#self indulgent bc I think we should've been able to play with him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daddykohli · 2 years

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you're my achilles heel

rahul kohli x gn!reader word count: 3.2k warnings: none a/n: this is shamelessly self indulgent. I wanted an rpf so I wrote one myself bc this man occupies my every thought. this is actually so ridiculously sappy, sue me. I hope you enjoy, minors DNI and please do not send this to Rahul or anyone who knows him, thanks! shout out to tswift for the title and a lyrical reference near the end of the fic.

It should have been a regular Tuesday Skype session with your friends. It was, at first, until Jon began his story about how he accidentally paid for the time of a “platonic escort” while he was visiting Korea. You’d been listening, mostly, but also stealing glances at Rahul, appreciating his laugh and his smile and the dumb little winks and faces he was making at you while your friends spoke.

Despite your best efforts, you fell hard. It could have been his face, an objectively, stupidly handsome one. It could have been the accent; the way his mouth formed around words made you shiver sometimes. It could have been your shared interests, your mutual love of video games, movies, Star Wars, football and a number of other things. It could have been his passion, his kindness, his deep capacity to love his friends and family. In reality, though, it was a mix of all of that.

After indulging, staring at him and contemplating this, you forced yourself to tune back in to the conversation. It seemed that Jon was telling your group of friends—Rahul, Jacob, Alanah and yourself—about his unfortunate trip to a whiskey bar in Korea where he'd thought he was paying for an expensive bottle of whiskey and eventually realized that he has paid for a bottle and time and conversation with a "platonic escort". You laugh along, but you were still a little lost in thought. When Rahul began to speak, your ears perked up.

"I've been this close..." he holds his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. "Go on," Jon prompted.

"...to just wanting an escort to scratch my back".

Blood rushes to your ears. There were about 72 thoughts and feelings swirling through your brain. You didn't want to miss whatever he said next so when Rahul's voice continued, you quickly returned to Earth. "'Cause I love having my back scratched".

There's no excuse for what you blurt out next. But Jesus, all you could think about is some random, beautiful woman in Rahul's bed, nails running gently up and down his bare back while he sighed in contentment, eyes closed and a relieved smile on his face. It made you sick to your stomach. What you say is, brilliantly, somehow both a question and a statement. "I'll do it?" Four matching pairs of wide eyes stare at you as you manage to render the group speechless.

What followed was perhaps the longest bout of silence your group has ever experienced together.

Eventually, "we'll just...move on from that," Alanah offers brightly, bless her.

Jacob, Jon and Rahul were vehemently shaking their heads, however. You should've known none of the boys would let this go.

"No no no no no, we definitely need to unpack this," Jacob loudly protests, a delighted grin on his face.

Your face is violently red in the monitor and even if you couldn't see yourself, you'd be able to feel the heat. You're making eye contact with anyone but Rahul.

The thing is that this shouldn't be such a big deal. Your friend says he likes having his back scratched and you offered to do it. You know it is, though, because your crush is this big, ugly, looming thing in the friend group, something Jacob, Jon and Alanah have tried and tried to get you to act on or even acknowledge, but you've refused. This is the first time beyond friendly hugs and drunk group cuddles and stupid play wrestling that you've indicated that you're interested in physical contact with him. This is a development.

Lost in your own head again, it clears when you hear Rahul say, low, and gentle, "hey".

It's meant to call you to his attention and it works because it's him. You look up, and you don't know what you were expecting but it wasn't that soft, gentle expression he only pulls out when you're sad or upset or it's just the two of you. You lock eyes with him and, god, your stomach lurches because those warm brown eyes make you feel like you're home. Like you're safe and nothing in the world could bring you harm.

"Can we just forget I said this," you plead, fake nonchalance in your voice and you don't know why you're performing because these are your best friends and they know you inside and out.

