summary: after a nasty breakup that left both you and logan absolutely reeling, you moved across the country for college. when you suddenly transfer to briar your junior year, logan feels like the world is ending. (enemies (exes) to lovers)
each part alternates POVs between y/n and logan.
part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi (usually updated weekly)
series expected to be completed by 08/23/2026.
(anything with an asterisk (*) contains smut and/or tiny bit of spice. minors dni.)
update: of 07/31/26, taglist for underwater is now CLOSED.
edit: someone on tuesday, 06/30 sent me an ask requesting to be added to the taglist and i didn't write down their account name before replying. their account name started with a K. please let me know if i forgot to add you!
this post was last updated on 07/31/26, 10:20 PM CT.
men will do literally anything other than engaging in pro-social community-oriented behavior and then get online and complain about how masculinity is vilified and men aren't allowed to be heroes anymore
"all men really want is to feel like the hero" okay then volunteer at a food bank. get narcan training. step in when a woman is being harassed on the street. help out an elderly neighbor with shopping or home repairs. learn how to safely de-escalate fights. help your friends move. join or start your workplace union. become a big brother or volunteer coach for kids' sports. clean up your local park or get involved in some local conservation campaign. do your own damn dishes. notice what needs to be done and then do it. the world doesn't need heroes, it needs helpers. there are literally so many paths to finding a sense of self-respect and worth through pro-social behaviors that improve your immediate local community and help build your network of close personal connections. but these guys don't give a shit about actually contributing anything to the world. they just want to whine and fantasize.
their inherent lack of self-respect is belied not only by the fact that they can't imagine doing anything that contributes to building a better, more resilient society, but how they can't imagine that doing so might involve a lot of small acts and choices and not one big act of heroism that gets them on the news as Big Man Of The Year.
oopsie i tripped and spilled my link to archive dot org's downloadable copy of Microsoft office suite for 2007, which features no AI tools and is a powerful word processor that still holds up just fine on windows 10!
oops i tripped and spilled my link to massgrave because you shouldnt be forcing yourself to use software from 20 years ago just use massgrave oh my god
No shade but begging yall to create a fake character for brothers best friend fics, I get the sentiment but I’m black, not one of them is passing as my brother lol and def not my twin. When you do that you kinda limit the x reader of it all :(((
Teach you a Lesson is already doing better than the webtoon. Its actually treating the victims of these bullies like people. An adding emotional weight and actual connections.
Yes you should talk to the boy who has suicide idolations. An offer as an adult to deal with these problems thank you writer team who clearly had to clean up that fucking shit show of a webtoon.
very funny to me that kim mu yeol went from being the kind-hearted judge in juvenile justice (netflix, 2022) to now fully slapping the shit out of kids in teach you a lesson (netflix, 2026)
Summary: You were a normal college student. You hang out with friends, went to class, studied during the week and partied at night. The only thing was that on the side you ran the infamous advice social media page ‘Bitch to me Briar’. There you listened and offered wisdom to the students who complained about classes, teachers, food, friendships, but most of all relationships. John Logan is struggling, at least off the ice, having a crush on your best friend’s girlfriend is not for the week. So he takes some desperate measures and sends a message to a certain Instagram account not knowing the owner is someone a lot closer than he thinks.
Warnings/Notes: SLOW BURN, slight angst, fluff, anonymous messaging, lots of miscommunication, idiots in love, overall gossipy/shady shit, betrayal, lots of yearning
A/N: It’s kinda like A Cinderella Story but way sillier? Realizing that this was literally a scene in The Mistake but I’m making it my own. This is kinda the first series I'm trying to flush out so please stuck with me. I'm really excited for this and I hope you are all too!
Part 1: I gotta tell you something (posted 6.13)
Part 2: Wished you just talked to me (posted 6.15)
Part 3: You've been searching long and hard (posted 6.17)
Part 4: I'm all alone in my room, I'm just thinking 'bout you (posted 6.19)
Part 5: Everything and nothing always haunts me (posted 6.24)
Part 6: Or Just say that you were mine (posted 6.28)
Part 7: Hold on and hope we'll find our way back in the end (6.30)
Part 8: Look for the girl with the broken smile (7.10)
I think we're like fire and water | @mutantvampireearthquake
John Logan meet cute
Best Friends Sister | @bitchinbarzal
logan falls for garretts twin sister. garrett is not happy.
Find You | @/bitchinbarzal
you broke up but still call logan when you need help.
PUCK ME SIDEWAYS | @conradsmirrorball
John Logan and Dean Di Laurentis are special guest on Puck Me Sideways podcast after Y/n said in a lie detector machine that he was her crush.
The Deal With The Devil | @/conradsmirrorball
Y/n is tired of her friends keep assuming she has a crush on Garrett Graham, her best friend’s boyfriend. Her best solution? Make everyone believe she’s dating John Logan.
Idiots in love | @residentheartache
you are at party when you get cornered by a guy who can’t take a hint luckily Logan is there to save you
Death Wish | @g0ldendesiree
john logan may be in love with you, only problem? if your brother finds out then he’s a dead man walking.
Unclaimed Baggage | @/g0ldendesiree
what happens when you've got the right person in front of you, but your pasts haunt you to the point of holding back?
Mom and Dad | @/g0ldendesiree
what happens when the mom and dad of the group become, well, mom and dad?
NUMBER TWELVE | @edawgz
John logan was a firm believer that love at first sight was fake, then he saw you get checked into the boards at full strength. That was enough to convince him you were his soulmate.
My Brothers Best Friend | @saturx5
while watching your best friend and brother start to fall in love you try your hardest to hide that fact that you’re dating your brothers best friend
Jealousy | @writingsforfandoms-multi
reader gets jealous at a party
a rom com kind of love | @buckpunny1
You’re a hopeless romantic who loves romcoms. John Logan is determined, through a series of grand gestures, to prove to you that true love can be even better than the movies.
Forever | @/buckpunny1
Your exes have left you with a ton of trust issues. Lucky for you, John Logan is the most patient, perfect man for you.
Unparalleled | @/buckpunny1
Your relationship with John is freshly in bloom and you find yourself struggling with puck bunnies throwing themselves at him. Logan is right there, through it all, to prove your love is truly unparalleled.
Imagine | @sourcherryandsprinkles
Ruin the friendship | @alierecss
Falling for your brother’s best friend is already a terrible idea. Falling for John Logan, while Garrett Graham watches the two of you like a security threat, is even worse.
I said “I love you”. You say nothing back | @/alierecss
the arrangement was simple: keep it casual, don’t catch feelings, don’t ask for more than what’s on the table. 338 days later, you’re starting to think simple was never really an option with john logan.
Night Skates, part 2 | @baby-alien11
as long as you want | @folkloure
the first time you stay with him until the morning.
good luck charm | @/folkloure
logan looks really fucking hot in a suit and it just makes you a little unhinged.
