I am thee

Alpha!Reader x Alpha!Kyle, everyone cheer, we are having another AU based on this little thing

Warnings: omegaverse, alpha x alpha, non traditional omegaverse dynamics, ruts are not that horny when you are lonely and hot and really really want to sleep, platonic intimacy,

You stare at the ceiling for some very long 10 minutes, listening as behind the wall something bloody happens.

It is three in the morning.

And Kyle, good bloke and decent roomate usually, has apparently decided to rearrange his furniture.

Not that you don't support your mate's decorational freedoms and very fine sense of aesthetics.

But why in the hell he needs to do it now?

Something suddenly slams against the opposite wall separating his room from yours, your heart lurching with it.

For a very long moment there is silence that stretches thin and ringing.

Treacherous hope settling in oyur chest that maybe he's done now.

Maybe, everyone can get some fucking sleep now.

But not five minutes later, something else gets dragged across the floor and your patience snaps in half like a twig stepped on.

For fuck's sakes!

You roll out of bed, cussing under your breath as you pull your sweatpants on and push your feet in the unlaced boots.

This is absolutely not how you envisioned your night.

The walk to the Kyle's door takes less than half a minute.

What takes longer is you, standing right there, working up the courage to knock.

The night air of your shared kitchen is cool, bordering on cold, it smothers the hissing flames of your initial annoyance and settles anxiety in your chest instead.

There hasn't been a sound from his room since you left your own.

Nothing at all, the space suddenly dead silent.

Kyle has heard you too, you realise a little too late, ears finally catching the sound of his breathing.

Breathing, that is a bit too close to the door.

That's not unnerving at all, you think, rubbing your face and trying not to think about aliens taking over his body, because really, now is not the time. If you wake up Ghost this late, he just might make skewers from both you and possessed Garrick.

The creak of floorboard right behind the door only confirms your suspicions.

He knows that you know that he knows that you are there.

Might as well just be out with it.

"Kyle?" Your voice is hoarse and raspy, palm bracing on his doorframe because God knows you are tired. "Mate, what's going on?"

Kyle is silent for what feels like another eternity spent hanged in a dark cold hallway before he answers — audibly frustratted to spit out just one word.

"Rut."

Ah, well, that explains a lot.

"Let me in." You rub your dry eyes again, a little lightheaded. He probably just forgot about it completely and the dildo of consequences has arrived unlubed and unbidden.

Happened to the best of us.

"No." The bristle in Kyle's voice just makes you annoyed in turn, because it's not like you are going to see something you never encountered before and it is clear that he cannot sleep.

Otherwise you two wouldn't be up in the middle of the night.

So you push down the urge to tell him not to be daft and take a deep breath, bracing on his doorframe instead.

"I'm in rough shape." He adds, when he does not receive a verbal protest that he expected.

"More news at 11." Comes out before you can think it through, earning you immediate 'sod off, mate'.

Well, it is almost like some progress has been made.

(No, not really, but it's late, he's clearly clawing up the walls if the noise is any indicator and you just want your quiet.)

"C'mon. If you get the urge to rip my throat out with your teeth, I will leave. But you even sound like shite right now."

Feeling like one too, Kyle would say — forehead pressed to the cool wood of his doors.

When you insistently tug on the doorknob and push it against him, Gaz makes low annoyed sound, still slumped against the door and making no move to peel himself off of it.

He knows it's late as hell, he knows that him moving the furniture around wasn't your idea of good night's sleep. He really really knows it.

Only the first thing that hit Kyle less than an hour ago was suffocating heat, his face burning — shirt on him soaked and sticky.

He hates the feeling. Hated since he hit the puberty and what doctors promised would become routine for him, never actually did.

Kyle never liked being too hot, never liked sweat and the sweltering heat that was his frequent company.

Rut always hit him like a truck that then reversed and drove over him, grinding his bones into shards — restless urge to do something itching under his skin.

Bloody hell, the rut was supposed to come later, he was supposed to be golden till Friday.

But there is nothing to be done now, so he drags his sweat-sooden t-shirt off and tosses it with too much force, chest heaving. This is fucking childish, he is not fifteen years old anymore, he should be able to handle it normally.

Only the air is too stuffy, he has no bloody den because he couldn't prepare with all the work, he forgot to eat his supper so now he is also hungry.

Hungry and mad, Kyle's alpha rumbles inside his skull. Already more active than he'd like it to be.

