birds had left for you. 

“Beats me,” Hani said, spraying your tabletop with cleanser. “But I think this is a good learning experience for you. Jeonghan is really sweet, but he’s competitive, and he’ll do anything to win.”

“Oh, but I’m the exact same way,” you’d told her with a grim determination. 

And so, it had continued. One week you were swapping out Jeonghan’s bar of soap for one that was almost identical but had a particularly itchy ingredient, the next week Jeonghan rearranged the letters on your keyboard and made it nearly impossible for you to finish your assignments in time, the week following you stole his textbooks and replaced them with poorly written erotic novels. 

The pranks had only escalated the academic rivalry you’d had, especially as the two of you had striven to derail the other. When the exam results came out, you were elated to learn that despite Jeonghan’s efforts, you had come out of the semester at the top of the class — with Jeonghan just below you at number 2, by .02 points. Now, as you were about to fly to Hani’s birthday ball during spring break, your elation has been crushed. “Are you still going to come?” Hani asks, giving you her big sad eyes that you can’t say no to.

And because this is Hani, who knows you better than anyone and has always been there for you, you already know what you have to say. “Of course I’m going to come,” you reassure her. “It’s your birthday. I suppose I knew he’d probably end up deciding to come. But I’ll be darned if I let a man get between us.” You can’t suppress an eye roll. “Especially not that man.”

“You’re the best!” Hani exclaims. “Do you have a dress yet?”

“I have a few options,” you say. “I’ll take them with me so we can try things on together and you can help me choose.” You grin at her squeal of delight and try not to think about all the strategizing you’re going to have to do to avoid Jeonghan at the ball.

******

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groan.

Jeonghan grins from the seat beside yours. “What? Did you want the window seat?” he asks, pointing out the small window of the airplane. It’s one of those huge jets with two stories, built for a seventeen-hour flight across the world, and yet, of all the seats you could be sitting in, of course Jeonghan is sitting in the next one over. 

You huff as you sit down. “Why didn’t you fly with Cheol?”

“He flew with Hani,” Jeonghan replies. “I didn’t want to third-wheel for that many hours in a row.”

That’s honestly pretty fair, but you can’t let him see you agree, so you roll your eyes. “Well, this is actually good. I needed to talk to you.”

“About?”

“The ball. We have to call a truce on our war.”

“Our war?” Jeonghan repeats with a raised eyebrow.

You clear your throat. “Our...rivalry.”

“I would call it a ‘friendly competition’,” he tells you.

“It’s really not that friendly,” you snap, and rifle in your bag for your headphones. “And it doesn’t matter what you call it, we just need to be well-behaved and civil during the ball because I will not have you or anyone else ruining Hani’s birthday party.”

“Well, I can’t promise to be well-behaved, but I promise I won’t ruin Hani’s party,” he comforts. 

You shake your head. “I guess that’s the best I could really hope for,” you grumble. Unable to locate your headphones, you toss your bag under your seat in frustration.

“What did that poor bag ever do to you?” Jeonghan asks.

“I can’t find my headphones,” you hiss. 

“I brought an extra pair.”

You stare at him. “You did not.”

“I truly, truly did,” he says. “Would you like to use them?”

“What will it cost me?”

“Nothing,” he says, grinning. “Let’s call it a mark of our truce.” He pulls them out of his bag and hands them to you, and you accept them, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Do they zap your ears when you put them in?” you ask nervously.

“No,” he says, taking one bud and putting it in his own ear. “Just regular old headphones.”

So you put one of them in, bracing yourself. Nothing happens, but the way Jeonghan is watching you is making you worried. “Forgive me if I’m a little wary after the pen incident.” (You were, of course, referring to a prank Jeonghan had pulled where he had replaced your pen with one that shocked you at random intervals.)

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m not trying to make your life miserable, princess. Actually, right now, I’m trying to make your life easier.” He leans back against his seat’s headrest and closes his eyes. “It’s not going to kill you to trust me a little.”

