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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Note

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake. You knew it the moment you walked in, the thumping music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

But somehow, you’d caved, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right. Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room. There were people everywhere—laughing, dancing, chattering loudly in clumps—and the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

So, you did what you always did in these situations: you found a place to hide. After walking through the drunk college students, you eventually ended up on quiet nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study. Blessedly, it was empty. With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the noise of the party changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word. He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled hair and a loose, easy grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

Oh, God. You knew him—well, of him, at least. He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Until now.

Then his face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, somehow managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he seriously calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed. Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls practically draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out like he owned the place.

“See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face “What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looked almost sober. “Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class. “Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk. This didn’t mean anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

But then, his eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair. Within seconds, he was snoring. You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter. You were just getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends. But it wasn’t.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he said casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like this was completely normal. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You stared at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, all cocky charm. “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

And for some reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

But Rafe just leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least. Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing. Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look as if daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice low and teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit.

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle.

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying?

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?"

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance.

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?"

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

317 notes · View notes

simp4konig · 1 month ago

Note

I'm so normal about Nikto rn

Mildly nsfw?? Idk just a heads up

But just

Nikto, gripping her hips, thinking to himself: She's just being friendly- she's just being friendly- think pure thoughts

Y/N, sitting on his lap and holding his face hostage between her titties, thinking to herself: I wonder when he's gonna make the first move... do I have to make it if he doesn't? Oh my god what if I've been reading him wrong all along and he doesn't even like me??

Nikto: Well, maybe I am obsessed with you

Y/N: Well, maybe I like that :lipbite:

Flirtatious Reader x ...Dense? Nikto

Fem! Reader coded, BUT it can be viewed as gender-neutral if you squint. 🩷💟💜

Word Count: 2237

🪼

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

May be self-indulgent. May be a projection of my own feelings. Oops. 🙊

Please read the * at the end of the post for my clarification 💙🩵🤍.

Edit: Minor typos. I fucking hate EVERYTHING!!!

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AND SOME DISTURBING IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT ❗ (No sex nor anything overly grotesque, but includes some descriptions of both). Readers are warned for suggestive content.

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Well.

The title is perhaps a teeny, weeny little tiny bit misleading 🤏…

…

…Who am I kidding 💀,, it's as misleading as it gets LMAO

Because let's not kid ourselves here: Nikto is NOT "dense", NOT an "oblivious" man, NOR is he the type to be misinformed about someone's objective[s].

Nikto is a perceptive man — he's interrogated enough people to know what makes them tick, to distinguish lie from truth.

If somebody's intentions aren't innocent and they have ulterior motives, Nikto is always the first to know; it's his job to be informed, after all.

Hence, he notices the intonations of someone's voice growing or lowering, the imperceptible change in pitch, their nervous stutter as they unconvincingly concoct a lie, how their testimony does not align with the facts, and how they've suddenly become fidgety and shift from his scrutiny...

Hence, he recognises the subtle shifts in someone's facial expressions, can read between the lines of their non-verbal gestures, their change in behaviour, their overall unease expressed without them realising it, how they're giving themselves away no matter what they say…

Hence, he takes notices the way that someone fiddles agitatedly with something in their hands, how they pick at their nails in an almost panicked way or dig their fingernails into the skin of their palms, how they're biting their bottom lip or chewing on their cheek, how their smile is lopsided and doesn't quite reach their eyes, how they avert their gaze…

Nikto is anything but perceptive. He isn't oblivious — not "ignorant", not "unaware", and certainly not "stupid", or any other words synonymous with the previous — especially when it regards what people think of him.

How people think that he's disgusting.

How everyone avoids him like the Black Death, as if he's diseased and close proximity could kill you. As if his disfigurements were contagious, and the best bet would be to stay far, far away from the diseased.

Therefore, he's not oblivious that the words which you would whisper into the brocoli ears obscured by his mask are innuendo for something for more; he's not oblivious of the sexual nature of your hands absentmindedly caressing his lower abdomen, simply inches from his clothed crotch; he's not oblivious that your touches are quite risqué, that you would provoke him on purpose, that you would sit directly on his lap and feign innocence as you would flutter your eyelashes and smile ever so sweetly.

Nikto is perceptive. Very perceptive. And he's certainly not stupid...

...they just don't perceive your flirtatious actions as anything other than some joke.

So, he has rationalised your flirtatious behaviour as friendliness. As how you express your personal affection. Or, affectations.

Whatever it is that you're expressing, it must be a joke. Surely.

Since you're the Beauty, he's the Beast. But, unlike the Beast, he is a monster which cannot be redeemed. He's been cursed to suffer mortal purgatory, while immortal, demonic voices haunt him every hour, every minute, every second of every day. It's torture.

And you want to torture him some more by tormenting him with your unashamedly forward displays, your devilish seduction, tempting him into finally taking what he's been desiring ever since you arrived in his life.

How could you want him? Do you even want him?

No. You don't. There is no way that you do.

Because he's not talkative like some of the other operators, not hilarious like the colleagues who make you laugh, not affectionate like a lover could, not good company, not a good person as a whole.

He's introverted to a concerning amount, so silent that sometimes he appears deceased as he lies next to you on the nights you come over.

Maybe it all used to come naturally to him, but it's a struggle to feign his role as a functioning human being, so to actually be one? Sometimes he questions if he's more monster than man, as that role seems to be effortless.

Perhaps this is all some heartless idea of a practical joke, some sort of sick sense of satisfaction arising in you to toy with Nikto's emotions. And, like a child bored of that toy, discard it in favour of a newer, better, prettier one.

Why would you want to be around him? What is there to like? Is there even anything to like?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Because what's there to like? Frankly, if he doesn't like himself — or selves — then how could he expect you to like him? All of him? Them?

This isn't affection, he would tell himself; either it's disingenuous and forced, or you're faking it for your own amusement.

Or... maybe it is genuine, and it isn't fake... but it's all an act of pity, since you feel sympathy for the lonely outcast and have some sort of strange moral obligation to a lunatic as fucked-up, ugly, and disfigured as him, whose been unable to have a meaningful relationship — platonic or otherwise — in years.

Especially right now, with you straddling his lap and cradling his masked face in between your breasts, he still can't wrap his head around it, and it's all incomprehensible.

At times, Nikto has considered that he's overthinking it, and that you have no ill intentions, and you're just innocent and clueless with how much you affect him.

And it would have been endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating.

With that in mind, for him to make the first move and jeopardise what he thought you thought was a strictly platonic friendship? He couldn't be more sorry, and would leave you alone forever and never speak to you again, even if it was physically painful and equivalent to ripping his own heart out and squeezing it until its contents popped — just for the pain and the heartache to go away forever.

...

Seriously. It's so fucking frustrating, and it's as if he's being wilfully ignorant or something, and doing it on fucking purpose.

He's delusional, yes, and you've always acknowledged the fact that more than a few screws were loose, but the entire mechanism, but it pisses you off that he continues to delude himself, rather than accept that your affection is genuine, and not some cruel joke.

You don't get bored of him, and won't. Ever.

Yes, he's not talkative, but you find solace in presence and relish the peace and quiet; yes, his sense of humour is nonexistent, but you don't need to be laughing when he still brings a loving smile to your lips; yes, he's introverted, but does that really matter? To you, you being the exception to his isolation is worth everything.

Do you care that he's not a good person? No. To some extent, neither are you — you're no saint yourself. Nikto's morals may not be grey, but smudged entirely, and his methods questionable…

…and? You don't have it in you to care. Because it has reached a point where Nikto genuinely cares for you, and you likewise for him, and his actions demonstrated what he could never convey through words; that he would never, ever hurt you. And that's enough.

As for him not being naturally affectionate?

Well. You've tried everything: guiding his hands onto your hips; sitting in his lap and straddling his lower half, arms around his neck; hell, even flashed your tits under the guise of the clasp of your unintentionally becoming undone, and, oh, could you please do it for me, Nikto? You aren't bothered by the nudity? Sorry. That was just a wardrobe mishap. You don't mind, right? You can touch all you like, because I don't mind.

But he doesn't respond. Doesn't fucking do anything. Just has his shoulders tense and arms loose by his sides, not reciprocating any touch, not touching you unless you give him permission, as if he's been lobotomised and can only take explicit orders.

You're exasperated. It's exhausting.

But how much more goddamn obvious can you be? What will it take for him to open his eyes and see that this isn't a game to you? That you're willingly giving yourself to him, because you want to? Because you want him?

And, yes, his hands twitch with the gnawing itch to touch you; his body shakes with anticipation, antsy; his shoulders are tense, back straight as a plank, muscles flexing with restraint; and, of course, he's so fucking hard that he's almost nauseous.

But will he dare misinterpret your suggestive behaviour as anything more than flirtation, teasing, and risk jeopardising his whole friendship with his one and only friend? No. Not a fucking chance.

One of these days, you swore, you were going to tear off his mask clean off his face and grab his jaw to roughly kiss him on his scarred, mishapen, and malnourished lips, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe, then look him dead in those steel blue eyes and confess that you don't give a shit what, who, or why he is, only that you want him, uncaring of the whats, the whos, and the whys — especially the "whos".

No amount of initiating physical contact could entice him to touch you. You were at wits' end.

One of those days came; and that day was today, as you two were lounging on the bed, with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs straddling his lap.

Sheepishly, you untangle your limbs from around his, and crawl to sit beside him, legs tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping themselves around your knees pitifully if it wasn't for the fire in your eyes.

"...Nikto."

Nikto's back straightens at the speed of light at your tone of voice.

...Oh. Oh God.

This is it, he thinks. This is the day where everything ends. Eventhough you're his everything and that without you he'll be nothing, you're going to tell him to go, to get off you, because you've realised that he isn't worthy of your time or your company. Or maybe you've discovered his obsession — you — and the shrine he keeps of your stolen "lost" possessions and prays to it as if by an altar, how he would worship the ground you work on if it wasn't so conspicuous, how you're the only reason he hasn't given up and put a bullet straight through his own skull so the voices shut up once and for all and—

"Do... you even like me?"

...What.

What.

What?!

Like you? Are you serious?!

He doesn't like you! He couldn't ever like you!

He adores you! Loves you! Worships you! But even then, no synonyms of these words would sufficiently convey his adoration, his unconditional love, his devotion. Would kneeling by your knees and ripping his beating heart out be enough? It still wouldn't. So he won't... mostly for your sake.

