Your fancy first date ends in a supervillain attack, sadly for superman you only have one man on your mind. (Also, Clark bakes you cookies. Which is basically better than Superman.)
Clark Kent had faced down criminals, disasters, and more than a few alien warlords, but standing outside your apartment door with a bouquet of slightly lopsided roses in one hand? That was enough to make his palms sweat.
He adjusted his glasses, shifted on his feet, smoothed his tie for the fifth time. He’d chosen his nicest suit, navy, pressed, with a crisp white shirt, and still felt like a farm boy playing dress-up.
Then the door opened.
And there you were.
Your outfit was elegant, your hair just so, your smile brighter than the city lights. For a second, Clark actually forgot how to breathe.
“Wow,” he blurted before he could stop himself. His ears went red immediately. “I mean—you look…wow.”
You laughed softly, cheeks warming. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Kent.”
He ducked his head, thrusting the roses at you like a lifeline. “Uh—these are for you.”
You took them, grin widening. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
Clark’s heart thumped. Perfect. She said perfect.
He offered his arm, old-fashioned, awkward, but sincere—and nearly melted when you slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow like it belonged there.
Downstairs, the cab waited, driver drumming his fingers on the wheel. Clark opened the door for you, still jittery with nerves. He couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you the whole ride, his knee bouncing under the table.
Finally, you turned, amused. “You’re really nervous, aren’t you?”
Clark froze. “Nervous? Me? No, I—uh—maybe a little.”
You squeezed his hand where it rested on the seat between you. “Don’t be. It’s just dinner.”
Just dinner. He tried to tell that to his hammering heart.
The restaurant was one of the nicest in Metropolis—white tablecloths, chandeliers, waiters who poured water like it was liquid gold. Clark felt out of place, but when you leaned forward, eyes sparkling across the table, suddenly the world shrank to just the two of you.
“So,” you began, mischief in your tone, “Clark is settling in pretty well.”
He blinked. “I—I mean, I am? That’s good—”
You burst out laughing. “Not you, Kent. The cat. Clark Junior.”
It took him a second. Then his jaw dropped. “You actually named him Clark?!”
“Of course I did,” you teased, sipping your wine. “He’s a hero. Just like his namesake.”
Clark’s face went scarlet. He buried it in his hands. “Oh, no…”
“Yes,” you said firmly, grinning. “And don’t worry, to avoid confusion I’m thinking of calling him Clarkie.”
“Clarkie,” he muttered, peeking out between his fingers. “That’s even worse.”
You leaned across the table, chin in your hand, looking at him with a softness that made his ears burn hotter than ever. “I don’t think it’s worse. I think it’s…endearing.”
His heart nearly stopped. For once, Clark Kent, Superman, Man of Steel, couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
So he just smiled, bashful, flustered, hopelessly smitten, and thought maybe, just maybe, this was the best first date of his entire life.
The waiter had just poured water into your glasses when Clark realized he’d been staring at you for an unholy amount of time. He coughed into his napkin, shifting in his seat like it could cover the fact he’d been memorizing the way candlelight caught your eyes.
“So,” you said, leaning forward with your chin in your hand. “Do you always wear suits this well, or is this just for me?”
Clark nearly dropped his fork. “I—uh—well, I mean, I usually wear them to work, but I…I don’t think they fit like this. Not that I’m, uh, thinking about how they fit—” He cut himself off, mortified. “Sorry. That was weird.”
You grinned, watching him fumble, and sipped your water. “Relax, Clark. It was a compliment.”
“Oh.” His ears turned pink. Then, quieter, almost to himself: “Thank you.”
You changed the subject before he combusted. “So tell me about work. Daily Planet. Is it exciting to write those front-page stories about alien invasions and Superman saving the day?”
Clark’s lips twitched. “Yeah it's always been a passion of mine... but sometimes, I also cover things like city council meetings or zoning disputes. Very glamorous.”
You gasped dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’re the voice behind that thrilling exposé on the new Metropolis parking meters.”
His grin broke free, boyish and irresistible. “Guilty. Pulled three all-nighters on that one.”
You laughed, and he ducked his head, smiling like he couldn’t help it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you teased. “I’d fall asleep halfway through the first meeting.”
“Oh, I do fall asleep. I’ve just mastered the art of sleeping with my eyes open.”
You arched a brow. “Talented and humble. Be still my heart.”
That got him to chuckle, soft and nervous, but his eyes sparkled behind his glasses.
By the time appetizers arrived, the nervous edge between you had softened into something easy.
Dinner itself was incredible, steak for him, ravioli for you, but the food barely mattered. The conversation flowed. He told you about growing up in Smallville, about his mom’s pies that could win awards, about sneaking into movie theaters as a kid. You told him about your disastrous attempts at baking, your favorite books, how you miss your family who lives far away.
Every so often, your knees brushed under the table. Neither of you moved them away.
And then—
The world screamed.
A thunderous crash ripped through the air, so loud the windows rattled. You barely had time to gasp before something massive hurtled out of the night sky, a car, smashing through the front of the restaurant. Glass exploded. Screams filled the room.
You froze, paralyzed, until Clark’s hand shot across the table, gripping yours.
“Come on!” His voice was steady, commanding in a way you’d never heard before. He pulled you up, weaving through the chaos, shielding you with his broad frame as panicked diners shoved past. Another crash shook the building. Smoke. Screams. Someone crying for help.
Your heart hammered, but you clung to Clark like he was your only lifeline.
He guided you toward the back hallway. “Stay here,” he said firmly, eyes sharp behind his glasses. His hand lingered on your arm, warm, grounding. “I’ll—just trust me, I’ll be right back.”
“Clark—wait!” You reached for him, but he was already gone, slipping through the smoke.
“Clark! where are you going!?” you shouted, coughing as dust choked the air. A waiter grabbed your arm, trying to pull you farther back.
“Miss, it’s not safe—”
“My date just ran into the chaos!” you snapped, yanking your arm free. “I have to find him!”
The waiter shook his head, already overwhelmed with herding frightened people toward the kitchen exits. You stumbled forward, scanning desperately through the haze. Tables overturned. Flames licking at the curtains. People sobbing, shoving, clawing their way to the doors.
And no sign of Clark.
Your chest tightened. Every instinct screamed to run, to get out, but your feet refused to move without him. He’d helped you out of danger before—roaches, rats, even a kitten from a tree. Clark always showed up. He had to be here, and you had to be there for him.
You pressed forward, coughing as smoke curled thick in your lungs. A second car slammed into the far wall with a sickening crunch, sending sparks and fire tearing up the ceiling. The heat blasted your skin, panic seizing your chest.
“Clark!” you cried again, your voice raw, almost breaking.
Somewhere in the chaos, you swore you saw a streak of red and blue cut through the haze, so fast your mind could hardly process it. But you were too frantic, too terrified to register anything beyond one thought:
You needed to save him.
Your next-door hero
Possibly suicidal
Clark Kent.
You were seconds from turning around when—
Strong arms swept you up like you weighed nothing at all.
You gasped, chest pressed against something solid, warm, unmovable. You tilted your head back and the world seemed to still—
Superman.
The cape. The “S.” The impossible jawline.
“Got you,” he said, voice low and impossibly calm even as the building cracked and buckled behind him.
You could only cling to him, wide-eyed, as he rocketed into the air. The fire fell away beneath you, replaced by the dizzying sweep of city lights. Wind tore at your hair, and your heart tried to leap out of your chest.
He set you down gently on a rooftop a few buildings over, his hand steadying your elbow like he wasn’t carrying half of Metropolis on his back tonight. “You’re safe here. Stay put until I can get everyone out.”
But you shook your head violently, grabbing his wrist. “Wait—you don’t understand. My date, Clark, he’s still in there! He was with me when the first car hit. He’s probably helping people, he always does, but he won’t save himself. You have to find him!”
Superman blinked, surprise flickering across his features. “Clark?”
“Yes!” you cried, desperation in your voice. “Clark Kent. You must know him, he interviews you all the time, right? He’s a reporter at the Daily Planet! Tall, glasses, really awkward, extremally sweet—please, you have to find him!”
Superman’s expression softened, and for one dangerous second he forgot about the villain still tearing up the street below. His heart stuttered at the panic in your eyes, the way you clutched his hand like your entire world lived or died with Clark Kent.
“You care about him,” he murmured.
“Of course—” You hesitated, cheeks burning even through the haze of fear. “No offense, but he’s my hero”
“I’ll find him,” he promised, his voice softer than it should’ve been, almost intimate. Then, almost without thinking, he added, “Your boyfriend’s lucky. to have someone who care's so deeply”
Your eyes widened. Heat flooded your cheeks. “He’s not—! I mean, not yet. It’s just—we’ve only just…”
Something warm and mischievous sparked in Superman’s gaze. He leaned just a little closer, his mouth quirking. “That’s a shame. If I had the chance, you wouldn’t be single long.”
Your face went nuclear. “Wha—excuse me?!”
But he was already grinning, boyish, teasing, the tiniest echo of someone you almost recognized, before straightening and scanning the chaos below.
“Don't worry miss,” he promised, voice steady again. “I’ll make sure Clark is safe.”
And then, with a rush of wind that nearly knocked you off balance, he was gone.
You stood frozen on the rooftop, hair whipping around your face, heart racing for two different reasons now.
Smoke curled up from the burning restaurant below. Superman was out there fighting a villain. And yet all you could think, clutching your racing heart, was—
Did Superman just flirt with me?
The rooftop was quiet, except for the faint hum of chaos below. You paced, hugging yourself, the rose Clark had given you earlier still tucked in your hair. Smoke plumed over the city. Every few seconds, you caught yourself craning over the ledge, searching for one glimpse of him.