You shoot him a dubious look before acquiescing, slipping the other bud into your ear. No shock. You decide he’s probably telling the truth, and you listen to an audiobook while you wait for the plane to take off.

Hours later, after you’ve watched the sunset fade to black outside Jeonghan’s window, and after watching two movies and dozing off during a third, you jolt awake to a sudden dip of the plane. Blinking rapidly, you try to make sense of your surroundings, and the first thing you register is a hand clasping your own. 

You look over, mortified, to see Jeonghan staring at you. But instead of the sneer you expected, his expression is serious and kind. “Are you okay?” he asks, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“I’m fine,” you say, although your voice is shaking and you can’t bring yourself to let go of his hand even though it’s embarrassing.

“You’re scared of flying?” he asks you quietly.

“Not enough to not do it,” you reply. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes that makes you think that you’ve stepped outside the incessant teasing that has been the hallmark of your relationship with this man, but you find yourself saying, “I feel like I should be used to it already.” Immediately you begin to worry about how Jeonghan might use this weakness against you, but he just looks at you.

“Well, if it makes any difference,” he finally says, “you’re handling it pretty well.” He gives your hand a squeeze.

This is just too weird. The weirdest part is, it doesn’t feel weird at all -- not talking with him, not holding his hand, not even the way he looks at you. For a second, you remember how intently Jeonghan had listened to you speak at that dinner all those months ago. This seems much more like the person you thought he was before you’d found out he’d destroyed you in an anonymous online debate. And, terrifyingly, this was a person you could see yourself falling deeply into, with no hope of escape.

The plane lurches again, and you close your eyes and breathe deeply through your nose. A low chuckle from Jeonghan makes you shoot him an annoyed look.

He shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to laugh at you, I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“Because,” he says, as though choosing his words very carefully. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’s scared of anything.”

His tone is -- dare you say it? -- respectful, almost awed, full of admiration.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you remind him, swallowing nervously.

He purses his lips. “Sad, but true.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat again, closing his eyes. “Figure it out, princess,” he whispers, before falling asleep with your hand clenched around his.

******

The night before the ball, you’re on a video chat with your little sister when your dad enters the frame.

“How’s my girl doing?” the king asks, and you have to smile. Your dad is really an amazing leader, and an even better dad.

“I’m good,” you say. “Just three more days before I’m home!”

“We’re so excited to have you back,” your sister chimes in, and your dad nods enthusiastically. 

“Can I have a word with your sister?” your dad asks her, and she skips away with a quick “bye!”

“What’s up?” you ask.

“There’s been a little bit of tension on the mainland lately,” your dad confesses. “Nothing too concerning, but we want to nip it in the bud. I think it’s time for you to think about your future.”

You know when he says “future” he means “marriage”, and your heart sinks. As the eldest child, you will inherit the crown once your father retires. His hair and beard are grayer every time you see him, and you’ve known for awhile that he’s feeling a bit exhausted. “I am thinking about it,” you admit. “I’ve been going on dates.”

“Anything promising?” your dad asks hopefully.

You fiddle with your shirt hem, hesitating before you answer. The truth is, only one date you’ve been on since college is memorable at all. You try not to think about Jeonghan’s smirk and the way he’d made you laugh and holding his hand on basically the entire seventeen-hour flight over and most importantly his lips against yours in that dusty custodian’s closet before shaking your head. “Not really,” you confess. “Most politicians are really boring.”

Your dad scoffs. “Tell me about it.” He sighs. “Well, I’m not trying to force you into anything, but maybe the ball can be a good networking event for you. I heard that Prince Chan will be there.”

Prince Chan was internationally famous for being a real-life “Prince Charming” -- the perfect gentleman, always smiling, handsome as a fairytale prince. Your country was off his country’s southern coast, so his home was close to yours. “That might be a good political move.”

“And Prince Seungcheol will be there, and the general’s son, I forget his name...” Your dad trails off, but you know who he means, and you rush to put an end to those thoughts.

“Seungcheol is dating Hani,” you remind your dad quickly. “And Jeonghan -- the general’s son -- is...not an option either.”

