#I usually don’t put details in eyes like that so it was fun to mess around | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exololyunho · 19 days ago

Text

make you see god

masterlist

wc: 5.1k

summary: your dad had always warned you nothing good would come from relations with navy boys, but you were never one to listen

warnings: kinda e2l, drinking, this fictional mingi would be a red flag to me but its fiction so its hot, sexualizing the US military, oral sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, mingi picks the reader up, kinda rough sex, very minor sacrilege but its probably only offensive if you're super catholic, role-play??, tentative daddy kink but 'daddy' is never mentioned, reader does call him 'father' but I promise it's not as weird as it sounds

an: I wrote half of this over the summer when I went through a phase where all I could think about was glen powell so I watched like all of his movies and this was the result. I am aware this is very much a summer fling fic but it's cold where I am and the summer vibes feel fun. also sorry I've been gone so long but since I last posted I moved across the country, broke up with my bf, got a cat, got better antidepressants and got diagnosed with adhd so I've had a bit going on lol. I probably won't be posting often but once again I am soft launching a return. kinda. shits complicated

taglist: @staytinyinmybpack @jeonride @becky4733107-blog @ignoretheskies

Being raised by your dad and his navy buddies had taught you many things. Chief among them being not to mess around with navy guys. And to never surf at dusk. Of course you never learned your lesson.

It was during a surfing session at dusk that you met the navy man who would rock your world.

Sitting on your board, you took in the gentle rocking of the small waves as you waited for the swell that would carry you into shore. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange glow over the water. It was serene, peaceful, a gorgeous warm summer evening.

Until a shout broke through the air.

“SHARK!”

Immediately you drew your legs up on the board, frantically scanning the water around you. The only sharks around Miramar were white sharks and that meant almost certainly losing a limb if not your life. When your eyes failed to find the telltale dark shape, you turned to look back at the shore.

Standing there, chuckling at his shitty joke, was a man. It was too far to make out the details, but from what you can see he was tall and lean, wearing a white short sleeve button down and khaki shorts.

“Just kidding!” he yelled. To say you were unamused was putting it lightly.

With a sigh, you decided to call it a night, having not seen any surfable swells coming your way anytime soon. Putting your feet back into the water and pivoting your board back towards the beach, you paddled in.

Reaching the shore, you unclipped your ankle tether, gathering your board under your arm and storming up the man.

“Did you think that was funny? Everyone knows you don’t do that,” you glared at him. Up close you could see this man was a lot more handsome than you’d expected. His eyes were covered by aviators, but his jawline was strong, and his smile was cocky. His clean cut appearance and the way he carried himself gave you an inkling that he had military training

“I thought it was a little funny,” he quirked his head, nodding at you. “What were you doing out there?”

“Surfing, dipshit,” you moved past him. “Don’t do that again.”

“Are you going to at least tell me your name?” he shouted after you.

In response, all you offered him was your middle finger.

Working at the Hard Deck was a great job. It got tedious at times, dealing with overbearing and overly flirtatious sailors, but it was overall great. You loved bartending, loved meeting new people, loved eavesdropping on ridiculous conversations, and loved the lively atmosphere.

As with every usual night, you were enjoying your shift. You’d made friends with a few spring breakers, serving them tequila sodas and making plans to meet the girls at the beach the next day.

The night was still young, so you balanced chatting with them while pouring beers and shots for the other patrons. The music was loud and so was the chatter.

Until a new group walked in, wearing service khakis. When the other patrons spotted them, they went quiet for a moment, raising their glasses in appreciation. You watched them make their way in, indifferent, as all it meant for you was more beer to pour.

Your mood suddenly changed as you made eye contact with your prankster from last night. Rolling your eyes, you returned to polishing the glasses before you.

“Hey surfer girl,” there he was, standing before you on the other side of the bar. Without his sunglasses, you could see his brown eyes looking back at you with a glimmer of something that had the dual effect of making your stomach flutter and making your fists itch to hit him.

“Hey asshole,” you kept up your work with the glasses, averting your eyes from his.

“So welcoming,” he placed a toothpick between his absurdly straight teeth.

You sighed, setting down the glasses. “Can I get you something?”