"We'll talk later," Rahul replies, agreeing to drop it for now. You almost wish he'd just decided to hash it out right here in front of everyone, but as much as he likes to pretend he's this gruff, cocky guy, he's not that kind of person.

You nod in agreement and the rest of the group reluctantly returns to the conversation. You all talk for another 20 minutes or so, but it's mostly wrapping up and goodbyes because you've effectively ruined the momentum. After the call ends, you lean back in your chair, close your eyes and groan. What the fuck have you done?

__________

So you have the next hour to panic, stare at yourself in the mirror and contemplate what you've done, yell at yourself, take a nervous pee, think you may be sick from anxiety and embarrassment and pace.

What you expected after Rahul texted you "give me an hour" was that he'd call you back over Skype for your horrendously awkward conversation. What you didn't expect as you paced your living room, stressed and anxious and wearing a t-shirt and sweats and Yoshi slippers, was a knock at the door.

Your blood ran cold. This was a joke, right? The universe was delivering you a sick joke. It felt a little like a horror movie, walking to your door, knowing who was behind it. Okay, so that was a little dramatic. Still, you were so afraid that you'd ruined your friendship and just wished that you had kept your thoughts to yourself.

When you opened the door, he stood, all 6 feet and 4 inches of him, silver-streak mustache, objectively beautiful in a tight black DOOM t-shirt, gray adidas sweats and the most irritatingly lovely fucking smile on his face. Your chest actually ached with how much you loved him in that moment.

"Cute slippers," he remarks, one corner of his mouth turning up. You laugh, breaking a little of the tension and step aside so he can come in and remove his shoes. At the end of the day, he's your best friend, the person you trust most in the world, the person who playfully bullies you as much as he takes care of you when you're sad or lonely. Maybe nothing has to change. You can only hope.

You lead him to the couch and he flops down, socked feet up on the couch and your heart warms at how comfortable he is in your home, among your things. You sit at the opposite end and tuck your legs underneath you. There was never a time you wanted to have this conversation, but now that it was happening, you were going to face it head on. You steel yourself for outright rejection as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm just wondering how this would work. Would you stay at mine? Would you wanna...leave after? Can I take my shirt off while you're doing it? What-" he rubs his hand over his face before meeting your wide eyes once again, "what are the rules?"

You thought you'd reached your quota for shock for the day, but you should've known that if anyone was going to throw you through a loop, it'd be Rahul. Impulsive, shameless Rahul.

You realize you're gaping at him and snap your mouth closed before pursing your lips, lest you let something ridiculous slip out for the second time today.

"You...want me to scratch your back?" you finally ask. You figure that confirmation is the safest, most neutral option for the time being.

Rahul huffs and shrugs his shoulders even as he's saying, "well yeah. You offered, and it really has been in the back of my mind lately. It's hard to fall asleep without it, is the rub, and I just...really need to sleep. 'S this weird?"

Weird. He was asking you if this was weird after you'd offered to scratch his back, unprompted in front of all your mutual friends. You huff out a little laugh.

“No, not weird,” you assure him. “I guess…whatever you want? I can stay or go. I don’t mind uh-if you have your shirt off if it’s better for you like that?” What the fuck were you even saying.

“Be a bit weird if you left while I was asleep, I s’pose,” he grinned a little, nudging your slippered foot with his socked one. “I just…where does this leave us? I’m imagining it in the moment and it’s pretty fuckin’ intimate, innit”.

You nodded vehemently in agreement. “We don’t need to talk about feelings or whatever. Let’s just do what feels right, yeah?”

“Feelings,” Rahul makes a play-disgusted noise and sticks his tongue out and you giggle, relaxing into the couch. This is your best friend in the world and even if you can’t have him the way that you want him, at least you get to keep your best friend. That’s all that matters.

You gaze at each other for a moment and it feels important and heavy, like you’re talking about your feelings anyway, even though there are no words being said. You get the urge to crawl across the couch and lay on him, you know how warm and strong and safe he feels and you could really use that right now. He’s looking at you strangely, like he’d like to do the same thing.