Late-Night Fuel | @andy-15-07
Bed on Fire | Masterlist | @natywrites
No one knew about John Logan’s crush on Hannah Wells except for Y/N L/N, because every time she was looking at him, he was looking at her.
unprofessional conduct | @puckingcuckbunny
The Briar hockey team treats the sports medicine clinic like their personal emergency room, Logan Tucker treats it like a second home. But the team can’t confirm nor deny your relationship… well until now
pretty little baby | @/puckingcuckbunny
It’s the end of finals week! that means that John Logan’s long time girlfriend can finally let loose at the first party post-exams, but letting loose, means a whole lot more for this man than he thought. OR you teasing Logan by calling him pretty alot.
clinical notes on loving him incorrectly | @/puckingcuckbunny
They were never casual enough to survive pretending they were
Mr. Dating Coach | @gwellsy
you pour your thoughts to logan saying you've never fallen in love and he says that you should open your heart to be able to find your person, yet when you do, he regrets giving you that advice
GRAHAM’S LITTLE SISTER | @darkkdamsel00
You return to Boston for spring break determined to keep your secret relationship with your brother’s best friend hidden, but one look from John Logan is enough to unravel every boundary you swore you’d keep.
happy thanksgiving, baby | @myfictionalcorner
logan never had a proper thanksgiving, and his girl is about to change that...
John Logan x Garrett!Reader, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 | @0miffytiffy0
ICE HEART | @beeewee
A frustrated figure skater who transferred from Illinois has only one goal: keeping her athletic scholarship this season, and she’ll do anything to change the way people on campus see her — especially if it means improving her image for pairs skating. Even if it costs her a fake relationship with the same person who spread the nickname that turned her into “Ice Heart.”
Seven steps, one word | @fezrus
from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
Twelve Hours | @briarafterdark
Three weeks ago at Hannah's Halloween party, John Logan almost kissed you in a hallway. You panicked. You laughed. You stepped back. Neither of you has talked about it since. Now you're trapped in the hockey house during the worst snowstorm of the year — just you, just him, just twelve hours and nowhere to go.
What starts as a simple repair turns into late-night diner runs, coffee deliveries to the garage, and a growing attachment neither of you expects. Logan likes that you talk too much when you're nervous. You like that Logan becomes softer when nobody’s watching. But as pressure mounts with Logan's hockey career and real life starts pulling at you from opposite directions, you begin to wonder if you’re just a temporary stop in Logan’s fast-moving future. And Logan realizes far too late that somewhere between oil stains and midnight drives, you became the closest thing he’s ever had to home.
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Rafe’s bedroom feels cramped. It’s about the same size as your room, but with the way he fills the space as he walks ahead of you, it feels smaller.
And yours is much more organized. One side of his room is a disaster, sheets twisted, clothes scattered on the floor. The other side is a neater. The bed is made. His Kildare Island Surfboard Co. hat is tossed on the bedframe.
You shut the door behind you, the muffled thump of the party fading. You walk past Rafe and tilt your head towards the bed that’s made.
“Please tell me this one’s yours,” you say, even though you know it is.
“Yeah, it is,” he says amusedly. Every little dose of approval he gets from you feels too damn good.
You sit on the edge of Rafe’s bed, the mattress sinking beneath you as you take in just how tidy his side of the room is.
His desk is cleared, his laundry basket tucked into the corner. You pictured him as a typical rich guy, messy and careless, the type who didn’t bother to pick up after himself, so this throws you.
But it makes sense. He clearly puts effort into how he looks, so maybe it shouldn’t shock you that he cares about the space around him, too.
He sits next to you, watching you take it in. You’re wearing that blank look on your face again, studying his room, making it impossible for him to know what you’re thinking.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You look at him, your knee brushing his.
“Yeah,” you say. “Why?”
He hesitates. He needs to play it cool, but the longer he’s around you, the harder it is to keep up the charade.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” he confesses with a defeated chuckle.
Your knees are still touching, expensive denim on your bare skin. It’s like he’s always trying to figure you out. But you don’t want to be figured out. You want escape. You want him.
The buzz in your veins, the heat licking your stomach, the way he’s looking at you is all too tempting. So you lean in, letting the moment shift from emotional to physical, from complicated to simple.
He closes the space between you and you pick up right where you left off the other night, skipping the gentle pecks for deep kisses, carding your hands through his soft hair.
Rafe loosens at your touch, both of his hands suddenly on your cheeks, and as desire pools in your gut, reveling in his soft dominance, the way he holds you when he kisses you.
You don’t want to waste any time. You shift to turn just enough to stand and straddle him. He breathes a deep groan against your lips once he feels your weight on his lap, your legs framing his.
Rafe’s head is spinning. His hands drag up your bare legs, resting under your dress on your ass as your tongues meet. Your bodies hungrily press together and while he once felt irritation over how you act like you’re better than him, he can admit to himself that it feels true now, that he’s lucky that you want him.
He continues to gently squeeze your flesh, to dig his fingers into your skin just hard enough that it makes the ache between your legs nearly unbearable.
“Take your jeans off,” you whisper, perching up to your knees. His lips press against your collarbone as he shuffles beneath you, the hum of his zipper being pulled down coaxing you.
Once his pants are on the floor, you sit to press against his hard length, only his briefs and your panties between you. The sensation sends another rush of heat through you. You roll your hips just a little and he breathes a heavy, breathy, “Fuck.”
The way Rafe’s hand cups your face is firmer now, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you tight against him. You feel his urgency in the way he’s holding you and kissing you.
You want to go all the way, to ask him if he has a condom, but this is meant to be a game to keep him wanting more and never getting it. Instead, you shift to sit on his thigh, slowly starting to grind as you grip his shoulders.
You feel his smirk against your lips before he tilts his head back just a bit, gaze meeting yours, his eyes drunk with pleasure.
“You want to get off like this?” he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist so you grind harder against him. The feeling of your wet heat through your panties is mindblowing, making him tense with need.
“Yes,” you breathe, finding relief in putting pressure where you’re so desperate for it. You whisper a soft, satisfied moan at the feeling of his hard thigh against you, fabric still in the way but not too much that you’re not finding pleasure.
Your kisses grow quick and sloppy and you lose the warmth of his hand cupping your jaw, but soon find it again on your shoulder, where he’s pulling down the strap of your dress.
Rafe lowers his head, leaving your cheek pressed up against his temple, as he pulls down the front of your dress. Slowly, he brings your bra down to your waist and expels an almost inaudible moan when he sees you.
You tense with pleasure when you feel his hot mouth close over your nipple, continuing to ride his thigh, your grip on his shoulders loosening as you start to come undone.
Rafe doesn’t want this to stop. He doesn’t want anything with you to stop. He can’t be the only one feeling this, that this is more than just attraction. He wants you in every way. And he wants to be the only one who gets to have you.
He rolls and flicks his tongue over the hard peak of your nipple, gently squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, feeling you soak his thigh. Every sense of his is filled with you and he can’t get enough.
The pressure builds up and you toss your head back when your orgasm rolls through you, tensing and relaxing, every inch of your body numb with bliss. Rafe cups your face to lead you back to him, kissing you even though you’re too spent to kiss back, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
It happens like every other time. The comedown of pleasure with a guy you feel nothing for. It’s an incredible high and a deep, heavy low. Slowly, as you catch your breath, you start to readjust your clothes, pulling up your bra and fixing your dress.
Rafe’s hands rest on your hips as you remain in his lap, showing him you’re stopping this, maybe even leaving. His heart sinks. He kisses you, tries to keep you here, but you stand up, pulling down your dress.
“I’m thirsty,” you say with a tired laugh.
You meet his eyes, and you can see the disappointment. He’s not getting what he wants. You’ve seen that exact look on so many guys’ faces. When they realize you’re not giving them what they think they deserve.
“You don’t want to stay here?” he murmurs. You’re not sure if he means to continue this, or just to hang out with him, but you’re not the type to stick around.