When the crashing and screaming finally subsided, and all the reporters came out to broadcast, you didn’t wait for Superman. You spotted the fire escape and scrambled down, your heels clanging against the iron rungs. Adrenaline fueled every step, ignoring the soot that smeared your hands and the ache in your legs.
Halfway down the block, a flash of red and blue cut through the sky. Superman landed, cape flaring, scanning the rooftops.
“Careful,” he called up, his voice cutting through the noise like warm steel. “You shouldn’t be climbing down like that.”
You clung to the fire escape, terrified of falling “I don’t care!” you said hoarsely. “The fighting ended ten minutes ago, Clark must be wondering where I am!”
Before you could protest further, he blurred upward in a rush of wind. In the blink of an eye, he was there beside you on the creaking ladder, one arm steadying your back, the other scooping you up as if you weighed nothing at all.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” he said, softer now, almost coaxing. His arm was a wall of strength around you as he stepped off the iron rungs and descended like gravity didn’t exist.
You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face against the fabric of his suit as the world tilted. A heartbeat later, your feet hit the cracked pavement. Superman set you down gently, hands lingering just long enough to make sure you were steady. His gaze searched your face, brows furrowed.
“You’re safe now.” he said “He’s still near the restaurant,” voice lower now. “Helping people.”
You froze, every muscle tight, and then your chest loosened just enough to breathe. Relief hit so hard it made your knees weak.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words breaking out of you raw, too small for the way you meant them. Your eyes burned, throat thick. “Thank you so much.”
Superman swallowed, his expression strangely gentle—like he was saddened by your reaction to him. But before he could say another word, you were already running.
Your shoes pounded against the asphalt, hair whipping behind you as you sprinted straight into the smoke and sirens. You didn’t look back at the caped figure standing in the streetlight, cape rippling in the wind.
Because Clark was out there. And you weren’t stopping until you found him.
And there he was.
Standing outside the restaurant, hair a mess, tie missing, soot streaking his cheek, shirt rumpled like he’d been through hell. But when Clark Kent’s eyes landed on you, he broke into the biggest smile you’d ever seen.
“Clark!”
You launched yourself into his arms, clinging tight, heart hammering against his chest. Relief flooded through you so hard it left you dizzy. He held you back, solid and warm and very, very alive.
Then, pulling back just enough to look at him, you smacked his arm with your fist. “You idiot! What were you doing?!”
Clark winced in mock pain, rubbing the spot, but his grin only widened. “I was busy being a hero.”
You glared, then laughed through your tears. “You’re ridiculous.”
Together, you turned toward the smoldering ruin of what had been your fancy dinner. Flames licked at the remains, firefighters shouting orders. You let out a sigh. “Looks like we won’t be trying the world-famous lava cake.”
Clark glanced at you, softer now, his voice gentler. “I can bake you cookies back home.”
Your head snapped toward him. “You can bake?”
He chuckled, adjusting his glasses with soot-stained fingers. “Not as good as my ma, but I’ll try.”
“Then it’s a date,” you said, nudging his arm as you started walking away.
Hand in hand, you left the chaos behind, the night air cool against your heated skin.
“On the upside,” you added with a tired smile, “we don’t have to pay for our expensive dinner.”
Clark blinked, then nearly tripped over his own feet. “Wait—we still need to pay!”
You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Clark. The place is burnt down. Where exactly are they going to put the money?”
He spluttered, adjusting his glasses again, scandalized. “That doesn’t mean—! It’s—it’s theft if we don’t—”
You burst into laughter, tugging him along. “Oh my god, you’re impossible.”
And Clark, soot-stained and rumpled but grinning like a fool, thought he wouldn’t trade this night, or you, for anything.
A beat of silence passed as you both walked, the city still buzzing faintly with sirens in the distance. Then Clark shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing sideways at you, almost too casual.
“So…” he began. “You meet anyone?”
You shrugged. “Just Superman.”
Clark almost choked. “Just—just Superman? You say that like he’s your dentist! You got saved by Superman! Do you know how many people would kill for that? He’s—he’s so cool! He flies, and he saves people every day, and—he’s able to shoot laser beams! I mean, he’s—”
You started laughing halfway through his rant.
“Yeah, but,” you interrupted, grinning, “he’s not the cute nerd who’s baking me cookies tonight.”
Clark faltered, blinking. “Cute—?”
“Or the hot neighbor who wears Batman pajamas and kills bugs for me at 3 a.m.,” you continued, leaning in closer, your voice dropping mischievously.
Clark’s entire face went scarlet. He tugged at his collar like it had suddenly shrunk three sizes. “I—uh—that was—”
You smiled, stepping closer, your hand brushing his shirt. Slowly, deliberately, you lifted two fingers and walked them up the buttons of his chest, one by one. His breath hitched.
“Superman may be Metropolis’ hero, and I’m grateful for all he does…” Your fingers stopped just below his collar, right over his heartbeat. “…but he will never compare to the amazing Clark Kent.”
Clark froze. His glasses slipped a little down his nose. His blue eyes locked onto yours, wide and stunned, and for once he didn’t overthink it. Didn’t stammer. Didn’t retreat.
He kissed you.
It was sudden, unpracticed, a little desperate—but so full of warmth it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb trembling slightly against your skin, and you melted into it, kissing him back with a smile that tasted like relief and laughter.
When you finally broke apart, both breathless, you whispered against his lips:
“Finally.”
Clark laughed softly, still red, still dazed—but happier than he’d ever been.
And for the first time, Clark Kent didn’t feel like Superman in disguise.
He just felt like himself.
Clark’s apartment smelled like butter and sugar, warm and comforting. You were perched on his counter, now washed and in pajamas, swinging your legs and sneaking gobs of cookie dough from the mixing bowl while he lined a baking sheet.
“Hey,” he chided gently, nudging your knee with his hip. “You’re supposed to wait until they’re baked.”
You licked a bit of dough off your thumb, grinning. “Why? This is the best part.”
He gave you the look — glasses sliding down his nose, brows raised in full Midwestern-mom disapproval. “Because raw eggs, that’s why. Salmonella. Food poisoning. Hospital trips. I don’t want to end our first date in the ER.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Then give me something else to do, Clark.”
His hands stilled on the cookie sheet. Slowly, nervously, he looked up at you. And then, with a courage that surprised even himself, he stepped between your knees, leaned in, and kissed you.
It wasn’t frantic like the first one. This was softer. Sweeter. The kind of kiss that made your chest ache in the best way. His hands rested on your waist, tentative but sure, like he was afraid to let go.
You smiled against his mouth. “Better than cookie dough.”
Clark blushed, but he kissed you again anyway.
From the living room came a commotion — the sound of claws skittering and a loud thump.
“Clark Jr.!” you gasped, twisting to look. The orange kitten had launched himself off the couch in a wild chase after Krypto, who, despite being a superdog, (not that you know that) was currently scrambling like mad to escape a four-pound ball of fluff. They careened around the coffee table, Krypto letting out a high-pitched boof of indignation while Clark Jr. batted at his tail.
You burst out laughing. “Your pets are insane.”
“They’re not my pets,” Clark muttered, red-eared, as he gently pulled you back to face him. “One’s yours, remember?”
You smirked. “Oh, right. Guess our kids are getting along.”
Clark nearly dropped the spatula.
A few minutes later, when you’d stolen another spoonful of dough and he sighed but let you, you said it out of nowhere, casual as anything:
“I think Superman was flirting with me.”
Clark froze. “…Huh?”
“Yeah,” you said, tilting your head, pretending to be thoughtful. “On the rooftop. He was all ‘shame you’re single’ and giving me the look. Totally shameless. What a horrible friend. You’d think he’d be happy his favorite interviewer’s finally getting a girlfriend.”
Clark’s glasses slipped halfway down his nose. His heart stuttered. “G-Girlfriend?” he repeated, voice going embarrassingly high.
Your cheeks went pink, but you grinned anyway. “Well…eventually. Hopefully.”
For a beat, Clark just stared at you, wide-eyed and beaming like you’d handed him the whole world.
Then, softly, almost reverently, he whispered, “Hopefully, huh?”
You nudged his chest with your finger, teasing. “Clark Kent, you’ve been saving me from pests and trees all month. I was starting to wonder if I’d have to climb another one just to get you to ask me out properly.”
His laugh was nervous, but his smile was bright “Well, I’m glad I finally caught up.”
“Me too.” you smiled shyly “So when are these cookies going to be ready?”
Clark pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his grin so wide it made your chest ache.
“They’ll be ready in about…” he glanced toward the oven timer, “…seven minutes and forty-three seconds.”
The two of you stayed there for a while, until the timer dinged. Clark moved away reluctantly, sliding the tray out with practiced ease, while you hopped down from the counter to hover at his side.
Krypto barked from the living room, tail wagging, as Clark Jr. attempted to climb the curtains. You both burst into laughter at the sight, Clark shaking his head. “I don’t think they’re ever going to get tired of each other.”
“Good,” you said softly, slipping your hand into his as he set the cookies down to cool. “Means I’ll always have an excuse to come over.”
Clark froze for half a second, then looked down at your joined hands like they were the most important thing in the world. His cheeks pinked, his smile turning small and earnest. “You don’t need an excuse.”
You leaned into him, inhaling the warm scent of sugar and coffee and Clark himself. “Careful, Kent. Say things like that and I might never leave.”
His heart thudded so loud he swore you could hear it. “That’s not…a problem.”
And in that moment, it didn’t matter that the city belonged to Superman.