Which is when he finally checks his phone, that was left charging on the nightstand and feels a strong impulse to toss it out of the window.

2:38 in the morning. Friday.

Well, yeah, of course, why won't he just go fuck himself then?

Friday is today and he forgot.

Kyle groans rubbing his face, skin itching from sweat, urge to bristle intensifying because fuck, he feels awful, his eyes are dry and he is soaking, why is it even so hot in here?

He will admit moving the bed in an attempt to make some semblance of a den in the middle of the night was not the best strategy, but he just…he was tired and too hot and he wanted to get some sleep before morning comes and he has to pull it together.

But alpha, stubborn creature that it is, fucking refuses to sleep without a den, refuses to let Kyle doze off and buzzes under his skin with unhelpful inkling to go take care of something for his pack. Laundry, maybe. Anything at all, something that he can do to be useful, to help and to take care.

Instead he fucked up the 'let's move our bed' part because he pushed it too and it fucking slammed against the wall, the mattress somehow slipped off of it as the result and he had to drag over the floor too to get it back.

Safe to say, Kyle was not off to a good start.

And now you were here too, squeezing through the cracked open door (he really needs to start locking them) like you bear distant relation to cats and are able to fit through any opening as long as your head does.

You smell like smoke and something herbal when he takes a deep breath, trying to work through the blistering migraine that makes him half-blind and exhausted.

Thank God, your scent is nothing like captain's cherries that give Gaz mild nausea on a good day.

"Hot in here." You comment and the urge to growl is promtly chocked down in favour of silent glare.

Yeah, he is aware that it's hot.

He is currently sweating buckets if you haven't noticed.

"Yay or nay to open windows?" You offer quieter, not standing too close when Kyle already feels like he is getting boiled alive. No need to overwhelm annoyed and aching alpha any further.

He takes a deep breath when the hot ache passes through his abdomen, down to his thighs and wraps itself around his lower back.

The idea of cold air is as welcome as it is nauseating.

"Nay to open windows." You note down, eyes slipping off his face before Gaz can ask if there is something so bloody interesting there that you have to stare. "Okay. How bad is it on the scale of 1 to fuck off?"

"9." Kyle mumbles almost immediately, pressing his back to the expanse of the door to look at you properly, not in the best headspace to leave you behind his back. Wood heats up frustratingly quickly, his lower back now cramping even more. "Heat's worse."

You nod and glance around the place, taking note of the absolute mess of his bed and glistening sweat on his torso and dark shape of what appears to be a shirt on the floor across the room.

Neat disciplined Kyle doesn't throw his clothes on the floor and doesn't wreck his bedroom in the middle of the night.

Neat disciplined Kyle is the golden boy of the Taskforce for a reason, only seems like even gold of his gets molten and pliable when the rut hits.

"Gimme your hand." You murmur, offering him yours palm up at which he looks at it like it might as well be a snake that you are giving him in a weak moment. "Trust me." Your voice is low and gentle which Kyle catches immediately, eyes narrowing, but humours you nonetheless, giving in.

"Fuckin' hell—" is breathed out with a start because your palm is dry and cool. Your palm doesn't heat up when he grips it, slicking your skin with sweat.

"Not so bad now." You say, not really expecting an answe and slowly pull him away from the door, closer to the chair next to his desk. He needs to sit down before his knees give out or the exhaustion slams him down into a wall when he tries to push through on his own. "Permission to stick my nose in your dresser? You should change." You glance at Kyle's bare torso, his sweatpants clinging to his legs and sergeant winces.

Sound plan, ignore his battered pride though.

"Okay." Is rather dragged out of his chest than given willingly you'll take it.

"I know I'm no cute omega, brother. Just bear with me a moment." You hum, practically sticking your whole head in his dresser to find where Kyle keeps his change of clothes, trying very hard not to smile when you hear him chuckle.

It's dark in his room, the only source of light being moon and judging by how he tries to stay in the darker corners of his room, turning the light on to look around is not going to be the smartest idea to execute.

"Still with us?" You ask, careful and just as quiet, approaching him slowly. Relaxing only when Kyle gives you a curt nod, glancing up from under the heavy hover of his furrowed brows.

"Okay, good." Your voice is low when you press your palm to his forehead, checking the temperature and he leans in without thinking about it.