“No,” you reply simply, adjusting the hem of your dress.
Rafe almost offers to go downstairs and get you a drink. To get you to stay. But the happiness he was feeling just seconds ago has been replaced with the sting of rejection. He can tell when he’s not wanted. When he’s been used.
His temper takes over, anger rushing over the hurt.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Go.”
It confirms everything you ever assumed about him. He’s just like all of them. Nice when he thinks he’ll get something. Cruel when he realizes he won’t.
And this is exactly why you stay unattached.
You leave Rafe’s bedroom, sure that if you never speak again, you still won the bet. Maybe you didn’t break his heart, but you definitely bruised his pride, and that’s enough for you.
・・・・・
“No fucking way,” Mac says when Rafe approaches him in the throws of the party in the living room minutes later. “I saw her coming down the stairs. You seal the deal?”
Rafe could lie. Admittedly, after you walked out of his room, he realized he has no idea what he’s doing. Whatever it is between you has gotten more complicated than he ever planned for.
He’s always hated how easily his emotions swallow him. This is his chance to prove something to himself. He’s not weak. He can stay in control. He can sleep with you and not let it mean anything.
“She’s a tease,” Rafe plays along, even though he’s not doing this because of the bet anymore. “I’ll get her.”
・・・・・
The front lawn of your sorority house is packed. Under the cloudy morning sky, you watch from your bedroom window as students from every chapter mingle at the philanthropic event your sorority is running, a pancake breakfast to raise money for a local charity.
You’re supposed to be downstairs, but when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you saw it was your mom returning the call you made to her yesterday, you slipped away just for five minutes.
It was to tell her the good news about a midterm you were anxious about. You did well. But your mom has been distracted since you started the conversation. You can tell by her one‑word answers.
“Are you busy or something?” you finally ask, a bite slipping into your tone.
“George had a stressful day yesterday,” she answers. “He got home late. I just want to make sure his breakfast is ready before he wakes up.”
You never fully bonded with your stepdad. He tried, but you didn’t. The resentment of your father’s betrayal hollowed you out, urging you to believe that a man will never stay.
It broke your mom. And she poured everything she had into the next relationship, as if loving George enough could erase the fact that your dad walked away.
With the phone pressed to your cheek, you feel anger clawing its way up your throat, tears burning behind your eyes.
You just wanted to share good news with your mom, but right now, she’s focused on someone else. And the lonely feeling that brings hurts.
・・・・・
Nobody pays attention when Rafe slips into your sorority house. The event in the front lawn is too chaotic for anyone to notice him.
Since last night, when you left him in his bedroom, you haven’t spoken. He didn’t see you outside and he needs to find you.
He knows he handled things wrong. And he can’t quit this. You’re too addictive to watch walk away.
He’s not doing this to win the bet anymore. He’s here to prove to himself that he can think like a man who doesn’t feel so much. That he can have a good time with the hottest girl he’s ever been with without getting attached.
He’s at your bedroom door, finding it easily after the night he carried your roommate over, and lifts his hand to knock.
“...can’t even listen to me for a minute?”
It’s your voice on the other side. Choked up.
“Okay. Yeah. Fine,” you eventually say, clipped and shaky.
You hang up and settle onto your bed, trying to center yourself. After you snapped at your mom that she wasn’t listening to you, she snapped right back that she was doing her best to focus on your conversation, and that’s when you began to tear up.
Then there’s a knock on your door. You assume it’s Jada or one of your sisters checking up on you. The last thing you expect is to pull the door open and find Rafe standing there.
You freeze. You’ve never cried in front of a guy you’re seeing. If that’s even what you’d call whatever this is with him. You figured after last night, the whole thing was over.
His forehead creases when he sees you, his gaze deepening.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice low. He notices your phone in your hand, realizing you just hung up on whoever was making you cry.
There’s no point in lying. Your eyes are still wet.
“I’m great,” you mutter sarcastically, dabbing your cheeks, brushing away the last traces of your sorrow. “Why are you here?”
“For the pancakes,” he says to lighten the mood.
It’s such a stupid answer that despite yourself, your mouth twitches into a small smile.
“I’m serious. Why are you at my door?” you ask, simply confused why he hasn’t cut his losses. You don’t know why he’s sticking around after last night. Most guys would’ve bailed by now.
“To say sorry,” he says.
You put a hand on your hip. He’s here to grovel. It sends a satisfying spark through you. You always love a power trip, especially when it’s over a guy looking like he’s about to beg for another chance.
“I need to fix my makeup,” you say. “Come in if you want.”
Rafe steps inside, clicking the door shut behind him. He sits on your bed and you settle in front of your mirror and open your makeup bag. Your skin is still warm from crying, still a little tight around your eyes.
You feel the heat of his gaze. Knowing he’s seeing you vulnerable like this makes your stomach twist in discomfort. But you invited him in to show him how easily you shake things off. Then your body betrays you.
A quiet, involuntary post‑cry shudder ripples through you. A sharp pang digs itself into Rafe’s chest when he hears it.
“You don’t have to tell me what that was about,” he offers.
“I wasn’t going to,” you say, straightening your posture. “What did you hear?”
“That someone’s not listening to you.”
You let out a breathy scoff.
“Eavesdropping is rude.”
“I’m rude,” he replies with a shrug.
You have to laugh. His shoulders ease hearing it.
“I didn’t expect self‑awareness from you,” you say.
“Yeah? What’d you expect, then?”
You meet his eyes in the mirror.
“What happened last night,” you reply. “What every guy does when he realizes he’s not going to get what he wants from me.”
Rafe scratches the back of his neck, the regret sitting in his stomach.
“I’m sorry. Seriously.”
“Save it,” you respond, waving him off, truly indifferent to it anyway.
Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can’t defend himself without admitting too much. He can’t tell you that last night didn’t piss him off – it hurt.
“I thought we’d hang out. And then you just… left,” he finally says. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. I…”
“Had a tantrum?” you say.
He tensely runs a hand through his hair.
“Is that why you’re always getting into fights?” you ask, thinking about what you’d seen on the island, the way he’d explode at the smallest thing.
Rafe stills for a moment. It’s good to hear that you’d noticed him back home. That he existed to you.
“Wait… you’ve been watching me?” he says amusedly.
You sigh, tipping your head back toward the ceiling with a groan.
“Your ego kills me,” you breathe.
He smirks and stares at you again as you continue to touch up your makeup, looking beautiful even with your eyes still a little puffy.
“I got mad because you’re confusing, alright?” he says. “You just ran out.”
You huff. You don’t believe him. The only thing you trust that comes out of his mouth is anything he says about his physical attraction to you.
“And I don’t get into fights anymore,” he adds.
It’s true. He hasn’t gotten into a single fight in a while, at least not here on campus. He still gets angry, because of course he does, but the distance from the island has done him good.
“Why’s that?” you ask, keeping your tone light, almost bored.
The more he talks, the more he opens up, the more material you’ll have later. Because you know now that you could still break his heart. You see the way he looks at you, the way he’s trying to apologize, the way he came here in the first place. His feelings are growing.
“Being here’s good for me,” he admits.
He looks out the window, jaw tight. You mull over his words. It doesn’t sound like it’s specifically here that’s good for him. It sounds like it’s anywhere that isn’t Kildare.
“You don’t like it back home?” you probe.
He breathes a humorless laugh. This pain is all too familiar. Life on the island was nothing but trying to outrun the truth that he was never wanted.