Struck dumb, dumbfounded, and utterly confused, he stares at you, his bloodshot steel blue eyes unblinking. Since he can see how your eyes are glistening, he's willing tears on your behalf, just so tears don't stain that pretty face.

Eventually, he says with complete certainty: "...Like would be putting it lightly."

"Then..."

You sniff, and Nikto flinches, but he otherwise remains stiff, not wanting to touch you and make your state worse.

"...then why won't you touch me? Don't you... find me attractive?"

Instantly, he states: "Because the touch of our hands would insult your body."

"You've... you've got to be fucking joking."

"No."

"Is... i-is this some— some kind of fucking joke?"

"...No."

Sadness dissipating, it transforms into incredulity, until you almost laugh. This is unbelievable. It would be endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating. You don't know if you want to punch him or kiss him.

"Nikto. Nikto Nikto Nikto. For crying out loud — I WANT you to touch me."

"We're… I'm fucked up. You should have... better."

"Haven't you ever considered that I like my man fucked up?"

Oh God.

Man. Not men. Man.

“You... still should have better.”

You snort in amusement. "What, someone more fucked up than you?"

You roll your eyes, almost out of boredom, but you don't miss how his fists clench, blood boiling as he's silently seething at the mere idea of someone else stealing you. Having you.

“Better is not an option. From my eyes, you're the best man for me out there.”

A wheeze leaves his broken vocal cords — a poor imitation of a human laugh.

But it wasn't a laugh. He isn't laughing. Miraculously, tears collect at the corners of his dehydrated eyes, and he thinks that he might cry.

His voice cracks as he asks uncertainly: “...Best?”

“The very best," you affirm with a smile.

He must be dreaming. This is all a dream. It's everything that he's been dreaming about. Maybe he's dreaming right now, and he'll wake up in a cold bed. Alone.

“Well… maybe I am obsessed with you."

"Maybe?"

"...I am obsessed with you."

"Okay."

"Maybe... we're so possessive that we'll never let you go. Never."

"Never?"

"Never."

“Well,” you begin, clucking your tongue, as if chastising him with the "tsk". “Maybe I like that. Maybe I like being wanted like that.”

"...You won't."

"I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of being around you. If I was a rational person, I'd have ran for the hills. But? I'm not."

"..."

"Now touch me already," you say, unceremoniously snatching his idle hands and guiding them onto your body. "I'm yours. Don't wait for permission like some fucking dog."

You don't have to tell him twice.

"Yes."

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*imma b real w u guys, i had no fucking idea what to name this: ...Oblivious Nikto? ...Ignorant Nikto? ...Delusional Nikto? ...Unaware Nikto?... eventually I settled with "dense", tho i STILL don't know if that's suitable?????

Anyways... sorry for the sort of misleading title??? It was not intentional 🥲. The only reason that it's addressed at the beginning is because I didn't want any misconceptions about what I think of Nikto. No, he is not oblivious, as I gone above and beyond to clarify at the start. 😭

A/N:

To 🪼 anon sending me the asks: I love you. And I love you. Did I mention that I love you? Because I love you. 💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡🧡💖✨💖✨💖🧡🧡✨✨✨ (im the monster under your bed, but instead of scaring you, i hold your hand at night 😈... I LOVE UUU/!!!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡💖✨✨✨💫💖🧡🧡💫✨💫 DONT THINK THAT I DONT SEE YOU 👿👿👿!!!! ggRRGRHGKG FROM NOW ON ALL OF MY NIKTO WORKS ARE A PERSONAL TRIBUTE TO U IDONT EVEN CARE ANYMORE)

Random notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NIKTO, THE UGLY UGLY UGLY MOTHERFUCKER!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎁🎁🎁🎂🎁🎁🎉🎊🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉 (yes his bd is tomorrow but i dont CARE!!!!!!)

Nikto and I are both Libras... 😳 OMgogmgomg we are DESTINED to be together!!! 🫣🫣😫💦💦💦💦💧🌊1!1!1!1!!!!! GUys IT WAS FATE! 1!1!1!!!!1!!!!!!!! /j

Ok but /srs, got the Ghostrunner 2 Endless Moto DLC for my birthday and ive never been happier omg 🥹 (going to replay the whole game all over again lmao 💀)

Lastly? Um. I love you all!!! Thanks for 750+ followers???+@?! When did THAT happen? @?!@??????!?? 😭😭😭💫💫💫💫 THANK YOUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶💖💖💖💖

227 notes · View notes

space-mango-company · 8 months ago

Text

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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gogobootz1 · 1 year ago

Text

Paperback Writer

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finds a stray journal at the Hard Deck, he makes it his personal mission to return it to its owner. But not before reading what's inside.

Word Count: 2.4k

Top Gun Masterlist

You've spent the last four hours at this bar and still haven't come up with a thing. The newest page in your notebook stares back at you, entirely blank. Well, blank, save for the water ring your mojito has left on it. Only the ice cubes have been left for a while now, and you sip sadly at them as you stare off at the water. Maybe a beach day will inspire you.

Sighing, you close your notebook and push it toward the wall. You don't want to think about the deadline that is slowly closing in on you. A new book, and only about two months left to complete it. It had been three, but you've spent the last month at a complete loss.

This whole night, going to dinner, going to a bar, has been with the intention of finding inspiration. You still haven't found it, so now it's time to find your way home. Pushing yourself away from the table, you peel yourself from your chair and settle up with the nice lady at the bar.

You look out at the ocean again on your walk home. It's extremely nice of your agent to let you stay at her and her wife's beach home. Pam had granted you this accommodation in the hopes it would kickstart your writing. To the extent of her knowledge, it has. She's been worried about you after you argued with the publishing company over a sequel. You fought tooth and nail for the opportunity to work on something totally new. After the commercial success of your debut novel, however, they were reluctant to pass up their chance at a sequel.

Your publishing company clearly hadn't been expecting such an exorbitant amount of copies to sell. Frankly, neither had you. By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, Taylor Swift picked up your book, read it, and posted it on her Instagram story. Stores could hardly keep it on shelves after that.

Now your publishers are simply hoping to milk the cash cow. You can't really blame them, but soon, when you don't have a second novel to give them, they're going to blame you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Thanks for cleaning up, you two," Penny calls from behind the bar. Maverick had practically begged Bradley to stay and help so that he and Penny could start their date early. After some negotiating, he happily acquiesced.

"No problem, Penny," Rooster calls back, sending a smug look at Pete, who narrows his eyes at him. They're just about finished wiping tables, and he can tell Mav is more than ready to leave.

Bradley turns to wipe the last table but stops when he sees a leather-bound journal sitting near the window. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Done. Let's go, Pen," Mav says, rushing his girlfriend. Penny finally drops the rag she'd been wiping the bar with.

"I've still gotta lock up," she says, lightly mocking.

"I can do it, Penny," Rooster says, not taking his eyes off the journal.

"Thanks, kid," Mav smiles, whisking his girlfriend away. "Keys are on the bar. I owe you one!"

Bradley just barely hears Penny's protests as Pete rushes her out. He figures he'd better get home, himself. Giving the table a cursory wipe, he heads toward the bar to grab the keys.

Suddenly his eyes land on the lost and found bucket. Most of the Hard Deck's patrons are locals and regulars. The bin is almost always empty, and when it isn't, people always come back for whatever's inside.

Bradley looks at the journal again. Surely no one would be coming back for this tonight, though. And would they really notice if it had been flicked through? Letting his curiosity get the best of him, Bradley takes a stool at the bar and starts reading.

After a few pages, he starts to realize just what the journal is. It's no diary, none of the juicy details of someone's personal life that he had nosily been hoping for. No. It's a book, or some sort of story, at least. It's a good one, too. Bradley takes a sidelong glance at the clock and finds he's stayed for an hour longer than he intended.

He grabs the keys and locks everything up for Penny, not bothering to put his find in the lost and found.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bradley can’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but he's certain that it wasn’t before he’d read the vast majority of the journal. His neck is stiff from crashing on his couch, but he has a new interest in finding whoever wrote this.

He hasn't been that interested in a book in a while, and he'd be remiss if the author doesn't get their work back. Especially when the work is so incredible. Bradley's never considered himself the most avid reader. He only reads when he's got the time and wouldn't rather be watching the game. This book, however, has him hooked. He thinks it should be on shelves, selling out all over the world. He only needs to find this person to tell them that.

Where do people write their names in their journals?

He makes a face, confronted by his own stupidity, and flips to the front page. Sure enough, on the back of the cover is a woman's name and address. Bradley's not quite sure if people knock on each other's doors nowadays, or if that's entirely creepy, but he's willing to find out.

Once his fist is inches away from her door, Bradley hesitates before knocking. Is it creepy that he's here? Is it creepy that he read the journal? He's willing to admit that one. Should he tell the author he read it at all? Maybe he should pretend he didn't. Can he fake being a Good Samaritan when he really wants to ask this woman about her writing? He doesn't have time to answer these questions for himself before the door swings open on its own.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You recoil when you realize someone's standing on the front porch. "Hello?" You're certain you don't know this man. He's too pretty for you to know him, and you'd at least remember him if you did.

"Hi," he responds stiltedly.

You look at him questioningly, "can I help you?"

"Yes! Actually," he holds up your journal, "is this yours?"

"Oh my god," you snatch your notebook out of his hands, "Where'd you find it?"

"You must've left it at the bar last night," he shrugged.

"Well, thanks," you smile, putting it in your tote bag.

"No problem, yeah. Wouldn't want to lose all that work," he nods. You look up suddenly.

"You read it?"

The man grimaces when he realizes he's outed himself. "Sorry," he cringes, "I'm too nosy for my own good. But can I just say that this is incredible? Really! This could be a book!"

Your face falls, and you look at him blankly, "it is."

"No!" He shakes his head. "I mean- well, yes, it is. And that's a great attitude to have, but what I'm trying to say is that you need to find a publisher. This is-"

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. Reaching into your giant beach bag, you grab your sunglasses and shove them onto your face. Stepping out onto the porch, you grab a real copy of your book from your bag and plop it in his hands. "That’s really not my problem right now, hot stuff. Have a good one,” you lock up your house and start walking towards the beach.

He doesn't follow you until a few seconds later.