Because you belonged here.
‼️Content warning‼️: Murder, missing animal, Reader was murdered, slight mentions of maggots devouring reader's body, Very slight mentions of Angst, NO ANIMAL IS HARMED IN THIS FIC, DOESNT contain animal abuse/srs
Read at your own discreption.
You've always loved your cat Mocha deeply, most people saw him as just a "pet" But for you? He was your World, he comforted you in your worst moments, you cared for him like he was your own child.
And that's why you had to make sure his new owner was taking good care of him. You felt so guilty for not being able to do it yourself. You died a few weeks ago while looking for your cat after he got missing. You glued missing posters everywhere, But after wandering too far into the Woods, now your face was scattered was on them.
It took you a while to realize you were gone, that you had been murdered, your body dumped in a river for anyone to find. You still could touch stuff and move around, but people couldn't see you anymore, couldn't hear your begs as you cried.
That's when you saw him, a man holding your beloved cat in His arms. He was beautiful, the most beautiful man you had ever seen, some his long dark brown locs cascading over His chest as he leaned in to play With the kitten before typing again and again into His phone, a poster With your number and a Photo of your cat Right in front of him: He was trying to call you.
It's not like you could answer tho, at this point the maggots probably had devoured at least Half of your body, and You didnt even have a phone Anymore! The bastard who killed you had put it away.
The man sighed after multiple unsuccessful attempts, staring at the cat resting into his arms.
"Well, I guess it cannot be helped then. You will be staying with me for the time being."
You watched as he walked away, he seemed like a good person You thought to yourself, and yet you couldn't stop From following him home "Just to be sure".
Honestly, It was great at first! He didn't even notice you were there, but His animals? Oh, sure they did. Another cat that had befriended yours — Fleur — seemed quite eager regarding your presence. He was suspicious of you when you met, but since his owner wasn't at home all the the time unlike you, so It was easy to befriend them.
Sure, the man which you are pretty sure you heard someone through the screen calling him "V" which Is coincidentally the moniker of the Vigilante But you already figured that out some time ago, noticed the quick change of behavior His animals suddenly had, and jeez, he had so many of them.
Mostly simple stuff like staring at -you- places they didn't before, bringing toys and barking eagerly at the nowhere. V almost thought he was going crazy, until you accidently bumped into a shelf making a glass cup fall out of nowhere right in front of His eyes making him jump at the sudden noise.
"That.. Must have been the wind."
He literally lived in a UNDERGROUND BUNKER, But sure buddie! That was certainly the wind, keep dreaming!
Accidents like that started to happen more often, you were not breaking stuff on purpose, of course not, that Man had Literally saved your baby, why would you do anything to upset him? The thing is.. You've been a very *very* clumsy person since you can remember, you tried not to but you always kept tripping and bumping into his stuff even when you didn't mean to.
But god, his reactions to the supernatural were always so serious and funny, that at some point you couldn't help but tease him a little. Just to see How far would he go Just to deny your Very existence, It was just an innocent game, It couldn't do Any bad, Right? Right???
So you started small from spinning his pens in front of him to putting silly stickers on His face while he slept. The man in front of you stared at the mirror dead in the eyes as he slowly removed the joyful penguin and the "Tsundere" tag out of his face.
That same morning you heard him yell at "Goreboy" for messing with him, needless to say that the red head didn't know shit About It, because It was your doing After all. Yet he was convinced the guy had been breaking into his house just to prank him. Seriously, Just what did that man do to piss your Vigilante off so bad? All you know Is that V installed hidden cameras all around His bunker After that.
And well.. That did open room for a very Interesting prank you had in mind for a while. You smirked mischievously as you watched him sleep before putting your plan in course.
The next day you saw V almost choking in His cup of water as he watched the video. The Cinnamoroll plushie you saw him SWORING to someone called Misaki that It wasn't His, was walking and spinning Into the air right in front of the camera
"..There must be a reasonable explanation for this. It Is.. Impossible for a Teddy bear to move around on its own."
So of course he spent the rest of the day looking for transparent threads, damn, he even looked for magnets just in case. You giggled and pat the cat in your arms — your cat — as you stared at him as he did.
That's when he realized it. Mocha, the cat he had rescued a few weeks ago, the same Mocha whose irresponsible owner would not pick up the phone despite Mocha’s missing fliers.. Was literally flying — no — More like.. Resting mid air.
Your heart fell. You saw him looking straight in your direction and slowly tried to pick up the floating cat.. You ran from him All around his bunker as he chased you and desperately tried to grab the "runaway" cat which was in fact Just you carrying your son, but alright.
You screamed when His hand touched your back, not passed through but genuinely touched you. The man took a step back, holding His hand against His chest as he tried to understand what was going on, and You took that opportunity to run away.
You heard him coming after you not long after as he screamed into the phone something about How a ghost stole His cat. Excuse him? Mocha Is YOUR cat, not His! Sure, you are dead, but it's still unfair. You didn't even know why you were running away from him. Maybe you deep down felt scared of him being mad at you or kicking out your cat.
After some good minutes of chase, he finally reached you, holding you in place by the arm he couldn't see and you shivered.
"Who.. Who are you? What are you planning to do with the cat?"
the man questioned you breathlessly, you felt guilty seeing him so tired, well, its was your fault for deciding to "torment" him to start, even If you didn't mean any bad. So you sighed, and decided Maybe you should Just face the consequences of your actions.
"I'm.. Uhm.. That's my cat."
"I-i just wanted to see if I was doing fine, but- It was so funny to play with you, I swear I didn't mean to do anything bad."
You fidget nervously as you paused
"I can go away If you want me to, but please I-i'm being you not to put him away, please..?"
V stared at you(?) in silence for a good minute, a mix of confusion and pity on His face as he sighed.
"It’s.. Alright. I wont kick you out If you dont have nowhere else to go just.. dont cause too much trouble. And, I wasn't planning on leaving Mocha by himself."
And that's how your weird sort of relationship(?) truly began. You and V talked About all sort of things, you don't even know how or when he started to actually listen to your voice, But It was good to talk to someone else after being so lonely for a while.
He would discuss and gather information With you regarding your murderer "To bring them to justice" he said, your case files he made himself right next to one whose name you didn't seen to recognize, But It seemed important to him, so you choose not to ask, you didn't want to make him uncomfortable With your presence.
And soon enough.. You heard V gasped behind you, you turned towards him with worry in your eyes.
"Love, you.. You are beautiful."
You giggled shyly before finally realizing It, V, your sweet boyfriend could see you. Not in a metaphorical way, But truly *see* you, your face and the turtleneck you stole from his wardrobe a few weeks ago but told him you had no Idea About where It Went when he asked you.
"Is.. That's my shirt?"
You disappeared, hiding from sight before he could even finish, can Ghosts blush? You wondered, because If so, you were probably as red as a tomato at that moment.
"Well, I wasn't planning on taking it away from you either. You can keep it if you would like to."
V chuckled, seriously, what did he do to deserve you? He thought, when you actually believed he deserved the world, but he couldn't see it.
It started as an innocent joke, and you ended up with a sweet vigilante boyfriend, worth it!
• ° . ☆ HCs
•Apologized for Thinking you were irresponsible + “stealing” your cat, which you genuinely thanked him for. But you bit him for The “irresponsible” half.
• When V still wasn't able to see you, he would make you wear a cute hat he bought you so he would know where you were.
• V feels kind of sad for not being able to marry you, to proudly show you to the people dear to him saying "This Is my partner and they mean the world to me", but Just being close to you was good enough to him.
• His animals love you, you are such a good soul, How they couldn't? So the rare times you go invisible to try jumpscare V, They ALWAYS turn your location in by barking or jumping at you playfully.
• V Always blushes when he sees you wearing His clothes and compliments you by How beautiful you look.
• If you ever decide to give Ronin a heart attack for him He will be forever gratefull, worried that Ronin would somehow find a way to make you die.. *Again* yet grateful.
Hey guys! Shocking news: I'm still alive. Just got hit by the sudden urge and motivation to write this fic, I Hope it Is of your liking:3
A/N: first time i post on tumblr (lawd im spooked), anyways this is completely new? Um... yeah.. i hope y'all will like this?
WC: 10900 i think.
Nanami Kento x reader.
So uh... rivals to lovers (they hate each other your honor), office romance (nanami is the OG office siren idc)... the works. Very innacurate work, innacurate office relations, innacurate portrayal of a job. Innacurate overall babes. I'm not actually sure of whatt i've written. so um.. yeah, i hope y'all will like this. I'm double posting on tumblr/ao3 so ye
Might have a part two with smut.
Do not copy nor translate my work.
The elevator dinged.
11th floor
And you stepped out.
The polished floors of the office gleamed under the fluorescent lights as you strode in, head held high, walking with the kind of confidence that made every pair of eyes in the room glance your way.
Every step was deliberate, the sleek pencil skirt hugging your form, tailored to perfection, the crisp white blouse tucked neatly at your waist.
This wasn't just any office job, it was a place for the best and brightest, and you intended to show them that you deserved to be there.
No room for mediocrity in your world.
It was the job—the coveted position in a company known for demanding excellence. Only the best survived here, and you intended to thrive, and anyways, you knew you would.
The conference room was filled with the murmurs of your new colleagues as you all gathered for the morning briefing. As you entered the glass-walled conference room, the hum of conversation faded.
Here you stood, in a board room full of new faces, you were being introduced by the team head.
Rina Takahashi.
She was a strict looking woman, her black hair pulled into a perfectly structured bun (which you admired because wow that thing was flawless). She was part of a board of superiors- your new board of superiors.