“Okay,” your dad says, not catching the unspoken information in your tone. “Well, you’ll have boots on the ground, so just try, okay? And we can talk about it when you get back.”

You finish your talk and hang up, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of your guest bedroom in Hani’s parents’ palace. It was a curse to be the heir to the throne sometimes. The weight of your mantle was often so heavy it felt crushing. Your country was a small one, inhabited by gentle people. Military power, the nuances of war, conquest — none of these things were built into your culture. You weren’t sure what you’d do if things went south. 

Sighing, you head to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. When you emerge from your shower and as you’re brushing your hair, the wind starts to pick up from outside. By the time you get into bed, a storm is raging outside. This, coupled with the thoughts swirling relentlessly around you head, has you thoroughly wound up and incapable of sleeping. 

So you wrap yourself in a dressing gown and head up the corridor toward the spiral staircase that leads to the library. One thing that always helps you sleep is a familiar book. You wander between the dim shelves, only lit by a few strategically placed lamps, as the thunder gets louder and louder. Finally, you’re able to locate a copy of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden, which you take from the shelf, cozying up in a large armchair to read by one of the lamps. 

A few pages in, you’re nearly startled to death by a voice from behind you. “What are you doing awake?”

You jump out of the chair and whirl around. “Jeonghan!” you whisper-shout. “For the love of all that is holy, you scared me.”

He gives a small smile. “Sorry, princess.” He’s also in his PJs, his shoulder-length hair still wet from a shower, and there are dark circles under his eyes that make him look more gaunt and melancholy than usual — a vampire rather than his standard fairy. It’s especially pronounced in the low lamplight. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says simply. 

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you couldn’t sleep. I sensed you coming in here.”

You scoff. “What nonsense,” you say. 

“I’m serious. We’re soulmates.” Jeonghan’s grin has turned sly.

“Don’t be difficult,” you snap. “Was there a real reason you wanted to share, or — ?”

But then a bolt of lightning briefly illuminates the library in bright white light. The following clap of thunder is so loud it seems to shake the library. Jeonghan cringes and claps his hands to his ears before eyeing you warily.

You point a finger at him. “You’re scared of thunderstorms?” you guess.

He blushes. “Scared is a strong word.”

He cowers as the lightning flashes again, plugging his ears preemptively to avoid the massive clap of thunder. “You’re totally terrified,” you say when he finally takes his fingers out of his ears. “Well, this is just perfect.”

“That seems like a strong word, too,” he grumbles, coming to sit in the chair next to yours. “Perfect, how?”

“Now I know your weakness, and you know mine,” you explain, turning your attention back to your book. “We’re even.”

You couldn’t be more shocked when Jeonghan snakes a cold hand onto your wrist. When you gape at him, he looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I held your hand during the turbulence,” he reminds you. “So this is actually how you get even.”

This is hard to argue with, so you just keep reading with his fingers wrapped around your hand. “Do what you need to do, pretty boy,” you sigh. 

His sharp intake of air makes you look up from your book. “What?”

“You need to stop calling me that,” Jeonghan says quietly. 

“Or what?” you say, shutting your book with a snap.

“Or I’ll lose my mind,” he says in a strained tone. His jaw is clenched, his cheeks are flushed, and his palm on your wrist has become clammy with sweat. “I thought it would be easier to be close to you, but you insist on making my life harder, don’t you?”

This hits you like a punch in the gut. Glaring, you wrench your hand from Jeonghan’s grasp. “You don’t have to talk to me, Jeonghan. It’s perfectly alright for you to ignore me if it’s that hard for you to stand interacting with me.” Suddenly the library doesn’t feel big enough for you and Jeonghan to occupy the space at the same time -- as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. You jump from the armchair and turn on your heel, your robe blowing out behind you. 

But Jeonghan is following you again -- and it’s so reminiscent of that first night that you almost laugh. “I don’t understand how you’re not as tortured as I am,” he calls after you. “That’s part of what makes me so insane.”