Burning up and aching, eyes blurry and dark when you leave his clothes on the desk and your second palm joins to cup his cheek. Holding him in a cup of cool palms, small callouses on your index fingers scratching his skin just a bit when you stroke it slowly.

It's a blissful relief, vulberability that still prickles hot with shame for the anticipation of it, but you are so wonderfully quiet.

You don't ask questions and don't joke about it and don't try to fill the silence with chatter.

Your hands just hold his face for a minute, not talking even when Kyle's shoulders slump and he hangs his head lower, shuddering out a sigh when your left palm moves to wipe the sweat off his nape.

"Better?" You speak up after a while and he hums, peeling his eyes open to look at you again.

Aching still pulsating in his lower back, still buzzing through the bones of his thighs and pelvis.

But his face isn't on fire anymore. He can breathe again, even if just a little.

"Okay. Good." You breath out slowly, each words dipping into his ears like a coin tossed in a still fountain water. "Let's put you back in one piece, mate."

Kyle smells like star anis and hot honey, like exhaustion and rut, like getting dipped into tea headfirst and staying there to get stained and never breathe in again.

You use a pack of wet wipes from his desk to wipe the sweat off of him.

Taking a few moments to warm up the first one, before you cup his cheek again, angling his head. Slow and methodical, starting with his forehead and down to his jaw. Tossing it out when you reach his neck and taking the new one, because Kyle still can't stand anything hot touching him and things heat up fast around him.

You stand between his knees, when you pull him in so he rests his forehead against your stomach while you wipe down his nape and shoulders. Grazing against his shoulder blades and retreating when he tenses up.

Not going any lower, point taken.

He is quiet and pliant by the time you nudge him to lean back so you can get his throat and collarbones. Stretches out first his right then his left arm, so you can wipe them down too all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Gaz doesn't say a word when you nod at him to get his hands up so you can help him in a clean t-shirt.

Almost soothed by the time you stroke the fabric on his shoulders, so he starts cooling off.

"Want to drink something?" You catch his eyes in the dark of the room and don't know whether his alpha is circling its way up to the surface of Kyle's consciosness. You aren't omega and if he gets meaner, you won't be able to help him much. Would be lucky not to agitate him further if it comes to it.

But for now he seems stable. Seems like he is still Kyle.

He shakes his head, more lucid now that you helped him a bit to cool off.

"I'll get you water. We left a couple bottles in the fridge after drills." You say anyway and leave, giving him time to drag his sweatpants together with the boxers off and change into dry ones.

You guess that he did the same thing to his legs that you did to his upper half, because by the time you come back the wet wipes are gone completely. But, evidently, it helps, Kyle's legs are stretched out, chest slowly rising instead of heavy heaving he had before.

Good thing you indeed left water last time you two trained with rookies, having two bottles now — ice cold, condensation slick under your fingers — is a godsend.

Kyle watches you, lazy and languid, maybe expecting you to say something else now or excuse yourself and go to sleep now that he no longer seems to tie himself in knots, but you give him a short nod and his shoulders sink down again, relaxing.

The bottles you leave on his desk, right next to him before taking a look at his bed.

Kyle hates sweat and hates stickiness. His alpha probably hates the lack of the proper den and the surrounding mess.

And given how soaked he was before, you can take a wild guess that his bedding aren't much better.

"Got clean sheets, mate?" You glance back at Kyle and he, significantly more soothed nods at the bottom drawer.

Of course, he does. You'd be more surprised if he didn't have any.

On the other hand, once you found out that Ghost had only two hoodies. Black of them washing out into dark grey, sleeves fraying from how worn they were. The man refused to buy new ones and was fairly content that his whole wardrobe one could fit into a box of matchsticks.

Plastic cracking snaps you out of it when you fish out fresh sheets and glance over your shoulder at Gaz, who twisted the cap off a bottle and was in the process of inhaling it.

Can't bring sergeant to water, but can bring water to sergeant and apparently, he will even drink it then.

You know that the current relief is temporary. The next episode is a couple of hours away.

Rut comes in waves, effects of which vary from alpha to alpha to some degree, but overall remains the same in its results.

Rut turns up the heat and bleeds you dry, restarts all of the systems to prepare for the next cycle and takes a large toll on a person, demanding a lot.

It is generally easier when someone is around to help out, alphas — pack creatures that they are — don't do well in solitary.

And while omegas mostly adjust better to being alone and betas do well without outside assistance, alphas like you and Garrick don't seem to manage just as good.