The room was filled with top-tier professionals—sharp suits, calculating eyes, the kind of people who lived for the thrill of competition. Their gazes flicked toward you, curiosity sharpening into something keener.
There was a hush when you entered, the kind that makes you feel like the world suddenly turned its attention toward you. You knew exactly what they were thinking: Who is she? It wasn’t arrogance—it was confidence.
There was a difference.
All eyes were on the new blood, and you weren’t about to disappoint.
“Everyone,” Rina said sharply, raising a hand to silence the group. “This is the newest member of the team. Let’s make sure we show her what it means to work with the best."
You offered a polite smile, a subtle nod, and then turned your attention back to the group.
Your eyes racked on each member of the team you were being allocated to, until they landed on a man.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. His blond hair was neatly combed back, glasses sitting on his nose, and he sat with an air of quiet detachment.
And then, his eyes met yours.
You didn’t look away first.
For a moment, he just stared, silent, calculating. Something flickered in his gaze, but he quickly masked it, turning his attention back to the meeting.
That was your first real introduction to Nanami Kento.
-
The following weeks at the company were a blur of meetings, presentations, and endless deadlines, you were given an office (that you were allowed to customise whichever way you wanted- hooray). You learned quickly that Nanami was a figure to be reckoned with. He was one of the senior executives, respected and feared by most, and it didn’t take long for you to realise that he didn’t like you.
AKA, he was annoying, and you weren't going to let him walk all over you. You sure as hell weren't going to let a stuck up- way too pretty man- 'beat' you- the guy had a broom stuck up his ass.
It wasn’t that he outright dismissed you—no, he wasn’t that brash.
Of course not.
But there was always a coolness in his words, a sort of professional indifference that grated against you. Every time you spoke in meetings, he’d watch you with narrowed eyes, making a point to subtly counter your suggestions with his own.
You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes every time.
And you? You weren’t about to back down. Every time he challenged you, every time his voice grew just a little colder, you met him with equal fire. You had your own ideas, your own vision, and you weren’t afraid to show them.
Nanami’s voice cut through the conference room during a particularly heated meeting:
"While I respect your enthusiasm, I think it would be more practical to approach this from a different angle. Your strategy is—" He paused, tapping his pen against the table with a faint sigh. "—risky, and we can’t afford that right now."
Your eyes narrowed.
“I’m aware of the risks, Mr. Nanami,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “But sometimes, in order to achieve the best results, we need to take risks. Otherwise, we’re just playing it safe, and that’s not how we move forward.”
The tension was papable, the other members looking between the two of you like a sort of weird tenis match.
You held his gaze.
He didn’t like being contradicted, but there was something in your conviction that made him hesitate. He couldn’t argue with your logic, even if it stung his pride a little.
"Let’s table this for now," Rina said, her voice cutting through the tension. "We’ll revisit it later."
-
You came in everyday twenty minutes early, 7:30 am sharp, dressed to a T, heals clicking on the floor as you greeted the couple other early colleges. A fresh cup of coffee in hand as you walked down the main hall to your office. You looked incredibly put together and organised- almost rivalling Nanami.
Actually no, you definitely rivalled Nanami.
Today was special- your first monthly team meeting with the higher ups. Everyone sat around the large oval table, the higher ups went over the numbers, the documents.. everything.
And then it happened.
"And of course, a special thanks to our new hire." Rina gestured towards you, a soft smile on her face. "Who's work has been nothing short of remarkable."
The higher ups nodded and agreed with her.
Mentally, you were dancing on the oval table, mocking Nanami.
In the real world, you simply nodded, smiled and shrugged:
"Of course, the workload is manageable."
Okay so you were petty- who cares? It felt good to have your work openly praised, especially by the superiors, and even more in front of everyone.
The meeting went on, and you could feel Nanami's presence beside you, unwavering, yet somehow… distant. He remained composed, his focus never wavering, as he took note of the discussions around the table. You couldn't help but notice the slight furrow of his brow when Rina mentioned your name. It was subtle, but you caught it. Was that… surprise? Annoyance? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care. You were too busy relishing in the praise from the higher-ups.
After the meeting ended, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Nanami as everyone stood up, getting ready to leave. You packed up your things with a smug little smile, knowing that you had outperformed him. You walked past him on your way to the door, but his voice stopped you before you could leave.
You reached for the door, your hand already on the handle, when his voice sliced through the quiet hum of the office.
“Impressive.”
"Hm?" You barely turned, looking over your shoulder. "What was that?"
Nanami was standing by the table, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of a notebook. The air between you both felt thick with the aftermath of the meeting, though you didn’t let on how much you were enjoying the subtle victory. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was no warmth in his gaze—only the faintest flicker of something you couldn't quite place.
"Your presentation," he continued, his tone carefully neutral, though there was an almost imperceptible tension in his posture. "It was… concise. Well-organized.
"Thank you. I do aim to please." Your words were casual, almost teasing, as you took a step toward the door. The tension you’d been feeling in the room seemed to hang in the air like a charged electrical current.
You could feel him watching you. You weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much that small comment affected you.
As you reached for the door again, his next words came, just low enough for only you to hear.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
You paused, hand still on the handle, heart skipping a beat. His voice, even when laced with barely contained ice, held a certain quality that made your pulse quicken.
“I’m just getting started.” You didn’t look back as you stepped out, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you walked away, knowing that Nanami’s eyes were still on you.
Nanami watched you walk out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway like a taunt. His mind replayed your words, your smile, the way you’d seemed to take pleasure in every inch of that moment.
When you went back into your small office, Aiko, one of your team members, gave a little knock and popped her head in.
"Holy shit- congrats!!"
You tried to play it cool- only grinning in response, on the inside though, you felt so damn smug and good.
Aiko's face lit up with excitement, her dark eyes sparkling as she grinned at you. She wasn't exactly subtle—she practically vibrated with enthusiasm.
"Y'know, I really thought Nanami was gonna fuckin' implode. He's the only one that usually gets that type of praise. He looked like someone told him the stock market crashed. I don't I've ever seen him move his face like that- his eyebrow twitched! And he blinked- liked twice- that's insane!"
A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to look composed. "His eyebrow twitched? Really?"
"Twice! It was like watching a machine glitch. You might actually be the first person to ever rattle him." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think he's starting to realize you're not just here to make up the numbers."
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm just doing my job."
But inside? Oh, inside, you were practically glowing. Rattling Nanami Kento, the man who seemed more robot than human, felt like a victory worth savouring.
-
It had been two weeks since the meeting. Two weeks since you’d walked past Nanami with that smug little smile, and he still couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He found himself replaying that moment. The confidence in your stride, the glint of triumph in your eyes—it haunted him.
He didn’t want it to.
He prided himself on being composed, measured, immune to the trivial distractions of office politics or—he scoffed at the thought—office flirtations. Yet here he was, leaning against his desk, staring blankly at a report that should have had his full attention, while you occupied too much space in his mind.
Every morning- 7:30 sharp, when he heard the sharp click of your heels in the hallway, he tensed, anticipating your arrival. He didn’t understand why his heart raced in those moments.
Like everyday since those three months that you had joined the company, Nanami didn’t need to check the clock. He knew it was exactly 7:30. His hand hovered over the report in front of him, pen poised, but the words blurred into a meaningless haze.
He hated it. How ridiculous, juvenile even.
And yet—there it was.
Every. Damn. Day.
When you appeared in the doorway, your smile was as sharp as ever.
“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it—a challenge.
“Good morning,” he replied stiffly, not looking up from the report in front of him. He refused to give you the satisfaction of seeing how tightly he gripped his pen.
"Hope you had a lovely evening." You quipped. "By the way-" You gently dropped a file on his desk, next to his hand- such a pretty hand- "Here you go."
Nanami’s gaze flicked briefly to the file, then back to the report in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the way your fingers had brushed the edge of his desk—close enough to touch. He hated that he noticed the soft scent you carried, something faintly floral, delicate. He loathed the way it lingered.
“What is this?” he asked, voice steady but clipped.
“Updated figures,” you replied sweetly, your tone all innocence. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of finding the errors. I know how thorough you like to be.”
Nanami’s jaw tightened. That smug little smile, the one that made his pulse spike despite himself, was still playing at the corners of your lips. He could already feel the burn of irritation coiling in his chest.
You were insufferable
Like a child who found a new noisy, light up toy, and kept waving it around.
His eyes flicked back to the file on his desk, though he didn’t move to touch it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you; it was that he hated the idea that you might have found a way to make him look careless in front of the rest of the team. He was always thorough. Always precise. He didn’t even need to look up to feel the weight of your gaze, calm, measured, like you were waiting for him to crack.
The audacity of it.
"Is this supposed to be some kind of subtle jab?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended. "I don’t need your help."
You didn’t flinch, your smile unwavering.
“I didn’t think you did,” you said smoothly, stepping back, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved slightly away from his desk, but not far enough to be out of his reach. "I just thought you’d like to avoid a mistake. It's not like I enjoy fixing your errors, Nanami."
You were an annoyance.
A distraction.
"Don't waste your time," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I’ll review it."
"Of course," you said, your voice still sweet, but there was an edge to it now—an undercurrent of amusement, perhaps even triumph. And with that, you turned and left, those goddamn heals clicking against the floor in a perfect rhythm.
Fuck he hated you.
-
The next day, Nanami was at his desk early again. 7:30. He couldn’t stop the instinctual tightening of his chest when he heard the click of your heels. He sat straighter, adjusting his tie as if the mere presence of you required him to be on his guard.
He needed to be nothing short of perfect- especially when you were around.