And the only way he ever learned to cope was by letting the anger take over, letting the chaos distract him from the feeling that he wasn’t enough.
“It’s because of shit with my family,” he finally replies. “I’m not what they want me to be.”
And like a wave, embarrassment that he just spilled so much to you crashes into him. This is what he hates about himself, the way everything sits right at the brim, always threatening to overflow. Somehow you’ve cracked him open.
Rafe’s defeated tone almost, almost makes you feel for him. You can relate more than he’ll ever know. Because on that phone call, your mom expected you to be fine with the fact that her husband comes first, and you don’t.
You turn around in your seat to finally look at him without the mirror between you. Rafe’s eyes are fixed on your floor now. You need to even the playing field. Make him think you’re opening up too, when you’re not.
“It was my mom on the phone,” you say. “She has a very particular idea of how I should act. It’s annoying. I get it.”
It’s a half‑truth, close enough to what he said to feel like you’re meeting him in the middle.
And he buys it. The way he looks at you, like he thinks this is some moment of shared understanding, confirms that he’s trusting you. He’s giving you pieces of himself without realizing it. And you can use every single one.
But right now, you realize you don’t want to.
What you once thought would feel satisfying suddenly doesn’t anymore. Every time you’ve hurt a guy in the past, it wasn’t intentional. You never set out to break anyone. But this time, you did, and it doesn’t feel good like you thought it would.
You don’t exactly like Rafe, but you don’t mind him. And if you go through with this, deliberately pulling him in just to tear him down, then what does that make you?
Whatever your reason, you’re still putting energy into a man. It’s not the same as your mother pouring herself into her husband, but it’s still a direction you don’t want to go into.
This started off as a little game of revenge to put Rafe in his place, maybe even to get payback on all the pain one particular man left in your heart. But you don’t see the point anymore.
“What does she want?” he asks, oblivious to the decision you’ve just made.
You lift a shoulder in a small shrug.
“For me to keep the peace,” you reply. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t like to shut up when I’m mad.”
Rafe chuckles, relieved. He was convinced he blew it with you, but you’re not shutting him out.
“I like that about you,” he murmurs.
It’s the first thing Rafe has ever complimented you on that wasn’t about your appearance. And it’s about something you’ve always assumed people saw as a flaw. He talks about your short fuse like it’s good.
In the few minutes he’s been alone in here with him, you’ve seen a side of him you never have. And while you’ll never trust him, you can admit this is the most honest you’ve ever seen him be.
Your mind flickers back to the charter Olympics, to the way he made those guys who were bothering you leave you alone. You still don’t think that he did it out of sincerity, but the memory of him protecting you lingers right now.
And the way he’s looking at you now, with that same intensity he had then, only makes it harder to ignore the part of you that wonders what his intentions really are. That maybe you were wrong.
Not that it matters.
“We should go downstairs,” you say, pushing back your chair.
・・・・・
Later that day, Rafe pushes open the door to his bedroom, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’s barely stepped inside when Cooper looks up from his laptop.
“Did you see the email?” he asks. Rafe drops his bag onto the floor with a thud.
“What email?”
His roommate turns the screen toward him. Rafe’s stomach sinks when he sees the subject line. Notice of Disciplinary Action.
“We’re on probation,” Cooper says. “We’re actually banned from partying. We could get suspended.”
“This is a joke,” he mutters with a chuckle.
“No, dude, it’s real,” Cooper confirms. “We’re off probation after four weeks if we follow the rules. Trey called a house meeting tonight.”
Rafe exhales, frustrated and confused.
・・・・・
The meeting starts with Trey, the frat president, standing at the front of the living room. He doesn’t bother hiding how pissed he is.
“We shouldn’t even be having this conversation,” he says, glaring around the room. “We just got warned and you geniuses still thought throwing that Halloween party was a good idea.”
He exhales sharply and reads off the email from the disciplinary committee.
“They’re serious,” he says afterwards. “They’ll be checking. Campus security will do random drive‑bys. If they see cars lined up or people outside or literally anything that looks like a party, we’re done. No one here can even risk being seen at other parties. I mean it.”
As the guys break into complaints, Rafe just sits there, growing more pissed off as the reality settles in. No parties means no distractions.
Eventually, he realizes that the conversations are going nowhere, and he stands and walks out into the night air without a destination in mind. He gets into his truck and sits there for a minute, hands on the wheel, jaw tight.
Then he pulls out his phone and taps on your name. Because right now, you’re the only person who makes him forget everything better than anything else ever has.
He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say when you pick up. He just needs to get out of his own head.
“Hello?” you answer.
“Hey,” he says. “You around?”
“I’m home,” you say. “And I’m in my pajamas, so the farthest I’m going is the porch.”
He smirks despite himself.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
・・・・・
When Rafe parks under the streetlamp in front of your sorority house, he sees you already sitting on the steps, arms wrapped around your knees. You look unbothered. Beautiful. Like usual.
He sits beside you on the porch, leaving just enough space to pretend he’s not desperate to touch you. For a few seconds, neither of you talk. Crickets sing. Cars pass.
“As peaceful as this is,” you say, picking up on his tension, “what the fuck happened?”
Rafe huffs a quiet, defeated laugh.
“We’re on probation,” he admits. “No parties or anything for a month. Everyone in the house is losing their minds.”
“Oh, wow,” you say. “No fun for a month?”
Rafe shrugs, eyes fixed on the street.
“Sitting around doing nothing drives me insane,” he admits.
“You could finally do those discussion boards you’ve been missing out on,” you say, nudging him with your shoulder. He breathes a laugh again. “You’re telling me you can’t survive thirty days?”
Rafe finally looks at you. And he realizes that just by being with you, his chest isn’t as tight anymore. He feels better around you.
“I’m not good with being bored,” he says.
You stare at him for a moment. Maybe he’s not as shallow as you expected. Maybe he likes noise because it keeps him from thinking. Maybe there’s something he’s outrunning.
This is exactly the kind of conversation you stay far away from with a guy. This is stuff a girlfriend would deal with. And you’re not his girlfriend. You’re not here to fix him or soothe him or get pulled into whatever’s going on in his head.
You need to shift the mood and offer him some sort of comfort, without the vulnerability. Because while you don’t have any real feelings for Rafe, you can admit you don’t like seeing him tense.
You’ll let this fling play out. One of you will eventually get bored once it’s obvious this isn’t going anywhere. But you’re no longer trying to hurt him. You can’t bring yourself to be cruel to someone who isn’t the asshole you thought he was.
“Well,” you say lightly, leaning back on your hands. “The girls keep talking about a beach day.”
He glances over, curious.
“And if you guys come to that,” you continue, “is it really that bad? It’s not a party. And it’s off campus.”
Rafe nods, his mouth curling into a smile, the rigidity in his posture easing.
“I’ll text you the details,” you say. “Come with drinks. And don’t bring everyone, okay?”
You push yourself to your feet, brushing off your hands.
“Wait,” Rafe says. He stands too, and because he’s a step lower on the porch, you end up almost eye‑level with him. Even from here, he’s still taller than you.
He looks at you with that intense focus you’ve seen so many times. And then, like always, he cups your face with both firmness and restraint when he kisses you.
For a second, the world goes quiet around him. The more he gets of you, the more he wants. Your lips are warm and soft and perfect and it hurts that you want to go back inside so soon after he arrived.