Maybe that's what captain meant when he talked about weaker sexes, you chuckle to yourself, while you change the sheets on Kyle's bed, remembering Price's off-hand jab about alphas being the most sensitive creatures out of everyone he worked with.

You can't really make a burrow instead of Kyle, given that you don't know how he likes his space during rut, but you can give him a clean space to work with instead.

Which should be something, when one is in pain and bracing for another rut-induced heatwave.

"Mate, I—" You start, cutting yourself off, because by the time you are done with his bed, Kyle is looming right behind you.

You didn't hear him get up and walk over.

Gaz has enough energy to smile at you as you gesture at his bed.

"My saviour." He croaks out, swaying ever so slightly. Leans more on you when you help him to sit down, his palm hot and heavy where he keeps it on your hip. Probably still lightheaded.

"Just a 'thank you' will do, mate." You huff out air, grinning and Kyle's eyes crinkle when you nudge his shoulder for him to lean back on the cool sheets. "On a more serious note, next time just let me know and I will help. Ruts can suck for a lonely soldier." Your tone is lighter now when you pass him unopened water bottle and tuck it by his neck, making sure it will cool him down some more.

Kyle looks at you for a long moment, quiet before he finally lets out a small hum, more of a vibration than a sound. Halfway to purring.

"That they do."

Perhaps, if there were more light, you would have noticed the reddening glimmer around his irises.

But the room is dark and Kyle is tired, his palm moving to your knee when you sit down, perching on the edge of his bed. Stays there until he doses off, too tired to say whatever it was that he thought.

When you gently press a palm to his forehead, checking for fever, his chest vibrates with slow purring. Barely audible, but satisfied.

This time, actually real.

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I'll share some of the info below:

Looks like they're trying to nuke the remaining privacy and freedoms we have left on the internet.

What to do?

-Get your developer friends to not comply to their new guides

- Sign the open letter on the site and take action by checking out thwir full resources list on their website as well!

To summarize, this is all daunting especially when you feel all alone with unfair and inhumane regulations comming out faster than improvements ut we got this working together!

Share the link with your friends,family and anyone who will listen!

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Imagine mourning dove Simon who was so distressed after surviving that torture that he started plucking his feathers out and they didn’t grow back so now he is stuck with the shame + self-loathing + ‘I did this to myself’ mentality that eats at him. 

Because he is a bird and he really wanted to be enough to attract a mate once, but he doesn’t have what it takes anymore and he cannot compete with anyone from the TaskForce because they are all these majestic birds and he is losing more feathers the older he gets. 

That’s lot of shame to unpack there. 

And imagine younger post-torture Simon cooing to himself as a self-soothing thing because that’s what he used to do to calm down Tommy when they were kids.

Only Tommy is no longer there and Simon’s back really really hurts and he can’t feel his wings at all (he doesn’t know yet he no longer has them). 

Simon who still hates when someone pats his back because the phantom urge to flap his wings is always there. 

Gets only stronger when Reader comes around because he can never admit how envious he is of Kyle’s wingspan or Soap’s feathers. 

He can’t admit even to himself that he is even more jealous of Price who have been to hell and back, and yet he still has that bloody tail, still has his pretty feathers, still has the wings.

And Simon has nothing.

Thinking about Simon who gets attached to Reader the first out of the entire TaskForce and spends a lot of time beating around the bush because he doesn’t know how to go about it. 

Does he have the right to court them like a dove when he isn’t even a real dove anymore? 

Would they even pay any attention to him?

Simon who is painfully jealous when Reader starts collecting all the feathers they get after preening Johnny because the lad shines like a new coin and you are so excited to have new shiny feathers. 

MOODBOARD · AO3

You can’t remember wanting anything with ease. Certainly not the man of your dreams.

or: the anxious avoidant au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Mildly Dubious Consent, Anxious Avoidant Character, Coffee Shop AU, Strangers to Lovers

You can’t remember wanting anything with ease.

It always hurts in that big, bright way, like a thousand sticks of dynamite blowing a tunnel open through a mountain, giving you a way to pass to the other side. Like whispering the same wish over and over again until your lips go numb and your voice goes hoarse, your plea still unheard after all these years.