“Good morning, Nanami,” you said with that same confident, cool smile, your eyes scanning the room before settling on him.
“Morning,” he grunted, doing his best to keep his voice even.
You didn’t respond right away, instead dropping a few more files onto his desk—closer this time, as if you knew exactly where to place them to make him feel something.
"Just a few updates," you said, almost casually, as if this was all normal. As if this wasn’t some subtle war of attrition between you two. "There was a mistake on Q2. Thankfully I caught it. Do take a look at the updated version please, try to get it to me before lunch- that is if you can of course, no pressure."
His eyes shifted to your hands for a second.
Perfectly manicured, a soft pastel pink with hints of glitter. Two silver rings.
None on your ring finger.
He shouldn’t be thinking about your hands. Or how they looked so perfectly manicured.
He felt an irritation bubble in his chest, a tightness he couldn’t explain. You were too composed, too perfect in every little thing you did. The way you moved, the way you spoke.. just everything about you seemed deliberate, designed to get under his skin.
"I’ll have it to you by lunch," Nanami replied curtly, not willing to show any hint of weakness.
"Good," you said, stepping back from his desk but still lingering just enough to make him feel the weight of your presence. "I’ll be around if you need anything."
Nanami didn’t look up as you walked away, but his attention was fixed on the file you’d left behind. As he opened it, he could see the penmenship, and he honestly wanted to just.. throw the file in the trash, refuse to acknowledge your critics, burn the file- no burn the building.
With the file in it.
Not at all dramatic.
-
Hell only began (for Nanami specically), a couple weeks later, you had been part of the office for around five months now.
Five months of you and your perfection, your presence always lingering just enough to annoy him, yet never enough to fully push you out of his thoughts. Five months of his mind constantly circling back to you, he had begun to hate(?) you.
And why did hell start?
Because you were asked to take the lead in a very, very important portfolio.
“Nanami, I’ve got some updates for you,” Rina had said, “You’re going to be working on the Gojo portfolio with her. You’re both great at what you do, and this project—well, it’s too big for anyone to handle alone. This portfolio is massive, and the two of you are the best we’ve got. Think of the potential!”
The words barely registered at first.
Gojo.
You.
Potential.
Yes, potential to drive him absolutely insane.
The Gojo portfolio- that family was infamous, as much as the Zenin family, those fuckers had more money than a small country. They were important people, with lots of connections, and the portfolios meant hundreds of millions of dollars- potentially billions.
Said Gojo family, that name alone sent a shiver of dread down his spine. They were a powerful, untouchable dynasty—people who played the game of business with an arrogance that came from decades of wealth and influence. They controlled assets in dozens of industries, their connections stretching across borders. And now, their portfolio was going to be the crown jewel of his department.
Generations of influence, their fingers in every major pie, from finance to real estate to tech. The portfolio would be the most important thing his department had seen in years, and now, you—you—would be holding the reins.
But more importantly, it was the project that could define careers. The financial windfall alone was enough to make anyone salivate. And when Rina had told him that you’d be the one spearheading it, something inside him snapped.
His first reaction was something close to disbelief. He didn't hate you, per se—no, he loathed you. He loathed how easily you adapted to the rhythm of the office, how effortlessly you’d made your mark. You were a force, and every day, you chipped away at the barriers he so carefully built. But this? He had to admit it—he was furious.
He was furious.
Furious that you, the person who had somehow turned his well-ordered world upside down, were going to take the reins on this. Furious that Rina—who he had worked alongside for years—thought that the two of you would work well together.
Furious that you had already made a name for yourself in the department, while he had to claw through every task, every project, with every ounce of effort just to maintain his position.
You had done this. This… shift in the office dynamic, where everything now seemed to revolve around you. Where his attention was so often dragged back to you, despite his best efforts to stay focused.
Whatever.
-
The next day, you two began working together.
The Gojo portfolio was a completely different beast.
It required precision, flawless attention to detail, and relentless dedication. And like clockwork, at exactly 7:30 a.m, you were already in the office, your heels clicking against the polished floor in that deliberate rhythm that had begun to haunt Nanami's mornings- he swore he could almost hear those wretched heals in his sleep.
He focused on the documents spread across his desk, the numbers blurring into meaningless lines as your presence filled the room.
"Morning," you said smoothly, setting down your bag with grace. "Did you review the reports I sent last night?"
Without looking at you, Nanami nodded curtly. "Yes." His tone was clipped, detached. He didn’t look at you right away. He refused. But he could feel your presence beside him like an itch under his skin, impossible to ignore. You were calm, composed, utterly unfazed by the weight of the portfolio you’d been handed. That alone made his blood boil. Did you ever feel the pressure? Did you ever doubt yourself?
"Good," you replied, your voice too calm, too assured. "Because we have a lot to get through today. The Gojos aren’t exactly patient." And with that, you pushed a coffee and a muffin towards him. "I think it'll be interresting to work with you, both Rina and Aiko have sang your praices- hell, even the interns Yuki, Megumi and Nobara adore you."
You pulled your computer out, with two notebooks, and a couple files, getting ready for a day of work.
"And anyways.." You continued, back to your usual tone. "I find it cute, how the interns look up to you- especially Yuji. I think if he could, he'd shadow you 24/7. It says a lot."
His eyes flicked back to the files scattered across his desk, trying to focus on the work at hand. The Gojo portfolio. Important, urgent. He had a job to do.
But of course, your voice—the smooth, unfaltering tone that always seemed to slice through the tension in the room—was impossible to ignore. You were impossible to ignore.
"I’m sure you’ve heard all the praise," you said, not looking up from your own laptop, the steady click of your keys the only sound in the room for a moment. "The interns are all so eager to learn from you, Nanami. Makes me wonder how you’ve built such a reputation. I must say it impresses me."
His eyes briefly flicked up to you, watching as you worked with that cool, effortless grace, the steady rhythm of your fingers on the keyboard almost mocking him.
He hated you.
How dare you act as if this wouldn't be the portfolio in your life?
He forced his gaze back down to the files, forcing himself to remember why he was here, why this partnership was necessary. The Gojo portfolio. This was the big one. His career was riding on this. Not that he needed reminding—he was always painfully aware of the stakes.
The rest of the day was either silent, either the usual talk.
-
It was a week later that you first met the Gojo lawyers.
And it didn't exactly go.. sensationally well.
When Nanami, closely followed by you stepped in, one of the lawyers snapped his fingers at you:
"Go get us some coffee's, thanks." said lawyer turned to Nanami, "I thoughts there would be two of you today?"
You both froze. First of all, you were the only woman in the room. Secondly, that lawyer clearly expected two men to be on the case.
The room went still.
Nanami’s jaw tightened, the faintest tick in his temple betraying his irritation. He glanced at you, just a quick flick of his eyes, but it was enough to see the slight raise of your brow, the cool, calculating expression that had become so familiar.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. Instead, you stepped forward, setting your files down on the sleek conference table with deliberate precision- they made a small 'thump' sound.
The audacity. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, searching for a reaction—disdain, fury, anything.
But you didn’t give them that satisfaction. Instead, you smiled.
It was a cold, dangerous smile, the kind that promised retribution without raising your voice.
“I think you’re mistaken,” you said smoothly, your voice like silk over steel. “I’m here to lead this meeting, not to fetch your coffee.”
Nanami exhaled quietly through his nose, the smallest hint of satisfaction blooming in his chest. The lawyer blinked, clearly taken aback by your composed demeanor, but you didn’t stop there.
“And for the record,” you added, flipping open the top file with a precise flick of your wrist, “if I were to get anyone coffee, I’d make sure to ask if they could afford the time it takes. Because, as I understand it,” your eyes flicked to the lawyer’s expensive watch, “you’re already behind schedule.”
Nanami would've loathed to be on the other side of your words- but he internally grinned, it was beautiful to see you in action. It was like watching someone dismantle a ticking bomb with their bare hands, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was mesmerizing.
The lawyer’s face flushed, a dark red blooming across his cheeks. “I—” he began, but his voice faltered.
Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. “If we’re finished with the unnecessary pleasantries, perhaps we can begin the actual business.” His eyes cut to the lawyer, cold and unyielding. “Or should I assume you’re not prepared?”
The lawyer sputtered, but the damage was already done. The balance of power in the room had shifted, and everyone knew it.
You settled into your chair, crossing your legs with an air of absolute composure, like you’d just won a game only you knew you were playing. “Shall we?” you said, gesturing to the documents spread across the table.
Nanami lowered himself into the seat beside you, his posture rigid but controlled. He could feel the heat of your presence next to him, the proximity sending a spark through his nerves. He hated that too—the way you unsettled him without even trying. But damn it if he wasn’t impressed.
As the meeting continued, your voice filled the room, sharp and commanding, dismantling the Gojo lawyer’s every attempt to regain control with precise, cutting logic. Nanami watched you work, silent and calculating, his respect for you begrudgingly deepening with every word you spoke.
When the meeting finally ended, the lawyers shuffled out, the one rat looking asshole was being whisper-shouted at by another lawyer. Nanami stayed seated, watching as you gathered your files with meticulous care.
“Not bad,” he said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you’d get from him.
You glanced at him, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “High praise, coming from you. I'm honored."
Nanami didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable. He didn’t want to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but something had shifted. His hatred wasn’t as pure as it had been before- if it even had been hatred.
And that terrified him.
Without another word, you stood, giving him one last smirk before walking out of the conference room, heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome.
-
The Gojo portfolio had transformed into an all-consuming monster. Early mornings bled into late nights, leaving the office bathed in the muted glow of computer screens long after everyone else had gone home.