"You mean you're already a published author?" You hear from behind you. You roll your eyes and keep walking, but he easily catches up. "What I read was just-"

"The prototype to what seven million American women have already consumed? Yeah," you nod.

"Holy shit!" He says, and you just hum in agreement. "So wait, what is your problem then?" You stop in the middle of the path. You haven't even said it out loud yet.

"They want another one," you admit quietly.

"That's great!" He says excitedly. You slowly turn and remove your sunglasses to level him with a glare, "...or not?"

"No, stranger, it's not great."

"I'm Bradley," he interrupts.

You barrel on, "You know when they want the sequel by?" Bradley shakes his head. "The end of next month!" You practically shout, and he cringes.

"And how much do you have done?"

Your face falls. "One," you say reluctantly, holding up a solitary finger.

"Chapter?" He asks hopefully.

"Word!"

Bradley grimaces, "What's the word?" You huff.

"'The' and the thing is, I don't even like it. I'm gonna go back and delete it." You give an exaggerated shrug, seemingly distraught.

"That's probably a bad idea," he says gently.

"Oh? And what do you know about writing novels?" Your tone is biting.

"Not a damn thing, but I know a thing or two about speed. At a certain point, you just have to keep going," he offers.

"Thank you for that wisdom, speed racer," you snap, sauntering away.

He stands there stunned.

“Wait!" Bradley jogs to catch up to where you're still marching onto the beach.

As soon as he's next to you, you barrel on. “How am I supposed to give them a sequel to a story I thought was over?”

“Huh?” He feels like he's still playing catch-up as he matches your pace.

“And I told them - I swore to God that if they made me write a sequel, I'd probably end up accidentally plagiarizing any given Remington Steele episode. But, nooooooo they insisted,” you vent.

“Remington Steele?” Bradley raises a brow.

“Okay, you don’t get to judge my 80s preferences when you look like that!” You gesture to his general appearance, Hawaiian shirt, porn stache, and all. Not that it's not working for you.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"I've done everything. Really. Everything to try and inspire some writing. I go outside," you gesture to the outdoors around you. "I've switched the font on my computer to comic sans," Bradley visibly grimaces in response to this, and you nod at him. "Hell, yesterday I went on a run."

"I don't feel like that's all that abnormal," he ventures.

You look at him, stricken, "I've never been on a run."

"Never?"

"Not in my life," you confirm. "It didn't even help, and now my legs hurt."

"It does kind of seem like you're hobbling," he nods.

Your eyes widen, "Gee, thanks," you bite out.

"You can probably chalk it up to poor form," Bradley tries to console you. "You're supposed to land on the front of your foot when you're running."

You shake your head. "They always want to teach you something," you mumble.

"What was that?" He looks over innocently. The two of you stand at the entryway to the beach. You decide it's time to make your goodbyes to the near stranger you've confessed half your current life problems to.

"Look, that's very nice of you," your words lack some sincerity. "You seem like a nice guy, and you're very attractive, but I don't really want to get better at running. What I want is to get better at writing, which is my job, and usually, I can do it. But right now, I'm broken, so what I will do is lay in the sun and crisp like a piece of fried chicken. Bye, now!" You say cheerily, placing your sunglasses over your eyes and bounding away towards an appealing-looking plot of sand.

All Bradley can do is watch as his new favorite author walks off. He drives home and finishes the official, hand-gifted copy of your book in one sitting.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A week later, Bradley is once again at the Hard Deck. This time it's Mav's birthday, and the whole squad is celebrating before they all go their separate ways. The Navy gave everyone a month off after the Uranium mission, so this is simultaneously a celebration and a goodbye.

He steps out onto the deck to enjoy the ocean view. Bradley is pleased to find a familiar figure that lies a few meters away from the bar.

"Let me guess, you're crisping like a piece of chicken again?" You hear a voice call from above you. Suspicious of the intrusion on your private beach sulking session, you look up to find the handsome man who'd tried to return your journal the other day.

"Actually, I'm boiling like a lobster," you correct.

"Ah, my mistake," Bradley nods sagely. "Mind if I sit?"

"Okay..." you agree, silently questioning his motives.

"I had an idea," he starts. "The main character in the first book," you nod, encouraging him to continue. "You mentioned her younger sister."

"I did," you agree, not understanding where he's going with this.

"Write the new book about her," Bradley says simply, shrugging.

You stare at him for a moment, processing this thought. After a bit, your jaw drops. How did you not think of this yourself? A slew of ideas pop into your brain, and you lunge for your bag, hoping to grab your journal and write them all down.

"Are you okay?" He asks. You hold up a finger, silently asking for him to give you a second. In a hurry, you scribble down a giant bulleted list. You can't help but wish your hand moved as fast as your brain. Bradley gives a weak call of your name, concerned by the new burst of hyperactivity. It pulls your attention away from the final bullet point you've just made.

"I think you're a genius," you breathe out, looking at him in awe.

He seems shocked, "it was just an idea."

"No, no," you remain firm, "you're brilliant, and you've just saved my life." A grin pulls across his face at your words. "Pam is gonna be so stoked," you say, standing and starting to pack your things. You pause all of a sudden and reach for your notebook again. You scribble something else and tear out a sliver of paper.

You hand it over to him, and his gaze flicks over a series of hastily written numbers. Your phone number. Bradley slowly stands up.

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, dessert, movie, ice cream, drinks- whatever you want, on me," you say in a rush. You take about two steps toward your car, hoping to call Pam and confirm that you can go in this creative direction before his voice stops you.

"How about a date?" He asks, looking after you.

You turn over your shoulder and smirk, "That was the idea."

____________________________________________________

Rooster taglist (open): @tallyovie

I hope everyone is having another very Top Gun summer <3

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #rooster x female reader

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en-geneisaxx · 7 months ago

Text

'Please don't say that this is the end of us...'

Pairings: Husband!Hoon x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing (you're gonna be on a rollercoaster of emotions lol)

Feat. Jay, Heeseung and Jake of Enhypen, Yeji (Sunghoon's sister), Jin Ae (Y/n and Sunghoon's child),

AND

Reesa (@dollywons), Haze (@pockettwinzz), Reina (@rinbowaman), Rin (@diorsyun), Nessa (@heeslomll), Aeri (@heeslut4life), Aria (@jaylaxies), Julia (@jak3slut), Rae (@hoonieshoneymain) (SORRY IF I GOT YOUR NAMES WRONG 😭)

Tagging my moots who wanted to read: @pockettwinzz @diorsyun @rinbowaman @heeslomll @heeslut4life @hoonieshoneymain @sungvrhs

Previous parts can be found here:

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Preview

A/n: HI HI HIIII EVERYONE!! I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN POSTING MUCH FICS, I HAD A WRITER'S BLOCK MOMENT FOR A SECOND, SO FORGIVE ME 😭 ONCE THE POLL RESULTS COME, I'LL BE FOCUSING ON MAKING A NEW FIC BASED ON THAT PERSON. PLEASE SEND OPINIONS OR THE TYPE OF FIC YOU WOULD WANT FOR IT (I have no idea who's winning rn, don't wanna vote 😅) BUT YH, TYSM TO EVERYONE FOR YOUR SUPPORT, HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Likes, reblogs and/or following me will be much appreciated!! 😚

Last chapter, part 7:

'𝒀/𝒏, 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆?'

'𝑯𝒂𝒉𝒂, 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝑱𝒂𝒌𝒆? 𝑰 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆... 𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏.'

You drifted your attention to the churros stand nearby, wanting a sweet treat. You didn't hear Jake's evil, spiteful intentions. The tempting, lying snake hissed:

'𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.'

He successfully did that with ease, which horrified you. And boy, the venom could've killed your happy marriage, almost. Luckily it was your faithful best friend that had it, or you would've been silently tortured with regret for not knowing the truth in his hell. Fucking hell, Jake, no wonder why people say you should run from a scorpio man.

But, let's forget about the shattered past, and focus on the thriving present, you and Hoon crying in each other's embrace, saying words filled with the upmost affection and actions that displayed their yearning for each other.

'Hoon...next time, please, tell me your thoughts, hm? I want to be with you, 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.' You desperately plead, not wanting things to go haywire again.

'Mhmm, m'sorry...' He chokes out, clearly affected by Jake's mental abuse.

It was finally back to normal, back to a loving family. You guys could finally sleep in peace, Hoon's toned body moving so elegantly. It was so fast, making up. You even questioned if it was a silly dream. Either way, you wouldn't want to go back. And you weren't EVER going to see Jake enter your life.

'Shh,' whispers Sunghoon cutely, 'let's wake up momma.'

The two loved doing that, waking you up with kisses and cuddles, before playing with each other for a short bit of time. The weather was bright and hopeful, which gave you the impression that, after a hard-fought battle, with determination, you can succeed. What a perfect day to wake up in, you could even cry.

Jin Ae crawls to you, giggling quietly and looking at her father with such amusment. She was like a piece of him, their smooth-riding relationship so wholesome. They both lean in, count themselves to three before launching their weapons of tender kisses.

'Hehe, hello my baby!!' You sleepily smiled, before welcoming the morning with your husband,

'Hello, daddy...' You smirked, knowing damn well how it gives him a dopamine and ego boost.

'Hello my pretty, beautiful, stunning baby wife...' He complimented, laying down and hugging you and Jin Ae, each on both sides of his chest.

'Ahh, my two girls, how lucky I am to have you all.' He kissed the top of your heads, 'Mine, mine, mine, mine, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.' He said the last word like a hungry beast, but immdiately became a cute penguin, baby baekgyu. Jin Ae couldn't contol her laughter at this point, soothing sounds echoing in this haven.

'Baby,' Sunghoon started, pecking the two of you now and then, 'should we go to the park?'

Your jokes were as cringey as his, which is probably why many people were astonished by your humor.

'Which Park, your Mum, your Dad? Jay? Yeji?'

He chuckles whilst dies at your jokes,

'Babe, that was so...wow'

'You can't say much,' You said with a smug smile, 'imagine saying, "𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 '𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐' 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚".' You came back, knowing he will be overwhelmingly embarrased.

'BABE!! Stoppp, that was one of my worst moments in life, frick Jay.' He whined, but made sure to keep the language child-friendly, knowing Jin Ae can learn quickly.

'Haha, but yeah, we should go to the park, and let's bring Jay and Yeji!'

'Mhmm, they deserve it, AND HEESEUNG. SHOOT, I FORGOT ABOUT HIM! He was like my lifesaver.. We should probably make them gifts...' He agrees.