“A friendly conversation and your name would be nice,” his eyes looked over you.

“Sorry we don’t serve that here,” you braced your hands on the counter. “How about a beer?”

“That’s a start,” his grin was blinding.

You rolled your eyes again, grabbing a freshly cleaned glass, pouring him the shittiest beer you had on tap. You placed the glass in front of him. Neither of you said anything for a moment, him staring at the glass, you staring at him expectantly.

“Weren’t you going to ask what beer I wanted?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you going to pay me?”

“Makes no sense but here,” he threw a card on the counter. “Close me out, would ya?”

“It’s $2.50 with a military discount, you don’t have any cash?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, picking up the card and dangling it lazily between two fingers. He waited for you to take the card, and after a moment of glaring at him, you snatched it. Quickly running the card, you returned it to him.

“Anything else I can get you?” your tone was dry.

“Your name,” he responded, taking a small sip of his beer and grimacing.

“Yours first,” you countered.

“Priest,” he grinned.

“That’s your name?”

“It’s my call sign,” he looked smug.

“I wanted to know your name, not your call sign, douchebag,” you picked up another glass to polish.

“Give me yours first.”

“Nice to meet you, Priest,” you gave him one last smile before turning to serve another guest.

“Hey!” Priest called after you. “Your name?”

“Next time!”

Next time came sooner than you had expected.

It was the following day, you were with the two girls you’d met the night before, relaxing on the beach, your board next to you. The three of you were making small talk about the books you were reading mixed with questions about your backgrounds.

“So, Y/n, did you grow up here in Miramar?” the blonde, Yeji, asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you were interrupted before you could.

“So your name is Y/n, then.”

A shadow fell over you, forcing you to remove your sunglasses to face Priest. It was the first time you’d seen him shirtless and as much as the man annoyed you, you were very appreciative of the view above you. His chest was chiseled, strong and muscled, but lean. His thighs were equally as strong and toned, covered by navy blue swim trunks that hung low on his hips.

“My eyes are up here, babe,” he was grinning, his own eyes flicking over you.

Leaning up on your elbows you grinned back. “So are mine, Priest.”

“Touche,” he took his own sunglasses off. “Who are your friends?”

“This is Yeji and Lia,” you gestured to the two girls.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Priest gave a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Y/n, you wanna take a walk?”

“No not really,” you lowered your sunglasses.

“I’ll buy you a daiquiri.”

“What makes you think I like daiquiris?”

“Everyone loves daiquiris.”

“Fair enough,” you took his hand, letting him help you up. Grabbing the oversized button down you used as a cover up, you threw it on. “Watch my stuff?”

“Sorry, babe but we’re heading out soon,” Lia looked between you and Priest apologetically.

“No worries,” Priest grabbed your tote bag and surfboard for you. “We can leave it with my friends.”

“You think I trust your friends?” you put your hand on your hip.

“Just cooperate for once in your life,” Priest rolled his eyes.

“You’ve known me for 3 days and you just learned my name.”

“Let’s fix that,” Priest grinned down at you.

“Fine, fine,” you waved him off, then waved to the girls. “See ya.”

The two of you started down the beach, Priest holding your bag and board. A few hundred feet down the beach, you stumbled on his friends. A bunch of men, all toned and laughing as they tossed around a football.

“Guys, this is surfer girl,” Priest called out to them. The seven men before you all turned, waving hello. “Introductions can wait. Watch her stuff?”

“Sure,” one of them called out and Priest dropped your stuff on a towel.

“Come on,” he took your hand. Priest was dragging you along, but he only made it a few paces before you were jerking your hand out of his.

“I can walk on my own, you know,” he started chuckling. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I'm following you for a free drink.”

“I like to think that my company also has something to do with you following me,” he slowed his pace to match yours.

“Presumptuous,” you stared straight ahead, refusing to have to look up at him.

Priest grumbled something under his breath, but you weren’t listening. Instead you were focused on the beachfront bar you were rapidly approaching. It was tacky, decorated with tiki torches, fake coconuts, and plastic leis. The bartender was wearing an open Hawaiian shirt.