Hmm I think because their lives are so inundated with safewords already (sitreps, callouts) it'd feel redundant to have a specific one between them (also I think they are DEEPLY freaks who WOULD go without)

I do think they would check in on each other in their own ways, doting and concerned...🥺

+

I can't imagine Soap ever ANNOYS Ghost, but I bet he can get under Ghost's skin a bit as they get more comfortable - a feat achievable by a scant few in his life, surely...

Hmm I think because their lives are so inundated with safewords already (sitreps, callouts) it'd feel redundant to have a specific one between them (also I think they are DEEPLY freaks who WOULD go without)

I do think they would check in on each other in their own ways, doting and concerned...🥺

+

I can't imagine Soap ever ANNOYS Ghost, but I bet he can get under Ghost's skin a bit as they get more comfortable - a feat achievable by a scant few in his life, surely...

Ghost has spent multiple instances fucking you dumb, using all your energy and then some because he's simply that obsessed with you. Yet, you still haven't seen any traditional aftercare from ghost.

His favorite method seems to be food, helping you recover physically from the exertion.

Of course there's the granola bars and electrolyte drinks, but you'll never forget the day he he dissappeared for a bit and came back with a perfectly cooked steak, still butt-naked when he handed you the plate. It even had an adorable little garnish.

Though the time he pulled you into a closet because he had to have you in his mouth, only to pop off and hand you a little fish Keychain he found at the gas station, will always be a fond memory.

Or the time where, after a shower and cuddles, you still seemed down and ghost just wouldn't let it stand. So he decided to build a blanket fort around you in bed as if it were the logical next step.

Does he still need to be reminded to help you wash up or to come for cuddles? Yes, but honestly you love whatever his mind comes up with more. You like how personalized it feels.

....you'll never stop teasing him for the time he prepped sourdough in the oven and timed it specifically for when you'd want a break and when you'd be done.

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

The rest of his night passed in a daze. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at the tiny little picture on your license while Johnny and Simon argued with each other about what he should do to try to win you back - but he could barely hear a word they were saying as he wiped away the sticky-sweet drink that was still dripping down his face.

“Ah’d give her a second ta calm down, ya ken? Go in the mornin’ and give her a chance to find her head.” 

“Showin' up at her place unannounced after hanging onto her shit all nigh'? Yeah, that’d leave a good impression, wouldn’ it? No wonder you can’t get a bird, Johnny. Scarin’ ‘em all off.” 

“Ach, ye’d know what tha’s like, wouldn’ ye? Spooky fuckin’ bastard. Ah bet women run the second they see tha' stupid fuckin' mask-” 

"Whatever. Gaz, just give it to the bartender, yeah? Clearly she doesn't like ya'. She'll come back for it."

In the end, he ends up taking Johnny’s advice and decides to return your wallet in the morning – which maybe wasn't his smartest move. Especially since now he doesn’t have a lick of alcohol flowing through his system to calm him down as he walks along the sidewalk towards your place. He’s sure he looks crazy to everyone he passes – muttering to himself to try to coach himself through what he’ll say to you. 

“Hey! Nah, uh…hello, how are you? No, I- fuck…” He shakes his head as he looks down at your wallet, twiddling the zipper between his fingers as he mumbles under his breath. “Hi, I’m Kyle…I’m the one who, um…who made you...cry last night. Ah, shit.” 

He's never felt this way about a girl before - like a nervous, stuttering schoolboy. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and he can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck when he suddenly finds himself standing in front of your door.

You've got a sweet little welcome mat - covered in sunflowers and loopy letters - and he notices all the pots filled with plants and flowers that scatter around near your door. God, he's already thinking that you're the most precious thing in the world.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's affecting him so much. Is it because you rejected him? Is it a challenge to him? Does he just feel guilty? Or maybe it's because, for the first time ever, he's gone after a girl that he actually has to figure out. Women have always thrown themselves at him the moment he flashed a smile their way. But you...all you did was throw a drink in his face.

It takes him nearly a full minute before he finally knocks on your door, and he can't seem to figure out what to do with his hands as he waits for the sound of your soft, thudding footsteps to reach the door.

You're still puffy from crying yourself to sleep last night, but you open the door with a polite smile anyway - donned in your oversized cat pajamas without an ounce of makeup on - but your smile quickly falls when you recognize the man standing on your doorstep.

The unfortunately beautiful man who had woken up every insecurity you had in less than a minute of talking to you.