'I know just the thing...' You said confidently, making Sunghoon look at you, wanting for you to continue,

'FOOD!' You happily shouted, and Jin Ae copied too,

'Food!' She chortled, clapping her hands. Her and Sunghoon's cuteness broke the scales, damn...

'Heyy!! Thanks for tagging us along!' Says the three friends, excited for the payment of their therupatic actions.

'Where are we going?' Yeji asks, trying to contain the urge to just take Sunghoon's card and run off.

'Haha, we'll go to a kbbq place, Heeseung's favourite, especially.' You said, 'Oh yeah, it was Sunghoon's idea.' You grinned, because Sunghoon didn't want others to know how soft he was.

'Awww, thanks bro, come to my place anytime-' He stops, seeing your angry glare, 'OR stay with lovely Y/n right here...' He mumbles, rubbing his nape.

You guys ate like you were famished, finishing the bowl within a few minutes, but the food was definitely worth the hype.

'You know what, I feel like this is a bribe, BUT I'M ALL FOR IT.' Yeji proclaimed, earning a laugh from everyone.

'Y/niee,' starts Heeseung, doing something very unusual with his body...

'Lee Heeseung...' You said slowly with a deep tone, looking as dead as Jay is, who ends up averting his attention to Jin Ae, Yeji and Sunghoon getting stitches from laughing too hard, 'what on earth are you doing' You fake cried.

'I WAS TRYING TO DO AGEYOOOO' Wanting to be six-feet-under.

'But anyways, where we going for dessert?'

The group pondered about the various options, Jin Ae just scribbling on the piece of drawing given by the staff.

'Oh, I know, why not we go and pop over to dollywon's bakery and order from there!' You implied, knowing everyone loves going there.

'YEAH, THAT'S A GREAT IDEA! I love her bakeries' Says Yeji, scrolling on her phone to look for the menu.

'Oh yeah, Y/n, can we go to a library?' Asks Jay, 'I've been wanting to read a few poets and authors'

'Of course! Hoon, you can go to the park with Heeseung and Yeji when that happens, yeah?'

Sunghoon looks offended, 'OBVIOUSLY, I'M NOT LIKE THAT GRANDPA.'

Jay swears in korean, knowing Jin Ae isn't that knowledgeable.

'Right, let's go!!'

'Hi Reesa!!' Greets Y/n, who's happy to see her coquette friend. Y/n orders from her bakery when she's in need of something sweet, sometimes, she wants to take Reesa too.

'Hi Y/n! It's been awhile, I see we have a few costumers!' She notions to the group.

'Yep, all wanting a bite!' You chuckle, Jin Ae's motioning that she wants the chocolate muffin.

'Yup, all done! Thanks Y/n!' Says Reesa. 'Oh, and one more thing...' She takes out the chocolate muffin, 'I see mini hoon has been wanting this.' She smiles. She's so kind, no wonder why Jungwon took her as his girlfriend.

'Mmm,' hums Heeseung in delight, 'this is soooo yummy!'

The three manage to feed themselves, unlike your family. You're feeding Sunghoon like the baby he is right now, and Sunghoon's feeding the real baby. Jay takes a photo, knowing you'll want it in the picture book.

'Right,' burps Heeseung, 'let's go to the park, yeahhh?' He coos to Jin Ae.

'We'll be heading to the library, see you.'

'Y/n, what authors do you recommend? I've been quite busy lately, so I wanted to take reading just to let my imagination run wild.' Jay asks calmly, passing each shelf of books.

'I've got to say, authors like Haze, Rin, Aria, Reina, Nessa, Juila, Aeri, Rae have been taking my time, and it was worth it!' You advised, knowing how good these people are. They're like the rulers of literature, and they certaintly produce the highest-quality works.

'Ah, I have heard of them, and they're works are quite...interesting.' You realise what he meant, and squirmed in embarrassment.

'That's why there are restrictions, dummy!' You hit him, earning a sharp gasp and hiss.

'Ha, imagine if Sunghoon found out-'

'Let's just find a story to read, yeah!?' You whisper shouted, annoyed by his teasing. The Park brothers sure have something in common.

'AHH, JIN AE-AH!! GO, GO!!' cheers Heeseung.

While Jay and Y/n were purchasing books, Yeji and Jin Ae were playing tag, Jin Ae being the tagger. Sunghoon's taken many videos of the moment, wanting to keep this memory.

'We're back!!' Exclaims Y/n, hugging Sunghoon who had his arms out open for you to come.

'Haha, you missed out on some beautiful moments' chuckles Sunghoon, knowing you'll be devastated.

'What!? When..' You whine, but Sunghoon's such a romantic. He back hugs you, places his head on top of yours, intertwinned you fingers with his and says,

'Don't worry, darling. We'll make more beautiful moments, forever.'

A/n: AAAAAH, THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!! THIS MARKS MY DEBUT AS A WRITER. I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE MY WORKS AND I'LL BE POSTING SOME MORE FICS VERY SOON. ILYSM 💗

#en-geneisaxx #enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #engene #fyp #kpop #enha #fanfic #enhypen jay #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jungwon #enhypen jake #park sunghoon ff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #writer #moots #enhablr #love

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kaybreezy3000 · 5 months ago

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Sometimes your fanfic best friend gives you a shout out in an anon ask reply, and then you get excited and make your quickest Five fanart and first-time sort of animation based on a pairing she mentioned and that you wrote years ago. 😄

Link to Bad Kitty's ask

Link to my other art and stories on Tumblr

Link to my long read/3-part Five Centric TUA story with Five paired with a character similar to the one above (and yes-she has Harley Quinn vibes but don't worry if you don't like her-she is not her, I just borrowed some of her wild and fun and qualities. 😉)

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Updated note added late 6/28/24 after a continuous thread of harassing comments from one user that now has been blocked. No this is not 'AI' made or traced like that person repeatedly said it was. I did not steal someone else's art like they accused me of with no back up other than ripping me apart with more mean comments about what looks so bad about this. They also said my other art posts are 'AI,' and that I have no drawing skill or understanding of how clothes fold.

The AI accusation is a very mean thing to say and it's happening to so many people on here and in the actual profession art world. I do agree that I am not great at art or writing but that doesn't mean I am using AI and claiming it's mine. It's very sad that people feel the need to attack art in this way when it's clearly not even good like mine.

This picture/animation was done with me doing a very bad, very fast sketch, and then hardly correcting my lines before I quickly color filled the drawing that I MADE based off the fact that I have drawn Five in a suit more times than I can count and I have basic drawing skills, not great skills but basic. The reason the hard lines are both gray and black in some spots is because I went in after to correct stuff like gaps that needed to be filled for color filling and I did that in a different layer with black rather than the gray I used the first time. It's an error but one I was aware of but didn't care about because this was supposed to be fast and messy.

So yeah... this is NOT TRACED, and from what it was supposedly traced or 'stollen' from, I have no idea what this user thought that was because they never backed that up with some image that they seem so sure I used. This was based on Five with one of my original characters, so that image they claim I stole didn't exist until I made it.

I'm just trying to have fun with my friends on here while learning to draw better digitally. I am not an artist, and I definitely don't get paid or try to make people support me.

To those like the user who did this, please just chill with the mean comments and be kind to art makers on here and writers and all content posters. If you don't like something ignore it or keep your negativity inside instead of spreading hateful intentions and saying things that are not true about people and their work or their ideas.

Sorry to go off about that on here when it was just supposed to be silly and fun, but this stuff isn't okay and needs to be shut down. I am not always going to post 'proof' pictures of my works in process. I have done that before, but it's not what this is about for me, so I don't even think to do it normally. I have other art posts on AO3 with hand drawn stuff so I figure I don't need to prove I can draw. If someone wants proof, it isn't hard to find it through my posts.

I know most people are only here just for the fun stuff and let's have more of that. ❤️ Peace and love to you all.

#number five #five hargreeves #number five fanart #tua fanart #number 5 #number five fanfiction #five hargreeves fanart #the umbrella academy #Daddy's Lil' Monster 😄#kaybreezy-on-a03 #number five hargreeves #number five x oc #tua number 5 #umbrella academy number five #my oc art #my first animation #procreate #fast and sloppy digital painting #opposites attract

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mrsoftthoughts · 6 months ago

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Maybe im late to do this

But I'm bored, so come with me to my rambling about my personal opinion towards some of Nico di Angelo ships and Rating each one

(Disclaimer: Nothing here goes with intention of offend someone,i always try to be respectful but if something that i say here sounds rude, feel free to tell, I never notice how bad can sound something until someone else points it out)

-Percico/ Nicerci 4/10

Honestly i admire the people that ship this and doesn't give a fuck about what other people say, some of the fan artist and writers make things soo good that should be in a museum

But it's not my personal liking, i only like this when its the exploration of Nico's unrequited crush on Percy , but i honestly I never liked when Nico and Percy had a 100% good relationship of any kind, because their dynamic is complicated at best ( i could talk about it for hours while im probably crying because both are pretty dear to me) and i prefer to think that now their are just "neutral" to each other ( see that part of my description that says "bittersweet relationships sucker" this is why is there) and all that extends to that i cant see these two in a romantic relationship

But that's all, is just not my personal liking, i don't mind the existence of this couple and once again, the people that makes content from them are really talented an deserve all my respect, you guys always come out with the best ideas for angst and i love that of all of you

-Jasico 9/10

They're Cute!! Honestly i don't have my own ideas for them but the Romantic content of these two 90% of the times it's good and i enjoy it ,I really value their friendship more that any other dynamic so i prefer them in a platonic way,but that doesn't mean that i don't get the vision, they really had potential and the people out there are using it

-Solangelo 5/10 or 11/10

The two rates exist because i honestly feel they relationship in canon as one of the worst ways that existed to make them a couple, it's obvious that they are supposed to be something cute and healthy, but all their development is out of screen and then they are just introduced as a couple when Apollo and meg made it to camp, some of their scenes leave me feeling that Nico is out of characters and also in order to give Will the rol of "protective boyfriend" Nico feels quite weak and Will doesn't get many chances of get out that role for being his own character, and he had a lot o potential

(And I'm not be talking about TsatS because is just all the fails of their relationship but multiplied by 1000, ooc, plot holes and toxic traits all around, it's not that bad as a read, but as canon content it is)

But as the saying goes "if you want something done right, do it yourself"

And that's exactly what I do with them, because in this housedhold we don't tolerate wasted potential of any kind, and they relationship deserved better , because honestly the things we know about them and their individual personalities just feels as a good mach and even if the things wouldn't be perfect, no couple it's at the start so it's ok

I also like them in a platonic way, but i think that just like i appreciate more platonic jason and Nico because that how i was introduced to them i lead more towards see them in a romantic one

So Canon gets 5/10 because " it's the tough that counts" ig?