You pull back from the kiss first, like always. He stays where he is, stuck between hope and frustration, wishing you’d change your mind and just to sit here with him.
But you only offer a heartbreaking smile before you turn and leave him unable to stop wanting the one thing he can’t get enough of.
・・・・・
You’ve been at the beach for about an hour now, soaking in the early afternoon sun.
Everyone is sprawled out, a mix of your sorority sisters, girls from other houses, and a few guys they invited. Music hums from a speaker over the crashes of waves against the shore.
You’re sitting cross‑legged on your towel, gazing out at the lake. It’s beautiful, light blue contrasted against a wide stretch of beige sand, but it doesn’t compare to the ocean you grew up admiring. Even so, you can’t help enjoying the novelty of sitting on a beach in November.
A faraway voice makes you look toward the parking lot. You see a group of six guys, all in swim trunks and sunglasses, talking loudly and hauling a cooler.
Rafe is easy to pick out. He’s taller than the rest, wearing a white t-shirt over his swim shorts, looking better than everyone on this beach.
You’d sent him a location pin so he could find you. He drops the cooler into the sand and greets the guys already there with his usual confidence.
Rafe hates to see that there isn’t an open spot beside you, that you’re wedged between two of your friends. He chooses a place just across from you, sitting on the corner of a beach blanket.
He’s supposed to be keeping his feelings in check. But how can he when you look like that, sitting there wearing a bikini and an amused smirk that tightens his chest?
You pull at two sides of him, the part that craves to be wrapped up in you, to be deep inside of you, and another part that he tries to ignore. A part that wants to be needed.
“Hey,” he says to you over the surrounding conversations.
“Hey,” you reply. “You staying out of trouble?”
He gives a half‑smile and says, “Trying.”
It’s been a couple of days since you spoke on the porch, since he kissed you and you walked away. Since then, you’ve taken up his every thought, and it sucks having to pretend like you haven’t.
The group’s conversation shifts to the probation. As some of Rafe’s frat brothers whine about the punishment, you stretch out your legs, playfully nudging his knee with your toes. He looks at you, mirroring your smile.
A few weeks ago, you had to make yourself flirt with him. You had to think about the bet and tell yourself to play the part. Now you want to do it. The version of him you thought you hated has been erased, and he’s just another guy you’re having a fling with. Something fun that’ll burn out.
That’s always been the rush. Getting close enough to feel the spark, but never close enough to get burned.
You’ve known for a while now that Rafe really likes you. You can see it in the way he looks at you, in the way his attention keeps drifting back to you, no matter what’s happening around him. You know when a guy is in deep.
But he’s only enamored with a version of you. Guys fall for the cool, detached girl all the time. You never let them see the real you.
Rafe is no different. He probably thinks he’s getting close, but he’s not. You’re enjoying the temporary thrill, and if he stopped talking to you tomorrow, you’d shrug and move on.
Besides, you’re still pretty sure he’s putting up a front, too. Acting nicer than he really is. You know the routine that every guy does when he wants you.
Eventually, Rafe gently cups your ankle. You meet his eyes.
“Swim with me,” he says quietly. You nod.
He tugs his shirt off and you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you up. Jada smiles at you over the rim of her drink. You told her yesterday that you’re over the bet, that it feels wrong to keep playing this game.
She didn’t look surprised. She’s seen you go through enough flings to know exactly how this will go.
・・・・・
The sand shifts under your feet as the two of you approach the shore. When the water reaches your ankles, it’s cool enough to make you wince.
Rafe steps in ahead of you, the surface rippling around his calves as he looks ahead, giving you an opportunity to look at his bare, muscled back.
“It’s nothin’ like ours, huh?” he says.
You smirk to yourself, finding it funny that he’s thinking the same thing you did. And that he’s calling the island ours like it’s something you share, when all you did there was avoid each other.
He keeps his eyes on the horizon. While he seems to appreciate the beaches at home, he admitted to you that it’s better he’s not there. You always assumed he coasted through life with no concerns, but you know now that’s not entirely true.
You wade deeper into the water. It curls around your thighs and you let out another sharp exhale as you adjust to the temperature.
“Come on,” Rafe teases. “It’s not gonna bite you.”
You roll your eyes, familiar easy tension settling between you. When this whole thing started, he had to watch every word, rein in the way he normally teases because he wasn’t sure how to handle you. But now, he doesn’t have to do any of that. He can just be himself.
“This is a shock to my system, okay? I’ve been in the sun for a long time,” you flirt. “See how warm I am?”
You wrap your hand around his bicep. The warmth of your skin sinks into him, and you feel the subtle flex of hard muscle under your palm.
His eyes drop to where you’re holding him, then lift back to yours with an amused look. He likes the way you touch him. And that you chose to.
“Not really,” he replies. He dips his chin toward you. “Probably should feel more of you.”
He uses the excuse to tug you closer by the wrist. You laugh as your bodies meet, the water now at your hips, your shoulders nearly level with his chest. You stare up at him, and in the sun, the freckles on his face stand out, soft, scattered spots.
“Oh, yeah, you’re hot,” he rasps with a smirk as you press up against him. He thinks back to the other night, to the feeling of you grinding on his thigh, his mouth on you, your breathy moans.
“You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” you tease. Rafe’s grin widens.
“What? I’m just talking.”
The water sways around you both. You take a deep breath before finally sinking in to your shoulders, the cold rushing up your spine.
And, like always, your conversation drifts effortlessly. It’s nothing heavy or deep, but you get to know each other a little more, trading jokes in between.
・・・・・
Eventually, the quiet you and Rafe found in the water breaks as more of the group joins to swim. The sun keeps sinking, and by the time everyone wanders back to shore, it’s just about to touch the horizon.
Your section of the beach is a sprawl of towels, drinks, and snacks. Everyone’s stretched out in the sand, talking over each other as all your sorority sisters brag about winning silver in the charter Olympics.
Rafe sits beside you, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers while conversations blur around you.
He’s pissed off. He’s never claimed to be a good person. He knows exactly what he is. But loyalty means something, and if someone loved him, he’d never fuck them over, so when he spots his frat brother with some random girl that’s definitely not his girlfriend perched on his lap, frustration coils tightly in his gut.
Rafe’s seen the way his girlfriend dotes on him. And he can admit it made him jealous. Not because he likes her, but because he wants someone to care that much about him.
Seeing his frat brother throw that away makes his blood run hot. Why do some people get handed the kind of love Rafe would kill for, and treat it like it’s nothing?
You take a deep breath as you gaze out at the water. At first, Rafe looks like he’s just zoning out, but then you notice he’s been quiet for uncharacteristically long.
“What are you pouting about?” you tease.
He flicks his eyes toward the group, then lifts his chin in the direction of one of his frat brothers. The guy is laughing, a girl on his lap, her arms around his neck.
Rafe’s voice drops low.
“He’s got a girl,” he mutters with a shake of his head. He takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching the scene with a judgmental look.
You study his profile, trying to figure out if he’s genuinely bothered by his friend seemingly cheating or just saying what he thinks sounds good. But he actually seems angry. The guys you’ve known wouldn’t flinch at something like this.
“Why does it annoy you?” you ask.
“If you got someone, you don’t do that shit,” he mutters.
“Doesn’t every guy do that shit?” you chuckle.
The words slipped out before you could stop them, pulled from the memory of your dad leaving, emptying the house of his belongings, teaching you that men will always choose themselves.
Rafe looks at you, eyebrows pulling together like he can’t believe you’re excusing it.
