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timelessjk · 2 months ago

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somehow, you. | jungkook au

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ summary: he was the quiet one in class. the type who never talked unless called on, who looked at the world from behind thick-rimmed glasses and stayed out of everyone’s way. you? you were the girl everyone knew. the one who never let anyone in. you weren’t looking for connection, and he wasn’t the kind to ask for it. but still… he did. and somehow, it worked.

ratings: 18+

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

genre: college AU, emotional intimacy, slightly slow burned.

warnings: explicit sexual content including unprotected sex (not advised), soft but possessive dirty talk, emotional vulnerability, praise, mild insecurity and reassurance, and a rough but tender dynamic in an established relationship. and ofc…big dicc jungkook cause UGH.

word count: 5.2k

a/n: hi! ok so. this is my very first fic i’m posting and i’m actually kind of losing my mind about it?? originally it was supposed to be two parts (pt.1 soft, pt.2 smut) but i got carried away and ended up writing it all in one go because i wouldn’t shut up abt this two!!

*banners/dividers credits to the owners ♡ ྀི

thank you for reading!! leave your comments on what u think of my first fic 🥺! 🤍 - Sher

requests are officially opened!

The classroom always smelled like old air and pen inks, a familiar background hum to every forgettable weekday morning.

You sat at the back, as always, where you could stretch your legs, twirl your pen, and zone out without anyone bothering you. People knew you, too well.

Not because you tried, but because the world couldn’t help but notice the girl who always seemed a little untouchable.

Then the teacher changed the seating plan.

“Jeon Jungkook. You’re moving to the back, beside her.”

A ripple of murmurs went through the class, subtle but present. You could feel the stares. You looked up just in time to see him glance nervously your way before lowering his eyes and walking toward the seat beside you.

Jungkook. Everyone knew who he was, even if he rarely spoke. Top of the class. Never late. Always dressed clean, minimal, quiet. You didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t need another nerdy guy going stiff just because you shared a desk.

But that day, he surprised you.

He sat down carefully, barely making a sound, and opened his book. No fidgeting. No glances. Just… stillness. Until you heard the smallest breath of a murmur.

“Chapter’s interesting,” he said, eyes still on the page.

You blinked.

“What?”

He didn’t flinch. “The reading. It’s good. Surprising, kind of.”

You studied him, confused. He hadn’t even looked at you. It was like he wasn’t trying to talk to you—just thinking aloud, and you happened to hear.

You didn’t answer.

But your curiosity flickered.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days, he didn’t speak again. But he was always on time. Always glancing at your desk when he thought you weren’t looking—quick, nervous flicks of his eyes.

Then came the Wednesday.

You’d forgotten your pens, bag full of it. Not on purpose—just one of those mornings where you left everything behind. You muttered something under your breath, frustrated, and slammed your bag down.

Before you could think to dig through your things again, a sleek black pen rolled across your desk.

You turned. Jungkook was still facing forward, penless himself now.

“You sure?” you asked, surprised.

He nodded once. “I have another.”

You waited for a smile. A joke. Some kind of flirtation.

Nothing.

Just a calm silence.

It threw you off more than someone asking for your number ever could.

Then came the Thursday rainstorm.

You stayed behind after class, waiting for it to ease, stuck at the school’s entrance while thunder rumbled in the distance. Everyone else had already left, except for him.

He walked up beside you without a word, holding an umbrella. For a second, you thought he was going to walk past.

He hesitated.

“You live near East Gate, right?” he asked, voice low, eyes on the rain.

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you leave that way. Every day.”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted the umbrella slightly toward you. “Come on.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads. But you followed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

That walk changed everything.

He didn’t try to impress you. Didn’t pry. Just walked beside you, holding the umbrella with quiet precision to make sure it covered you both.

When you reached your turn, you stopped.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He paused. Looked at you for the first time, really looked. Eyes soft behind his wet fringe.

“Because you look like no one ever asks how you’re doing,” he said. “And i kind of want to.”

You stood frozen as he walked away, raindrops hitting your shoulders after the umbrella disappeared with him down the path.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

From then on, he became your quiet shadow.

Always beside you in class. But not in a clingy way. He respected your space but showed up when it mattered.

One morning, you came in late, eyes puffy from a night you didn’t want to talk about. You slumped into your chair, hoodie up, bare faced (that rarely happens whenever you go to class) sleeves tugged over your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

But when you finally looked at your desk, there was a folded note, written in perfect; clean handwriting.

“It’s okay to have days like this. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. I’ve got notes if you need them.”

You folded the paper slowly. Pressed your lips together. And something inside you melted.

You weren’t used to being seen like that.

You weren’t used to someone not asking for anything in return.

That day, you turned to him and whispered, “Thanks.” giving him a small smile.

He looked up, startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to respond.

He then smiled, unsure, but real.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You think to yourself, you might fell for him. Maybe. Which is a weird feeling to you.

Given that you both barely have a proper (real) conversation.

Well you did exchange numbers—that’s because you both somehow were assigned to work together, so Jungkook thought it would be better to interact outside of class.

For study purpose of course.

Eventually both of you did text one another occasionally. Just short texts nothing conversation worthy.

Yeah, you felt this weird butterflies.

But, you didn’t fall all at once.

It happened slowly. Over study sessions you didn’t consider were study sessions, coffee walks that became routines, quiet texts late at night when he’d ask, “Did you eat today?” and would not stop asking until you said yes.

Over the time, during study sessions, you found yourself laughing around him. Trusting him.

Letting your guard down without realizing it had dropped.

One night, you asked through text, in your bed, loneliness crept again, “You know i’m kind of… a mess, right?”

He replied few seconds too fast.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re the kind of mess that makes sense to me.”

And you fell.

Quietly. Completely.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You weren’t sure when the lines blurred. When study sessions became excuses to sit a little closer, or when shared coffee turned into shared glances.

Jungkook didn’t rush anything. He never did.

But one Friday, something shifted.

He caught up with you after class, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, headphones around his neck, looking nervous in a way that made your heart weirdly ache.

“Hey,” he said, walking beside you. “There’s this exhibition at the design building… the one with digital installations. I thought maybe you’d like it.”

You turned to look at him. “You inviting me?”

He nodded, looking at the floor. “If you want. No pressure. It’s tomorrow.”

You almost teased him. Almost said something sarcastic just to keep things from feeling too serious. But something in the way he looked open, nervous. The sincere in his eyes made you soften.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The exhibition was small. Kind of quiet but dreamy.

Digital light shifted across the walls like watercolor in motion. Projected clouds drifted across the floor.

Every room had its own ambient sound. It’s soft, with the electronic music and echoing whispers. It should’ve felt awkward, being alone together in that hush.

But with him, it didn’t.

You stood in one of the installations surrounded by cascading lines of digital rain, blue and silver glowing all around and he looked at you like he wanted to remember the moment.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He glanced at the ceiling, then back at you. “Me too.”

A beat passed.

“Honestly… i didn’t know if you’d say yes,” he admitted. “To coming here.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

He looked at you. “Because i’m not like the other people you talk to.”

“You mean the loud ones? I don’t talk to just anyone, anymore. Besides, didn’t we spend a good amount of time together for the past month to be considered as…friends?”

He smiled, barely. “Yeah. The ones who know what to say. And yeah i knew that but still, i thought it was just a study session, coffee catch ups with you—that you’d rather spend your time with your other…friends.”

You shifted your weight. “Maybe i got tired of people who always know what to say and FYI, i’d rather spend my time with you.”

Silence.

Just the sound of soft electronic rainfall.

Then he said it so low you almost missed it.

“I really like being around you.”

You turned to him, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

He’s so dreamy, handsome.

“I really like being around you too.”

And he looked at you like you’d just said the one thing he’d been waiting to hear.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your first kiss wasn’t at the exhibition.

That night had already held enough. The way he kept sneaking glances at you while pretending to read the plaque beside a sculpture, the way his hand hovered close to yours but never quite touched.

You walked the whole gallery like that, quiet but full of something neither of you wanted to name yet.

Later, he offered to walk you home. You said yes.

The air was cold but not bitter, the city dim and quiet in that in-between hour.

Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, your breath blooming white in the air. He kept his hands in his coat pockets, close but not brushing yours.

“Did you like the exhibit?” he asked, his voice low and a little shy.

“I did,” you said. “But i think i liked walking around with you more.”

He turned his head slightly, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “It was… nice. I don’t usually do things like that. With people.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then “You mean dates?”

You blinked. “Was this a date?”

His voice went even softer. “I wanted it to be.”

You stopped walking. Your apartment was just ahead, but you didn’t want to go in yet. The moment felt full.

Suspended.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Aren’t you always?” you giggled.

He smiled faintly. “I think about you a lot more than i should.”

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means i’ve liked you for a while. Even before you started talking to me.”

“You’re not exactly… forward, you know.”

“I didn’t think i was your type.”

“You’re not,” you said simply. “At least, not what i thought my type was.”

His expression didn’t change much, but you saw the flicker of hope behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your keys, twisting them between your fingers. “You’ve been patient with me.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said. “But sometimes i think… i just want to know if i’m the only one feeling this.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

His scarf was wrapped high, almost to his mouth. His cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes warm, uncertain, but wide open.

He wasn’t trying to be smooth. He was just there, telling you the truth.

So then, slowly and tentatively, he stepped closer, his breath shallow.

His voice barely carried “Can I kiss you?”

You felt everything in you pause.

And then “Yeah,” you said softly, heart pounding.

“Yeah, you can.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, hand rising to your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, slow, careful.

He was learning something sacred; he didn’t want to rush what he’d waited so long to feel.

When he pulled back, your lips still tingled from the warmth of him, your chest full and fluttering.

You smiled, breath curling in the air. “You always this careful?”

His voice was low, but sure. “Only when it’s important.”

And you knew, right then, it was.

You didn’t talk much after that kiss.

Not because it was awkward. Because it wasn’t. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Soft, steady, enough.

He waited for you to open the door. Didn’t push. Just gave you that small smile, the one he only ever gave you and said, “Text me when you’re inside.”

You nodded, stepped in, and closed the door.

Then leaned your forehead against it.

You were in trouble.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days were different in all the ways that mattered.

You still sat beside each other in class. Still studied together in the library. But now there were new things. A small, subtle shifts.

His knee brushed against yours and didn’t move. He’d lean in when he spoke, voice softer. You’d catch him looking at you, and this time, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t used to this version of yourself; unguarded. And Jungkook, for all his quietness, seemed to understand that.

He never rushed you. Never asked “what are we?” or “where is this going?”

He just stayed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

It wasn’t planned.

The day had been normal. Classes, campus noise, another group project that had you rolling your eyes while Jungkook just quietly took notes. He always took notes, even when no one else cared. You liked that about him. You’d never told him.

You were both walking back from campus, the sky soft with evening gray, when it started to drizzle.

Jungkook held his bag over your head.

You laughed. “You know i’m not gonna melt, right?”

He just looked down at you. “You’re still cold when it rains. You get quiet.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because he was right. You did get quiet.

And he noticed.

By the time you reached your apartment, your hair was damp, and your mood had shifted. You weren’t sad, just heavy.

One of those days. You didn’t say much as you opened the door and let him in.

Jungkook toed off his shoes carefully, still holding that nervous energy he always carried when he was in your space. You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door and stood in the kitchen, hands on the counter.

“Want tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The silence between you was soft. Not tense. Just full of all the things you weren’t ready to say out loud. You made tea. He sat at the table. You sat across from him, knees brushing under the wood.

Then, out of nowhere, you said it.

“I don’t let people in.”

He looked up, startled. You weren’t looking at him—just staring into your mug.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you continued. “It’s easier when no one expects anything.”

He stares.

“I never expected anything,” he said.

You finally looked at him. He looked… calm. A little sad. But calm.

“I just liked being around you.”

You nodded slowly. “You still do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Even more now.”

The air between you shifted. Slowed. Deepened.