And 11/10 goes for what they could have been ,should be in canon and are in my mind

( i talk abou my thoughts of them a little bit more in this Post if you want to check)

-Nicobaster 9/10

I know, it's a rare ship, but They can be interesting on any kind of relationship and why not make it romantic?? there's a lot of dynamics of where to chose and the alternative AUs that i see of them are great,Cthonic demigod X Cthonic demigod is a good base, I don't have much to say apart from that

Except that you can blame @drksanctuary content for make me like the ship in first place

-Valdangelo 4/10

Not a bad ship ig, i just don't see them as a couple and I don't even now why, i just can't see it , and i also have a pretty strong headcanon of Leo as aromantic so its hard for me to see him in Romantic relationships, but i have nothing against it so that's all

-Clovico 7/10

Another rare ship, one that I've seen around but honestly don't have a a lot to say, i like the little that we see from Clovis and i always like the Cthonic demigod X Cthonic demigod so 7/10 just due the lack of content

-Nico x literally any woman -80000000/10

I love Nicos platonic relationships with the womans in his life, can we keep that PLATONIC and leave the gay in peace??

#my opinion #nico di angelo #pjo #hoo #toa #riordanverse #percico #nicercy #jasico #solangelo #nicobaster #clovico #valdangelo #mrs soft rambling

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channieskies · 1 year ago

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Don't Save Me

Pairing: (Actor)Bang Chan/Chris, Female Reader (AFAB)

Synopsis: What was with the hype behind your handsome roommate? You wanted to know, but you didn't have plans on becoming one of his damsels in distress.

Genre: Smut, Friend to ? , Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. Mentions of alcohol, a slight hint of body image issues (if you squint), protected sex [piv] (wrap it before you tap it, folks. Safety first), oral [fem receiving], adult themes, adult language, please let me know if I missed any

Author's Note: Truthfully, this is a little angsty at the end, so reader discretion is advised. It's not too bad in my opinion, but to each his own.

Special thanks: @therhythmafterthesummer, @edanzgarden, @infamouskem For reading over this and giving me feedback, so I could post this confidently. I really appreciate the support you give me.

Word Count: 3,000+ [13 minute read time]

Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

AGELESS BLOGS & MINORS DNI

There was just something cathartic about doing absolutely nothing on a Sunday morning. Lots of people referred to them as lazy Sundays for a reason, right? Yours started earlier than expected, but the early start worked in your favor. You treated you and your best friend to breakfast from this little hole in the wall restaurant, and now you are currently in the middle of a mani-pedi and face mask session. Relaxing.

"You know what she told me?" You bestie Jodie waved her freshly painted nails around dramatically as you listened intently. "She said that my mouth was way too pretty to be so fucking foul. Then she had the audacity to try and neg me" she huffed, "If I stopped talking I'd be exactly her type." She scoffed, "Well excuse-fucking-me. That bitch can kick rocks, her and her seven figure bank account.." She pretended to cry towards the end. "The verbal abuse was almost worth it. She could have funded our girls' trips. Why'd she have to be so pretentious?" Jodie had a tendency to be a little over dramatic to say the least.

"To be fair, babe, you do have a foul mouth. She wasn't wrong there. But, if she liked you for you, she'd accept that, no questions asked." You dipped your wand back in your bottle to add another layer of polish to your toes. "But it's her loss if you ask me. You're a prize, a jewel." She gasped, putting a hand to her chest.

"Aww babes, that's the sweetest thing I've heard all year. Maybe I should've tried to date you in -" she paused as a door in the apartment opened. There were faint voices and footsteps that gradually became louder the closer they got.

Your roommate emerged from the hall, hand on the small of some random girls back. "You were wonderful last night, Chris. Thanks for taking care of me." She smiled all dreamily at him as you and Jodie watched from the couch.

"It was nothing, baby girl, I'd do anything to help." She leaned in to try and peck his lips, but he turned, letting her kiss his cheek instead. You watched with a smirk on your face. These girls never had any clue what they were getting themselves into. But you enjoyed watching them crash and burn nonetheless. You were a bit of a sadist in that way.

He saw her out and only noticed the presence of other people on his way back to his room. "Good morning, ladies."

You and Jodie shared a look before you spoke, "Brought home another stray, I see, Chris. What was it this time? Her boyfriend stood her up, so you made sure to fuck her till she felt loved?" Jodie snickered while you genuinely waited for an answer.

"Cute." He smirked at you, leaving you answerless as he returned to his room with a soft click of his door closing.

"Look, you know I only swing that way on occasion. But I have to say, your roommate is fucking hot. Like the sun colliding with the rest of the stars in the universe. A fucking Supernova."

You laughed at her antics. She was jumping on the couch to get her point across. "I mean… yeah, he is. But he's also a fuck boy with a savior complex. There is a new face in this apartment every other day it seems, and trust and believe, all of them have issues. His life isn't complete without saving some hapless bimbo and dumping her off on our doorstep the next morning."

Jodie's nose wrinkled at your words, but you continued anyway. "I'm surprised he doesn't wear capes out every night."

She chuckled at you. "Someone sounds bitter." She pursed her lips after singing her words.

"As if." You threw a pillow at her, but she dodged it.

"Missed me." She stuck her tongue out at you, then laughed.

It wasn't that you had something against Chris and his need to help out anyone in need. That was actually a good trait to have. No, your problem lies with his projects constantly invading your space. Though a shared bathroom was the least of your problems when you let him move in, your thoughts never went to him bringing strays home every other night.

Not when he seemed to be the boy next door who was wholesome upon first meeting. What made things worse for you was when these technical one night stands would have the audacity to ask why you were in your own apartment. Or ask what your intentions for their man of one night was.

One girl even went as far as to contact you at work to tell you to back off. Unhinged behavior, if anyone asked you. What was he doing to the girls to make them act this way? It couldn't have been the kindness. He was genuinely nice to everyone. And you meant, everyone. Even people who you would've considered less than deserving, he gave them a chance and, for some, multiple chances. And while he is very handsome, handsomeness isn't something that would make someone go batshit crazy. At least you hoped that was the case. It had to be the dick. There was no other possible explanation.

Chris was one of your closest friends. Even though you started off as just roommates, you quickly became close. Finding that you had a lot of common interests in music, movies, and fashion.

Truthfully, you'd never been so close to a man who wasn't your boyfriend before. He was honestly different from anyone you'd met before, and you absolutely adored that about him.

"Are you completely sure that I should be your plus one for this?"

You were in a fitting room, trying on a dress that he was buying for you to be his date to a premiere. "Who else would I take? You're the only person I considered beautiful enough to be on my arm." He spoke jokingly, even if he was being completely honest.

"Christopher, stop lying to yourself. We both know how hot that girl you picked up at the bar last week was. Hell, if you hadn’t hit on her, I might have." To you, she was absolutely his style. Beautiful and damaged.

"I mean, she was okay. But she's not you." You poked your head out the curtain, making sure to keep your lack of clothing hidden.

"Seriously, Chris…" You deadpanned. "Stop it. We both know she'd look far better in the dress than I do." You closed the curtain to finish adjusting your dress, making sure no bits were showing.

He'd been frowning at his phone since you brought the girl up, but his face softened when you stepped out. You adjusted the beading on the shoulders and smoothed your hands over the black, silky fabric on the hips.

"I mean, heels are necessary…" You lifted up on your tiptoes. "But I think I like it." You turned a little, showing off just how the fabric fit your body.

Chris was speechless. All the words he had previously thought to say had all died on his tongue.

"Is it bad?" You immediately started to panic due to his lack of verbal confirmation. "I can find another one if this doesn't look good." You started for the dressing room, hand on the curtain when he stopped you.

He could have sworn he had never moved that fast in his life. One second he was sitting. The next he was up, pulling you back, flush to him, hand on your hip to stop you from leaving. You made eye contact in the mirror.

"It's perfect. You… you're perfect." His words melted your anxiety. "I don't think any other dress will do you justice. This is the one.." He smiled, causing you to reciprocate.

"All you had to say was 'It's fine, Y/n.' That would have sufficed." He chuckled, then leaned in to peck your temple.

"No, I think my response was just fine." That dress was by far one of the most expensive things he had ever purchased for a woman that wasn't his mother. But with the way it looked on you and the smile on your face while you wore it? It was worth it. He'd give anything to keep that smile on your face.

Work was kicking your ass. Long days of staring at a computer screen, answering customers' questions about high-speed internet options, wouldn't have been your first pick. But it paid your portion of the rent and kept food in your refrigerator.

After a particularly long day, you kicked off your heels at the front door and grabbed a beer out the fridge. Leaning against the counter as you took your first refreshing swig. "Long day?" You nearly choked hearing your roommates voice. You must have been so out of it you didn't see or hear him come out of the bathroom.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, "That obvious?" Your eyes landed on him as he slotted himself in the space next to you, towel around his waist, fresh from the shower. You quickly averted your eyes, suddenly finding the countertop very fascinating.

"I mean, you don't usually come in and drink without taking off your work clothes first. So, yeah." Chuckling, he continued, "Everything alright?" He asked.

You hummed. "Just burnt out, I guess. I got an email about retirement benefits today, and it just kind of made me realize that selling internet packages might not be what I want to be doing in twenty or thirty years."

He puffed out a small laugh. "That's what made you realize that?"

You playfully nudged him. "Oh, shut up. We can't all do what we love and be kind of successful at it. It just doesn't happen for everyone like that." Chris had been acting since childhood. He had a string of successful commercials and short films.

He had recently gotten the call to be the second male lead in a Netflix drama. He'd be flying out soon to start filming. "It could. If you want it, that is."

You tilted your head, face scrunched in confusion. "We can't always get what we want, Chris." You scoffed, just now noticing how close he was to you.

"I think we can if we put in the effort." He shrugged, “Knowing what you want and going after it wholeheartedly is key.” he leaned in closer, his warm, peppery scent invading your senses.