“Who says I’m not? You’re absolutely agonizing to be around,” you shoot back over your shoulder.

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, and he catches you by the arm, whirling you around so that you face him. You try to shake free, but his grip is iron-strong. “It’s like you’re barely affected by my presence. You don’t feel this constant draw -- this constant need to --

“To what, Jeonghan?” you ask, taking a step forward. “Finish the sentence. To what?”

Your faces are inches apart, the tension between you so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Jeonghan flexes his jaw and swallows hard before his gaze flicks down to your lips. You’re breathing too hard, your pulse too quick, your face hot. He inches closer -- the tips of your noses nearly touching, and when he whispers, it’s in a husky tone that sends chills down your spine. “It’s impossible for me to understand how you don’t seem to think about what happened between us. For you, it’s like it never happened. For me...I think about it every day.”

He’s so close you can smell the peppermint toothpaste on his breath. So close that if you even slightly moved forward, your lips would meet.

And then lightning strikes again. Jeonghan lets go of your arm, takes a step back, nods to you like he would an acquaintance from class, and leaves you alone in the library, where you lean, trembling, against a bookshelf just as the more distant clap of thunder rings out. You have to place a hand over your chest to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. The rest of the night is sleepless -- you toss and turn, wondering what on earth has just happened between you and Jeonghan. 

******

“Is Hani ready?” Seungcheol asks, meeting you halfway up the stairs. 

“Almost,” you say, adjusting your pearl necklace so the clasp is in the back. “And she gave me explicit instructions that you are to stay at the bottom of the stairs. She wants that movie moment. And you are going to give it to her, because it’s her birthday.”

Seungcheol follows you back down the stairs. “So, Jeonghan’s been weird today,” he says, a question in his tone.

“He’s always weird,” you say shortly.

“Weirder than usual. You look great, by the way,” he tells you, gesturing at the glittering white dress you’re wearing. It hugs your frame with a corseted top, cascading like sea foam down your hips and ending in a train. Hani had picked it out, saying that it matched your small pearl-encrusted crown the best, but you also suspected that she knew it was your most devastating look.

“Thanks,” you say to Seungcheol. “Wait until you see Hani.”

He’s so down bad he even smiles just at the sound of her name. “I can’t wait.” 

“And about Jeonghan,” you continue. “Did he tell you -- anything?”

Seungcheol gives you a stern look. “Should he have? Did anything happen last night?”

“There was a thunderstorm,” you say quickly.

“Ah,” Seungcheol says, his gaze a little too understanding. “Jeonghan is scared of thunderstorms.”

You nod, refusing to answer the question he isn’t asking. Luckily, you’re saved by the arrival of Hani at the top of the stairs, looking absolutely stunning in the prettiest blue dress. Seungcheol’s whole face transforms into a picture of joy. “Wow,” he breathes.

You can see her beaming from here. You decide to let them have their moment by themselves, and instead push through the magnificent double doors into the ballroom. As your eyes scan the crowd, you try to believe that you’re not looking for Jeonghan, but there has been a knot in your chest since last night, and you somehow sense he is the only person who can do anything about it. Before landing on Jeonghan, though, your eyes land on Prince Chan. You remember your dad’s request and plaster on your most winning smile as you approach him. 

“Hello, Prince Chan,” you say, curtsying low to him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He’s just as handsome as everyone has said, and he’s smiling just as kindly as you’d expect. “It’s a beautiful party,” he says. “The hostess is your best friend, right?”

“She is,” you confirm. “Princess Hani is wonderful. Have you ever met her?”

“Only a handful of times. We were kids,” he explains. “But everyone speaks highly of her.”

You nod. “So, how are things on the mainland?” you ask, changing the subject.

You pass a few pleasant minutes discussing his interests, the state of his country’s affairs, and you. After awhile, a very territorial woman comes to stand between you and Prince Chan, interrupting your conversation. He shoots you an apologetic look over her shoulder, and you wave him off with a small smile and a bow, backing away. 

“Already causing problems, I see,” says a familiar voice. 