And you whispered, “Stay tonight?”

He didn’t ask questions.

So he said, “Okay.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You sat on the floor of your bedroom while he changed into the extra clothes you gave him. A quiet hum played from the speaker, barely audible.

When he stepped back into the room; barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes soft, you suddenly felt that aching fear again.

What if you messed this up?

What if it didn’t last?

And then he crossed the room and knelt in front of you.

His hand rested gently on your knee. “You don’t have to be anything for me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to perform. Or smile. Or fix anything.”

You looked down at your lap, fighting the warmth in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait while you figure it out,” he said.

Just like that.

No grand declaration. Just steady, honest patience.

You reached for his hand and held it.

When you finally crawled into bed beside him, there was no space left between you. You pressed your back to his chest, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist. His breath tickled your shoulder.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. You meant it.

You woke to the quiet shift of fabric. The soft sound of him sitting up beside you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains in a pale blur. Your back was still warm from where his arm had rested. You blinked slowly, your mind caught between dreams and now.

Jungkook was already awake, hoodie wrinkled, hair messy from sleep.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

He looked like he was thinking too loud.

You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Hey,” you said, voice scratchy.

He turned to you immediately, like he’d been waiting. “Hey,” he echoed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “You okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then let out a quiet breath, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

“Can i ask you something?” he said softly.

You stilled, heart already beginning to tap faster in your chest. “Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I don’t want to ruin anything. I’m not trying to pressure you,” he started, voice careful. “But… what are we?”

You didn’t answer right away.

His eyes lifted. “I just…last night meant something to me. You mean something to me. And i know you don’t let people in easily. So i don’t want to assume anything, but i also don’t want to keep pretending this is just… nothing.”

You watched him for a moment, your throat tight.

“I didn’t think you’d ask,” you murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re usually the quiet one. Yknow.. the patient one.”

“I still am,” he said. “But being patient doesn’t mean I’m not feeling things too.”

You swallowed, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to explain what i feel when i’m with you. It’s new. And a little scary.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

You looked at him. “But i don’t want it to be nothing either.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, quieter this time. “Yeah.”

He shifted closer, his knee bumping gently against yours. “Then maybe… we don’t have to label it yet. But I just needed to know i wasn’t alone in it.”

“You’re not,” you said.

You meant it.

Jungkook exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Then reached out, tentative at first and he curls his fingers around yours.

“Okay,” he said, voice warm now. “Then i’m yours. However long it takes.”

You smiled, eyes stinging just a little. “You’re really not what i expected.”

He grinned finally, “I get that a lot.”

And in the quiet that followed, your fingers remained laced with his.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to run.

It had been a month.

One month since Jungkook had leaned across your front step and kissed you like it mattered. Since he’d touched your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked too fast.

And somehow, things still felt new. It’s still unreal in moments like now, with him sprawled across your bed in a hoodie, reading on his stomach, feet swaying behind him like a kid.

You were half-working on an assignment, half-watching him.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“I’m admiring,” you corrected.

He turned his head just enough to catch your smirk, then gave a small smile. “Baby,” he said under his breath, “you’re distracting.”

“You like it,” you replied, nudging his leg with your foot.

He hummed. “I do.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your relationship had grown into something… daily. Quiet rituals that made your chest ache. He’d walk you to class with your fingers looped in his sleeve. He’d wait for you outside the library, sipping iced coffee and reading the latest novel you lent him. You started wearing his hoodies without asking. He stopped looking surprised when you kissed his cheek mid-sentence.

But even with the sweetness, there was still something unspoken hanging between you.

Something warmer.

Like tonight.

He was still lying on your bed when you finally gave up pretending to work and climbed over him, plopping yourself beside his back with a sigh.

He closed his book and peeked at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re just comfy.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You say that every time you use me as a pillow.”

“Because it’s true, baby.”

You shifted, laying your head against his back. Your palm flattened over his spine.

Jungkook went still for a second and then melted.

“Do you…” you hesitated, unsure why your throat suddenly felt tight, “do you ever want to do more than just lie here?”

He was silent for a moment.

Then, softly: “Yeah. I do.”

You sat up a little, just enough to look at him.

His cheeks were already flushed.

“I just never know if you’re comfortable,” intertwining your fingers together.

“Or if you want to. I’ve never really… gotten this far before.” he added.

You blinked. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I’ve dated a few, but it never got serious. And no one ever really looked at me like you do.”

That last part made your chest squeeze.

“You mean like you hung the stars?” you teased gently.

He smiled, eyes shy. “Kind of, yeah.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only nervous one, baby.”

“I’m not?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been with my fair share of…flings? boyfriends? whatever you wanna call it—but it never felt right nor did it worked out, obviously. It always felt like they expected something from me. You don’t.”

Jungkook shifted, sitting up properly now. You were both facing each other, legs crossed.

“Can i ask you something?” he said quietly.

You nodded.

His voice was careful. “If we… wanted to try something. Anything. Would you tell me if you weren’t ready?”

“Always,” you promised.

He reached forward, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “Okay.”

You leaned into his palm.

And after a beat, you whispered, “Would you kiss me now?”

His lips twitched. “I’d give you anything you want.”

When he kissed you slow and warm, one hand still cupping your jaw, it felt like everything in the world slowed down. Like it was just you and him, tangled in hush and trust.

You shifted closer, your hand slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie, resting just above his waistband. You felt him freeze, just slightly.

“Too much?” you whispered.

“No,” he breathed. “Just new.”

You smiled into the kiss. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Promise?” he breathes into the kiss.

“Promise.”

And when he pulled you fully into his lap, burying his face in your neck with a soft laugh, it felt like something more than new.

It happened on a night that didn’t feel special; no candles, no dramatic music, just the two of you in your room after dinner, legs tangled on your bed, warm with laughter and full from pasta Jungkook had insisted on cooking himself.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and one of your oversized shirts, sleeves pushed up, his hair messily falling across his forehead.

You had just pulled him down for a kiss. Playful, slow.

But then it lingered. Deepened.

And something shifted.

His tongue slipped against yours, deliberate. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

When you whimpered against his lips, he pulled back slightly, gaze heavy-lidded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting you to kiss me like that.”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been waiting to.”

“I have been,” he murmured. “For so fucking long.”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“We’ve kissed many, many times before?,” you giggled.

And then his lips was on yours again, more desperate this time.

Jungkook leaned over you, pressing you into the mattress, his body slotting between your thighs like it was instinct.

You felt how hard he was through the thin fabric of your shorts. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He wanted you to feel it.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, tugging at his shirt. “Please.”

He sat back just enough to yank it over his head, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You sure?”

“Baby,” you said, reaching for him again, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Something in his expression cracked open at that relief, hunger, something fierce and protective all at once.

“Then let me have you,” he said, voice dark, breath ragged. “Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

The way he said it, with need dripping into every syllable made your whole body shudder.

He tugged your shorts down fast, your panties going with them. When you gasped, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then hovered over you again, his cock straining visibly in his sweats.

“God,” he whispered, eyes raking over you. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Laid out for me.”

Your hands reached for him, desperate. “I want you, Jungkook. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You won’t,” he said, voice curling around you like silk and smoke.

He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly as he stared at you.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “No idea how long i wanna be inside you.”

You reached between your legs, spreading yourself open for him.

His mouth dropped open slightly. “Fuck.”

He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if i go too fast, okay?”

You nodded, heart hammering. “I trust you.”

That did something to him.

He pushed in slow, deep, all at once.

Your breath hitched, legs trembling.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel like heaven. So wet for me already.”

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back.

“Move,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He obeyed without hesitation, pulling back, then slamming into you again with a rhythm that made your head spin.

It was hard and deep. Like he knew exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.

“Baby,” he breathed, panting against your throat, “you’re taking me so well.”

You moaned, legs tightening around him.

“You always this tight, or is it just for me?”

“Only you,” you choked out, voice cracking. “Only ever been like this for you.”

That made him growl.

“You feel perfect. Like you’re made for me.”

Every thrust dragged a whimper from your lips. Every kiss to your neck made you melt further under him.

You could feel how careful he was, even in the roughness. Like he wanted you to feel claimed, but not hurt. Never that.

“You like when i talk like this?” he asked, voice low in your ear.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck, Jungkook.”

“You make me lose my mind, princess. Got me thinking about you all day. Couldn’t wait to fuck you full of my come inside.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shifted his hips, angling deeper. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna come on my cock hm?”

You nodded desperately, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. “Yes….don’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did.

And in the silence that followed, he slowed down, but pressed in deep and stayed there.

His body trembled above yours, like he was holding something that wasn’t his release, but something heavier.

You cupped his cheek gently. “Jungkook?”

His voice broke.

“I love you,” he whispered; then again, faster, almost panicked. “I love you so much it’s scaring me.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide.

“I—” His throat worked as he swallowed, his brows drawn tight with emotion. “I never thought i’d have this. You. I never thought someone like you would ever even look at me.”

“Jungkook—”

“I used to watch you,” he continued, voice cracking. “In class. You were always so confident. So distant. But then you sat next to me,” he growled. “God, i still remember the way you looked that day. I thought it was a joke. Like there’s no way you would sit beside me.”

Your chest ached. He kept going.

“But you did. You stayed. You talked to me. You let me see pieces of you no one else gets to. And i still don’t know why. I still think maybe you’ll wake up and realize you could do better and just… leave.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging.

“But you don’t,” he whispered. “You stayed. You’ve been patient with me when i don’t know what to say. You still kiss me like i matter.”

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“I don’t know what i did to deserve you. But fuck—i’m so glad you exist. I’m so glad you sat next to me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the silence as hesitation, and something in his face crumpled.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to say it back. I just….i needed you to know. Even if i’m not what you expected. Even if I’m not enough.”

And that’s when it hit you.

This boy; this quiet, soft-hearted boy had been holding it in for months.

You surged up and kissed him.

You kissed him like you were giving him an answer.

He gasped against your lips when you pulled away.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Are you kidding? You’re everything i want and more.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I didn’t say it sooner because i was scared i’d ruin this,” you said. “But Jungkook… you are everything i could ever ask for.”

He let out a shaky breath, half a laughing, half a sobbing as he kissed you again, deeper this time, needily.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The way he was moving inside you, or the way he was looking at you.

Like you were something he’d never believed he could have.

Every thrust was deep, steady, but trembling with emotion. He was holding on for dear life. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat on his brow, his breath hot and uneven.

“God,” Jungkook groaned, voice raw, “you feel so good, too good.”

You cupped his face again, thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. “You can let go. i’ve got you.”

But he didn’t. Not yet.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered. “I don’t want us to end.”

“We won’t,” you said softly. “I’m right here baby.”

He choked on a breath, hips stuttering. “I’ve never… never loved anyone like this.”

You nodded, tears welling. “Me either.”

And still, he didn’t stop moving. Not when your body clung to his like a prayer, as your nails curled against his back, while your lips parted with little gasps that sounded like his name.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “I want you to come inside. Cmon baby.”

His pace faltered; sharper, desperate. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he breathed. “Can’t believe it’s you.”

Then, with a deep groan against your neck, he finally gave in as he shuddered in your arms, body tensing, spilling into you like it was all too much and not enough at once.

You held him through it.

Through the tremble in his limbs.

He whispered “I love you” that followed on the heels release. Ropes of come dripping out as he pulls out slowly then inside again. You moaned at the sensation.

He didn’t move for a while. He just stayed there, inside you, wrapped around you, like he couldn’t stand to lose the warmth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder. “I want to, though.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Me too.”

Eventually, he shifted, settling beside you, your bodies still tangled beneath the blankets.

The silence was heavy but comforting. No more fear. No more holding back.

Just breathing. Together.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He traced your jaw with his thumb, eyes soft.

“Out of everyone in this whole world… somehow, it was you.”

Your chest ached.

You kissed him, slow and deep and sure.

And you thought, yeah.