You gulped but covered it with a chuckle. “I don’t know what I want.” You picked at the label on the beer bottle. “Can’t chase after something when you don’t know what that something is.”

He softly grabbed your chin to make you look at him, "We can figure it out together." The way his eyes sparkled as he talked seemed to pull you in. The next thing you know, your lips are on his. It felt like longing. Like both of you had wanted this forever.

He cupped your face, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones. His touches and kisses were both very soft, lulling you into this cocoon of safety. He lifted you on the countertop and slotted himself between your legs. There was something comforting about his presence, something that made you feel like you were wrapped in the warmest of blankets.

You both pulled away from the kiss, trying desperately to catch your breath. He stripped you out of your shirt, tossing it somewhere between the kitchen and entrance. His lips were soon back on yours before migrating down to your neck to your chest. He left light bites on your skin, making it down to your breasts where nibbles soon became full of bite marks.

He didn't even bother getting rid of your bra. He just pulled the cups down enough to free them to have his fill. He took his time, plush lips circling over your bud, tongue swirling around it before teeth sunk into it. He was soft, then rough, just to be soft once more, and you were loving every bit of it.

You worked your fingers into his hair, lightly tugging the strands. He groaned. Did he like having his hair pulled? You tested the waters again, tugging a little harder this time. He pulled away from your breasts, but not without dragging his teeth over your nipple. "Unless you like it really rough, I suggest you stop." Your brow rose, intrigued.

He pinched your nipple, his eyes boring right into yours. "We can try that some other time." What made him think you'd be crazy enough to do this again? But then again, all the girls eventually came back. So he must be doing something right. Curiosity got the better of you, and you tugged the towel, watching it fall. Your mouth might as well have dropped to the floor with it.

"Well, I'll be damned." No wonder these girls were absolutely obsessed with this man. He was huge. "All this time?" You questioned, more so to yourself than him.

"Eyes up here." He grabbed your face again, making you look him in the eyes. "Keep your eyes on me." You didn't know what it was about his voice that made a shiver run down your spine, but it did. You nodded, complying almost immediately.

He pulled you off the edge a little before lightly pushing your shoulder to lie back. Off went your slacks and panties, probably landing wherever your shirt was. He continued his trail down your stomach to your mound, where he placed an open-mouthed kiss there. He made his descent, and the first lick felt like a shock of lightning. It felt like his tongue covered your whole pussy.

Your head fell back as you moaned. His breath danced along your lips as he moved from your cunt to your clit, seemingly savoring the taste. He moaned around your bud, sending chills through you. It really felt like you'd ascend from the way he used his mouth.

Like your soul would just leave your body, just to watch the sensual things that man could do with his tongue. When he dipped his thick tongue inside of you, you could help but cum for him. The way he wiggled it, lapping up every drop of you, you had no choice but to give in.

Your toes curled, your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, moans ringing out and bouncing off the way. The sound of a starved man came from between your legs as he cleaned you up. He lapped you up while you rode out your climax, legs finally closing around his head. He chuckled and effortlessly pulled them apart. He placed kisses on his way back up to your lips. Leaving a peck on every little bite mark he had left on the way down.

He let you taste yourself as he leaned in for a heated kiss. His hand roamed your body before settling on your waist. He pulled back and looked you in the eyes, seemingly searching for consent. You nodded. With one keep swoop, he picked you up and carried you over to the couch, laying you back on the plush surface.

Your head lightly hits the armrest, making you laugh. "Sorry. Are you okay?" He looked over at you before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"I'm fine, Chris. You don't have to try and save me from every little inconvenience, I promise I'll be alright." He chewed on his bottom lip, looking as if he wanted to retort, but he didn’t.

He silently reached past you and dug into the side table drawer, pulling out a condom. "You just have random condom hidey holes?" You looked around to see if he could be hiding them anywhere else.

"Not really." You gave him a suspicious look as he tore the packaging and rolled the condom on. He lined himself up to your entrance and pushed in. The stretch was something you hadn't felt before. How in the hell were people taking this? You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress any strange noises you might have made. He noticed

Chris was kind and hated to see people in pain or upset. He always seemed to try and help, no matter what. So seeing you, his roommate, a friend in pain, pulled on his heartstrings like no other. He leaned in, pressing kisses to the side of your mouth, your jaw, and then your neck. The soft, open-mouthed kisses had you melting. You relaxed. Making it easier for him to slip in. Once he bottomed out, you draped your arms around his neck. Fingers playing with the duck tail of hair at the back of his head.

He kept his eyes on you, focused. His thrusts started slow. Building up a pace to where you could feel every single last vein and inch of skin. Despite the initial struggle, he was like a perfect fit. Your walls wrapped around him like a tight glove. He pecked your lips, then your cheek. "You're amazing, you know that, right?"

You chuckled, not buying into his words. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls you have the pleasure of being balls deep in." He shook his head but didn't bother replying.

It felt like his thrust got a little deeper, like he had something to prove. You could feel your wetness being drawn out with each push of his hips. Your eyes rolled back, walls quivering around his length. You stuttered out a curse, trying your best to stay composed. But this man was hitting something so deep in you that you felt you could see stars. You clawed at his forearms desperately. "Faster… please.." You begged. If he made you cum like this there was no telling how your body would react.

He changed his position, putting one of his feet on the floor and pushing your legs in towards your chest. If you wanted him to go faster, he'd oblige. But you didn't specify how much faster. He sped up just a little, but the way he started pounding into you made everything worse.

"Oh.. God…" you groaned out, legs starting to shake for how good it felt. How good he felt. He hadn't taken his eyes off you. Sweat was beginning to pool at his brows, some curls sticking to his forehead.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, causing him to whine. He had kept up the façade that this was doing nothing to him. But that couldn't have been far from the truth. The way your walls gripped him, the sounds you were making, the look on your face, how wet you were, and how this was all because of him.

He wanted to make you feel good. Because it was you. Only because it was you. He licked his thumb and started rubbing your clit in harsh circles. You grabbed the armrest, attempting to run away. But he wasn't having that.

He leaned in, pushing your legs even further towards your chest. He felt impossibly deep now. Now, you couldn’t run or hide from him even if you wanted. You were trapped. Forced to stare him in the eye as he rearranged your atoms just to put them back together again. There was just something in the way he looked at you that you couldn't shake. It once again felt like longing. Like he wanted to tell you something that you wouldn't believe. Like he loved you.

You quickly shut your eyes. There was no way you wanted to get caught up in whatever spell he was putting on all the other girls he was fucking. You didn't want to become a crazy girl statistic right here in your own house, on your own couch.

"Look at me… please." He sounded so soft, so sweet, but yet, so sad. Against your better judgment, you did as asked, looking him right in the eyes. Things seemed to go on like this for an eternity until he hit a spot that made your toes curl. He leaned in, kissing you passionately as you came around him.

Your nails dug into his neck and shoulder, making him groan through gritted teeth. He wanted to make it last, and he honestly tried his best. He didn't want the moment to end. He fucked you through your orgasm, just to pull out and cum on your mound and lower stomach. He caught himself before he collapsed on top of you. "W-was that okay....?" It seemed as if his confidence and charisma were at an all-time low.

The air became awkward after you both caught your breath and came to the realization of what you had done. "We.. we shouldn't have done this." You sat up, pulling away from him completely. "I don't know what got into me." You now understood how he could be with so many different women. He felt like comfort personified.

You got up from the couch and started to pace. "Oh my gosh, Y/n, what have you done?" You mumbled to yourself. How could you have let this happen? Regret washed over you immediately. Chris was supposed to be your friend, not someone you found this type of comfort in.

Chris was quiet. He wanted to hug you, comfort you, but you were going through emotions because he couldn't keep his to himself. See, he was in love with you, always had been. But despite him trying his best to show you how he felt, he always went unnoticed. When you started to casually date other people, he fell into the cycle he's in now. Finding comfort in whatever woman that needed the same thing. That's how he got the reputation he has now.

The crazy part was, that most of the time he didn't even sleep with them. He was just a shoulder to cry on, someone that gave great advice from a male's perspective. But the damage to his reputation, being know as a sweet playboy had already stuck. There was nothing he could do about it.

"I know we can't take it back… but let's pretend this never happened? Okay?" You were pleading with him. Asking for a clean slate. Begging for what had been done to be undone. He nodded, eyes shifting to the spot where you were just under him in the throws of passion. His heart clenched. It was breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Chris.." With nothing left to say, you ran off to the bathroom to clean yourself of your indiscretions. You left him there. Alone. You didn't dare look back. Your heart wouldn't be able to take it. Because you did indeed have a heart that you were trying to protect. Even if you might have just broken his.

Chris sat on the couch for what seemed like hours. Truth be told, he really did like you, and he really hoped that maybe something could come out of this. Maybe you'd realize that he had been pining after you this whole time. That he really only had eyes for you. But it seemed that his feelings would stay unnoticed. You'd never reach out a hand and pull him from the abyss he had fallen in. That he would continue to fall at high speeds with no parachute. That you'd never save him.

Fin

A.N: Please reblog, leave a like, or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[Rewrites, Reposts, and Translations are Prohibited]

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 2 years ago

Text

Crutches and Crushes

Chapter Three of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Four

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.9K

TW: Unhealthy relationship and mentions of cocaine

Chapter Overview: You run into Frankie while you are out shopping.

Notes: Hey everyone ! I love that I'm still going to say no set posting schedule even though I have been consistent in my posting schedule. I just don't want to give a day and then miss it and blah blah blah. ANYWAY I'm absolutely beside myself that people wanted to be on the tag list for this series (i could cry) so thank you to the people that are investing time into this just like me (: my asks are always open if you want to chat about this series in particular or literally anything else !! happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

With a whole week of work at Brass Knuckles now officially under your belt, your dad wanted to celebrate. He called you and asked if you would come and eat lunch with him on Sunday afternoon. You knew that this meant you would be the one selected to go pick up and pay for lunch at some restaurant, but it was the fact that he remembered in the first place. Your dad was the kind of man that remembered globally recognized celebratory events: Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Thanksgiving. However, he struggled a bit with remembering ones that hit closer to home: your birthday, his own wedding anniversary, and any school function you had. You knew that he never did this with any malice or bad intentions, that wasn’t in his nature, but that didn’t ever numb the pain when it inevitably happened.