“Empire Strikes Back?” he finally suggests, and you both shake off the heavy energy between you.

“Fuck yeah,” you reply, jumping up to go rummage for snacks in the kitchen while he grabs the remote. You can do this. You can.

——————

It’s a few weeks before it finally happens. Rahul has to leave L.A. unexpectedly to do Midnight Mass reshoots (you’ll miss the scruffy look when he finally gets his hair and beard trimmed after) and so he’s in Vancouver, too far away for your liking but so it goes being friends with an actor.

There’s a nasty little voice in the back of your mind sometimes that tells you he’ll move to Canada full time eventually and meet someone and fall and love and, well, you’re spiraling again. Get it together, you tell yourself.

You’re busy with work when you get the text that makes your heart flip with excitement and butterflies take flight in your tummy.

I’ll be home tonight. come round? You can stay over

There had been so many casual conversations s between the two of you since this had first been discussed that a part of you kind of thought it may never end up happening. Now that it was, you didn’t know how to feel. One emotion that was clear and ever present, however, was anxiety. Despite that, you had missed Rahul, quite a lot, so you jumped at the chance to see him.

Give me a time and I’ll be there, Kohli. It’s been too quiet without your big mouth around 😌

He replied moments later with a selfie with brows furrowed and his middle finger up and you cackled with delight. You couldn’t wait to see him.

------

You've already packed your overnight bag and are ready to leap into your car and make the crawling trek through L.A. traffic to get to Rahul's when you get his text that he made it home. There's always an overwhelming feeling of relief when you know he's safe and sound in his house and only a short drive away. You like knowing he's nearby.

When you show up at his house, he's freshly showered and looks like he can't even begin to try to contain the smile of excitement he has from seeing you and that's good, because you've got the same stupid grin on your face. He opens his arms and you drop your bag and half run, half jump into them. He smells delicious and familiar and you indulge for a second by burying your face in his neck. He chuckles as you nuzzle him and gives you a tight squeeze and a kiss on your hair before you put him down.

"I didn't miss you or nothin'," he states, faux bravado all over his face and you giggle.

"I didn't miss you either, obviously." He lets you in past him and grabs your overnight bag, following you inside.

There's too much to catch up on to even mention the back scratching even though it is technically the reason you're there. He's got set stories to tell, you've got silly gossip to fill him in on and you simply can't talk about video games enough. You've both devoured enough Chinese takeout to feed an army and listened patiently with as much interest as you can muster about Gundams (you think he's taking a bit of advantage of the situation actually, because usually when he tries to talk about Gundams, you shut him down and tell him that Jacob is his Gundam friend but now he's got you emotionally trapped in his home and all he wants to talk about is fucking Gundams) while he listened with the same polite interest about the teen dramas you watch when you realize it's getting late.

"Might go take a shower if you want to get settled in," you tell him, yawning.

"Yeah, go, you know where everything is. I'll clear this out," gesturing vaguely to the remnants of your dinner, "smoke, and then I'll be up".

As you grab your overnight bag and head up to his master bathroom, the nerves settle into the pit of your stomach like lead marbles. You've stayed over at Rahul's a million times, but you always slept in the guest room or on the couch if you were too drunk to climb the stairs. Knowing you were about to spend the night in his bed was something new. Exciting and mildly terrifying, but new.

You take your time in the shower under the hot spray, electing not to wash your hair, but you do wash your body with Rahul’s body wash. You always bring your own stuff but using his body wash and smelling him on yourself feels intimate and appropriate for the evening ahead. When you step out of the shower and your eyes adjust to the steam, you spot one of his T-shirts on the bathroom counter that definitely hadn’t been there when you got in. Rahul had picked out a t-shirt of his own that he wanted you to wear to sleep in. Jesus.