“No,” he says. The conviction in his tone is hard and unexpected.
“I’m not saying it’s okay,” you reply with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “I’ve just seen it a million times.”
“Yeah, well, some guys actually give a shit about loyalty,” he responds.
The noise of the group swells around you again and you don’t say anything, letting the conversation slip away. It feels too deep.
You trail off into other topics, joking around, pretending you’re not preoccupied. But Rafe’s reaction lingers in your mind, even after you say your goodbyes later that afternoon.
(to be continued)
new parts come out every friday at 8 pm est. if you want to be alerted of when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘
okay but personally as a bisexual woman of colour, the line "sasha trampled my heart so bad and now i think i like white boys" is the funniest line in all of heartbreak high, i love this show oml
ღ summary: Your (not so) quiet crush on Sanji through Nami’s eyes
ღ pairing: Sanji x fem!reader
ღ warnings: Disgusting(ly bad) flirting :D not an established relationship but they act like a couple anyway! reader with long-ish hairr, she's chalant af
Nami finds out about your crush on Sanji during girls night.
You don’t know what was better, when no one knew about this thing you had for him, or having your best friend aware, which meant that you finally had someone else to rave on about Sanji and everything that he is.
She calls you “lame”, but the truth is that you are helpless.
You’re seated on a twirly chair in front of the vanity, right foot up on the cushioned surface to better polish your toes. They’re a vivid coral, matching the ones on your fingers. Nami’s lying upside down on her cot across from you, hands behind her head and feet up against the wall like it’s nobody’s business. She's finished her toes already, all coated in a beautiful teal that compliments her hair.
Everything is perfect tonight. As perfect as being bountied pirates on a ship can get. The flower scented candles around the girls’ cabin run warm, making sweetness blossom around the room. Your beds are made perfectly, pillows fluffed up just the way you like it. You and Nami move with an unspoken understanding, of unwinding and finally taking time to yourselves after a day full of adventure.
The sound of the sea has been quietly lulling the two of you into peace, though you have to delay your sleep for an extra hour of chatting away your complaints.
Girls night always welcomes honesty—when you and Nami can talk about everything the boys would never understand. And she’s being real truthful alright, hand enthusiastically waving around like a maestro to her own words.
And of course, the current topic of conversation was the blonde, women-loving cook in your crew.
Nami can be blunt, to say the least. It’s what you appreciate most about her, although you wish she’d soften her words up just a little bit.
Or maybe try to see him the way you do.
“He’s a lot.”
She’s talking about typical Sanji behavior. The incessant flirting, the hovering and his I-live-to-serve-women attitude, which she’s convinced is some type of overcompensation.
You definitely don’t think it’s annoying. If anything, you think it’s really sweet that he tries his hardest to impress Nami.
Matter of fact, you love it when he tries to impress the girls on this ship. Fortunately for you, the only two available ones include an independent, no-bullshit navigator who doesn’t easily fall for his smooth-talking. Now that just leaves him to focus more of his affection onto you, and you absolutely love being the center of his attention.
You bite your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “I mean, he’s intense for sure.”
She rolls her eyes at your attempts to soften her complaints, and she truly can’t find it in her to understand why you would defend the cook. “Annoying.”
“I think it’s kind of cute.”
A beat of silence.
And then Nami literally whips her head to face you so fast you’d think you were a treasure made of a trillion berries.
The sight she’s greeted with is one she will never forget. And not in a pleasant way, because you look positively, 100%, absolutely sure about the words you just uttered out of your mouth.
You’re hugging both your legs up to your chest, lips still bitten in a silent restraint. You’re actually melting into yourself, lost somewhere in the clouds as you swing yourself right and left in your chair.
Where do you even begin?
From memorizing your likes and dislikes,—and not just about food—attending to your needs, whether you voice them or not, and genuinely wanting to know you for who you are. Sanji somehow manages to embrace who you were, who you are now and who you hope to become in the future, all in the same breath.
He is never quiet with the way he loves. God forbid he doesn’t worry about others for even one day. He’s dramatic, over-the-top, theatrical. All the synonyms of spectacular you can find in the dictionary. But also grounded, selfless, and so genuine that it makes your teeth ache and your heart clench erratically.
Sanji treats you with a kind of gentleness that makes you think you’re the most precious diamond in the Blue Sea. You are. To him. He never ceases to convince you of so.
So it’s an absolute no-brainer that you think he is the one for you. If not the only man ever. And, the fact that you aren’t alone in this fortifies your belief. You and Sanji have your own thing. A quiet game that only you seem to understand the rules of. A kind of connection that isn’t defined by or bound to labels; one that grew from quiet glances and secret smiles. The others may not notice—for now. They’d probably brush it off as you being kind to Sanji and finding genuine friendship in him.
But you like it that way, and you really, really like him. You don’t need to say it out loud, because you’re sure he knows you do. You’re content with what you have because you can feel it that he reciprocates.
You are his just as much as he is yours.
“Say that again.” Nami pumps out the sentence like she can’t believe her own ears. She’s fully upright now, propping her upper body with her hands. She leans towards you as if it’ll make her hear better.
“I think..” you mimic her pose and lean your chest forward, palms resting on both knees as if preparing to tell her a secret, “—that he’s kind of cute.”
It’s he, now. Not it, anymore.
God, you are hopeless. And crazy.
“You’re kidding.” The navigator hits you with the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen her muster in her life.
Nami tries to look back at all your past interactions with Sanji. From the first time you joined the crew to the most recent ones. Then it all clicks for her—like a puzzle piece to answer a question she’s never bothered to ask.
It starts with the way you get quiet when Sanji’s around, a secret smile and an undeniable warmth seldom missing from your face. Gosh, you’re so shy when he talks to you sometimes. It’s crazy that it didn’t register to her because you’re typically always so sure of yourself. Then it’s how you never, ever brush off his attempts at flattery. How your sweet compliments always seemed to be drowned out by Luffy’s shouts and Zoro’s arguing. She looks back at the way you naturally gravitate towards him. It didn't matter if you were on the ship, jumping from island-to-island, in the middle of a fight or simply lounging around with the rest of the crew, you always found your way right beside him.
Huh.
It was all in her face the entire time. Loud and apologetic. She feels silly at the fact that she’s never thought to even look because she couldn’t fathom that any woman could genuinely put up with him. And you never denied anything either—not when there wasn’t anything to deny in the first place.
Her words set you off like a pirate looking for the one piece.
“Nami don’t you ever dream of a guy who’ll sweep you off your feet?”
You’re breathless, absolutely lost in your own daydreams as you twirl around your chair with a force that could blow the Going Merry across the Grand Line. There are stars in your eyes, genuinely. Your hands shoot up in a rainbow above your head, and your body melts further into the seat.
Something’s definitely gotten into you.
“And Sanji’s that guy for you?!” She exclaims. You watch her go through all the 7 stages of grief in the span of 3 seconds.
You laugh at her silliness, and then you’re back to swooning again.
It was as if she’d unlocked your inner beast. A lovesick, crazy girl who was spouting her dreams of romance and everything that was butterflies and rainbows. A woman who was absolutely mooning over Sanji.
From then on the navigator makes it her mission to uncover where this crush of yours came from. She can try asking the rest of the crew, but she’s 98% sure the boys are oblivious to this, or simply aren’t as perturbed as she is. (Because how has no one questioned this before?!)