Somehow, it was him too.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #timelessjk

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kaiist · 2 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The tension between you and Xavier had been building for the past ten minutes. The living room felt smaller with each passing second, the space between you charged with unspoken frustrations. He remained still as always while you gesticulated wildly, your frustration mounting as you paced back and forth.

“You can’t just disappear for hours without telling me, Xavier! I was worried sick!” Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying how genuinely frightened you’d been.

He stood with perfect posture by the window, hands clasped behind his back. “I apologize. I was helping a neighbor downstairs with their computer system. Time escaped me.” The words were perfectly reasonable, delivered in that maddeningly measured tone he always used.

His calm demeanor only fueled your irritation. How could he be so composed when you’d been imagining the worst? Fatal accidents. Hospital rooms. All the terrible possibilities that had played through your mind on repeat.

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, closing the distance between you. “This is the third time this week you’ve vanished without a word. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To call and text and get nothing back?”

Standing this close, you noticed subtle changes in his expression—his eyebrows furrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth turned down just enough to be noticeable. The tiny muscle along his jaw twitched, and you caught the quickening pulse at his neck despite his outward composure. These microexpressions—so small anyone else would miss them—revealed the emotions he struggled to articulate.

“I didn’t intend to cause distress,” he said quietly, and for once, his voice carried a hint of genuine regret. “The repair was more complex than anticipated. The family had lost access to critical medical records.”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly a mechanic or something?” You exhaled sharply, running your hands through your hair. “Just... call next time. Or text. Anything.”

His eyes met yours, searching. “The thought didn’t occur to me. That was... an oversight.”

Something in his admission—the rare acknowledgment of an emotional mistake rather than a logical error—made your frustration shift into something else entirely. You suddenly become aware of how close you were standing, you can faintly smell the subtle scent of his cologne. Your anger was still there, but beneath it stirred something warmer.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his hoodie, and pressed your lips firmly against his. For a moment, everything froze—the argument, your racing thoughts, even time itself.

Xavier went completely still, clearly caught off guard by this abrupt change. You felt the slight intake of his breath against your lips, the momentary tension in his shoulders. Then, like ice melting in the sun, he yielded. His shoulders relaxed, and his hands—initially hovering uncertainly—found their way to your waist, steady and warm through the fabric of your shirt.

The kiss lingered longer than you’d intended, your anger dissolving with each passing second. His lips were surprisingly soft, with the faint taste of the mint tea he always drank in the evenings. What had started as impulse deepened into something tender, the physical connection saying everything words had failed to express between you.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were wider than usual, pupils slightly dilated. Xavier’s carefully composed expression had cracked completely open, revealing vulnerability you only got to see. A flush colored his cheekbones, making him look younger, more boyish.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice softer than before, slightly breathless in a way that made your heart skip.

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, equally breathless. “I’m still mad at you, though.” The declaration lacked conviction even to your own ears, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as if processing a complex equation. His thumb traced a gentle circle on your hip where his hand still rested. “I understand your concern,” he said finally, each word carefully chosen. “Next time, I’ll message you.”

You sighed, feeling the last remnants of your anger slipping away. “I just... when I couldn’t reach you, I imagined all these terrible scenarios.” Your forehead dropped against his chest, suddenly exhausted from the emotional whiplash.

“That hadn’t occurred to me, because I usually came back just fine,” he admitted quietly. His arms encircled you fully now, pulling you into an embrace. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, reassuringly present and real.

“Though if this is how our arguments conclude,” he whispered, that subtle teasing tone emerging that only you ever got to hear, “I might be tempted to provoke them more often.”

You smacked his chest lightly, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Don’t you dare.”

“Noted,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Though I make no promises about forgetting the time again. But I will promise to let you know where I am.”

“That’s all I’m asking for,” you whispered against the soft fabric of his hoodie, breathing in his familiar scent. The argument had dissolved, leaving something stronger, more honest in its wake—another layer of understanding between you and this complex, fascinating man you’d fallen for.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital cast everything in an unflattering glow, including Zayne’s stern expression as he worked on your arm. The sharp antiseptic smell permeated the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood—your blood—that had soaked through your uniform.

“Hold still,” Zayne commanded as he dabbed antiseptic on the gash along your arm. The cool liquid burned against the raw wound, making you inhale sharply.

You winced at the sting but tried to maintain a brave face. “It’s just a scratch,” you said dismissively, though the throbbing told a different story.

His eyes flicked up momentarily from his work, dark with barely contained emotion. “A ‘scratch’ that nearly severed your brachial artery,” he countered, his deft fingers working methodically on the sutures.

You watched his hands as he worked—steady, precise movements born from years of practice. The precision of his gestures contrasted sharply with the tightness around his eyes and the muscle jumping in his jaw. The silence between stitch pulls felt heavier than artillery fire.

“What were you thinking, charging like that without proper clearance?” he finally asked, voice too controlled, too measured to disguise the emotion underneath.

With each stitch, you could feel his conflicting emotions—the methodical doctor warring with the man who clearly cared for you more than he wanted to admit. His eyes remained focused on the wound, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

“I had intelligence that couldn’t wait,” you defended, though your voice lacked conviction. The pain medication was making it hard to maintain your stubborn front, and his proximity was distracting. Zayne had always been handsome, but there was something about the intensity of his focus, even while angry, that made your pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with your injury.

Zayne’s jaw tightened visibly as he reached for the surgical thread again. “Intelligence. Right.” He tied off a stitch with perhaps more force than necessary, making you flinch. His eyes immediately softened with regret for causing additional pain, though his voice remained stern. “And that intelligence was worth risking your life?”

“The mission was—”

“The mission would have failed entirely if you’d bled out in that alley,” he cut in, his voice sharp as a scalpel. “Do you have any idea what it was like—” his voice wavered, “—knowing you’re out there, but not knowing if you’d come out alive?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. The rhythmic beeping of medical equipment filled the silence, counting the heartbeats where neither of you spoke. You hadn’t considered that perspective—hadn’t thought about Zayne possibly remembering other battlefields where he’d arrived too late.

As he reached to wrap your arm, you noticed the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. It was subtle—anyone else might have missed it—but you knew those hands too well. They had patched you up countless times, had grabbed you out of harm’s way, had steadied you during your hard times. Now they betrayed his composure in a way his disciplined expression never would.

“You could have died,” he said more quietly as he smoothed the bandage over your skin, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Something in his vulnerability made your chest tighten. The walls you’d both maintained through professional necessity suddenly seemed absurd in the face of how close you’d come to never seeing him again. The realization hit you with unexpected force—what if this had been your last interaction? An argument in a sterile hospital room?

Without overthinking it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, effectively silencing his lecture. You felt his momentary surprise, the stiffening of his shoulders before something like surrender washed through him. The kiss was gentle, an apology and a reassurance wrapped into one. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours.

For a suspended moment, the hospital, the mission, the injury—everything disappeared except the point where you connected. His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, careful to avoid jostling your injured arm. The professional mask he wore so carefully had slipped entirely away, revealing the vulnerability underneath that only you were trusted to see.

When you pulled back, his expression had transformed. The stern doctor was gone. His breath came slightly faster, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

You gave him your best innocent look, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere. “Doctor, am I going to make it?”

For a moment, he appeared stunned, lips slightly parted in surprise, a flush rising from beneath the collar of his medical coat. Then he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders visibly releasing. The corner of his mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, but getting there.

“Your prognosis is favorable,” he murmured. He finished securing the bandage, his touch had gentled considerably. “But I’m prescribing close observation for the next twenty-four hours. My office would be the appropriate location for such monitoring.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then traced a path down to your lips again. This second kiss was different—unhurried and deliberate, carrying promises neither of you had voiced aloud. You felt the last of his anger dissolving.

You smiled against his lips, victory achieved. “If that’s your medical opinion, Doctor.”

“It is,” he said, carefully helping you sit up. His hand lingered at the small of your back, steadying you. “And next time, wait for backup. Please.” The ‘please’ was barely audible, a rare moment of naked vulnerability.

It was a plea from someone who couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

“I promise,” you said softly, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“Three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and—” Rafayel checked his watch with exaggerated timing, spinning around to face you as you entered his studio, “—fourteen seconds. That’s how long I’ve been waiting.” He threw his hands upward. “Do you know what I could have done in that time? I could have watched Titanic. I could have baked a soufflé—actually, no, three soufflés! I could have learned the basics of Spanish!”

You closed the door behind you, exhaustion evident in your movements. Your muscles ached from the tension of the mission, and your uniform still carried the faint smell of smoke and sweat. The emergency operation had taken everything out of you, but Rafayel was clearly in no mood to be sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel. The situation was critical and—”

“Critical enough to not send a single message?” He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He paced the room with exaggerated steps, hands gesturing wildly as if conducting an invisible orchestra of grievances. “We had plans. Specific plans that involved a sunset and a dinner reservation that I can’t get back. Do you know how many strings I had to pull? How many favors I called in?”

You dropped your bag with a heavy thud, wincing as your bruised shoulder protested the movement. “Rafayel, please—”

“The restaurant had a two-month waiting list!” He spun again, his silk shirt billowing slightly with the movement. “The chef was going to prepare that ridiculous flaming dessert you like—the one with the sparklers that always makes you smile like a child at a festival.” His voice softened momentarily before hardening again. “I even wore the shirt you like. The one that’s actually uncomfortable but makes my eyes look nice or whatever.”

He wasn’t wrong—the color of the silk did make his eyes look particularly striking, even now as they flashed with indignation. You noticed he’d styled his hair as well, and the realization that he’d put such effort into the evening made your heart twist with guilt.

“There wasn’t time to message anyone,” you explained, sinking onto the couch, too tired to remain standing through his complaints. “The comms were jammed. We barely made it out at all.”

Rafayel narrowed his eyes, studying your face for any sign of deception. “Oh, so it’s technology’s fault now?” He threw his hands up again, accidentally knocking a decorative vase that he caught with surprising reflexes before it could shatter. “Humans and their excuses. Always something or someone else to blame. ‘The sun was in my eyes! The dog ate my homework! The communications were jammed during my super-secret mission!’”

He set the vase down with care despite his agitation—a reminder that for all his dramatic flair, Rafayel was actually quite meticulous. “Next you’ll tell me there were explosions and car chases, like some absurd action movie.”

The accuracy of his sarcastic guess made you hesitate just long enough for his eyes to widen.

“Wait, there were actually explosions? And you’re just walking in here like it’s nothing?” Something flickered across his face—genuine concern breaking through the outrage—before he quickly composed himself again. “Well, that’s... that’s beside the point! The point is I was abandoned. Left to wither away on my own.”

Despite your fatigue, irritation sparked. “I didn’t exactly choose to be ambushed and pinned down for two hours! I wasn’t having fun, Rafayel!”

“And I didn’t choose to sit alone at that ridiculous restaurant while the waiter gave me pitying looks!” he shot back, voice rising as he threw himself into the armchair across from you. “Do you know how humiliating that was? Waiting and waiting while everyone whispered about the poor abandoned man? The maître d’ actually patted my shoulder, like I was some... some tragic figure!”

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, mussing it in a way that somehow made him look even more attractive—an infuriating talent he seemed unaware of. “I ordered wine. I checked my phone approximately nine thousand times. I made up elaborate excuses about my date being a super great hunter called into an emergency mission to save Linkon City.”

The genuine hurt beneath his outrage became suddenly clear. Behind the dramatic gestures and exaggerated language was real pain—the vulnerability of someone who had been genuinely worried.

You rose from the couch, crossing the small space between you. He continued his rant, though his voice lost some of its conviction as you approached.

“And then I had to walk home alone, past all those disgustingly happy couples who—”

You stepped forward, cupping his face in your hands, and pressed your lips firmly against his. You could feel the exact moment his indignation melted, his body language transforming from rigid offense to relieved surrender. For a moment, he remained stiff, clearly determined to hold onto his righteous anger. Then, with a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, his arms encircled you, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap.