“Aloha and welcome to Miramar’s premier Hawaiian style beach bar!” Priest made small talk with the man as you scanned the menu, picking out the most expensive drink you could find since it was on his dime.

“I think I’ll take the Ultra Aloha,” you gave your best smile to the bartender.

“Coming right up, pretty lady,” he turned his focus to Priest, his smile dying. “For you?”

“The same,” Priest was pulling out his wallet.

As the blender whirred away, you turned to him.

“So where did Priest come from?”

“Oh come on now,” he ran a hand through his black hair. “I can’t give away all of my secrets on the first date.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “I thought I told you I was just here for the free drink.”

“You’re the one who called me presumptuous,” the bartender set your drinks on the counter, taking the $40 from Priest. “Keep the change.”

The two of you took the drinks, walking away as the bartender called after you. “The change is 50 cents!”

You followed Priest down to some chairs nearby, slowly sipping your drink. It was actually pretty good. So good, you couldn’t taste the rum over the pineapple. Dangerous.

“What were we talking about?” he asked as he sat in the chair. His legs were spread tantalizingly. Seeing him like this made you so mad for a reason you couldn’t put your finger on. Something about how lazily and confidently he looked over the beach before you, the casual confidence with which he held himself. What was really getting to you was the way his tongue played with the straw of his drink.

Shaking yourself out of it, you cleared your throat. “We were talking about how you thought this was a date.”

“Ah yes,” he nodded sagely. “Two people, getting drinks, talking alone on a beach, getting to know each other. Not a date.”

You snorted, gesturing to the quite busy area around you. “First of all, we’re not alone, there's a million other people on this beach. Second of all, we are not getting to know each other, you won’t even tell me your name.”

“You wouldn’t tell me your name either, I had to find it out from other people,” he shifted to face you. “So, in exchange for buying you a second drink, can we cut the crap? I think we can both agree that I clearly find you attractive, and I have a sneaking suspicion that you feel the same about me, and I want to know more about you.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in his words and thinking over yours carefully. You moved to look at him better. “What’s your name?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” his grin was wider now. “It’s Mingi.”

“Mingi,” you repeated with a smile on your face. Taking a moment, you started sucking down your drink, rushing to finish it.

“In a hurry for that next drink?”

“Sure,” you finished your drink, handing him the cup. “Mingi’s a nice name.”

With that, you were standing up, and walking away from him.

“Where are you going?” he called after you.

Turning and walking backwards, you lifted your middle fingers. “To surf!

It was a week before you saw him again. A Thursday night to be specific. It was your day off, yet here you were, sitting at the bar of the Hard Deck, chatting with your coworkers between them serving other patrons and you sipping on your vodka cran.

Your night was peaceful. Not quiet, with the music playing and the few other patrons chatting, but still peaceful.

Until, once again, your peace was ruined by someone sliding into the barstool next to you. Glancing up, you weren’t surprised to see Mingi sliding into the seat. He was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t look quite as cocky as he usually did. In fact, he looked almost irritated.

“Rough day?”

Mingi snorted, and ordered a beer. “You have no idea.”

He took a long drink. “Made worse by you running away from me last week.”

You glanced at him. You hadn’t felt bad before, but seeing him so frustrated now made you feel slightly shitty. “I’m here now. Wanna talk about what’s got you in a mood?”

“I didn’t think we were close enough for that. You know, since you ran away when I said I wanted to get to you?”

“I get it, I get it,” you waved your hand. “So what’s wrong?”

Mingi sighed. “Shitty instructor.”

“Wait, you're still in flight school?” you looked at him quizzically.

“Kinda. It’s complicated but I graduated a while ago, top of my class by the way, but a bunch of us got recalled for extra training. Top secret mission, y’know? If-”

“If you tell me you’ll have to kill me?” you smiled at him.

His cocky smile was back. “Exactly.”

You laughed, finally willing to admit to yourself that you were starting to enjoy his company.

“So, if I buy you another drink, are you going to run away from me?” he arched an eyebrow.

“I think it’s my turn to buy you a drink,” your eyes met and both of your smiles started to fall, the tension building between you.