You worked with a ruthless precision, dissecting financials, anticipating client demands, and somehow maintaining that maddeningly calm demeanor. He hated it. He hated how flawless you seemed. And he hated himself more for the way he kept catching himself watching, listening, noticing every little thing.
It drove him insane.
“You’re staring, Nanami,” you said one evening without looking up, your voice cool and teasing. “Something on your mind?”
He snapped his gaze back to the papers in front of him, cursing under his breath. “No.”
You glanced at him, that sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Liar.”
Nanami forced himself to remain calm, though his grip on the pen tightened. “Focus on the projections. We’re behind.”
“Actually, we’re not,” you countered, sliding a neatly tabbed document across the table toward him. “I recalculated the figures last night.”
He hated it- he loved it- he was going absolutely insane.
The worst part? He couldn’t stop thinking about you.
It had become routine: every morning, you’d arrive, heels clicking down the hall with that same, maddening precision, and Nanami would already be sitting at his desk, pretending to concentrate on the piles of paperwork in front of him.
You never missed a beat, always greeted him with that cool, calculating smile.
“Morning,” you’d say, dropping another file onto his desk, eyes gleaming with that ever-present challenge.
“Morning,” Nanami would respond with a tight smile, the words barely leaving his mouth before he’s caught in your gaze. It was the same routine every day, and yet, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were always just a step ahead.
-
It was late one night when the two of you were working overtime, the office almost empty, save for the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant sounds of your tapping keyboards. You had even pulled out the bleu light glasses.
Nanami rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, but his gaze kept drifting over to you—your brow furrowed in concentration, your hair pulled back in that messy ponytail. He hated how attractive-NO. NOT THAT.
He forced himself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him, tapping his pen rhythmically against the desk in a futile attempt to drown out the quiet sounds of you typing. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, the crisp fabric of his shirt wrinkled from hours of work. He refused to think about how your gaze had flicked to his arms when he adjusted his collar earlier- you were probably mocking him mentally.
He shook his head and went back to work.
You stole a glance, the veins prominent along his arms, and one involuntary word crossed your mind: whore.
The thought startled you, and you stifled a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sound from escaping. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you refocused, staring at the data that had blurred together over the last several hours. You couldn't let him see that his presence was getting to you.
You were adjusting your blue light glasses, pushing them up the bridge of your nose with an exasperated air. The action was so unguarded, so normal, that it struck him unexpectedly. You looked—no. He clamped down on the thought before it could form.
Not now.
Not ever.
Nuh huh.
Nanami’s pen paused mid-tap, and he turned slightly in his chair, the weight of his gaze settling on you like a physical presence. “What?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of irritation. “You’re staring.”
You blinked, feigning innocence, your fingers resuming their measured tap against the keyboard. “I wasn’t staring,” you replied smoothly. “I was thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Oh, you know,” you said airily, glancing at him sideways-fuck you wanted to sink your teeth in his perfect forearm argh-, “about how much time you waste tapping that pen. Very productive."
“You could have just said it’s distracting,” he replied flatly, his tone even. “Instead of making it another one of your clever little remarks.”
"You think I'm clever?" You quiped back. Honestly the tiredness was getting to you, or else you would've never said that.
Nanami's eyes narrowed, his pen tapping once more before falling silent. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“Don’t twist my words,” he said, voice clipped. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your own chair with a small, tired grin. “You didn’t deny it fast enough. Clearly, you think I’m clever. It’s okay to admit it, Nanami. We’re all friends here.”
“Friends?” he echoed, an incredulous scoff escaping before he could stop it. “Is that what we are now?”
“Well,” you began, a playful lilt in your voice, “we’re certainly something. You, me, this portfolio—it’s practically a romance.”
“I’d rather not associate this project with anything resembling a romance.”
You chuckled, a sound that was too soft, too unguarded for the moment, and it grated at him. “Relax, Nanami,” you said, turning your attention back to the screen in front of you. “It’s just a joke. You really need to loosen up.”
“Loosening up is exactly how people make mistakes,” he retorted sharply, eyes focused on his screen now. “And we can’t afford mistakes. Not with this portfolio.”
“Right, of course,” you murmured, the teasing edge fading from your voice. “The almighty Gojo portfolio.” There was a pause, and then, more softly: “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”
His hands stilled over the keyboard. For a moment, he said nothing, the hum of the office the only sound between you. Then, his voice, quieter now, “I think you enjoy making light of things that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
You turned to face him, resting your chin on your hand, and studied him. “You think I’m joking because I don’t care. That’s what you really believe, isn’t it?”
His gaze flickered to you, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes before it vanished. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that your confidence borders on arrogance.”
“And your perfectionism borders on obsession,” you shot back, but there was no bite to the words. “We balance each other.”
Nanami exhaled slowly, the words settling between you like an uneasy truce. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth in what you said. Your approach was different—infuriatingly so—but it was effective. The two of you did balance each other, as much as it grated on him to acknowledge it.
“You’re not wrong,” he muttered at last, eyes drifting back to his screen.
You blinked, looking at him shocked, caught off guard. “Did you just—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, tone warning, though there was no real malice in it. “Don’t make me regret it.”
A smile tugged at your lips, genuine and unguarded. “I’ll treasure the moment.”
Nanami bit back a sigh, forcing his attention back to the portfolio, but the warmth of your smile lingered longer than it should have. He hated it. Hated how much space you occupied in his mind.
But what he hated most was the gnawing realization that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t hate it at all.
-
After the second wet dream he had of you, he knew he was done for.
Buried.
Cremated.
Entombed.
The Gojo portfolio continued, it was estimated to take around five months to fully finalise, that meant four more months of working with you.
And he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it.
The next morning, Nanami sat at his desk earlier than usual. His thoughts were a mess—an infuriating, tangled web of work and you. He had spent the night convincing himself that the dreams were just a byproduct of stress, a mental slip caused by the long hours and high stakes of the Gojo portfolio.
And yet, when the familiar click of your heels echoed down the hallway, his heart betrayed him with its predictable quickening.
Get a grip.
You entered, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, your blue light glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. The faint scent of your perfume trailed behind you as you approached his desk. Nanami stared resolutely at his screen, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped.
“Morning,” you said, setting the coffee down beside him with a casual air. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up. Late night?”
Nanami stared at the coffee for a second, it was his preferred order- which you had memorised.
“Yes,” he said finally, his voice flat, betraying nothing. “Late night.” He reached for the coffee, his fingers brushing the cup, and the warmth bled into his palm. He took a sip, savoring the bitter taste as if it could wash away the thoughts plaguing him. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” you replied easily, sliding into the chair across from him, settling in as though this was the most natural thing in the world. “We both need all the caffeine we can get if we’re going to survive the next four months.”
Nanami tensed. Four months. The reminder felt like a death sentence.
And he was already dead.
“Survival,” he echoed, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”
You glanced at him over the rim of your glasses, an amused glint in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Nanami. It won’t be that bad. I’m not that unbearable, am I?”
He didn’t answer immediately, just focused on the report in front of him. The numbers blurred together again, your voice too distracting. His grip on the pen in his hand tightened. Yes, he wanted to say. You’re infuriating, impossible, maddening. But instead, he kept his tone carefully neutral.
“You’re tolerable,” he said, deliberately nonchalant. “On good days.”
Your laughter was soft, like the gentle chime of a bell, and it cut through the tension in the room. It wasn’t the reaction he expected, and it made something in his chest twist in an unfamiliar way.
“Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week,” you teased, flipping open one of the files. “I’ll take it.”
He hated how your laughter made the room feel lighter. He hated how you brushed off his barbs with ease, like they were nothing more than harmless banter. But most of all, he hated how much he was beginning to look forward to these moments- this wasn't good.
The next few hours passed in relative silence, the two of you working side by side. You would occasionally glance at him, offering a slight smirk whenever you caught him scowling at the screen, as though you knew exactly what was going through his mind.
And then, at 2:00 PM sharp, Rina called for a meeting.
The Gojo family’s lawyers were predictably dismissive, questioning the projections and raising concerns. But Nanami handled them today, which.. lord. Oh. Lord.
The worst?
He rolled his sleeves up again and-urghhhh. Stay focused.
The Gojo lawyers, as expected, were dismissive, arrogant, and relentless. Their questions were pointed, their criticisms unyielding. But Nanami stood firm, taking each jibe with the calm demeanor that he’d perfected over the years. He was in control. He had to be.
But when the lawyer turned to you—you, the woman who had managed to stay silent for the last twenty minutes—something in Nanami’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure why, but his gaze lingered as you stood to answer, every move you made purposeful, confident.
You handled the situation flawlessly, your words sharp but measured. You held your ground, never wavering, even as the lawyer tried to undermine you.
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” the lawyer asked with a sneer, clearly annoyed by your poise.
You smiled thinly, leaning forward just enough to convey both authority and calm.
“Everything,” you confirmed, locking eyes with him. "And more."
Nanami watched, something shifting in his chest as he realized just how perfectly you fit into this office.
-
As the months continued to stretch pass, the portfolio, the hellish project was coming to an end.
In a week.
A week and the two of you would be free- with a hefty bonus and a week time off.
"Look at my baby." You interrupted during an afternoon, you had been staring at the same sequence of stats for almost twenty minutes and needed a break, so you shoved your phone into Nanami's hold, a picture of your rag-doll cat on the screen.
Nanami blinked, looking over the rim of his glasses, staring at the phone in his hand, momentarily thrown off by your sudden proximity. His fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot how to breathe.
He could die in peace now.
He glanced at the screen, his gaze flicking to the image of your cat, a rag-doll with fluffy fur and wide, innocent blue eyes. The cat looked comfortable in its bed, as if living a life of luxury—nothing like the stress and chaos that had consumed Nanami's world lately.