The kiss tasted faintly of the expensive wine he’d mentioned—he hadn’t been exaggerating about waiting at the restaurant, at least. His fingers tangled in your hair, gentle despite his earlier theatrics, cradling your head as if you were something precious he’d feared losing.

When you pulled away, his pout remained, though considerably less convincing. His lips, slightly reddened from the kiss, contradicted his attempt at maintaining his anger. His fingers traced your cheekbone with a gentleness that contradicted his dramatic words—the clearest sign that you’d been forgiven, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

“This changes nothing,” he mumbled, even as his fingers gently traced patterns on your back, discovering and carefully avoiding the spots where you’d been injured. “I’m still upset.”

“I know,” you acknowledged softly, resting your forehead against his. “And I really am sorry about dinner. I know how much trouble you went through to arrange it.”

“You should be,” he huffed, but then rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your face. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? The things I imagined? You could have been hurt or—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “A few bruises, nothing serious.”

His eyes searched yours, seeing through the minimization. His hand found the tender spot on your shoulder that you’d been trying to hide, his touch feather-light. “Liar,” he said softly, with none of his earlier accusations. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s part of the job,” you reminded him gently. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“A job that consistently interrupts my meticulously planned romantic gestures,” he complained, but his voice had lost its edge. His fingers moved from your shoulder to your neck, then to your face, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, whole and safe. “But I suppose I’m glad you weren’t permanently damaged. That would have been extremely inconvenient for my future plans.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“You seem distracted today,” Sylus remarked, watching you from across his office room in the Onychinus’s base. His voice carried that peculiar blend of observation and judgment that never failed to set your teeth on edge. “Something troubling that brilliant mind of yours?”

You’d been on edge all morning, his casual observations hitting every nerve. The mission report in front of you blurred as you tried to focus on anything besides his piercing gaze from across the room. Each time he passed behind your chair, you could feel his presence like electricity, deliberately invading your space as if testing your limits.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you replied tersely, gripping your pen tighter.

“Clearly.” His lips curled into that infuriating smirk that made you want to either slap him or— No. You refused to follow that train of thought. “That’s why you’ve been glaring daggers at the same report for twenty minutes. Fascinating reading material, is it?”

“I’m concentrating.” You made a show of turning the page, though you hadn’t absorbed a single word from the previous one.

“On setting it ablaze with your eyes, perhaps?” He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth like aged whiskey—a sound that would be pleasant in any other context, from any other person. He pushed away from his ornate desk, crossing the room with that grace that seemed to define his every movement. “Come now, sweetie. You know I can see right through you.”

Your grip tightened on your pen until your knuckles whitened. Today, his typical banter felt like sandpaper on raw skin. The weight of the failed mission hung heavy on your shoulders—a mission he’d asked you to accompany him. The subtle way his eyes had followed you since your return suggested he knew exactly how it had gone wrong, and was simply waiting for you to admit it.

The mission had been stressful enough without his commentary, and you’d specifically chosen to work in his office for the quiet atmosphere, not the running commentary. The irony wasn’t lost on you—seeking peace in the devil’s lair—but the alternative was the bustling common areas where questions about the mission would be impossible to avoid.

“Perhaps it’s the negotiations?” he continued, leaning against your desk, invading your personal space with calculated precision. The subtle scent of his cologne—something expensive and custom-made, no doubt—wrapped around you like an unwelcome embrace. “Your strategy was... unconventional. Though I must say, watching you attempt to outmaneuver your opponent was quite entertaining. Like watching a chess novice challenge a grandmaster.”

His words struck with precision, targeting exactly where you felt most vulnerable. The negotiations had fallen apart spectacularly, though not for lack of preparation on your part. Sylus had blamed it on a few of his henchmen, he’ll deal with them later for forgetting to mention some details that caused you to stress yourself out.

“Or maybe it’s that little encounter with one of my rivals the day before yesterday?” he pressed on, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that forced you to incline toward him despite yourself. “I heard of how that meeting concluded.”

That was the breaking point. The pen in your hand snapped, ink staining your fingers like evidence of a crime. In one fluid motion, you stood from your chair, the sudden movement causing Sylus to straighten, a flash of surprise crossing his features before his customary smirk returned.

“Would you just—” The words caught in your throat, frustration making it impossible to articulate exactly what you wanted from him. Silence? An apology? Some acknowledgment that he’d set you up to fail although it’s not entirely his fault?

Instead of finishing your sentence, you grabbed his perfectly pressed collar and yanked him down, crushing your lips against his. It wasn’t gentle or sweet—it was pure frustration translated into action, teeth clashing, fingers gripping fabric tight enough to wrinkle the expensive material.

The stunned widening of his eyes gave you a flash of satisfaction—finally something had caught the ever-composed Sylus off-guard. For a heartbeat, he remained completely still, his usual grace abandoned in genuine surprise. Then his hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he responded with unexpected intensity.

What had started as an impulsive act of defiance quickly transformed into something more. The kiss deepened, his other hand finding the small of your back, drawing you closer with surprising strength. Heat bloomed where his fingers pressed, spreading through your body like wildfire. The taste of him—bitter coffee and something sweeter underneath—was intoxicating in the worst possible way.

When you broke away, breathless and disoriented, you glared up at him. “Shut. Up.”

For perhaps the first time this week, Sylus appeared genuinely caught off balance. His usual perfect composure had slipped, collar askew, a hint of color high on his sharp cheekbones. Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, certainly, but also something darker, more intense that made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

Rather than appearing offended, Sylus looked thoroughly entertained once he recovered, eyes gleaming with intrigue. He straightened slowly, adjusting his collar that drew attention to his long fingers.

“Well,” he murmured, voice slightly rougher than his usual polished tones, “that’s certainly one way to request silence.” His tongue darted out to touch his lower lip briefly, as if sampling the taste you’d left there. “Effective, if unorthodox.”

But true to your demand, he didn’t speak further. Instead, he returned to his chaise lounge across the room, picking up his own work with an amused expression that should have infuriated you but somehow didn’t.

The silence stretched between you, no longer suffocating. You returned to your report, finding it suddenly easier to focus with Sylus’s voice no longer needling at your concentration. Occasionally, you felt his gaze on you, but whenever you glanced up, he was seemingly absorbed in his own work, though the ghost of a smile played around his lips.

After you’d made significant progress through the stack of files, a steaming cup of your favorite tea appeared at your elbow without warning. The delicate china cup—part of an antique set Sylus guarded jealously—was filled with the precise shade and aroma that you preferred, complete with the exact amount of honey you favored.

When you looked up questioningly, Sylus merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘See? I can be helpful when not talking.’ His smirk had softened around the edges, a truce offering in the form of perfectly brewed tea.

Despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. You raised the cup in silent acknowledgment, a momentary peace established in the aftermath of that impulsive kiss.

As you sipped the tea—prepared exactly as you liked it, proving he’d been paying far more attention than you’d given him credit for—you wondered which one of you had actually won this particular skirmish. Based on the satisfied gleam in his eye whenever he glanced your way, Sylus clearly thought he had the upper hand.

But as the afternoon wore on in productive silence, punctuated only by the occasional meaningful glance, you weren’t entirely sure you’d lost either.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The drive back to Caleb’s apartment was suffocating with silence. Rain streaked across the windshield, city lights blurring into watery halos as he navigated the evening trafficking Skyhaven. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw set in that way that meant he was holding back words—a dam of frustration ready to break at any moment.

You stared out the passenger window, your reflection ghostly against the glass, unable to look at him directly. You’d avoided him for three days after the mission went sideways. Three days of ducking into supply closets when you heard his footsteps in the corridor, of swapping shifts with anyone willing, of ignoring the increasingly terse messages on your comm unit. It wasn’t rational—you knew that—but facing him after your mistake in the field felt impossible.

The car stopped at a red light, engine humming. Raindrops raced down the window, merging and separating like the strategies you should have coordinated better during the operation. In the reflection of the glass, you could see Caleb’s profile—strong jaw tensed, eyes fixed straight ahead, the small scar above his eyebrow more pronounced in the harsh street lighting.

Neither of you had spoken since he’d found you in the briefing room, simply saying “We need to talk” in that Colonel voice that brooked no argument. Now, pulling into the parking space at his building, you still hadn’t found the words to bridge the chasm between you.

He unlocked his door, letting you enter first. The familiarity of his place—the orderly bookshelves, the single plant you’d given him that somehow thrived despite his frequent absences, the subtle scent of coffee and cologne he wore—made your chest ache with a complicated emotion. You couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead around the room—everything in its place except for the emotions threatening to spill over between you.

The moment the door closed behind you with a soft click, the tension broke.

“Three days,” he stated, voice unnervingly calm as he set his keys in the exact same spot they always occupied on the entryway table. “No communications, dodging my calls, switching shifts.” Each offense listed with the precision of military charges being read.

You shrugged, aiming for casual while removing your jacket, though your hands betrayed you with a slight tremor. “I’ve been busy.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he said, stepping closer, the controlled anger in his voice making it lower than usual. “Never has.” He moved into your space, not touching you but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the rain on his uniform mingling with his cologne. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Running away because you think I blame you for what happened.”

Your breath caught. Of course he’d figured it out—he always did. Caleb could read encryptions and enemy movements with uncanny accuracy, but his ability to decode your thoughts sometimes felt even more disarming.

“People could have died because of my call,” you whispered, finally voicing the fear that had been haunting you for days. Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides, the phantom feeling of your weapon during that critical moment when everything had gone wrong.

“But they didn’t,” he countered. His voice remained firm but had lost some of its edge. “The team is safe. The mission objectives were achieved, if not in the way we planned.”

“That’s not the point,” you argued, finally meeting his gaze. The intensity there nearly made you step back. “I ignored direct orders—your orders. I put everyone at risk because I thought I knew better.”

“You made a judgment call in the field,” he corrected, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair. The gesture, so uncharacteristically nervous for him, revealed just how deeply the situation had affected him, too. “What I can’t accept is you avoiding me afterward. Avoiding the team. Avoiding the debrief where we could have addressed what happened.”

“And avoiding me doesn’t change what happened or help us prevent it next time,” he continued, his voice softening. “The team needs you. I need—” He stopped, seeming to catch himself. “The mission requires all officers and you, Miss Hunter, to be present for debriefing. That’s protocol.”

The retreat behind protocol stung worse than his anger. The distance he was deliberately placing between you—falling back on rank and procedure—felt like a physical wound. The intensity in his eyes was too much to bear.

Before he could continue his lecture, before he could retreat further behind the wall of Colonel, you surged forward, grasping his collar and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. The kiss was both surrender and defiance—an apology you couldn’t voice and a desperate plea to move past the wall building between you.

For a heartbeat, he remained rigid, hands stiff at his sides. Then, like ice thawing, he responded, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist, drawing you flush against him. The rain had chilled his lips, but they quickly warmed against yours, the taste of something uniquely him making your heart race.

What had begun as impulse deepened into something more profound. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. The carefully maintained distance of the past days dissolved with each passing second, replaced by an urgency that spoke of relief and lingering fear—fear that the rift between you might have been permanent.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, his expression had transformed. The stern Colonel was gone, replaced by just Caleb—your Caleb—with unguarded emotion in his eyes. His shoulders relaxed for what felt like the first time in days.

“Don’t be mad at me like that...” you whispered. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart where your bodies pressed together.

His expression had softened even more, he could never stay mad at you for long, not when you looked at him like this.

“That won’t work every time,” he murmured, though the smile playing at his lips suggested otherwise. His thumb traced gentle circles at the small of your back.

“Seems to be working now,” you replied, relieved to see the anger dissipating like morning fog. You pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow to its usual steady rhythm.

Caleb sighed, one hand still tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp in that way he knew always calmed you. The rain continued to patter against the windows. “You know why I was angry, don’t you?” he asked quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest against your ear.

You nodded slightly. “Because I disobeyed a direct order.”