Before it could build anymore, you cleared your throat. Looking away, you ordered both of you a new round of drinks. As the bartender poured them, you glanced back at him.

“So, where’d Priest come from?” new drinks were placed before you and you eagerly accepted the glass.

“If you were to ask me, I’d say it’s because I could make you see god,” Mingi’s smile was salacious, his eyes dropping to scan over your cropped t-shirt and daisy dukes.

You swallowed hard. “And if I were to ask anyone else?”

He took a gulp of his beer. “If you were to ask anyone else, they’d say it was because I fly recklessly. Make the guys I’m flying with need their last rights.”

You were silent for a minute, taking in his words. “Why?”

He looked at you, clearly confused. “Why what?”

“Why do you fly like an ass?”

He chuckled, watching for a moment as you took a sip, waiting for him to answer. “I fly like I do because it gets the job done.”

“You don’t worry your buddies won’t have your back if you put them in danger?” your eyes scanned his face over the rim of your glass.

A faint smile graced his lips. “Our missions are important. And sometimes they call for drastic measures.”

You hummed in response, still focused on his face. You could see his face shift ever so slightly with what could only have been memories of past missions.

“So have they ever needed them?”

He quirked his head, not quite following your chain of thought. All you could do was hope that this hot man before hadn’t actually killed someone because of his own reckless nature.

“Needed their last rights.”

He laughed again, but it wasn’t nearly as joyful. “Not through any fault of mine, thankfully. I’ve lost people, sure, but I’ve never been the reason.” Mingi took a deep drink. “As much of an asshole as I can be, and my call sign aside, I don’t think I could live with myself if it ever was my fault.”

You nodded, finally tearing your eyes away from his face to fiddle with the two tiny straws in your glass.

Mingi clearing his throat drew your eyes back up. “Do you want to get out of here?”

At your raised eyebrow, he backpedaled. “We can just take a walk that’s totally fine but I-”

“Yeah,” you interrupted. “Let’s get out of here.”

Your back slammed against your closed front door. Mingi’s lips were on yours the moment the two of you made it inside your apartment. A combination of the furious kisses and the sudden impact of your back into the door had knocked the breath from your lungs, but not a single cell in your body wanted to pull away from Mingi.

He was intoxicating. He tasted faintly of beer and something indescribable that was just him. His lips were soft, his tongue insistent, and his hands wandering over every inch of you was exhilarating.

Eventually, you did have to come up for air, pulling away from him to let your head rest back against the door. Mingi didn’t miss a beat, his mouth migrating to your neck, nipping and sucking and kissing across your pulse point.

Your left hand was grasping the front of his shirt and your right was on his back, feeling the flexing of the muscles there as he held onto you as if you’d disappear if he loosened his grip for even a second.

Without missing a beat, his lips still attacking your neck, his hands slid to your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion. A gasp escaped your lips as he settled your legs around his waist, perfectly situating you to feel exactly how hard he was under his jeans.

The pressure of that length pressing right between your thighs combined with a perfectly targeted bite to a sensitive point on your neck had you releasing a breathy moan.

Mingi’s lips parted from your neck as he now looked up to face you. One of your hands instinctively went to tangle in his hair as you crashed your lips onto his again. The force had his mouth dropping open as you took your turn to entwine your tongue with his. The two of you were aggressively fighting to see who’d come out on top.

You had thought you were winning until it was Mingi’s turn to grab your hair. He pulled your mouths apart and the act had you clenching around nothing as his face nuzzled into your neck, licking a stripe up the side before he spoke in a low tone. “Where’s your room?”

“Down-” you were cut off by his hips grinding into yours. Painting, you pulled yourself together enough to answer him. “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

Mingi immediately pulled you away from the door, his steady hands holding on tight as he seamlessly navigated your small space. He damn near kicked your door down, slamming it open before he was tossing you onto your bed.

You let out a startled yelp before laughing. Scooting farther up your bed, you gave him your best bedroom eyes and spread your legs, suddenly remembering his call sign.

“Forgive me, father,” your lips curved into a faux pout as you made your voice as sultry as you possibly could. “For I have sinned.”