It was funny how things like wearing his clothes and sleeping over, things you’ve done a million times before, suddenly feel intimate and important this evening. You pull his tshirt on, reveling in how the soft, worn fabric feels against your skin and pull on a pair of cotton shorts to wear underneath. Normally you slept in underwear, but you weren’t going to make any assumptions about Rahul’s comfort level. The truth was that you were so desperate to make tonight good, or at least not a total disaster. You’d do anything to make sure everything went okay.

After doing your skin care routine and brushing your teeth, you take a deep breath before stepping out of the attached bath and into Rahul’s bedroom. He’s in bed, watching a video on his phone when he looks up and you swear you see his whole face soften at the sight of you. You’re not sure though, because he’s wearing pajama pants and no shirt, just roughly a mile of brown torso with the perfect amount of dark body hair and a hand resting on his belly. You’ve suddenly never been more ready for anything than you are right now to get your hands on him.

“C’mon then,” he encourages, finally breaking the silence and patting the bed next to him. You move toward him slowly and when you reach the bed, you climb in and unceremoniously flop down next to him on your belly.

“Christ,” he exclaims, laughing and turning his body toward you. You just look at each other for a moment, reveling in the quiet. You’re not usually this close to him, is the thing. Sure you spend a lot of time in fairly close proximity, but your face is currently inches from his and you’re realizing how big his body is. Your mouth dries up.

“Let’s turn the lights off," he says finally, getting up to hit the switch, “and we’ll just talk for a bit, yeah?”

“Cool,” you reply, though you’re feeling anything but and then the room goes dark. Not pitch black, there’s still light from the moon streaming in through the window and you watch him move back to the bed, climb in beside you.

The conversation begins to flow—you’re best friends after all—and you talk about work, your mutual friends, his flight home, the movie you watched last night. It’s almost absently that your hand reaches out to rest on the warm, bare skin of his back. His breath catches and he stumbles over his words before continuing to tell a story about some asshole he fought with on Twitter last night.

Your fingers begin to glide up and down his back, nails scratching lightly as you go. He’s laying on his stomach, head on the pillow, turned toward you and his eyes have gone half lidded and god, it’s just like you imagined. He’s got a sweet, relaxed, comfortable little smile on his face and he keeps making these little hums of contentment that you know he’d swear under oath never happened.

All the while, you keep scratching his back, slow and gentle, letting your heart warm and pretend, in this moment, that he’s yours. He gets a rather strange look on his face, opens his mouth to speak, pauses, then says, “you’re my best friend”.

Your eyes unexpectedly well up at the tender moment and it would be funny to see from an outside perspective because you and Rahul are not the sappy type. “You’re my best friend,” you reply in kind and stop your ministrations on his back just long enough to card your fingers through his thick, soft hair, making him close his eyes and push into your hand.

“Can you just,” you began, anxiety tightening your stomach,” can you just hold me,” you finish, barely above a whisper. It seems against the rules to ask something like this at full volume.

"Fuck, of course," he mumbles in response, sitting up to pull you into his embrace and, god, you never knew two people could fit so well together. You arms are around him too, so you can still scratch his back and your chin tucks perfectly over the warm skin of his bare shoulder. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, smelling the clean scent of his body wash—less concentrated than it is on you since his shower was hours ago—tobacco, a subtle but warm, comforting combination that is distinctly Rahul.

You've never felt this safe and content in your life, and if you never are again, you'll be okay with that too. Rahul is drifting off to sleep, clearly just as cozy as you, which gives you the feeling you get when you know he's home safe from a trip but multiplied by one million.

Minutes later after you've begun to drift off as well, after savoring the moment, you jump a little when you hear his voice. It's just one word, but that one word is enough to give you hope that this really is something more than what it seems on the surface. It's quiet, his voice drowsy and dreamy, but clear:

"Mine."

#rahul kohli #rahul kohli x reader #rahul kohli imagine #rahul kohli fluff

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