Starting wasn’t hard. At all. Turns out you and Sanji are shameless. It just takes the right time for someone to pay attention and see how deep the connection runs between the two of you.
It happens bright and early a few days later. Nami—by instinct or intuition—woke up to an empty cabin. Your bed looked freshly mussed, like you couldn’t be bothered to tidy it up before getting up. She looked through the small window, greeted by the sight of the barely peeking sun in the darkness of the horizon. Way too early for anyone to be up. Except for Sanji, who she knows is already prepping for breakfast in the galley. And conveniently, you seem to be missing in action as well. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.
She catches you right as you are entering the kitchen.
Of course, Sanji is already busying himself on the counter, chopping an array of fresh fruits into—what Nami can’t see—hearts.
“Mon trésor.”
It barely takes a second for you to enter before Sanji is calling out to you, gaze immediately snapping towards your figure. He doesn’t need his sight to know that it’s you. He can’t admit that it’s because he’s memorized the weight of your steps on the ship, and the sweet scent of your perfumed clothes.
A lit cigarette hangs off from his lips, though he quickly puts it away when you make your way to the dining table.
You rub your eyes tiredly, hand then moving down to hug yourself closer in an attempt to chase some warmth. “Hi, Sanji.”
He’s melting at the sight of you.
This might just be his favorite part of the morning, second only to when you start talking to him. You’re in your pajamas still, shirt hanging loosely over your bare shoulders. Absolutely radiant, and so domestic. You can barely open your eyes in the morning sun, and the way you carry yourself feels heavier, but more honest. Relaxed. A good sign that you slept well.
Sanji doesn’t fight off the small flush that makes itself known across his face.
“Do you know that every time you say my name an angel gains its wings?”
You grin at the early morning flattery while you settle down on your seat. You could look like the messiest thing on the ship and Sanji will find a way to compliment you regardless. “Heaven must love me,”
“Heaven would be a fool not to love you, darling.” It doesn’t take even a beat for him to answer, and the cook puts down his knife to come closer. He makes a point to lean his face down to yours to greet you with an open teeth grin.
And that genuinely brings a giggle out of you, leaving Nami mildly disgusted.
When he's finally seen your smile, he returns back to the stove, slathering butter over the surface of a pan. The familiar rich aroma and the oddly calming sizzling sound makes you soften into yourself. You slouch onto the countertop, folding your elbows into each other and laying your chin on top. “I take it that this is a good morning for you?”
“Everyday better when I see your beautiful face.” He curls his lips into a smile, sneaking a quick glance at you before winking.
Thank goodness he goes back to focusing on the pan because you are already throwing your face away to the sea, pursing your lips in a barely restrained smile before burying yourself into the crook of your arms, releasing a hidden breath.
Sanji, that sly man, takes a quick peek from his shoulders. Seeing you, confident you, turn into a flustered puddle from his words makes him puff up so quickly. He wears his pride so boldly on his chest. No one could tell him anything for the rest of the day, and it was insufferable.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s already started on your breakfast. He knows that you’re an early riser, and that you will almost always seek him out first thing in the morning. So everyday he sets out your breakfast ingredients and preps as much as he can. He doesn’t start cooking them before he sees your face, because he only wants the most warm and freshly cooked meal for you.
You notice it though, the way he always serves you first, no matter the time and place. Dinner? A plate of the finest meat for you first (Luffy hates it.) Going over logs with Nami? All the snacks you like are immediately placed in front of you, and a drink to compliment it following behind. He always thinks about your needs first, and if that isn’t love then you don’t know what to believe.
Just as you are in the middle of your daydreaming, Sanji interrupts with the sound of cutlery against porcelain. He’s plating up your mouth-watering breakfast, made to absolute perfection.
“For you madam, golden brown honey toast with freshly whipped cream on top,” he dishes out the plate in front of you, and the aroma itself sends you straight to heaven. “—extra fruit, just the way you like it.”
You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with him, but you’re proven wrong once you see the fruits that decorate your toast, all of them heart shaped. Both hand-cut and perfectly uniform using the cutter he specifically bought to use for your meals.
You gasp in exaggeration, though deep inside you’re aching about how sweet he is to remember your preferences. “You spoil me,”
“Only the best for my favorite Strawhat.” He answers, pouring you a glass of freshly brewed coffee.
You’re in the middle of cutting your toast in half when you look up at him, teasing by saying, “Don’t let the captain hear you say that.”
Sanji exclaims back to you in all his confidence, turning away as he places the pot on the counter. “Bah! One sirloin steak and he’ll forgive me like it never happened.”
Your giggle is like the brightest melody in his ears, and the words that follow it could bring him back from the dead. “Thank you, my chef~”
“You know my heart can’t take it,” He playfully sighs out your name, clutching his chest. Sanji stands across the table now, resting his chin on his hand against the counter top. Just happy to watch you.
“Delicious!” You continue to shoot honeyed words at him, not just as a means for him to keep sweet-talking you, but also because you think Sanji deserves all the love and goodness of this world.
“Sing me your praises, my angel of music,”
Nami can almost see him propel himself to the sky with giddiness.
“So perfectly crunchy,”
“—and I’m yours forever.” He takes your hand in his from across the aisle, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you.
Nami felt chills sweeping up her spine.
You guys were so cheesy. But sort of.. cute. That was something she couldn’t deny. She’s never seen Sanji this genuine, and when someone actually reciprocates, it makes him look less like a fool.
And the way you were bouncing back and forth on each other was like a sick game of ping-pong she couldn’t look away from.
She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why you two aren’t together already. It’s perfectly clear that you both feel the same way, and aren’t afraid to act upon it. A small part of her wants to meddle, and she’s halfway into a plan that’ll somehow get either of you to confess to each other, but then she abruptly stops.
Eh, you guys will sort that out yourselves. Eventually. You look like you’re exactly where you want to be. So, Nami shrugs and beelines into the kitchen, hoping to get a fresh plate of breakfast seeing that he’s already started with yours.
The next time Nami catches a moment between the two of you wasn’t intentional. Right, because she wouldn’t be caught dead seeking the conversations you and Sanji had after that traumatizing event.
It was late at night. For once a quiet one between all the chaos that seemed to follow the Strawhat Pirates. Luffy was snoring away somewhere with a full belly, Ussop tinkering away in his cabin, and Zoro likely in the crow’s nest. Nami decided to look for fresh air, feeling a little bit holed up inside her room. Between the gentle rocking of the sea and the soft melody of the waves, it was the perfect atmosphere to spend watching the horizon.
She didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, but the door was open and a ship doesn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. She tried to leave the two of you alone at first, but found herself leaning against the galley wall to listen in in the end.
When she takes a peek through the door, she finds you seated still and pretty on the stool close to him, cross-legged in your pajamas. Like a sous chef who wasn’t really a sous chef but boosted the cook all the same—if not a million times more.
When you first got to the galley, you paid mind to his laser-focused expression. You didn't want to break his flow, so you stuck yourself against the counter at a distance. You were content with the picture of him from afar, but Sanji had absolutely none of it. He began your conversation of the night while silently dragging a stool and placing it right next to him by the stove. Safely away from getting blasted by the heat, but close enough to where he could feel you around him and talk to you without feeling a million miles away.