“No,” he said, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Because you disappeared afterward. Because for three days, I didn’t know if you were okay—not physically, but here.” He tapped gently at your temple. “Missions go wrong. Plans fall apart. That’s the nature of what we do. But we process it together.”

“I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”

“I was disappointed you didn’t trust me enough to face me,” he corrected, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “We’re partners in this, in all of it. The good calls and the bad ones.”

“I promise,” you whispered. “No more running. No matter what happens, we face it together.”

Something in your tone must have convinced him, because the last traces of tension left his body. He pressed his lips to your forehead, the gesture tender in a way that made your heart ache.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin. “Because the next time you go dark on me for three days, I’m sending the entire squadron to find you.”

After five hours of writing with plenty of breaks (read: procrastination and distraction), and I finally finished my longest scenario yet. This ended up being one of my favorites, as I truly enjoyed the writing process and got completely carried away.

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maskedbyghost · 2 months ago

Text

What’s better than a jealous, possessive Simon? Nothing. Get ready for all the drama and dirty you didn’t even know you needed. cw: jealousy, possessiveness, explicit language, rough sex, dirty talk... MDNI

You didn’t mean anything by it.

Really, you didn’t. Just a harmless laugh at some half-assed joke from one of the new guys on base. He was nervous, awkward, trying to find his footing among a team full of people who didn’t blink twice before throwing themselves into the line of fire.

So you were being nice. You smiled. You touched his arm when he said something funny. You laughed—not even your real laugh, just the polite one. The one that lets people think they’re charming even when they’re not.

But Ghost saw it.

He was halfway across the room, but he saw the way you leaned in, the way your lips curved, the way you let your hand rest on that guy’s forearm just a second too long. His jaw clenched, his arms crossed.

You saw it out of the corner of your eye and figured he was just being his usual silent, broody self. But the look he gave you? That wasn’t just disapproval. That was something else...

You forgot about it after a while. Finished the briefing and headed back to your room. You got halfway through pulling your shirt off when there was a knock—no, a thud—at your door.

You barely had time to register it before the door swung open.

He didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t ask. He just stepped in, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

“Something you need, Lieutenant?” you asked, arching a brow, still standing in your half-unbuttoned pants.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, jaw tight behind the mask, chest rising with slow, controlled breaths. Then he walked toward you, calm and quiet, like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked. “Ghost—”

His gloved hand came up, grabbed your chin—not rough, but firm enough to shut you up.

“You like makin’ other men laugh?” he said low, his voice rough and close.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He tilted your face toward his. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought I was watchin’ my girl giggle like some fuckin’ schoolgirl over a guy who couldn’t make you come even if you spelled it out for him.”

You snorted nervously, trying to keep it light. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He leaned in until his mask brushed your cheek. “Next time you flirt,” he growled, “I’ll put a leash on you.”

Your breath caught, and that’s all it took.

He grabbed the waistband of your pants and yanked them down in one smooth motion, spinning you around and pressing you up against the wall. His hand was at the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your cheek was flat against the cold surface.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the sound got caught in your throat when you felt him behind you—already hard, already pressing into you through his gear.

“Ghost—”

“Simon,” he corrected. “You’re gonna say my name when I fuck the brat out of you.”

His hand slid between your legs, rough gloves against bare skin, and you gasped when he touched you—no teasing, no buildup, just dirty, possessive fingers sliding right through your slick, like he’d expected it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice darker now, lower. “Drippin’ for me while you’re out there laughin’ at other men’s bullshit. You think they could make you feel like this? Think he’d know what to do with a needy little thing like you?”

You whined when he pressed harder, after yanking off his gloves and sliding two fingers inside, curling them deep, rubbing against that spot that made your knees weak.

“Answer me.”

“N-no, he wouldn’t,” you breathed out, already shaking.

“That’s right.” He pulled back just long enough to undo his belt, shove his pants down, and drag your hips back against him. “You’re mine. Been mine. Just forgot for a second. S’right—I’ll remind you.”

You moaned when he pushed in, when his cock stretched you open without warning, just thick, hard, possessive pressure that made you arch your back and grab at the wall for something to hold on to.

He groaned behind you, one hand fisting in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ tight,” he muttered. “Can feel how wet you are—fuck, bet you were thinkin’ about me when he made you laugh. Bet you were hopin’ I’d get like this. Mean. Messy. Jealous.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe past the way he was fucking into you, deep and rough, hips slamming into yours with every thrust like he wanted to fuck the memory of that other guy right out of your body.

“Let me catch you lookin’ at someone else again,” he said, teeth at your shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise. “I’ll make sure they know who you belong to. I’ll fuck you in front of him if I have to. Let him watch you come on my cock while you scream my fuckin’ name.”

“Simon—fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say it again.”

“Simon—please—”

“Please what?” he snarled, snapping his hips harder, angrier, dragging every inch of him out slow before slamming back in like he needed to ruin you.

“Please don’t stop,” you gasped, fingers scrambling at the wall, legs shaking.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Not until you learn your fuckin’ lesson.”

He reached around, rubbed your clit in tight, messy circles, just enough to send you spiraling. You came with a cry, body locking up, trembling around him, and he didn’t stop—not even when your legs gave out. He held you up, kept fucking into you with punishing pace, chasing his own release like he had something to prove.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice ragged now. “I’ll fuck you so full you’ll be leaking for hours—so every step you take reminds you who fucked you stupid.”

You whined, barely able to keep upright, and with one last thrust he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, filthy growl, his hips jerking against you as he emptied inside.

He didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, chest heaving, hands still on your hips, like he couldn’t let go.

After a long pause, he leaned in and said, right against your ear:

“Do it again, and I’ll make sure the whole base hears what you sound like when you’re mine.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley smut

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sab0dssey · 4 months ago

Text

Simon Riley wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes. And right now, those actions consisted of him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, arms resting on his thighs, watching you like a man utterly engrossed in the most intense thriller of his life. His sharp, brown eyes followed every single one of your movements with laser focus—so much so that you had to stop and arch a brow at him through the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you mused, dragging a cotton pad soaked in toner across your skin.

Simon didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

A slow shrug. “You do this every night, and it still feels like watchin’ a bloody mission unfold.”

You snorted, shaking your head at his dramatics. “It’s just skincare, Si.”

“To you,” he countered, tilting his head as you reached for your serum. “To me? It’s an operation. You’ve got phases, precise steps, different solutions. Looks like chemical warfare.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Simon, this big, lethal man, who faced warzones and threats on a daily basis, was utterly captivated by something as mundane as your skincare routine. He never complained—not once. In fact, you were convinced he could sit there for hours if given the chance.

As you dropped a few dots of serum onto your cheeks, his fingers twitched. You caught it immediately. “You wanna do it?”

He exhaled through his nose, pretending to contemplate, but the answer was obvious. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, holding out the dropper. “Be gentle.”

His bare hand wrapped around the bottle as he squeezed out a tiny amount. His touch was surprisingly delicate as he smoothed the serum over your skin with slow, deliberate motions.

“There,” he murmured, voice low, like he had just completed something of grave importance. “Good?”

You hummed, leaning into his touch. “Perfect.”

Simon nodded, satisfied, before leaning back to watch the rest of your routine unfold. His girl, in her element. Nothing in the world could pull him away from this.

The door slammed open—well, as much as it could with Simon catching it at the last second, his reflexes kicking in. You stumbled in, barely managing to toe off your heels, giggling at absolutely nothing. The room swayed around you, the effects of one too many drinks wrapping around your mind like a thick haze.

Simon, ever the patient man, just sighed. “You’re pissed.”

You blinked up at him, your pupils blown wide. “M’not.”

“You are.” He exhaled sharply, stepping forward just as your knees buckled. One strong arm wrapped around your waist before you could faceplant onto the floor. “Alright, c’mon, love. Let’s get you sorted.”

You melted against him, cheek pressing against the hard planes of his chest. “You smell good,” you murmured, voice muffled.

Simon huffed out a small chuckle. “Yeah, yeah.”

He guided you toward the bed, setting you down with an ease that made you feel weightless. As soon as your body hit the mattress, exhaustion washed over you in waves, your limbs heavy, your mind sluggish. But just as you were about to succumb to sleep, Simon’s voice cut through the haze.

“You gotta clean your face first.”

You whined, attempting to burrow into the pillows. “Don’t wanna.”

“Doesn’t matter.” There was no room for argument in his tone, but there was something else there too—something soft, something… fond.

Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the space. When he returned, he had a small cotton pad in one hand and your bottle of micellar water in the other. Your sluggish brain could barely comprehend what was happening as he crouched in front of you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he cupped your jaw.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low, as if afraid to startle you.

You hummed, too dazed to do anything but comply. With careful precision—like he was handling something fragile—he pressed the damp cotton pad against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your foundation. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was performing some sort of sacred ritual.

The cool sensation against your skin was oddly soothing, and you sighed, leaning into his touch.

Simon shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Didn’t think I’d be doin’ this, but here we are.

You smiled sleepily. “Taught you well, huh?”

“That you did.” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone before he continued, working his way down to your chin, your forehead, even swiping a fresh pad over your lips with the utmost care.

When he reached your eyes, he hesitated. “Close ‘em for me, love.”

You did as he asked, feeling the gentle sweep of the cotton against your lids, ridding them of mascara and eyeliner. His touch never faltered, never rushed.

By the time he was done, your skin felt fresh, clean, and your body… impossibly heavy. Sleep tugged at you, lulling you into a warm, blissful state.

Simon sighed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Alright, bed.”

You barely registered the blankets being pulled over you, barely noticed the way he lingered for just a moment longer, watching over you like a silent guardian.

But just before sleep fully claimed you, you mumbled, “Love you, Si.”

A beat of silence. Then, a quiet, barely-there response.

“Love you too, sweetheart…”

#i’m in love.#Heli’s writing ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #simon riley x you #sab0dssey #simon riley x reader #simon ghost fluff #task force x reader

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inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

Please Kiss Back!

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law and ace

words count: around 0.9k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The crew is scattered around the ship, busy with their usual antics, but you’re sitting on the deck with Luffy, legs dangling over the edge.

He’s in an especially good mood today,not that it’s unusual, but there’s a certain spark in his grin, an extra bounce in his movements. You don’t think much of it. It’s Luffy, after all.

And then, suddenly, he kisses you.

It’s quick, impulsive, but undeniably a kiss.

Your entire body goes stiff and your mind goes blank.

Luffy pulls back just as easily as he leaned in, smiling like he just did the most natural thing in the world.

“Heh, that was nice” he says, tilting his head “Right?”

But you don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just sit there, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

Luffy’s smile falters. His head tilts the other way now, brows slightly furrowed “Huh? You didn’t kiss me back.”

You see the confusion in his face, hear it in his voice. He isn’t upset, Luffy doesn’t get upset about things like this, but he’s puzzled.

“Did I do it wrong?”

His voice is quieter now.

Panic surges through you “Wha—no! No, you didn’t—” You shake your head quickly, your thoughts scrambling together “I just… I wasn’t expecting it!”

Luffy blinks at you “Why not?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What are you supposed to say? Because you’re my captain? Because you never act romantic? Because I didn’t think you even thought about kissing people?

Luffy watches you, waiting for an answer. His usual carefree energy is still there, but for once, you see something else in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty.

“Oh.” He leans back, rubbing his nose “So you didn’t want me to?”

Your heart drops.

“No!” You nearly shout, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away completely “That’s not it!”

Luffy blinks at you again, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You inhale sharply. Screw it.

You lean forward and kiss him.

This time, you make sure he feels it.

Luffy freezes for half a second, probably because he wasn’t expecting it, but then, just as quickly, he melts into it. His lips are warm, a little chapped from the salty sea air, but soft against yours. His hands hover for a moment before he grabs your shoulders, steadying himself as he grins into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breath a little uneven, he laughs.

“Ohhh, so you do wanna kiss me!”

Your face burns “I—Shut up!”