“Did you really have to get me a salad?”

You already knew that he was going to ask this. “Yes, I did.”

“Well could you have at least ordered me one that is topped with fried chicken and not this skinless bitch chicken.”

“Fried meats are one of the main foods that you have to avoid because of your diabetes,” You narrow your eyes at him. “So eat your ‘bitch chicken’ and be happy.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, Sweet Pea. Thank you for bringing the food and for putting up with me.”

“Of course, dad, but speaking of putting up with you…how has your physical therapy been going with Miss. Maggie?”

“I have my good days and my bad days. I actually managed to hold myself up on the uhh…what’s that thing called again? The one that has those horizontal poles on either side of me?”

“The parallel bars?”

“Yeah!” He snaps his fingers together. “I managed to hold myself up on the parallel bars, but I used all my strength focusing on not falling over which meant that I didn’t have much left in me when it came time to try taking a step.”

“I’m still really proud of you! Doing everything that you’re doing isn’t easy. All that anyone can ask is that you take it day by day and to try your best.”

“When did you grow up and get so smart?” His voice sounds airy.

“When you blinked.”

“Is that so? Okay, smarty pants, what’s the first thing that I’m going to do when I can walk on my own again?”

You lean back in your seat and ponder his question. It wouldn’t have anything to do with playing cards, since he has that poker tournament every Sunday evening. It wouldn’t be going on a date, although you suspect he might have a little thing for Miss. Maggie. As you rack your brain for the answer a car fires up its engine in the retirement home parking lot. Got it.

“The first thing that you’re going to do when you can walk on your own is go to a car show. Then after you’re done, you’ll probably go get the greasiest burger you can get your hands on just to spite me.”

“Fuckin’ hell. You got me all figured out.”

“How about this? We go to the car show together, but skip the burgers.”

“Or we go to the car show together, skip the burgers, and get a basket of fries instead?”

You know when you're in the middle of a losing argument. A frustrated sigh comes from you as you nod your head at his counter-proposal.

“Deal, dad.”

***

You should have known this was a bad idea. You should have turned your car around the moment you saw how packed the parking lot was. Days like today were the reason why online shopping and curbside delivery were invented. Unfortunately for you, you had no better way to spend the afternoon of your day off than braving the hectic crowds of IKEA. Your desperate need for items inside the store outweighed your hesitation to go inside. You have only just grabbed a basket when your phone starts ringing.

“Thank fucking god you called, Robbie. I just got into IKEA and I need someone to talk to so I don’t get completely overwhelmed here.”

You spend the next 45 minutes wandering in and out of different furniture sections while filling Robbie in about your new job and friends. You tell her about Benny and how he has become your closest friend so far down here. She audibly gags when you mention Brunson and how he acted when you first met him. Although you reassure her that Benny stepped in and shut him down, she still has a few choice words that you hope the family standing next to you can’t hear through the phone.

By the time you finally bring up Will, Pope, and Frankie your basket is quite full. You found all the kitchenware you needed: pots and pans, cups, plates, bowls, utensils, etc. Then for your room you got a nightstand, a dresser drawer, a lamp, decorative throw pillows, and a full length mirror to hang on your closet door. You wrote down the item numbers for some of the items that are too big to cart around, kitchen table and chairs and a couch, so you could order them on a later date.

“So, Santiago is Pope, Will is Ironhead, Frankie is Catfish, and Benny is…just Benny?”

“It’s weird, I know.” You laugh. “They’re all really sweet, but Frankie is by far the most attractive one in the group.”

“What did I fucking say?! I knew that you would have better luck finding a boyfriend in Florida than back home!”

“He’s not my boyfriend! I just think he’s cute, damn!”

“Tell me about him! I need a good mental image.”

“He’s a few inches taller than me, maybe 5’11? His hair curls at the end and is this beautiful brown which matches his eyes. Broad, and I mean broad, shoulders.” Robbie squeals on the other end of the phone. “Big nose and probably 10-15 years older than me?”

“I told you that you like ‘em older.”

You playfully roll your eyes at her comment as you walk into the section of the store that carries the bed frames.

“But I think you would really like Will. He’s tall, ruggedly handsome, has a sexy southern accent, and seems really smart.”

She’s quiet on the other end of the phone while you explain more about him to her. You love Robbie, but the men that she has dated in the past couldn’t match her on any level. She needed a partner that could challenge her intellectually and push her out of her comfort zone. Will is the kind of man that could do that for her.

“Basically, what I’m trying to tell you is that you should date men that are actually men.”

“Well, it looks like I’ll have some homework to do when I come down next month for spring break.”

“Just give him a chance, that’s all I’m asking. Hey, I should probably go. I’ve already been here way longer than I intended and if I keep talking to you there's no telling when I’ll finish.”

The two of you make plans to talk later and you hang up the phone. Now to find a bed frame and get the fuck out of here. You survey the room to see if anything catches your eye and something does. The only issue is that it's not a piece of furniture. Familiar curls peek out from underneath a black cap. He’s facing away from you which allows you to read the lettering on the back of his shirt.

B.K.B.G Sponsor of the Month

Tire Town Auto Body Repair Shop

When you first met Frankie, Benny had accidentally cut it short. You have been embarrassingly hung up on the fact that you didn’t get to talk to him the way you had with the other two men that evening. Now the universe has allowed you a second chance by placing him just a few feet away. You find yourself stuck in between feeling excitement and apprehension to approach him. Would he think you were weird if you came up and talked to him? Would he see you as Benny’s little receptionist and nothing more? These questions and countless more plague your mind as your feet guide you over to him.

“Uhh…Frankie?”

He turns around and looks down at you with those enchanting eyes. The wrinkles that form around them when he smiles softly at you echo the photo you saw of him. The front of his shirt has ‘B.K.B.G Friday Fight Night’ written in a large font across his chest.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

You shily gesture to your very full basket. “Turns out that one of the many consequences of moving quickly is having to buy all new furniture because you didn’t have time to bring the stuff you already owned.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” he chuckles and scratches the nape of his neck. “That was a stupid question.”

“No, no it wasn’t! At least I have a job now so I can pay for it all.”

“How is that going by the way? You just finished your first week, right?”

You try to convince yourself that him remembering how long you had already been working at Brass Knuckles for wasn’t a big deal. He had come into the gym on Monday and since today is Sunday, a logical person could conclude that you had completed your first week. Try as you might, you couldn’t stop the balloon-like swelling you felt in your heart.

“I did! It was pretty good, honestly. I feel like I’ve got the hang of everything I’m in charge of. Speaking of Brass Knuckles, I like your shirt.”

He looks down at the shirt he probably didn’t think twice about throwing on this morning.

“You don’t have one of the fight night shirts yet? I think this is the one my job sponsored.” You laugh as he tries to look over his shoulder to read the back of the shirt.

“No, I haven’t been to the fights yet. You work at Tire Town Auto Body Shop?”

“For the time being.” His eyes drift away while he says. You can tell that there is more to the story than he is letting on.

“Well it’s comforting to know that you work there,” His gaze falls back on you. “I have the worst luck with cars so it’s only a matter of time before I’ll need to find a shop.”

“I hope nothing goes wrong with your car, but if it does, just bring it over to me and I’ll take care of everything for you. Wait, wait…did you say that you haven’t been to the fights?”

“In my defense I have only known about them for a week! Benny is the only one I know there, but he is either preparing the fighters or organizing the event as a whole. I would feel out of place if I went by myself.”

“Well now you know me and Will and Pope. Come with us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he rests his hand on the edge of your cart. “It’s actually a pretty fun time. I would love it if you went with me- me and the guys.” You watch his fingers pick anxiously at a piece of tape on the end of one of your boxes.

“Sounds like a plan to me, Frankie.”

Upon hearing you agree to go with him the corners of his lips curl into a smile. It’s so infectious that you find yourself beaming in the middle of the bustling store as well. His shyness makes you yearn to know what makes him tick. Makes you want to know how to coax that coveted smile out of him. Because maybe doing that will help you smile more as well.

It looks like he is opening his mouth to say something when he’s cut off by the blaring of his ringtone. He easily takes the device out of his pocket, but falters when he sees the name that's displayed on the screen. His once relaxed demeanor has now been replaced by something tense and foreign to you.

“I’ve uhh I’ve gotta take this. I’m so sorry.” He hits the answer button and places the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“No worries,” You whisper to him. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

You watch as he nods and starts to walk deeper into the store. Before he gets out of your ear shot you hear him say the name ‘Rochelle’. Leave it to you to be into a man that already has another woman first in line.

***

“Why do we always have to come to this dump? They don’t have any good drinks and the music sucks.”

Frankie sits across from Rochelle at a random table in The Barrel. He knew better than to let her sit at the guy's designated table. He didn’t want her to corrode them the way she had done with him.

“Why do you want to get back together, Rochelle? We never made each other happy. Our whole relationship was a coked out blur.”

“But you liked it.” She places her hand on his. It was cold and wet since she had been using it to hold her beer bottle.

“I’m not the same man I was before, Rochelle. I can’t do shit like that anymore. I don’t want to do shit like that anymore.” He forces himself to look her in the eyes. “You know what it cost me.”

She meets his plea with a scoff and brings her drink to her overlined lips. She never seemed interested in conversations where she wasn’t leading or the center of attention.

“You were fun. I was fun. We were fun. So what if we needed a little bump every now and then to get there?” Her fingers curl tighter around his hand. “I miss you, Frankie.”

He missed having someone ride shotgun. He missed having someone there when he needed to vent about the shitty day that he had at work. He missed having a warm body to sleep next to at night. He missed having someone to care for. He just didn’t know if he missed her. She gave him a distraction when he needed it in the past, but could she give him the support he needs now? The support he would inevitably need in the future?

“The only way I would consider revisiting ‘us’ is if it's just us. No more coke.”

He can see the annoyance in her eyes as he lays out his boundaries on the table. She slowly retracts her hand from his and coils it back around her glass.

“Fine.” Her tone is flat.

“I’m not kidding. I want a fresh start. If we are going to try again I want to do it right.”

“Then let's start with that woman’s voice I heard on the other end of your phone today. Who was that?”

“Are you serio- I ran into Benny’s new hire while I was out shopping for stuff for my place. She’s new to the area and doesn’t have a lot of friends here yet. It was just a friendly conversation, Rochelle.”

"Well,” Her voice is syrupy sweet. “You don’t need to be her friend because you’re already mine.”