Your expression seems to cycle through a million emotions as you try to comprehend how he could possibly be here, but once you notice the teal wallet clutched in his hand, realization settles on your features as the embarrassment hits you.

He stands silent for a moment as he takes in how gorgeous you are despite your slightly disheveled appearance, and he can barely form a sentence as he lifts up your wallet with a sheepish smile. "You, uh…you left this at the bar, um…last night. Got your address from your, uh...your I.D.” Christ, he's lost all sense of charisma hasn't he? He holds onto the wallet for a horrifyingly awkward amount of time as he stares blankly at you, but he finally comes to his senses when you mumble out a quiet 'oh, thanks' and reach out to take it.

“I’m Kyle, by the way.” 

He's never seen a girl look at him with such guardedness before - with your arms crossed protectively over your chest as you give him a tense smile. He can't tell if it's because of the whole incident from the night before, or if you're just freaked out that a total stranger went through all the effort to bring your wallet directly to where you live.

Probably both.

You clearly return his greeting just to be polite, murmuring your name quietly as you place your wallet off to the side.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He lets out an awkward laugh, but quickly backtracks when you shoot him a funny look. “I mean, from your license! I-It’s got your name on it. I only know it because it's...it's on the license.” He stutters out quickly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. God, he's losing it. His heart feels like it's going to explode. “I, um…it’s a gorgeous name, by the way. Suits you, you know?” 

The compliment slips out naturally, but it only makes you tense up even more, and you suck in a tight breath as you begin to shift on your feet. Your fingers are itching to reach for the door to slam it in his face - arrogant prick thinking he can keep up his act from last night even though he practically sent you into a fit - but he interrupts your spiraling thoughts with a heavy sigh as he drops his charming smile.

“Hey, I...I just really wanted to say that I'm sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you like that last night.” His demeanor changes so drastically that you can't help but soften a bit, melting underneath his warm, pleading eyes enough to listen to him. "I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding...I wasn't making fun of you, love. Honest."

He seems so genuine about it that you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You had tossed and turned all night thinking about how shocked he had looked after your little outburst. You tried to stave of your regret by telling yourself that he had come over to you only to make fun of you like everyone else does, so technically he deserved it - but now you weren't so sure.

“Oh, well…I’m sorry for, you know…throwing my drink in your face.” You murmur sheepishly as you look down at your welcome mat - tracing one of the flowers with your fuzzy slipper before tilting your head back up to look at him with burning cheeks. “Wasn’t very mature of me."

“No, no, no...it's fine, really! If anything, I'm sorry you had to waste your drink on me. I mean, I know how pricey that place can get.” He lets out another laugh, but it's a bit less tense this time, especially when he sees the way your lips almost quirk up into a smile. It makes him feel bold enough to try to bring back the charm, and he can't stop himself from asking you, “You know…maybe I could, um…make it up to you sometime? Could buy you another drink?” 

But once again, you pause. His persistence only makes you more suspicious of his motives, and it shows in how you tighten your arms across your chest. He can see your eyes flash with a pang of hurt, and he feels his heart clench as he fumbles over himself, growing less sure by the second. “O-Or just a coffee, maybe?” 

“...Look, Kyle…” His heart leaps in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips, but your guarded tone is enough to smother the warm, fluttery feeling that had been building in his stomach. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t know what kind of bet you have going with your friends, but I’m not going to fall for it, okay? I'm not...I'm not stupid.” 

Stupid? His expression falls once more, and he gives you the most genuine look he can muster as he speaks up quietly. “I...I don't think you're stupid. There’s no bet, love. Honest.”

“A dare, then.” 

“No dare, either.” 

You let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes a bit before resting your hand on your hip, but your irritated demeanor doesn't hide the way your eyes are beginning to grow a bit watery and bloodshot as you murmur quietly. “Well, why are you doing this, then?” 

His eyebrows furrow as he looks down on you, and he can't help but shake his head in disbelief as he takes a small step towards you. God, you were absolutely breaking his heart. Did you really think it was that unbelievable that he could like you? “I already told you, love. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…and I know you don’t seem to like hearing that, but it’s true. And I know you're not just a pretty face, I just...I don't know anything else about you. But I'd like to...I'd like to get to know you.” 

You don't seem moved by his words, but he can't see how your heart begins to pound wildly in your chest, grasping onto the small bit of hope that you had desperately tried to push down. You'd spent so long trying to protect yourself from feeling this way about someone, and he's already managing to sneak past those walls you had built up.