You turn to see him -- Jeonghan, in his decorated military uniform, looking far more handsome and ethereal than he had any right to. You stick up your chin. “Well, it wasn’t my intention,” you say. “He was standing alone.”

“What a kind soul you are,” Jeonghan says drily as Hani makes her grand entrance.

You pause in your bickering to applaud her, beaming and embracing her as she comes to greet you. “Do you feel beautiful?” you ask her.

“Yes, I do,” she tells you. “Thank you for always being here.”

After she walks away to greet her other guests, you turn back to Jeonghan. “So, do you have anything else to say to me? Or do you have more pigeons to sedate and put in my bedroom?”

He grins. “As tempting as that is, I have plenty more to say to you.”

Just then, the music starts, and before Jeonghan can offer you his arm to escort you onto the floor, you are turning to the nearest passing gentleman and asking him to dance. Jeonghan follows suit, escorting a pretty redhead in a yellow dress into the space right beside you. As you begin the steps of the dance, you make polite conversation with your partner, whose name you have already forgotten. Jeonghan seems to be vaguely paying attention to his own partner as she rambles on good-naturedly, but his eyes never leave you. His scorching looks from across the dance column have heat rising in your cheeks and the back of your neck, and a funny swooping feeling in your stomach, almost like you’ve done a massive drop on a roller coaster. 

At the end of the dance, you politely bow to your partner and are just about to scurry away when Jeonghan catches your hand. “One dance,” he begs. “Please.”

And his eyes are searing with some barely-concealed passion, his skin unnecessarily flushed and his jaw set in a hard line, and you open your mouth — to refuse him, you remind yourself — but nothing comes out, leaving Jeonghan free to pull you back into the dance floor and into his arms for the waltz. 

You have done a simple waltz a thousand times — maybe hundreds of thousands at this point. Your feet are familiar with the steps and the turns. It’s simple enough to do. But waltzing with Jeonghan is like trying to speak a language you’ve never heard before. Pressed against his body, his hand burning into the small of your back through your dress, you find yourself unable to meet his eyes as he leads you through the steps. Something about him holding you like this is reminding you forcefully of that distant janitor’s closet, and this is making it impossible for you to look at him for fear of what it might do to you. So, with your heart pounding in your ears, you fixate on the top button of Jeonghan’s uniform and let him whirl you around, until it feels like everything else has faded away but the music and his arms around you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, but you don’t look up until the very last strains of the song are fading away.

And as you do, Jeonghan’s angelic face breaks into a smile that could make the devil repent. He’s so unbearably beautiful that you actually feel your breath hiss out of you, stolen by his smile. You realize that it doesn’t matter how much you pranked him or ignored him or rejected him or lied to yourself — there was absolutely nothing that could have kept you from falling in love with him.

Just at this moment of revelation, someone taps Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt,” Prince Chan says. 

“It’s no trouble,” Jeonghan says. He’s still partially holding you in his arms, and you are still struggling to remember how to breathe, but Prince Chan seems not to notice or care. 

“Would you mind if I had the next dance?” he asks, looking between the two of you.

You find it impossible to speak, so you just nod in assent. Jeonghan gives your hand to Chan, looking mildly crestfallen, and you try to get your crap together before the music starts.

You successfully collect yourself enough to look Prince Chan in the face. He’s smiling at you, but his eyes are a little too understanding. “Jeonghan’s great, huh?” he asks.

You try to laugh, but it comes out choked and awkward. “He’s a bit too charming for his own good,” is all you’re willing to admit. 

Chan nods in agreement. “He’s interesting. Most people like to show their very best selves to others, and you find out the bad stuff the more you get to know them. But Jeonghan kind of does the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’ll be crafty and cunning up front, but he’s actually very kind. And you only get to see that if you get close to him.”

“How do you know?” you ask.

Chan glances over at Jeonghan. “I actually stayed with his family for a month while my mother was sick,” he explains. “Jeonghan had gone through something similar, and he was a big help to me. Of course he still drove me crazy sometimes,” he adds with a laugh, “but he’s solid gold all the way through. You just have to crack him open a bit to see it.”