"She’s cute," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain. It wasn’t the cat—he could tell you loved her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that you had taken a moment to show him something personal.
It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—slid into his personal space without hesitation, pulled him into your orbit with ease. But each time, it left him feeling like he was losing some battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting.
"What’s her name?"
You smiled, a soft, almost wistful expression, your lips curling just enough to show a hint of warmth, of something almost affectionate.
"Her name’s Mochi," you replied, eyes flickering down to your phone for a second, but he noticed the small shift in your demeanour. "My little baby- you gotta meet her one day."
You didn't seem to realise the innuendo (oh you did).
His pulse beat in his ears, not from the picture, but from the unspoken implication.
"Maybe," he said finally, as if he could drown out the sudden rush of heat that flooded his chest-and dick. "I’ll meet her… one day."
In that moment, when you’d shoved your phone into his hands and leaned a little too close, it was like you had given him something he couldn’t get anywhere else: a glimpse of something real.
Something personal. Something you had never shared with anyone else.
"She’s a handful," you continued, oblivious to the way your words struck him. "She loves attention, especially when I’m working. She’ll jump right onto my desk and try to sit on my laptop, even if she’s already eaten and had a nap."
“And do you… have time for her?” Nanami asked before he could stop himself, the question slipping out like an impulse.
You raised an eyebrow, amused, clearly not expecting such a question from him. "Of course I do. It’s not all work, Nanami. You should know that by now-and anyways, you have time for Megumi, Yuki and Nobara."
"You think I… have time for them?" he asked, though he didn't mean to. His voice sounded flat, detached, like it always did. But there was a little edge to it now—a layer of something deeper that he couldn’t quite cover up.
Your eyes flickered to him, slightly puzzled by the change in his tone. “I mean, you do, don’t you? You’re always so on top of everything, Nanami. They all look up to you. It’s obvious.”
You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, as if it were just a fact of life. But Nanami couldn't quite shake the way your words tugged at him. Did you really see him like that? Did you see the way he looked after the interns, always ensuring they had what they needed, always pushing them to do better?
“Yeah,” he answered, voice quieter than he intended, “I suppose I do.”
-
The final week of the portfolio was a blur of meetings and final adjustments, the finish line in sight. But even with the end so close, Nanami couldn’t shake the thoughts of you. It was maddening, how much his mind kept drifting back to those small, seemingly innocent moments.
He was losing it, you were always. On. His. Fucking. Mind.
He dreamt of you.
It was impossible.
By the time the final presentation rolled around, Nanami’s chest was tight. He stood at the front of the room, addressing the Gojo family’s lawyers with his usual cool precision. But his eyes kept drifting back to you.
You were sitting in the front row, looking every bit the professional—composed, confident, perfect. But it wasn’t the report that caught his attention. It was the way you held yourself, the way your presence seemed to fill the room, to fill his thoughts.
And, for the first time in months, Nanami realized the truth.
He wasn’t just working with you anymore. No, somewhere along the way, he had started to want you.
In every way possible.
And that realization terrified him.
But it also made his heart race.
When the presentation wrapped up, and the Gojo family’s lawyers gave their approval, the weight lifted from his shoulders, but something else remained. A tension, a charge between you and him that wasn’t just about the project anymore.
“You did well,” you said quietly as you gathered your things, standing up and walking over to him. Your voice was low, almost… intimate.
Nanami nodded, though his words caught in his throat. “You did well too,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended.
You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe you’ll finally meet Mochi.”
The way you said it, so lightly, like it was nothing but a joke, made Nanami’s heart thud in his chest.
But as you turned to leave, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.
And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe it.
-
That week of vacation was amazing- for you, it was a welcome respite, a much-needed break to recover from the endless grind of the Gojo portfolio, after six months of work, you could relax.
For Nanami?
Pure torture. The dreams got worse, he's hear your heals clicking on the floor in his sleep, he's feel your hands on him, your nails racking against his back, your lips against his neck-God. He needed to get a grip.
He couldn't escape you.
It was pure torture.
No matter how hard he tried to immerse himself in the quiet of his apartment, in the mundane routines that used to ground him- the things he usually did, your voice echoed in his mind. Your laugh, your teasing, the way you’d look at him when you caught him staring. He could hear the click of your heels on the office floor, so vividly that it was as though you were still right there beside him. And then, the dreams, they continued.
But they got worse. So much worse.
At first, they were simple, moments of you brushing against him, the soft press of your shoulder against his. But then, they evolved.
His nights were now filled with images of you—your hands on him, nails raking down his back as he kissed you. Your lips against his neck, your breath against his ear, whispering his name.
He would wake up gasping, the sheets tangled around him, his body aching in ways he couldn't explain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and no matter how many times he tried to shake it off, it would linger. Every night, it became harder to distinguish between sleep and waking, as if you were already there with him, in his apartment, on his couch, in his bed.
You. You were in every corner of his thoughts.
He could probably charge you rent for how much you were plaguing his mind.
By the end of the week, when his phone buzzed with a reminder that work was starting again, he felt his stomach drop. His vacation was over, and he was about to be thrown back into the fire. Into you.
-
The first day back at the office was not easy.
But at least the Gojo portfolio was over with.
The minute Nanami stepped through the door, he was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and papers, the quiet buzz of activity, and the sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor.
He froze for a second, his body tense, heart hammering, before he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. The familiar sight of you, sitting at your workstation, absorbed in your laptop, sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sight of you, how much he needed it.
Nanami’s hand hovered over the pile of reports, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze drifted over to you again, and there you were, typing away on your laptop, completely absorbed in your work. The sound of your fingers on the keys was strangely soothing, but it also made his thoughts spiral in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Your nails were a dark red now. Still with two silver rings.
His pulse thudded in his ears, a constant reminder of how aware he was of you—how every second you were near him felt like a slow burn, something that crept under his skin and made his chest ache with a longing he couldn’t deny.
And the worst part? He hated how much he liked it. He hated that you had a power over him, that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, that stupid smile of yours would make him forget everything else.
You, in eleven months, had become the centre of his universe.
“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, not even looking up from your screen, the words light, casual.
“Morning,” he replied, his voice colder than he intended, his eyes snapping down to the reports in front of him. But his mind wasn’t on the work; it was on you, as always. The way your fingers danced over the keyboard, the way the sunlight caught in your hair, making it seem impossibly soft, like it belonged to a dream.
God, he was a fool.
A couple minutes later, one of the assistants brought you two coffee's, Nanami wondered for a second, then tried his damn hardest to focus back on his work, until he saw something in the corner of his eye.
A coffee cup.
Steaming.
His favorite.
You winked: "You're gonna need it, after a week of vaca, I always feel like death coming back to work."
Yeah, Nanami was fucked.
He hadn’t even asked for it, yet you had remembered. The perfect temperature, the exact strength of the brew, just how he liked it. His fingers twitched at his sides, desperately holding back the flood of feelings he wasn’t ready to face. It was ridiculous, how much your small gesture unraveled him. But then again, everything about you unraveled him.
You had done this before- during the Gojo project.
And yet… He stared down at the coffee, willing himself not to give in to the urge to reach for it, to acknowledge your presence more than he already had. Instead, he pretended to focus on the reports, trying to push the rising tide of emotion back down.
But then your voice broke through his thoughts, and it was so casual, so easy.
He couldn’t even look at you without his heart going haywire, without his thoughts betraying him, reminding him of every little thing that made him want to reach across that desk and—
No.
He set the coffee down, a little more firmly than he meant to, the sound of the mug against the desk loud in the otherwise quiet office.
He had to focus.
He had to keep it together.
You reached for your own coffee, that little smug smile still playing on your lips as you took a sip, not even acknowledging how much it was driving him mad. He clenched his fists under the table, trying to ignore the strange pull in his gut.
He needed a moment to breathe.
“Do you have something to say, or are you just going to sit there looking at me like you want to bite my head off?” you asked casually, tapping your nails against your cup as if you were entirely unaware of the storm you were causing inside him.
Of course you wouldn't give him a moment to breath.
Why would you.
"No," he finally said, his voice quieter, almost too calm. "Just trying to focus on work."
You looked at him, your expression softening, almost imperceptibly, and that was what broke him.
"I don't think you're fooling anyone," you said, voice low now. "You think I don’t see how you’ve been acting lately? How you can barely look me in the eye when we’re in the same room?"
He could see your cleavage-fuck.
No.
Eyes up.
You were actually a bit impressed, Nanami didn't falter, his eyes stayed perfectly locked on yours. Un-moving. Professional. Like a good gentleman, keeping his eyes locked on yours while he could potentially have.. quite the view.
His gaze remained locked on yours, his face betraying nothing, as if you hadn’t just called him out on everything he had been trying so desperately to hide.
“Don’t worry, Nanami. I’m not going to bite,” you said softly, but there was a subtle undercurrent in your voice, one that had his pulse quickening all over again. You tilted your head slightly, as if savouring the effect you had on him- on the inside, you were kicking your feet like a little girl.
“I wasn’t worried,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, the words barely making it past his lips. “I just don’t see the point in discussing it.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, your smile deepening.
“Really? Because you’ve been acting like you’re dying to say something. You know, it’s kind of hard to ignore how much tension there’s been between us lately. And it’s not just me noticing, you know. Rina has noticed, Aiko had-hell, even the interns have."
But you shrugged, continuing to speak: "Anyways. T's up to you."
And with that, you gave him a card-the companies card, with a time: 7:30 pm, at the Spark Bar. You turned and walked away.