But your mind keeps replaying every moment of disappointment you felt when it came to men 'asking you out' - how people would laugh behind your back when you would get excited for a date with a guy they all knew was just messing with you, or how a boy in your class straight-up laughed in your face when you thought he was being serious about being his date to the prom. 'Shit, she actually fell for it! Damn, I didn't think she'd have the nerve to say yes! Ah, right, well...sorry love...just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah? All in good fun.'

No, no, no...you couldn't fall for something like this again.

He can see the look in your eyes as you stay silent, and his heart pangs with guilt when he realizes how much he's probably torturing you. He decides to put you out of your misery, so before you can open your mouth to reject him again, he raises his hand to stop you. "Yeah, alright...I understand." A pathetic smile graces his features, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty at the look of disappointment on his handsome face. "Can't blame a guy for trying though, aye?"

You can't even tell if you're disappointed or relieved that he's finally given up, but you give him a grateful smile as you nod your head in understanding. Couldn't expect a guy that looks like that to put in too much effort with someone like you, right? "Right...yeah...thank for um, understanding."

"Of course..."

God, this is awkward.

The both of you stand and stare at each other for another moment longer before he turns to leave. But just as he turns to go, he stops in his tracks and thinks to himself for a second before letting out a puff of air before turning back to you. "Don't happen to have a pen, do you, love?"

You blink in surpise at the randomness of his question, but eventually nod your head and disappear for just a second before returning with one in hand.

If only you could see how nervously he tapped his fingers against the side his leg while he waited for you to come back - a habit he only ever indulged in when he couldn't contain his anxiety on missions. Something his captain always ragged on him for.

Yeah, he was absolutely hung up on you.

He tries to ignore how soft your hand is when he takes the pen from you, but he can't ignore the way your touch zaps up through his arm and straight to his heart. And from the way you tuck your arm back against your chest with hot cheeks, he can't help but wonder if you felt it, too.

He pulls a crinkled receipt from the pocket of his jacket as he gives you a nervous smile, almost like he's waiting for you to scold him for trying again. And if it isn't the most charming thing you've ever seen... “Listen…if you change your mind-“ His hand moves quickly to scribble something on the small piece of paper, and when he hands it to you, you see his number written in handwriting that is frustratingly neat for a man in a rush. “-just let me know. No pressure, of course. I’ll fuck off if you want me to, but…just thought I’d give you the option. Don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least offer to make it up to you.” 

And you take that stupid, crinkled piece of paper from his hand against your better judgement, and to your chagrin you can feel your cheeks burning brightly enough for him to see. Luckily for you, he can't see the way your heart is dancing around in your chest at the prospect of actually having a chance with him.

"Right...ok." You mumble quietly as you stare down at his number, toying at the edges of the paper with your thumb before his voice catches your attention once more.

“Well, um…I should get going. I hope you have a good day, darling.” A part of you was horrified to realize that you didn't want him to leave just yet, but you just nod your head stiffly as he backs away from your doorstep. And god he gives you that handsome, charming smile one more time before he turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder. "I hope I get to see you again."

And you wave at him so awkwardly as he walks away, like a deer caught in headlights, but it makes his heart flutter all the same. He hopes that even if he doesn't get a chance with you, someone else will realize what a catch you are. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Someone like him.

It's not until much later in the day - when he's stuck in a briefing and trying not to fall asleep with Price's voice droning on johnny's already drooling on the table - that his phone vibrates in his pocket. He sneaks it out underneath the table to take a quick glance to see who could be messaging him, and his heart practically leaps out of his chest when he sees an unfamiliar number.

‘ok...maybe just one coffee.’

He can't help but smile to himself as he reads it, and before he can begin to type out a response, another message pops up on his screen. And another. And another.

'i mean, only if you're still interested, of course.'

'no pressure or anything :)'

'oh, this is y/n by the way!'

Yeah, you might be the sweetest girl he's ever met.

Your perspectives matter. Your representation matters. You are not bothersome for demanding equal treatment in fandom. It is not your responsibility to make fandom more welcoming and inclusive to you. It is not your sole responsibility to create all of the Black-centered content. You are not "ruining" anyone's fun for demanding better for yourself, and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. Any fandom worth being a part of should have no room for racism in it.

Black people in fandom, you are wanted. You are needed. You are loved and appreciated. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.