You’re silent, chewing on this information, when all of a sudden, someone tosses the contents of their wine glass at you, coating your gown in a deep red stain. You gasp and look over to see Jeonghan with his current dance partner -- who is holding her empty wine glass and grinning wickedly at you. You recognize her as the one who interrupted your earlier conversation with Chan. “Oops,” she says.

Your eyes bounce between Jeonghan and the girl. “I need to go change,” you say to Chan. “Please excuse me.”

Chan’s glaring at the girl, and he nods to acknowledge he heard you. You immediately turn away from Jeonghan’s wide-eyed stare, hugging your arms to your chest and heading straight for Hani and Seungcheol. “Some psycho threw her wine on me,” you whisper to her. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks with concern. 

You muster a weak smile. “No, you stay and enjoy your party.”

“I’m going to go escort the psycho out of here,” Seungcheol says, his eyes focused behind you on where you’ve left Chan and the girl and Jeonghan. You look over your shoulder to see Jeonghan leaning in close to the girl and whispering something in her ear, and this is the final straw. A part of you wonders if he planned it himself -- even after you asked him not to ruin things. So you turn on your heel and flee from the ballroom, running up the stairs and heading toward the library. 

The tears start the minute you cross the threshold. You hate crying, and hate being a cliche damsel in distress, but the lack of sleep, the confusion about your own feelings, and the blatant bullying you’ve experienced have overwhelmed you, and it’s hard to stop yourself from collapsing into full-blown sobs. You only have a few seconds to cry by yourself between the bookshelves, however, before you hear someone’s footsteps sprinting into the library.

“Princess?”

Oh, no.

You try not to make any noise so that he won’t find you, but Jeonghan still rounds the corner and finds you. You immediately turn your back to him, wiping your eyes as you face the bookshelf. You can hear him approaching you slowly. “Princess?” he repeats.

You slowly turn over your shoulder to face him, looking him in the eye. You know you probably look ridiculous, but you still have to ask. “Was that your idea of a prank?” you say in a hard voice.

“Not at all,” he replies, his voice equally sharp. “Seungcheol and I threw her out ourselves.”

“You did?” you squeak.

He gives you a sad smile. “Of course. She’s never going to be within fifty miles of you ever again if I can help it.”

You nod, looking at your feet. “Well, that’s good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Jeonghan hesitates, then takes another step forward. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

You avoid his gaze and back up a little, right into the bookshelf. “I don’t see what we have left to talk about,” you hedge.

“Are we back to the bickering?” he asks, sounding frustrated. He steps forward again, nearly toe-to-toe with you, and brings a hand up to your chin, tugging on it gently. “Need you to look at me, princess.”

You lift your eyes to him and are once again overwhelmed by his closeness. You can’t help the deep breath you take at the sight of him. “Why do you keep pretending you hate me?” Jeonghan asks you quietly. 

“What do you mean?” you reply.

“I know you don’t really hate me,” he explains. “I’ve known it for months. But I just don’t know why you can’t admit it to yourself. I wish you’d just let it go.” When you don’t reply, he sighs. “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you. You truly have no equal.”

Your emotions are so overwhelming and close to the surface that this light barb stings a lot more than Jeonghan probably intended. And this sends you over the edge. You bat his hand away and whisper-yell, “Well, you’re selfish, and conceited, and self-important, and conniving, and I don’t know why I --”

But you stop yourself before you give yourself away. Jeonghan impulsively brings his hands to both sides of your face, trapping you in. “Finish the sentence,” he demands. “You don’t know why you...what?”

But the answer won’t come, stuck between your heart and your voicebox, your stubborn mind trying fruitlessly to bar Jeonghan from knowing the truth. But, as is always the case in all the love stories you’ve ever read, the heart is too strong for the mind, and for a moment, it overcomes all rational thought and takes control over your hands. You grab Jeonghan by the collar and pull his lips to yours. 