Mingi stopped for a moment before he put his head in his hands. For a moment you feared you’d made a mistake. Until you saw his shoulders shaking with laughter. He managed to compose himself, crawling towards you on the bed until he was situated between your spread legs on his knees. He still looked as if he was trying to hold it together.

“I don’t know if that was the corniest or the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Both of you were trying to hold back laughter, but his hand making contact with your thigh sobered you up. His long, nimble fingers stole your attention away from the joking atmosphere.

“So how should I repent?” your teeth bit into your lower lip as you laid back to pull your shirt over your head, revealing you weren’t wearing anything underneath. Mingi’s laughter disappeared as well as he took in your breasts.

His lips curved into a wicked smile as he leaned over you, laying a kiss between your breasts, his eyes meeting yours. “I think 3 orgasms should be enough to forgive your sins.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips found one of your nipples and your hand once again found his hair. His own hand rose up, those long fingers playing with your other breast.

He savaged it with the same vigor he had attacked your neck with earlier. His teeth left small nips all around as his tongue soothed the bites. You were panting, holding him tight to you with your eyes closed.

Leaning back slightly to admire his work for a moment, Mingi quickly switched his focus to your other breast. He lavished the same treatment, leaving small marks all over.

When you were thoroughly decorated in hickeys, he finally sat back up, admiring you splayed out before him as you caught your breath. As he stared, his hand came up to grab his shirt by the back of the collar, pulling it over his head.

Now it was your turn to ogle, thoroughly enjoying his broad muscled chest and a light dusting of hair that trailed down his abs and disappeared into his pants.

You were broken out of your trance as his hands came down to pop the button on his jeans and then your shorts. Recognizing his goal, you lifted your hips, allowing him to pull your shorts and underwear down in one fluid movement. He flung them across the room.

Once you were naked beneath him, his hands fell to your thighs. They slid up until they reached your hips. Mingi slid himself down the bed until he was on his stomach, face level with your core.

His hot breath fanning over you was enough to have your breath hitching and body tensing as you waited for him to touch you where you so desperately needed him. But he didn’t move, his eyes locked on yours.

Both of you were frozen for what felt like a century, until he was suddenly moving forward, parting your folds with his tongue. The exhalation of relief that left you quickly morphed into a moan as his tongue found and circled your clit. You were so distracted by the bliss of finally feeling the pleasure you’d been hoping he’d give you that you didn’t even notice his hands moving.

One hooked under your thigh, finally coming to rest on your stomach, right above your pelvic bone. The other slipped a finger inside of you. You were practically dripping at this point.

Mingi’s tongue never stopped working tight circles around your clit as his finger quirked up, stroking along your walls in a way that had your legs shaking while you gasped out moans and whimpers.

He slid a second finger inside you, alternating between scissoring them and swirling them around inside you. The pressure in your abdomen was tightening more and more every second. Your hand was fisted in the sheets, your head thrown back, breath coming quicker and quicker.

Mingi could tell you were close. He kept the same rhythm on your clit, but focused his fingers' attention purely on your g-spot, applying more pressure.

You were right on the edge and then you tumbled into the best orgasms you’d ever had. Your whole body tensed and your moans were silenced for a moment as your muscles clenched around him before whimpers were escaping you as your hips jerked and your breath came in shaky spurts.

Mingi hadn’t let up with his fingers or his tongue, keeping your high going until your body was trembling and you were pushing his head away. He relented, pulling back and wiping his mouth.

Your eyes were closed as you laid there, panting, legs still twitching as you tried to recover. You could have sworn you blacked out for a moment when he kept your orgasm going.

“That’s one down,” Mingi’s smug tone had you opening one eye to glare at him before it slipped shut again.

“I think any more might kill me.”

In response, he grabbed your hips, jerking you down the bed and pulling your legs over his thighs until your core was pressed to the front of his boxers. He’d pulled down his jeans at some point while you were recovering.

You could feel the heat of him against you, the hardness of his cock pressing into you as he subtly ground his hips into yours.

“I think you’ll probably live,” his hands slipped from your hips to grab your ass.

“I highly doubt it,” you shook your head, then a smile crossed your face. “At least you’ll be here. I can get my last rights and finally have a hope of going to heaven.”