Luffy just grins wider, pulling you into his chest like he didn’t just shake your entire world “You’re funny, Y/N,” he says, resting his chin on your head. “I’m gonna kiss you all the time now!”

You groan into his shirt. What have you gotten yourself into?

You’re still pressed against Luffy’s chest, your face burning as he laughs. The warmth of his body seeps into you, and his chin rests comfortably on top of your head, like he’s perfectly content to stay like this forever.

“I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the ti—” he says, his voice filled with the same carefree confidence he uses when talking about becoming Pirate King.

You groan into his shirt, trying to push away, but his arms tighten around you.

“Luffy!”

“What?” He tilts his head, grinning “You kissed me back, so that means you like it, right?”

You open your mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Because… he’s right. You did kiss him back. You wanted to. You just hadn’t expected him to be so Luffy about it.

“That’s not the point” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

He laughs again, a happy, carefree sound “Then what’s the point?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, and immediately regret it. He’s staring at you with those big, curious eyes, his face close enough that you can still feel the warmth of his breath. He isn’t teasing you, not really... he’s just genuinely waiting for an answer, like he doesn’t understand why you’re so flustered.

And that makes it worse.

You shove your hands against his chest, trying to put some distance between you “You can’t just—just say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” Luffy pouts.

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

He laughs harder “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed!”

You swear your soul leaves your body “LUFFY—”

He suddenly leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before you can stop him.

“Mmm, yeah, I like this,” he says, nodding to himself “I’m definitely gonna do it a lot.”

Your brain malfunctions.

“You—! I—!” You can’t even form a sentence.

Luffy just beams “You can kiss me too, y’know.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter “I KNOW!”

His grin widens, and then before you can react he jumps to his feet, stretching his arms.

“Alright! I’m hungry!” He looks down at you, still sitting there, completely overwhelmed “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat!”

He grabs your hand before you can protest and starts dragging you toward the kitchen, like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just turn your world upside down.

Like he didn’t just kiss you twice, steal your breath, and then immediately think about food.

You let him pull you along, still dazed, as your fingers stay laced with his.

Luffy is impossible, but that’s why you like him so much.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sound of swords clashing echoes throughout the quiet ship as the crew enjoys their evening. You sit on the railing, your legs dangling, watching the stars as the ship cruises along. Zoro is nearby, practicing his swordplay as usual, his focus unwavering.

You’ve been in a strange mood today, frustrated, angry, even a little annoyed, but you didn’t want to take it out on Zoro. You just needed some time to think, and he had given you that. But when you saw him practicing so intensely, your irritation began to simmer.

It had been an argument earlier. Not a huge one, but one that still left a bad taste in your mouth. Zoro had made a careless comment about something that had happened during the last fight, something trivial, but it had stuck with you, and now, as you watch him swing his swords with that unshakable intensity, you can’t help but feel more upset.

Zoro finishes his set, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes catch yours, and without saying anything, he walks over to you. You remain where you are, not bothering to look at him. The quiet tension between the two of you feels thicker now, and you can almost hear the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Zoro asks, his voice unusually soft, as he stops a few steps in front of you. He might not always say much, but Zoro knows when something is off with you.

You sigh, leaning back slightly on the railing, crossing your arms “Nothing.”

You know Zoro won’t take that for an answer, but you don’t feel like talking about it. You don’t want to have another one of those half-formed conversations that end up with him brushing it off or getting frustrated with you. He’s not one for deep talks, and you don’t want to drag him into it.

Zoro, being Zoro, doesn’t give up. He steps closer, standing directly in front of you, his tall frame looming over you. He doesn’t push, but the intensity in his gaze is hard to ignore.

“Y/N,” he says, a hint of concern sneaking into his usually blunt tone “You’ve been weird all day.”

You feel your anger stir again, that feeling of being dismissed or misunderstood growing. Without thinking, you snap at him “I’m fine, alright? Just… don’t worry about it.”

The words are harsher than you intended, and you immediately regret them. But you’ve already said it, and the frustration that’s been building up inside you has no outlet other than Zoro at the moment.

Zoro blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden sharpness. There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, you think he’ll retreat, that he’ll walk away like he usually does when he doesn’t understand. But instead, he leans in closer, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re upset, right?” His voice is low, almost a growl.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and the irritation that had flared up earlier starts to subside just a little. But your pride is still holding on, and you don’t want to let it go so easily “I’m not upset” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, and you turn your head away, hoping he’ll just leave it alone.

Zoro doesn’t move, though. He’s still right in front of you, and his eyes are fixed on you with that intense gaze of his, like he’s seeing through you, reading everything you’re trying to hide.

And then, without warning, Zoro leans in and kisses you.

His lips are firm, yet gentle, pressing softly against yours. You don’t kiss him back immediately. Instead, you sit there, frozen, eyes wide in shock. Your heart races, and for a second, you’re not sure how to react.

Zoro pulls back just slightly, his gaze still locked with yours, waiting. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint trace of something in his gaze, concern, maybe? He wants an answer. He wants to know what’s wrong.

You should have kissed him back, but you didn’t. The confusion, the frustration, it all bubbles up again, and you’re not sure why you’re holding back this time.

Zoro doesn’t say anything at first, but he waits. His hand gently brushes against your cheek, as if trying to coax a response out of you “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”

You try to speak, but no words come out at first. You don’t want to tell him the truth, that you’re angry, that you don’t know how to explain what’s really bothering you.

You finally exhale, your voice softer than before “I was mad. At you.”

Zoro blinks in surprise, and for a moment, you think he’ll get defensive, like he always does when he doesn’t understand something. But instead, he simply nods. His eyes soften, and his fingers gently trace your jawline as if to remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quietly. His voice is surprisingly gentle, his usual gruffness gone “But if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”

You sigh, your anger finally dissipating as you look up at him. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he’s trying to meet you halfway. You can feel the weight of your pride slipping away, and you hate that you let it build up this far.

You close the gap between you, leaning in to kiss him, this time responding wholeheartedly. It’s slow at first, but it deepens as you feel the tension release from your shoulders. You kiss him like you’ve missed him, like you didn’t realize just how badly you needed this connection.

When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, breathing heavily “I’m sorry,” you whisper “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

Zoro chuckles softly, his hand cupping your face “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You smile, and for the first time today, the weight that had been dragging on you fades away completely.

Zoro’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer “But next time, you’ll kiss me back, right?”

You laugh softly, feeling the heat of his chest against yours “I promise.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, you kiss him back without hesitation.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, your breath still heavy, and the silence between you both feels different now, softer, more understanding. Zoro doesn’t speak at first, but his arms remain tightly around you, his fingers brushing gently through your hair, as if he’s making sure you’re still there, still with him.

For a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet night, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. The stars above are bright, casting a peaceful glow over the deck. It’s in these moments that you realize how much Zoro means to you. Even when you’re angry, even when you push him away, he never truly goes anywhere. He might not say a lot, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

“You know, you’re a real pain sometimes” you murmur, leaning into him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zoro chuckles softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head “You’re the one who doesn’t kiss me back.” His voice is teasing now, and the warmth of his hands against your back makes you feel safe, despite everything.

You smile, finally allowing yourself to fully relax in his embrace “I know. I’m sorry about that. I just…” You hesitate, unsure of how to express yourself “I didn’t want to drag you into my mood. It wasn’t about you.”

Zoro doesn’t respond immediately, but his hand moves to gently lift your chin, so that you’re looking up at him. His green eyes are soft, understanding. He looks at you the way he always does when he knows there’s more you’re not saying, like he’s giving you the space to figure it out yourself, but also offering his support.

“You don’t have to protect me from your mood, Y/N,” Zoro says quietly, his thumb gently grazing your cheek “You know that, right?”

You blink up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. It’s rare for him to be this open, to say something so vulnerable. Zoro’s never been one for words, always more about actions. But when he does speak, it’s clear he means it.

“I know,” you murmur, feeling your heart swell in your chest “I guess I just didn’t want to make it worse.”

Zoro shakes his head, his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you even closer “You can’t make it worse, Y/N. I’ve been with you long enough to know that.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the world feels lighter. Maybe it’s because you’re finally opening up to him, maybe it’s because you realize that, despite all your pride, Zoro has always been the one who sees right through you.

The air between you two seems to change, the tension now replaced by an unspoken understanding. Zoro leans down again, capturing your lips in a much slower, more deliberate kiss this time. It’s deep and meaningful, not rushed like before, and you kiss him back just as intensely. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the feeling of his lips against yours, and the reassuring presence of his hands wrapped around you.

When you finally pull away, you smile softly up at him, feeling like everything that had been weighing on your shoulders is finally gone.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a little gruff, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his “Much better. Thanks, Zoro.”

He smirks, giving you a gentle, teasing squeeze “I don’t need thanks. Just kiss me back and we’ll be fine.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being this open with you. Zoro might not always know the right words to say, but the way he takes care of you, without question, speaks more than anything he could say aloud.

“Deal.” You smile, finally feeling at ease, as you stand there together in the quiet night, just the two of you, with the stars as your only witnesses.

Zoro leans in to kiss you again, but this time, he pulls back just before your lips meet.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” he teases with that familiar mischievous smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t hold back when you respond this time. You kiss him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Does that answer your question?” you whisper, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the moonlight catching the green in them.

Zoro’s grin widens, and you know, without a doubt, that everything is going to be alright. Even in the moments of silence, when words are hard to come by, you know you can always count on him.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen feels quieter now, the only sound being the gentle crackle of the stove and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. You stand at the counter, your hands busy with the meal, but your mind is far from the task at hand. You feel a weight on your chest that you can’t quite shake off... guilt.

Sanji had left the kitchen earlier, giving you the space you had asked for, but the sadness in his eyes lingers in your thoughts. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but you’re not sure how to fix this.

You’ve always loved how Sanji dotes on you, how tender he is despite his usual flirtatious attitude, and yet, today, something in you snapped. The moment he had kissed you and you hadn’t kissed him back, the look on his face was more than you could handle. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment. It’s one thing to have an argument, to be upset about something that happened, but the thought that you could break his heart over something so small, something so trivial, makes you feel worse than ever.

Your knife clinks against the counter, the task you’re supposed to be focusing on now forgotten, your gaze drifting to the door.

Just as you’re about to give in and seek him out, you hear the faint sound of footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can feel Sanji’s presence always manages to fill a room.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and you can hear the uncertainty beneath it. You turn to face him, and there he is, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His usual confident, charming smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks… small. Vulnerable, even. It hurts more than you thought it would.

You can’t meet his eyes at first, your gaze flicking to the counter instead, your hands nervously adjusting the utensils “Sanji… I—” Your throat tightens, the apology catching in your voice.

He doesn’t move, not yet, waiting for you to gather your words. The silence stretches on, heavier than you want it to be, but eventually, Sanji steps forward. The faint sound of his shoes tapping against the wooden floor rings through your ears as he approaches. He doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you think maybe he’ll just walk away again, leaving you both in that uncomfortable space.

But instead, he reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands, and guides your eyes to meet his. His gaze is soft, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your heart ache.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he says quietly, his voice nearly a whisper “I don’t care if you’re angry or upset, but when you push me away like that, it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize just how deeply you’ve hurt him with your silence.

“Sanji…” you start, but your voice falters. What can you say to fix it? How do you explain that it wasn’t him, it was you? That you didn’t know how to communicate what was bothering you?

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his head resting against yours. You can feel the warmth of his chest against you, his breath soft and steady. You let yourself relax into him, for once letting go of the pride you’ve been holding onto so tightly. You know you’ve hurt him, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmurs, his hands soothingly running through your hair “I know you’re not always in the mood for affection, but I… I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to melt into his touch “I’m sorry, Sanji,” you whisper, your voice filled with regret “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s not you, I was just… frustrated. But I should’ve never shut you out like that.”