No amount of shock could keep Jeonghan from responding to your kiss. Ever quick on his feet, he brings a hand to the back of your neck so that he can move you in just the way he wants to, and you, for the first time in forever, let go of your need to sort through all your feelings and make them make sense, and give in to your heart entirely. You don't have to think with Jeonghan -- he takes charge in a way that makes your knees feel weak, and you cling to him desperately to avoid toppling over. Jeonghan kisses with even more passion than he had in that closet, with enough fire that you think you both might combust. His lips are searing and insistent, and you melt into his arms. Instinctively, you tangle your fingers in his hair, and he gives a throaty chuckle. “Careful, princess,” he whispers between kisses, and you hum against his lips in bliss. 

Eventually, his kisses turn soft and sweet, slowing down to a pace where you can both catch your breath. And then he pulls away. The sight of him with his hair ruffled from your hands and his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright makes you giggle, and he beams at you, his gaze flicking to your lips again. “Wait,” you say before he can kiss you again. “I like you.”

“Duh,” he says with a laugh in his voice.

You swat his arm. “I mean it. I don’t understand how, or why, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the night we met. And compared to you, everyone seems so...dull.” He’s smirking now, and you swat at him again. “Stop it! I’m trying to be sincere.”

“I can’t help it,” he complains, and he’s looking at you so fondly that it’s dangerous. “You’re so cute. And I love to listen to you speak, but when you speak you move your mouth, and suddenly that’s just become so incredibly distracting for me.”

“My lips are distracting?” you repeat, wrinkling your nose in disgust at how corny it is.

“Well, they always were,” Jeonghan admits. “But right now...” He leans in, gives you a peck, and then runs a hand through his disheveled hair and groans. “Oh, it’s nearly too much.”

You giggle again. “You’re truly obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

“Embarrassingly so,” he says proudly. “Why else do you think I bribed the person who would’ve sat next to you on the plane to take my seat on Seungcheol and Hani’s flight?”

“You switched flights to travel with me?” Yesterday, this would’ve been annoying to learn -- but now, it’s a little endearing.

He nods. “And I switched classes so that I could take them with you. I’m still going to do that until we graduate, mind you, so if you could please avoid the eight o’clock classes, I would appreciate that so much.”

You tsk in fond exasperation at him. “And all of this time, you didn’t think to tell me that you’re --”

“Head over heels for you? Well, I sort of felt like it probably wouldn’t have gone over well. So I bided my time. And it was worth the wait,” he says, clasping one of your hands to his chest. “There’s absolutely no one like you, princess. You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

You shake your head, although on the inside you feel like angels are singing. “What an end to our war,” you say, snaking your arms around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“War is such a strong word,” Jeonghan complains. “It was barely a scuffle.”

“You filled my room with pigeons.”

“And that was low-hanging fruit for me.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Entirely,” he agrees. “Which is why I have no plans to return to that ball anytime soon.” He gives you a mischievous smile and once again looks at your lips.

“I can’t miss my best friend’s entire birthday party,” you remind him, playing with a lock of his hair shyly.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “That is a predicament. Might I suggest a compromise?”

“Indubitably,” you say, playing along with his posh tone.

He scoffs. “We go back in an hour. We stay to watch her open her gifts. And then we meet back here.”

“To do what?” you ask him, giving him your own dangerous grin.

“What an excellent question, princess,” he says, leaning in and kissing you deeply and slowly before pulling away just slightly and brushing a stray hair from your face. “I guess we’ll have to play it by ear,” he finally tells you in a low voice. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” you sigh, and then you smirk at him. “Pretty boy,” you add as an afterthought.

His eyes darken. “I’m going to make you regret that,” he threatens. And as he kisses you into oblivion once again, you seriously doubt it.

[work-harder-not-smarter]

8.16.2024

Tomorrow is the deadline for turning in all of my orientation assignments. I have decided to wait until tomorrow to finish them because I want to watch Beetlejuice instead. I recently saw Deadpool and Wolverine at the movie theater, and I saw the trailer for a Beetlejuice sequel, which piqued my interest.