It was taking every ounce of self-control not to follow you, not to barge into your office and demand to know exactly what you meant by all of this. To demand you give him answers for the way his heart raced every time you entered the room, the way you made him lose focus the moment you said his name. The way he hadn’t even been able to look at another woman the entire time he’d worked with you. The way everything else—work, responsibilities, life—had blurred into the background whenever you were near.
-
That evening, exactly 7:29 pm, he stepped into the bar. He scanned the place for a moment, it wasn't packed, but wasn't completely empty. Then he saw you. Your blouse, undone a couple of buttons, just enough to show a hint of skin. The sharp line of your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the soft sheen of your skin in the low light. It was almost like you were daring him to look, daring him to notice how much more real you were without the rigid structure of the office around you.
And then there was the way you were sitting—one leg crossed over the other, just enough to hike the hem of your pencil skirt a little higher, the smooth skin of your thigh peeking out.
Nanami’s breath hitched. His eyes dragged unwillingly over the exposed skin, his pulse hammering in his chest. He wanted to look away. He wanted to pull himself together. But he couldn’t.
You were a vision. Damn you.
“Nanami,” you said, your voice slow, deliberate. “Glad you could make it. Cutting it close, I thought punctuality was one of your virtues.”
Nanami slid onto the stool beside you, his movements stiff, controlled. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling slightly as if to keep them from reaching for you. He let out a slow, measured breath.
“Had to think it through,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, like sandpaper dragged across stone. He glanced at you, forcing his gaze to stay locked on your face, but it was a battle. “Didn’t want to waste your time.”
You watched carefully as he removed his jacket, and because of the heat, rolled his sleeves up. You un-bashfully stared at his forearms.
You smirked, leaning back just enough to savour the view as Nanami rolled his sleeves up, revealing those forearms that had no right looking so strong. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell he knew. He had to know the effect he was having, the way your eyes tracked every flex of muscle beneath the skin, how you bit your lip without meaning to.
But he didn’t acknowledge it. Of course not. That wasn’t his style.
“Thinking it through?” you echoed, swirling the drink in your glass, the ice clinking softly. “And here I thought you were decisive. But maybe I overestimated you.”
Nanami’s jaw clenched. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
You leaned forward slightly, propping your elbow on the bar, your chin resting on your hand, watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes that had undone him time and time again. “You are,” you murmured.
You swirled the drink again, the clink of ice in glass the only sound between you for a beat too long. Finally, you broke the silence, voice low, almost teasing.
“So… did you think it through?”
Nanami exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze.
It was torture.
Pure, unrelenting torture. The way you were sitting there, confident, self-assured, every inch of you carefully constructed to drive him insane.
“I did,” he said quietly, the words tight, like they had to be pried out of him. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, closing the distance between you just enough that your perfume wrapped around him like a noose. “And yet, here I am.”
Your eyes went to his forearm, then his hands-imagining them around your neck- oof. No.
“Here you are,” you repeated, the words barely above a whisper. “So tell me, what conclusion did you come to?”
His eyes met yours, and he didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. There was something raw in his gaze, something that was both reverent and desperate, like a man on the verge of breaking.
“The conclusion,” he said, voice low, gravelly, “is that I’ve been lying to myself.”
You leaned in, breath catching in your throat at the gravity of his words, but you didn’t interrupt. You let him speak.
“I’ve tried,” he continued, his voice steady but heavy with restraint. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. To focus on the job. To pretend that every glance, every word, every goddamn smile didn’t affect me.”
He exhaled, the sound sharp and hollow, his eyes darkening as they searched your face for some reaction. “But it does. You do.”
There it was. Laid bare. Raw. Unapologetic.
You tilted your head, your expression unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something softer in your eyes now-internally you were giggling like a little girl, loving this.
“And what exactly have I done to you, Nanami?”
“What have you done to me?” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as if to laugh off the absurdity of it. “You’ve…” He struggled for the right words, his throat tight with emotions he had never allowed himself to feel, not this strongly, not like this.
“You’ve made me forget how to breathe,” he finally admitted, the words coming out raw. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists on the bar as if they were the only things keeping him anchored, the veins becoming more prominent. “I can’t think straight when you’re near me. Every time you speak, I lose myself for a moment. Every time you look at me, I lose track of everything else.”
Your lips parted as if you were about to say something, but Nanami wasn’t done. The words were spilling out now, and there was no stopping them.
“God, I’m so fucking aware of you. You make me feel like I’m always two steps behind, like I’m running from something I’ve already given into. Every time you walk into the room, I lose my mind. Every time you look at me, I want to pull you closer, but I can’t. I won’t.” His breath caught in his throat, and his chest tightened. “I’ve tried to keep it professional, to keep it normal. But you’ve made it impossible.”
You were fighting a smile, watching this poor man unravel in front of you.. you almost felt sympathy.
“And here I thought you didn’t like me,” you teased, your voice soft, teasing but with a tenderness laced beneath it, the kind that made his throat tighten even more.
Nanami let out a breath, low and uneven. “I tried not to.”
The bar felt smaller, the air heavier, thick with everything left unsaid between you. Nanami’s confession hung between you like a fragile thread, one tug away from snapping. He sat there, rigid, shoulders tense, every line of his body taut with the effort of holding himself back- he looked almost delicious like that.
Stressed out.
Over you- how flattering.
“And yet, here we are,” you murmured, your voice low, soothing. “You, sitting here, spilling your heart out. And me, still waiting to understand why you’ve been driving yourself crazy.”
“Because it’s you,” he said, “Because every time I tried to push it away, you’d do something—laugh, roll your eyes, challenge me—and I’d lose all sense of reason.”
"It’s me, huh?” You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, but your eyes… your eyes betrayed something else. “I’ve got that much power over you?”
“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, voice tight with both frustration and a deep, aching longing that he couldn’t bury any longer. He was done pretending. Done lying to himself. He was so fucking tired of fighting this.
You could tell.
"I think it's time you meet Mochi no?"
The innuendo was clear, you were inviting him back to your place.
Nanami froze, the words hanging in the air between you, the invitation wrapped in a teasing smirk that belied the weight of it. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“You—” he began, his voice breaking, “You can’t be serious.” The words were an automatic defense, but they tasted wrong on his tongue. His throat was dry. He could barely force them out.
But you didn’t flinch.
“I’m very serious, Nanami,” you whispered.
“Mochi?” His voice cracked on the word, like he was grasping for any semblance of control. “Your cat?” He sounded strained, like he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t what it clearly was.
“Yes, Nanami.” You leaned in slightly, your tone sweet, teasing. “My cat. Who else did you think I was talking about?”
“You…” he took a deep breath in, struggling to regain control, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” you teased innocently, though the gleam in your eyes told a different story. “But you seem… flustered.”
"Mochi." He repeated, he looked sort of… confused now- much to your amusement.
“Yes, Nanami.” Your voice was soft but the underlying challenge was unmistakable. “My cat. What else would I mean? I didn’t realize you had such a vivid imagination.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and almost apologetic, the words tumbling out without him thinking. “I don’t understand. I—” He stopped himself, realizing how desperate he must sound, how unhinged he was becoming.
But how could he not? You had him tied up in knots.
“Are you sure you don’t understand?” you asked softly, almost too innocently. You let the silence stretch between you for just a second, watching him carefully.
You grabbed his tie, toying with the soft fabric.
Nanami blinked, he turned towards the barman: "The tab please- hers too please."
You grinned.
"Payin' for me are you? My my, what a gentleman."
But you remained silent after that, watching Nanami pay for your drink, slide back onto his jacket and stare at you:
"So you said I could meet Mochi right?"
-
The instant you were back in your apartment, pushing the door open, the damn cat jumped on you- literaly. With a startled laugh, you barely managed to catch the small, fluffy body in your arms, the cat immediately starting to purr loudly, nuzzling into your neck with affection.
You looked up at Nanami, standing frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide, a soft chuckle escaping him at the sight of your struggle with Mochi.
“Meet Mochi,” you grinned, raising an eyebrow as you settled the cat comfortably in your arms. The little ball of fur had already claimed you as his personal perch. "I told you it was a very important introduction."
This version of you, so warm, so open, made his heart feel heavy. The tension, the walls, the professional front—none of it existed here. Just you. And him. And that damn cat, of course.
Mochi jumped out of your arms, and trotted up to Nanami. You looked down at the cat.
"Mochi, this is Nanami Kento."
The way you said his name-argh.
He had to close his eyes and swallow for a second.
“Hi, Mochi,” he said softly, bending down to pet the cat. But his attention was still divided. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, standing there in the dim light of your apartment, looking so effortless, so inviting. The warmth of your home, of your presence, was intoxicating in a way that made his head spin.
You watched him, that teasing glint never leaving your eyes. He wasn’t the same stoic, composed Nanami from work. No, here, in your apartment, he was something else entirely—vulnerable, uncertain, human.
“You know,” you said, your voice a little quieter now, your teasing tone replaced by something more genuine, “I didn’t invite you here just to meet Mochi.”
You grabbed his tie, pulling him close, way too close, the tips of his ears burned.
"How many innuendos do I have to dish out for me to make it clear, hm?"
Before he could process anything more, you closed the distance, your lips pressing against his with a heat that burned away every lingering doubt, every shred of self-control. Nanami’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and in that moment, all of the tension, all of the frustration, all of the longing that had been building for months collapsed into something more real.
More raw.
And as you kissed him, deeply, without hesitation, he realised he was never going to be able to walk away from this. From you. He had already crossed the point of no return.
And for the first time in a long while, Nanami didn’t care.