He’s got on one of your top favorite get-ups: a classic blue striped dress-shirt unbuttoned just the right amount and his pink Doskoi Panda apron tied around the back. Sleeves deliciously rolled up to his elbows for a bonus. Though Nami isn’t attracted to him the way you are, she isn’t blind. She has to admit that the image of his forearms are a sight for sore eyes. Sanji can be quite charming at times, mostly when he keeps the talking to a minimum and does what he does best.
You’re not even hiding it at this point, gaze tracking every languid move of his hands like you were hypnotized.
It’s not hard for you to admire him when he’s deep in his element. You find yourself going quiet, not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s mesmerizing to see the way he commands the kitchen like his own battleship.
There’s a small smile on your lips as you take in the passion he carries, and on your lap you fidget with the shiny silver ring on your thumb. It’s his ring—your favorite one that's shaped like a skull—that he gave to you for “safekeeping”, even though Sanji never ever takes them off. Even when he’s cooking. It’s incredibly intimate; a symbol of his trust for you.
He’s just finished cooking a dish of his own creation. A classic menu made of meat, but a little more experimental with the seasoning. You can only describe it as heaven in a plate, sweet and savory at the same time, with a hint of something that you can't fully describe with words. Yet, you enjoy it for all that it is, and the delectable fragrance isn't something to complain about, either. It’s almost shocking that Luffy hasn’t come running down the kitchen from the smell alone. Sanji isn’t technically done with the recipe, seeing as he’s trying to perfect the ingredients being used. He has his worn-out notepad by the counter, filled with endless scribbles and notes of improvement. The cook will come back to it once you’ve given your own comments on the taste.
Once finished turning down the heat, he takes a clean spoon out of the cabinet and offers you a small portion fresh out of the pan, where the dish was still simmering in the heat.
You feel honored that you are Sanji’s unofficial taste-tester. The first time you came across the cook experimenting with new creations was a complete coincidence. That particular night you’d been restless in bed, stomach aching for a bite of food. You ended up pattering into the galley to get maybe a few crackers, a slice of bread or cheese or something that’d temporarily distract you. But you didn’t expect to feast on a five star meal once Sanji found out you were hungry. You? His precious princess starving? Not on this ship.
What began as compliments to the chef turned into fully fledged reviews of each flavor profile, and eventually became something more intimate. A space for honesty just for you and Sanji.
You like to think that’s where you found the real Sanji. The kind heart beyond the ladies man, the truths behind his endless honeyed words.
You sought him out like a moth to a flame, and every night Sanji welcomed you with open arms.
Most of the times you were there to actually be his taste-tester, which is just his excuse of having a private late dinner with you. But, other times he’s prepping meals for the next day and you’re simply there to keep him company. Either way, you’ll never skip out on an opportunity to spend time alone with Sanji.
Funnily enough, more than once you’ve caught Luffy sneaking in and rummaging through the pantry, already halfway stuffing his face with something that makes Sanji tick before he notices that the two of you are occupying the room. It’s a bit adorable that he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He never questions anything beyond “Hey… are you sneaking for snacks too?!” and then an “Okay!” followed by his high pitched laughter after Sanji kicks him out for offering you the stolen goods from his sticky hands.
You take notice that he never lets Luffy get a bite of his cooking. Sure, if the captain asks, Sanji will make him something, but not from the same pan. A different dish all together. You think that maybe it’s because he isn’t open to someone tasting something he considers isn’t “perfect” yet, but another part of you just believes that it’s because he only trusts you to give him the honest truth.
Still, you find it hard to believe he’d ever need one, considering everything that he makes turns out flawless.
“More seasoning?” The cook watches as you chew on the meat slowly.
You shake your head in disagreement. “No, this is perfect, Sanji.”
“Not too sweet for you?”
Nami sees you visibly recoil at his questions, body moving as if he was spouting blasphemy.
He’s got his back turned to you while he rinses his hands over the sink, so he can’t see the flabbergasted frown on your face.
“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” You make an emphasis on the word “best”, sticking the wooden spoon back at him to signal that you wanted more.
“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, pulling the dish towel from his shoulders to wipe his hand. Then he goes straight to follow your command exactly and dips right back into the pan, scooping up a portion before blowing it softly to cool it down.
You’re practically vibrating in your seat, legs bouncing and arms holding up the weight of your body as you lean towards him.
“Nope. I’m just sayin’ the truth!” The words come with a pause as you’re swallowing your last bite, and the brightness comes right back up your face while you praise Sanji.
By the All Blue, he just wants to scoop you up and squeeze you in his arms for all eternity. You can be so shy around him, but also incredibly animated when expressing yourself.
Once Sanji deems it the perfect condition for you, he motions the spoon to your mouth.
It’s a stupidly sweet gesture, and also his way of stopping you from eating the whole thing. You can just take the spoon from him and feed yourself, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being pampered by Sanji. You’re not ashamed to admit that it makes you feel very special. If you truly weaponized your voice and asked him for the whole pan, he’d give it to you without a single doubt. But, it’d be a shame if he didn’t wait until he could properly serve it with some rice so you could have your very late dinner “date”.
He holds the spoon out for a beat longer to look down at the way your lips wrap around the surface, turning away only when you finish munching happily at the taste. After all, your satisfaction is his number one priority. Nami can’t see your face from where she’s at, but she can absolutely make out Sanji’s, and the way he’s staring is sensual, borderline debauched. It makes the navigator feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.
You are none the wiser to this, Sanji needs to get it together, and Nami’s very close to throwing up in front of the galley.
Your eyes are closed as you hum contentedly once the flavors settle nicely in your stomach, and it’s then when you start to feel the weight of his stare.
You’re only chin level on this short stool, so you have to look up to meet his eyes.
He's quiet and awfully still, taking you all in and leaving no part of you starving for his attention. There's an evident tension swimming around the kitchen, and it makes you acutely aware of just how close you are to him. Inches away. The position is a tad intimate, to say the least.
“What? Is there sauce on my face?”
You know there isn’t anything on your face except for pure happiness, though you’re a tiny bit flustered by his attention.
“Sorry, darling,” He's not sorry at all. He leans in to wipe the non-existent sauce, and for a second you think he’s going to deny his obvious admiration of you but then he pivots into something that is so Sanji it makes your brain melt.
“Your beauty demands to be seen. I can’t deny you that.” He traces the back of his finger over your cheek before tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
Time and time again, Sanji is able to surpass your every expectation. You continue to feel the weight of his stare, now much different than before because he looks at you with deep, unabashed, reverence. Not hidden, and not in halves. A softness he reserves only for you.
You’re speechless for a moment, but then he cups your face into his palms and it feels like everything just melts away.
Now Nami understands. Why you adore him so much. Why you don’t need to scream it out to the world that you love him (although you would love to). The two of you aren’t “together” officially not because you don’t want to, or are too shy to say it out loud. But because you enjoy every part of who he is. The chasing, the teasing, the thrill; it’s everything in him that makes you feel alive. You don’t need words for him to understand that you love him, just as he doesn’t.
Nami watches the way you look up at him, positively beaming. The silence is broken away when you start giggling to yourself, and it only makes Sanji move closer to you, his forehead bumping gently against yours as he sports an identical grin on his face.
She shakes her head, both astonished and happy to see you flourishing in his presence, before walking away with an affectionate eye-roll.
Yeah. You two are the lamest.
Mon trésor: My treasure
Aaah I couldn’t really decide which sanji to base this fic off of. I ended up doing a bit of both 🍽️
masterlist @ pls don't repost or feed my works into ai thaaank you
vaporwave
germansingergirl
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
2087
amandla