He really wanted to believe her when she said that. He really wanted to believe that she cared for him enough to change and grow as a person. He really wanted to ignore the sound of the water calling his name the longer he sat with her.

***

By Wednesday, you felt completely at ease working in the gym. You recognized and chatted with regulars, became quite the sales woman for both memberships and Friday tickets, and were able to kick the washing machine into submission without Benny’s help. Your desk was also coming along nicely too. You had posted notes in your favorite color, a photo you and Robbie took together in a photobooth shoved into the top right corner of your computer, multi colored pens, and even a small filing basket so you could better organize your paperwork. Your new found confidence in the job gave you the push you needed to officially pitch the idea of gym wide air fresheners to Benny.

“I don’t want this place smellin’ like a fruity little spa.”

“You do know that they make dozens, if not hundreds, of different kinds of scents right?”

“People come here to workout, not pretend that they are on a tropical vacation.”

“People can’t workout if the smell suffocates them.” You retort.

“It’s not even that bad!”

“You’ve gone nose blind, Benny! Please know that I say this out of the kindness of my heart, but it is fucking rancid in here.”

“Now you’re just bein’ mean.”

“Listen, what if I buy some, only the most manly smelling ones of course, and let you test them out? It’s a win-win because you won’t have to charge them on the company card and if you hate them I can just return them all.”

“Alright, but you promise that I will get the final say?”

“You’re the boss, Benny. Oh, what should we eat today?”

The two of you have been eating lunch together during the week. There is a good window of time right after the gym’s lunch rush and before the after work rush. You even made sure to block off at least an hour in Benny’s schedule around that time so he could have a much needed break.

“Have you tried that burger place up the street? Goddamn, they’re so good.”

“Burgers it is then. Text me your order so I know what to get you.”

What? Just because your dad has to be on a strict diet doesn’t mean that you have to be on one.

***

Benny had wheeled his rolly chair all the way from his back office and crammed it behind your desk. Both of you sit snugly with your feast of burgers and fries littered in front of you. The silence is only broken up by the occasional ‘can you pass the ketchup?’ or ‘are there extra napkins in the bag?’. When you have eaten half of your burger you decide to set it down and bring up what’s been on your mind. You know you can’t just come out and ask it so you opt to bring it up gradually.

“I saw Frankie the other day while I was out and he suggested I come to the fights this Friday.”

“I’ve been askin’ you to come since you got here!” His mouth is still full from the last bite he took.

“Gross, Benny!” You swat him in the shoulder. “I know you have been asking, but you’re busy helping organize things! You’re the only one I know here.”

You can’t tell if he chooses to keep his mouth shut because you’re right or because you just reprimanded him.

“Frankie said I could go with him and the other guys. Plus I have no social life and it's starting to feel like the walls of my apartment are closing in on me.”

“Regardless of who convinced you to go, I’m happy you’re comin’! You’re gonna have a blast! Fish and the guys throw down pretty hard at these things too so you’ll be in good company.”

“Yeah I think I will be too.” You have to shove a fry in your mouth to hide the smile you can feel making its way across your lips. Only once you have finished chewing, you don’t want to be a hypocrite, do you bring up what you really have been wanting too. “Can I ask a question? It might not be my place though.”

The man across from you motions, burger in hand, for you to continue. You take a deep breath and rip the band-aid off.

“Well, Frankie and I’s conversation was actually cut short when he got a phone call. I wouldn’t have said anything except- except he looked so tense when he got it? I don’t know, maybe I’m imagining things.”

“No you’re definitely not imaginin’ things. I don’t want to get into Frankie’s business because that's his own shit to talk about, but long story short, a woman is tryin’ to come back into his life that shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

You pick your burger back up and take a bite as he carries on with his story.

“The guys and I all found ways to cope with comin’ back to reality after dealin’ with the worst of the worst in and out of the service. Mine was openin’ this place, Will’s was helpin’ other vet’s, Pope’s was bein’ a military consultant, and Frankie’s was…well Frankie’s was Rochelle.”

“Rochelle.” You wanted to feel how her name felt on your tongue. “I heard him say that name when he was walking away.”

“Damnit, Fish.”

***

“So, remind me again why we are here?”

Frankie pulls into Brass Knuckles’ parking lot with Pope in his passenger seat. He knew he should have done this without him. If anyone was going to sniff out that he had a small thing for you it was going to be Pope.

“Benny left some clothes at my place last week and since we were in the neighborhood I figured I would just drop them off.”

“As opposed to giving them to him on Friday? Which is only two days from now, might I add.” He looks in the backseat and grabs the small cardboard box. “I think he would have made it until then without a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.”

“Shut up and get out of my truck, man.”

Frankie takes the box of clothes out of Pope’s hands when they both round the bed of the truck and start walking towards the door. He can see you entranced by something on your computer screen through the windows.

“I also invited her to come to the fights with us this week.” Frankie flicks his chin in your direction when Pope looks at him.

“You already have her number? Damn, Fish. I thought I worked quickly.”

“No, man,” He groans. “We ran into each other while I was at IKEA on Sunday. I just thought it would be fun, you know? It’s not like that, Pope.”

“Fish, you were a bad liar when we served together and you’re a bad liar now.” He turns to look at Frankie. “Come on, you think she’s cute don’t you?”

“She’s just cool.” He should have never brought Pope.

“Whatever you say.”

The chime of the door bell pulls you from your emails. You’re shocked, but not unhappy, when you look up and see the two of them coming through the door.

“Hey guys. I didn’t know y’all were coming by today.”

“I would have texted you, love, but I haven’t got your number.” Pope flashes his signature beaming grin in your direction.

“Well you never asked, love.” You tease.

“We wanted to drop some things off for Benny.” Frankie says as he comes up and places a cardboard box gingerly on your desk.

“Who's ‘we’?” Pope gabs.

Your attention stays on Frankie as you speak. “Oh, sure! He’s in the back office doing…actually I'm not really sure what he does back there.”

When Frankie doesn’t immediately move, Pope reaches over and slides the box towards himself.

“Hey, what are you-?”

“Let me take this for you, Fish. Why don’t you stay here and get her number for me? Strictly for scientific purposes of course.” You can see a playful look in his eyes when he turns back to his clearly panicking friend.

“Wait, no it’s-”

“It’s no big deal, exactly.” Pope whisks the box off your desk and starts walking into the gym, but not before tossing you a wink.

It suddenly feels a little harder to breathe when it’s just the two of you up front. You want to compliment the soft, yellow jacket he is wearing, but no words come. The only thing you can selfishly focus on right now is your heart and how it's beating so hard in your chest that he can probably hear it.

“It’s nice to see you again.” You think you can hear his voice shutter a bit.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Frankie. Still alright for me to come with everyone on Friday? I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing!” The words tumble out of his mouth. “You’re not imposing. I invited you, remember?” His tone settles.

“Thanks again for that by the way.”

A silence falls between the two of you. You both must have been racking your brains for something to say because you speak at the same time.

“Did you-?”

“Were you able-?”

Comfortable laughter blossoms and it dawns on you that he might be just as nervous to talk to you as you were to talk to him.

“No, no you go first!” You choke out while trying to catch your breath.

“Did you end up getting anything else after I left the other day?”

“I actually did; thanks for asking! I found a bed frame I liked. It took me longer than I'd like to admit to put it together though.”

Frankie has never been more grateful for the front desk than in this exact moment. Images of your naked, writhing body cuffed to a bed frame flood his mind. God, he could do anything he wanted to you. He would take it slow at first, not wanting to leave any part of your body undiscovered by his tongue. Then, only when you were begging him, would he give you what you wanted.

“Frankie?”

“I-I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I asked if you were able to find anything? You didn’t have a basket when I saw you.”

“No, I didn’t. The thing I wanted was just out of reach-stock! The thing I wanted was just out of stock.” He corrects.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You pray your voice doesn’t give away the curiosity you have about his little slip up. “Here. Let me give you something to make up for it.”

You take out a pen from its holder and move your stack of sticky notes in front of you. His eyes capture your every move. You write out your number slowly on the small piece of paper as you revel in the knowledge that you have his undivided attention. When you’re finished you sign it with your name and a tiny heart and pray that you haven’t misread this situation.

“I know Pope was the one that asked for this, but I want you to hold on to it.”

Your cheeks burn as you hand him your proverbial olive branch. When he takes it from you and reads what you had written he laughs quietly to himself.

“You know, so you can text me about this Friday.”

“Not for scientific purposes?” He mimics his friend's earlier statement.

“Unlucky for Pope, I was never really that into the sciences.”

“Lucky for me then.”

He folds up your note and carefully places it into his front shirt pocket. His timing couldn't have been better because Benny and Pope emerge from behind the brick wall as soon as he’s done.

“I hear that you managed to convince our girl here to come with y’all to the fights, Fish! Good on you!” He comes up and claps his friend on the back. “I’m not at all jealous that you did it when I couldn’t.”

“Benny.” you chide.

“Why don’t you make it up to Benny and come to the bar with us?”

“One step at a time, Pope. One step at a time. I do have something for you though.”

He comes over to you as you start writing your number out again. Out of the corner of your eye you see him give Frankie and Benny and thumbs up. Oh you poor, sweet, incorrect bastard. You nonchalantly pass it to him and hope Frankie see’s that there is no heart drawn on this time.

“Your reward for being such a big helper today by returning Benny’s clothes. If you text me in the middle of the night and wake me up I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

“What bliss that would be.”

“Hey! Unless y’all are gonna workout y’all better get a move on. Just because we are friends doesn’t mean y’all can take up valuable lobby space in my gym.”

“We’re going, we’re going.” For a man that is getting ushered out of a building, Frankie sure looks happy.

“Bye, guys!”

They both wave and say ‘bye’ to you and Benny as they open the door and head into the parking lot. Benny heads back to his office before they reach their truck, but you keep watching. As Frankie’s hand curls around his truck door, he looks back at you, and pats over his shirt pocket. Then he disappears inside and drives off with Pope.

Frankie could feel the note he placed in his pocket burning a hole through his chest the whole ride back to Pope’s place. It made it hard to carry on a simple conversation with him because that fiery sensation was all he could focus on. It was the type of heat that seeped into his very bones and made him feel as if he was glowing from the inside out. He knew you had unknowingly seared yourself onto his heart and that feeling scared him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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