Random x Reader

Mr. Roarke x Reader

Fantasy Island

"Mr. Roarke?" You call at the door, giving the white wood a soft knock as you chew on your lower lip. You shift your weight on each foot, feeling anxious butterflies fluttering in your stomach while you wait for a response. You've needed to speak to Mr. Roarke for a while now, but haven't had the boldness to face him until today.

"Come in, come in, Miss (y/n)." You hear the man call out on the other end, having the same amount of joy he always has in his voice.

Your heart melts at his deep tone as you release a strained breath, gently turning the gold doorknob before shuffling into his office. You keep your head low, feeling your heart flip in your chest as your face turns bright pink.

He gives you a perplexed expression, standing up from his chair as you shuffle towards him. "What seems to be the problem, Miss (y/n)?" he asks in concern, walking to the side of his desk before leaning against it. For some odd, twisted reason, you adore it when he refers to you as "Miss." It makes your legs weak whenever those words roll off his tongue so comfortably.

You purse your lips, fiddling with your fingers before lifting your head to look into his chocolate brown eyes. You can't believe you're actually doing this. You swallow your fear, hearing your pulse thumping in your ears as you take in a shaky breath.

"Mr. Roarke, I don't know what's come over me," you admit with a flustered tone, taking a small step closer while keeping eye contact with the older male. His black brows furrow as he tilts his head a tad to the side. You've always found that action to look so adorable, but only with him.

"But I can't stop thinking about you," you breathe out, thinking that you sound absolutely pathetic right now. You step forward once again, seeing his brows raise before he blinks rapidly.

He seems taken aback by your blunt honesty, his back growing rigid when you step closer. The lust flashing in your eyes shocks him, but he tries his hardest to keep his composure. He is, after all, the adult in this perplexing, unbelievable situation.

He clears his throat, shifting the black tie at his neck before giving you a soft sigh. Your cheeks redden when he shows you a gentle smile, your heart aching as pity gleams in his eyes. He sees you as an adorable, young girl, and you know it, but you keep your posture straight and head high in hopes of him seeing you as more than a mere child.

"Miss (y/n)," Mr. Roarke chimes, moving back around his desk to sit down. You merely stand where you are, keeping your pleading gaze locked on him. He forces out another sigh, resting his clasped hands on his desk. He leans forward, his gaze serious.

"This moment of, shall I say, infatuation, is merely that, a moment. I am more than positive, within the hour, this feeling will be nothing more than a distant memory," he explains in a proper manner, speaking as if talking about taxes or a business proposal.

And yet, he sounds so sincere, making your heart sink, but you stay strong. You know for a fact these emotions aren't some passing feelings that you're going to forget about. No. You love him, and quite dearly for that matter.

With a large amount of determination fueling your actions, you stride to the front of his desk, pressing your hands on the glossy wood as you lean towards him. Your eyes stay hooded as you tilt your head, leaning over the desk. He instinctively pulls his head back before stopping himself, keeping an uncertain expression on his face as he raises a curious brow.