His fingers stop moving through your hair, and you can feel his breath hitch as he pulls back slightly to look at you. For a moment, he just stares, and the warmth in his eyes makes your heart race. Then, without warning, his lips are on yours.

It’s a soft kiss at first, barely a brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s still unsure if you’re ready. But you don’t hesitate this time. You meet him halfway, kissing him back deeply, letting all the words you couldn’t say earlier pour into the kiss. You press closer to him, your hands finding their way around his neck, pulling him even closer as if you never want to let him go.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and there’s a quiet moment between you, the tension from earlier melting away.

“Are we good?” Sanji asks, his voice playful again, but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind it.

You smile, finally feeling the weight lift from your shoulders “Yeah, we’re good.” You reach up, running a hand through his messy blond hair, before pulling him into another kiss, this time, more tender, slower, filled with the understanding that had been missing before.

“I really don’t like it when you push me away” he mutters against your lips, his hands resting on your waist.

You laugh softly, your heart light “I’ll try not to, okay? No more pushing you away.” You pull him even closer, your arms winding around him “I promise.”

He grins, that familiar, charming grin, as he wraps his arms around you “You better, sweetheart. Because I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

You lean against him, feeling his warmth envelop you, and for the first time today, you feel like everything is right again. You’re not alone in your frustration anymore, and you can lean on him when things feel too heavy. With Sanji, you know you’ll always have someone who understands, someone who’s ready to support you, even when you don’t ask for it.

As you sit there in his embrace, you let your worries melt away, knowing that, for once, you don’t have to fight this battle on your own.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang is unusually quiet tonight. Most of the crew has turned in, the hum of the submarine filling the empty corridors. You sit on the deck, legs dangling over the side, watching the ocean stretch endlessly under the moonlight. The battle earlier had been rough, leaving you sore and exhausted, but the peaceful waves help settle your nerves.

A presence settles beside you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, glancing at Law.

He’s watching the water, arms resting on his knees “You took a nasty hit today. Should be resting.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, doctor.”

He exhales sharply, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Instead, a silence lingers between you, different from your usual comfortable quiet. There’s something restrained in the way Law sits, the way his fingers tighten into fists before relaxing again.

Then, before you can process what’s happening, he shifts toward you, one hand reaching for your cheek as his lips press firmly against yours.

Your breath catches. Your mind blanks.

Law is kissing you.

The realization slams into you so hard that you freeze completely. He’s warm, his touch surprisingly careful despite the rough way he carries himself in battle. But you don’t move... you don’t kiss him back. Not because you don’t want to, but because you weren’t expecting this. At all.

A second passes. Then another.

Law pulls away first. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable before he looks away, jaw tightening. He stands abruptly.

“Forget it,” he mutters “That was a mistake.”

“Wait—” you reach for him, but he’s already stepping back, his expression closing off into something distant and unreadable. The wall he puts up is so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You finally find your voice “Law, I—”

“Get some rest,” he interrupts, his tone sharp “That’s an order.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the submarine without another word.

You sit there, stunned, heart pounding.

You wanted to kiss him back. You wanted this.

But now, you might have just ruined everything.

In facts, after that Law starts avoiding you.

Not just the usual, brooding, keep-to-himself kind of avoiding you. No, this is different. This is intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

Ever since that kiss, the kiss you wanted but had been too frozen to return, he’s been more distant than ever. He won’t meet your eyes, won’t acknowledge your presence unless absolutely necessary, and worst of all, you don’t understand if it him who refuses to be alone with you or just the crew having the worst timing.

Every time you try to talk to him, someone interrupts.

Attempt #1: You corner him in the medical bay, only for Shachi to barge in, whining about some nonexistent injury. Law doesn’t even look at you as he orders you both out.

Attempt #2: You catch him in the hallway, ready to finally get this over with, but Penguin suddenly appears, asking something about the ship’s course. Law walks away before you can say a word.

Attempt #3: The mess hall. Surely, he can’t avoid you here. You sit beside him, he gets up immediately.

At this point, the crew notices.

“Did you piss off the captain or something?” Bepo asks, tilting his head.

You groan, slamming your head against the table “I don’t know! He won’t talk to me.”

“You must’ve done something,” Shachi teases “What, did you steal his seat or—”

Penguin smacks his arm “No, idiot. Captain’s never been like this before. Not even when we wrecked his lab.”

Bepo frowns “Something’s bothering him.”

Yeah, no kidding... it’s all your fault.

You catch glimpses of Law throughout the day, on the deck, in the control room, talking with the crew. But the moment he sees you? He leaves.

It’s killing you.

He thinks you regret it.

He thinks you didn’t want it.

And if you don’t fix this soon, he’s never going to let you get close again.

The frustration boils over during dinner.

You’re exhausted, running on fumes after chasing Law all day. The crew is loud, laughing over some dumb joke, but all you can focus on is him.

Sitting across from you. Silent. Eating his food without looking up.

You can’t take it anymore.

You slam your hands on the table, making everyone jump.

“LAW.”

Silence.

All eyes turn to you.

Your captain finally looks at you, startled.

“First you kiss me.” You point an accusing finger at him “And then you avoid me like the plague, without even give me the chance to explain myself!”

Shachi chokes on his drink.

Penguin’s mouth drops open.

Bepo’s ears twitch in alarm.

Law stiffens. His fork stops midair “This is not—”

“No, shut up,” you cut him off, standing so fast your chair nearly topples over “I need to say this before you run away again.”

The crew is watching.

You don’t care.

“You kissed me, and I—” Your voice cracks. Your face feels like it’s on fire “I didn’t kiss you back, but not because I didn’t want to! I was just—shocked! I like you, okay?! I wanted to kiss you back, but my brain just—short-circuited!”

Dead. Silence.

Shachi drops his spoon.

Bepo covers his mouth with his paws.

Penguin is slowly turning to look at Law, whose ears are red.

Your captain looks like he’s about to die.

You inhale sharply “So if you’re avoiding me because you think I hate you or something—stop.”

Law does not move.

The entire crew waits.

Then, he clears his throat, stands up, and grabs your wrist.

“Room.”

And just like that, you vanish from the mess hall and land in his office with a thud.

Law lets go of you immediately and rubs his face, exhaling sharply “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who’s been acting like I have the plague,” you fire back, crossing your arms “Do you know how hard it’s been to get you alone?”

He groans “I thought you...” He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair “I thought you regretted it.”

You blink.

“…You idiot.”

He glares “Excuse me—”

You grab his coat and yank him down into a kiss.

Law freezes. This time, he’s the one caught off guard.

But when you pull away, his golden eyes are wide, breath slightly uneven.

You smirk “That clear enough for you?”

A beat of silence.

Then he grabs you by the waist and kisses you again.

And this time, you kiss him back.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick feels warmer than usual tonight, the air carrying that familiar salty breeze that ruffles your hair. You’re sitting on the figurehead, just like you always do after a long day. The crew has mostly turned in, and Ace, as always, is lounging nearby, throwing out his usual teasing comments that always manage to make you roll your eyes.

Tonight, though? He’s extra insufferable.

“Don’t you think I look particularly good tonight?” Ace smirks, his head tilted back, his hair catching the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes “Yeah, Ace, you look like a sunburned tomato.”

He bursts out laughing, clearly enjoying the attention “Ha! You know you want me.”

“Oh, really?” You scoff, not missing a beat “You couldn’t pay me to want you.”

He shrugs, still grinning like a maniac “Sure, but that’s just your deflection because you’re intimidated by my obvious charm.”

Your eyebrow twitches “I’m pretty sure you’re confusing arrogance with charm, Ace.”

“Of course I’m charming. Just ask me—”

Before he can finish, you interrupt him “Yeah, well, don’t ask me. I’m not interested.”

But as he keeps running his mouth, you realize something. Ace is having way too much fun with this. He’s been teasing you non-stop for days about how “obviously into him” you are, and it’s driving you nuts. He knows you like him. He knows you’ve been trying to keep your cool, but his teasing is getting out of hand.

“Would you stop talking about how irresistible you are? I’m literally going to—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Ace leans in and kisses you.

It happens so fast you don’t even process it at first.

One second, you and Ace are bickering, his usual cocky teasing, your usual mock exasperation... and then bam. Lips. On yours.

Portgas D. Ace is kissing you.

It’s not even a gentle, romantic kiss. It’s an overconfident, smug, I-know-you-want-me kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that assumes you’re going to melt immediately.

But instead of kissing him back, your brain short-circuits, and you freeze.

Ace pulls away, already grinning “Heh. Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?”

You blink again.

Ace smirks, looking so insufferably proud of himself “Damn, I really am irresistible.”

And something inside you just snaps.

You tilt your head, look him straight in the eyes, and say “…Meh.”

Ace stares.

The entire universe pauses.

“…Meh?” Ace echoes, as if he misheard you.

You shrug “Yeah. Meh.”

Ace blinks rapidly, like his brain is buffering “Wait. Hold on. No, no, no, you don’t get it. I just kissed you.”

“I know.”

“And you—” He gestures wildly at you “Didn’t do anything??”

“Guess not.”

Ace’s jaw drops. He looks personally offended.

“Hold on,” he says, pointing a very accusatory finger at you “Let me get this straight. You... just sat there and let me kiss you like I was some kind of—some kind of—unremarkable man?”

You nod “Pretty much.”

Ace clutches his chest like he’s just been stabbed “Oh my GOD.”

The crew, who had been watching very intently, erupts into chaos.

“YO WHAT?”

“DID Y/N JUST—”

“THEY ‘MEH’-ED HIM???”

“THERE’S NO COMING BACK FROM THAT, MAN.”

Ace spins dramatically away from you, gripping the side of the ship like he’s having an existential crisis.

Marco slaps a hand over his mouth, cackling “Damn, Ace, I ain’t never seen you take an L like that.”

Thatch is wheezing “You got ‘meh’-ed, dude. That’s worse than rejection.”

“I KNOW.” Ace yells, throwing his arms in the air. He turns back to you, looking utterly betrayed “How could you do this to me?”

You shrug again “Guess I’m just not that impressed.”

Ace gasps. Actually gasps. Like you just kicked him in the soul.

“This is the worst day of my life” he declares. Then he marches off.

You watch him go, amused “Where are you even going?”

“I DUNNO, SOMEWHERE I’M APPRECIATED.”

From that moment on, Ace enters what can only be described as a petty, over-the-top crisis. Because in his mind, this is unheard of.

He is Portgas D. Ace. He’s a walking inferno, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, effortlessly cool and charming. He has never, in his entire life, had someone just shrug off his kiss.

And he does not know how to handle it.

Thus begins The Avoidance Arc.

Ace is avoiding you because he’s lowkey heartbroken and incredibly dramatic about it.

He doesn’t even try to be subtle. He goes out of his way to avoid being anywhere near you.

Like, you’ll step onto the deck and Ace immediately turns 180 degrees and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You say one word to him, and he immediately yells, “OH WOW, LOOK AT THE TIME, GOTTA GO.”

You catch him in the hallway? He jumps overboard.

Marco watches all of this unfold with deep amusement “Wow. You really broke him.”

You roll your eyes “I didn’t break him. He’s being dramatic.”

“He’s been in the crow’s nest for six hours.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Eventually, you get tired of this nonsense.

So, while the crew is gathered on the deck, you decide enough is enough.

You climb onto the railing of the ship and shout, loudly enough for Ace to hear from wherever he’s sulking—

“HEY EVERYONE! I THINK PORTGAS D. ACE IS A COWARD!”

There is instant silence.

Everyone slowly turns to look at you.

Then—BOOM. A door slams open somewhere, and Ace comes flying onto the deck like an angry storm “WHO SAID THAT.”

You smirk “Oh, hey, Ace. Nice of you to join us.”

He points at you, eyes narrowed “You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” you repeat, loud and clear, “you’re a coward.”

The crew is hyped.

“Ohhhhhhh shiiiiiit.”

“Y/N called you out, bro.”

“Ace, you gonna let that slide??”

Ace crosses his arms “I am not a coward.”

“Oh, really?” You tilt your head “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Ace falters “That’s—that’s not—”

You step closer “Admit it. You’re mad because I didn’t kiss you back.”

The crew is on the edge of their seats.

Ace shifts uncomfortably “I’m not mad. I’m just… extremely, deeply wounded.”

You burst out laughing “Oh my god, you’re actually sulking.”

“I AM NOT SULKING.”

Marco sighs, shaking his head “Ace, just admit it. You wanted y/n to be all over you, and when they wasn’t, you got all weird about it.”

Ace groans, covering his face “Fine, yes, okay?! It bruised my damn ego! Happy?”

You grin “Very.”

Ace mutters something about how “this is the worst day of his life” and the crew howls with laughter.

Then, before he can complain further you grab his collar and kiss him, right then and there.

The crew loses their minds.

Ace freezes. Then, slowly, his brain catches up, and when you pull away, he just stares.

“…Oh.”

You smirk “Yeah. Oh.”

Then Ace grins, all cocky confidence again “So, uh. I win, right?”

You punch him in the arm.

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rafesgreasycurtainbangs · 2 months ago

Text

❛ YOU AND RAFE TAKE HONEY PACKETS BUT HE CAVES FIRST ❜

girlfriend¡reader . . . rafe cameron

“Okay, but you guys have to hear this,” Mia said, swirling her wine before taking a dramatic sip. “Last weekend, Aiden and I tried those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you know, the ones they’re always hyping up on TikTok? Holy shit, it was insane.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your glass down on the table with a soft clink. “Insane how?” you asked, curiosity piqued. Beside you, Lila, who’d been scrolling her phone absentmindedly, perked up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Mia grinned, leaning forward like she was about to spill a state secret. “Okay, so you know those little packets you can get at sketchy gas stations or online? They’re like honey mixed with some herbal stuff—supposedly gets your blood pumping or whatever. We each took one, and I swear to God, within twenty minutes, we were clawing at each other like animals. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like every touch felt electric, and I couldn’t think about anything except jumping him.”

Lila burst out laughing, her voice bright and sharp. “Oh my God, that’s fucking hot. Did you plan it, or just wing it?”

“Totally spontaneous,” Mia said, her cheeks flushing slightly—not from embarrassment, but from the memory. “We barely made it to the bedroom. I’m telling you, it’s like someone turned the dial up to eleven on every nerve in my body.”

You shifted in your seat, the wicker creaking beneath you, a slow heat creeping up your neck as you pictured it. Rafe flashed into your mind—his broad shoulders, the cocky tilt of his smirk, the way his hands felt when they gripped your hips.

You’d been dating him long enough to know he’d be game for something like this, but the thought of him losing control? That was a whole different level of intriguing.

“Wait,” you said, cutting through their giggles. “So it’s not just hype? It actually works?”

“Works?” Mia echoed, incredulous. “Babe, I’m saying it’s dangerous. Aiden was begging me to touch him by the end of the night, and he’s usually the one playing it cool. You should try it with Rafe. Bet he’d lose his mind.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, he totally would. Rafe’s got that whole ‘I’m in charge’ vibe, but I bet you could break him with this. Make it a game or something—see who caves first.”

You chewed your lip, the idea taking root like a seed in fertile soil. The thought of Rafe—your Rafe, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—reduced to a needy mess because of you? It sent a shiver down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the cooling evening air. “Okay,” you said slowly, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m in. Next weekend.”

Mia clapped her hands together, delighted. “Yes! Report back. I need details.”

. . .

“Hey,” you said casually, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes flicked down to meet yours, a faint smirk already playing on his lips like he knew you were up to something.

“What’s up, princess?” he drawled, his voice low and rough, the kind that always made your stomach flip.

You shifted, sitting up a little straighter, your knee brushing against his thigh. “So, Mia was telling me about this thing she tried with Aiden. Those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you heard of ‘em?”

Rafe’s smirk deepened, his brows lifting slightly. “Those horny honey things? Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em around. Why? You wanna get freaky?” He chuckled, but there was a spark in his eyes, a flicker of interest that told you he was already hooked.

“Maybe,” you teased, running your fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt. “But I was thinking we make it fun. Like a game. We each take one, no touching allowed, and the first one to cave loses. Winner gets bragging rights—or whatever else they want.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that predatory glint he got when he was intrigued. “You think you can outlast me, huh?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with challenge. “Baby, I’m made of steel. You’re gonna be begging me to touch you in ten minutes flat.”

You laughed, the sound light but edged with defiance. “Oh, please. You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me half the time. I give it five minutes before you’re on your knees.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his smirk turning into something darker, hungrier. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re on, sweetheart. Next weekend. But when I win, you’re gonna owe me big.”

The heat of his breath against your skin sent a thrill through you, but you pulled back, meeting his gaze with a wicked smile. “We’ll see about that.”

. . .

The following Saturday night, the air in Rafe’s bedroom was thick with anticipation. You sat cross-legged on his bed, the navy comforter rumpled beneath you, wearing nothing but one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of lacy black panties. Rafe stood across the room, leaning against the dresser, shirtless in a pair of gray sweats that hung low on his hips. His chest was broad and tan, a faint sheen of sweat already glistening in the warm light.

On the nightstand sat two small golden packets, their shiny foil catching the glow of the lamp. You picked one up, turning it over in your hands, the weight of it surprisingly light for something that promised so much chaos. “Last chance to back out,” you said, smirking at him as you tore the corner open.

Rafe snorted, grabbing his own packet. “Not a chance. You’re going down, baby.” He ripped his open with his teeth, the gesture primal and a little too hot for your liking, and squeezed the thick, amber honey onto his tongue. You followed suit, the sweet, herbal taste coating your mouth, a faint warmth spreading down your throat as you swallowed.

For the first few minutes, it was all bravado. Rafe paced the room like a caged animal, cracking his knuckles, his smirk intact. “Feeling anything yet?” he asked, voice cocky as he flexed his arms, the muscles rippling under his skin.

You shrugged, playing it cool even as a subtle heat began to bloom in your chest. “Nope. You?”

He shook his head, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Nah.”

Ten minutes in, the air shifted. The warmth in your body intensified, sinking lower, pooling between your thighs. Your skin prickled, every brush of the T-shirt against your nipples sending a jolt through you. You shifted on the bed, pressing your legs together, trying to ignore the growing ache.

Across the room, Rafe stopped pacing. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling faster. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands sticking to his forehead, and when his eyes met yours, they were dark—pupils blown wide, a storm brewing behind them.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. He leaned back against the dresser, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles whitened. “This shit’s no joke.”

You bit your lip, the sight of him unraveling doing dangerous things to you. “What’s wrong, Rafe? Cracking already?” Your voice was teasing, but it came out breathier than you intended, the need starting to seep through your composure.

He laughed, but it was strained, jagged. “You wish. I could bend you over right now and still win this.” But his hands stayed glued to the dresser, and his hips shifted—just a fraction, enough to tell you he was fighting the same war you were.

Fifteen minutes, and the room felt like a furnace. Your pulse hammered in your ears, your body screaming for contact. The air smelled of him—sweat and musk and that damn cologne—and it was driving you insane. You curled your fingers into the comforter, nails digging in as you watched Rafe.

He was a mess now, his sweats tented embarrassingly, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. His eyes raked over you, lingering on the way the T-shirt rode up your thighs, and he groaned—a low, guttural sound that hit you like a freight train.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he rasped, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re killing me. Just—fuck—just let me touch you. Please.”

You smirked, though it took everything in you to hold it together. “That sounds like caving, Rafe.”

He growled, stepping forward, then stopping himself, fists balled at his sides. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he panted, his voice raw, desperate. “Look at you, sitting there all smug. I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you? Bet you’re dying for it just as bad.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your thighs trembled, slickness pooling in your panties, but you weren’t about to admit it. “Guess you’ll never know unless you lose,” you shot back, voice shaking but defiant.

Twenty minutes, and Rafe snapped—or tried to. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands hovering an inch from your thighs. “Fuck it,” he breathed, his voice wrecked. “I lose. I fucking lose, okay? Just—please, baby, I need you. I’m going crazy here.”

You tilted your head, savoring the power, the way he looked up at you like a man unhinged. “Not yet,” you said, voice low and deliberate, your hand reaching out to graze his cheek—just a featherlight touch, enough to make him shudder. “You can wait a little longer.”

His eyes widened, a mix of shock and pure torment flashing across his face. “You’re kidding,” he choked out, his hands twitching, aching to close the distance. “Baby, I’m dying here. You can’t do this to me.”

“Oh, I can,” you replied, leaning back on your elbows, letting the T-shirt ride up higher, exposing more of your thighs, the edge of your panties just visible. His gaze dropped, and he let out a strangled sound, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. “You said you’re made of steel, right? Prove it.”

Twenty-five minutes, and Rafe was a wreck. He’d slumped back onto his heels, hands dragging through his hair, sweat dripping down his chest. His cock strained against his sweats, a dark spot forming where he was leaking, and his breathing was so ragged it sounded like he’d run a marathon. “You’re evil,” he muttered, voice hoarse, his eyes locked on you with a mix of reverence and desperation. “Fucking evil, you know that?”

You shifted again, letting one leg fall open slightly, giving him a glimpse that made his jaw drop. “Maybe,” you said, smirking. “But you love it.”

Thirty minutes, and he was begging—really begging. “Please, baby,” he whispered, crawling closer, his hands trembling as they hovered over your knees. “I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. I’ll do anything you want, just let me touch you. I’m fucking losing it.”

You held his gaze, letting the tension stretch one agonizing second longer, then nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, victorious. “You lose.”

. . .

His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard while his other hand kneaded the opposite side. The sensation—amplified by the honey packets still coursing through you—had you arching into him, a sharp cry escaping your lips as your nails dug into his scalp.

“Rafe—slow down,” you gasped, half-laughing, but he shook his head, his teeth grazing your skin as he moved lower, kissing and biting a frantic path down your stomach.

“No chance,” he growled, hooking his fingers into your panties and dragging them down your legs in one swift motion. He paused then, just for a second, staring at you—spread out, glistening, trembling—and the look in his eyes was feral, reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, before diving in.

His mouth was relentless, tongue plunging into you, lapping up every drop like he’d been starved for it. You screamed, hips bucking, but he pinned you down with an arm across your waist, his other hand spreading you wider for him. He sucked at your clit, hard and fast, then slow and teasing, every movement driving you higher, the aphrodisiac making it all too much, too good.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling hard, and he moaned against you, the vibration sending you spiraling.

“Rafe—oh God—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t finish the sentence before it hit, a blinding orgasm that had you shaking, clenching around nothing as he kept going, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.

He pulled back, lips shiny, chest heaving, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. “You taste so fucking good,” he said, voice rough as he shoved his sweats down, freeing his cock—red, leaking, impossibly hard. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach with ease, pulling you up onto your knees.

“Been thinking about this for thirty fucking minutes,” he rasped, lining himself up and thrusting in deep in one brutal stroke. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, perfect, your walls fluttering around him as he set a punishing pace. His hands gripped your hips so hard you knew you’d bruise, but you didn’t care—every slap of his skin against yours, every grunt and curse spilling from his lips, was worth it.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, one hand sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling your head back as he pounded into you. “So perfect—shit, I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t,” you managed, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. “Come for me, Rafe.”

He did—hard—his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan, his fingers digging into your skin. The feel of him, hot and pulsing, tipped you over again, a second wave crashing through you as you clenched around him, milking him dry.

He collapsed beside you, both of you slick with sweat, breathing like you’d run a race. His arm snaked around you, pulling you close, and he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. “You’re a fucking sadist,” he muttered, but there was a grin in his voice. “Making me wait like that.”

You laughed, breathless, nuzzling into his chest. “Worth it, though, right?” “Fuck yeah,” he said, already sounding half-ready for round two. “But next time, I’m winning.”

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