He smiled, but was quickly pulling down his boxers. “I told you I could make you see god. I just hope I can do it without actually killing you.”

You would have laughed, if not for the fact that as he finished removing his boxers, his dick finally came into view. He was bigger than you’d thought he’d be. He wasn’t horrifyingly big, but he looked long enough to reach the deepest parts of you and thick enough to stretch you out enough that you’d be feeling it tomorrow.

Mingi tracked your gaze focused on his cock and grinned. “I think it’s time we finish your penance.”

His words had you swallowing as he guided his length into you. God damn were you right. He was moving slowly, but you felt every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you and filling you in all the right ways.

When he bottomed out, you were expecting him to give you a minute to adjust, but what you weren’t expecting was for him to not move at all. He stayed seated all the way inside you as his fingers moved to your clit.

“What are you-” you cut yourself off with a whimper as his fingers began moving in quick circles.

“We’ve got to get you to three orgasms,” he leaned over you, his lips once again connecting with your breasts. “And I am so hard, I won’t last if I try to get you through two by fucking you.”

His teeth gently bit down on your hard nipple.

“That, and I really want to be able to focus on how fucking good you feel when you cum on my cock.” His voice was low, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Already you were so close. Still sensitive from the orgasm you just had, his fingers were pushing you right up to the edge once again. It was all you could do to cling to his strong arms as your back began to arch and your legs tightened around him.

Mingi kissed up from your breasts to your ear. He took your earlobe between his teeth before brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Cum.”

And you did, thankfully, not as intensely as before. But still, you cried out as you held on to him, your hips twitch up on their own and your muscles contracting around him.

“Fuck,” Mingi groaning in your ear had a high pitched moan leaving your lips.

This time, he didn’t prolong your orgasm for too long. He gradually slowed his pace before pushing himself back up onto his knees.

“Thats. Two.” he punctuated each word with a thrust. Your head dropped back, the feeling of him finally moving was ecstatic. The slight upward curve of his length dragged across your g-spot every time he moved in and out.

“God, fuck, I think I could watch you cum all day,” he was settling into a rhythm that combined power with deep, slow thrusts. The force of each inward push was moving you up the bed. Mingi’s solution was to simply drag you back down to meet every one of his movements.

Each time your hips met, your skin slapping together combined with your moans and his low curses and grunts. It was music to your ears as you lost yourself in the sensation.

His thrust gradually grew in speed as he got closer. You were still a ways off from your third orgasm and he could tell. You yelped in shock as his hand on your hip shifted so his thumb could softly brush over your clit.

“I-I can’t” you stuttered out.

“Yes you can,” he slowed his thrusts ever so slightly, leaning over you. “Gotta finish your penance, yeah?”

You laughed, only for it to be broken off into a moan as he leaned back up, increasing the speed of his thrusts and the rate at which he rubbed your clit. Your body was tensing up again, the pressure building up alarmingly quickly.

“Mingi- I-”

“Do it,” he grunted, thrusting even faster. “Cum. Cum on my fucking cock. You can do it. Cum for me.”

And you did, one last time. Everything was so intense. The sensation washed over you, an all consuming wave of pleasure that quite literally had tears falling down your face. Your vision went white and you felt like you were floating.

Mingi continued thrusting into you rapidly, prolonging your orgasm, although he did thankfully take his thumb off your clit to spare you some overstimulation.

You were just starting to come down when Mingi was finally moaning out his own release, spilling deep inside you. His hips stuttered and his head hung as he rode out his own waves of pleasure.

Both of you were panting heavily, but he stayed inside you for a few moments after he came.

Finally, he pulled out of you. He flopped down beside you on the bed, pulling you into his side. You happily snuggled up to him, resting your head and hand on his chest and throwing a leg over his.

The two of you basked in the silence.

Until you broke it. “So, am I forgiven for my sins?”

Mingi was silent for a moment.

“Mmm, I don’t know. Three might not have been enough.”

You lifted your head to look up at him incredulously. He met your gaze with laughter before he pulled you into a kiss.

#cultofdionysusnet #kpop smut #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #mingi smut #song mingi x reader #song mingi smut #mingi fanfic

48 notes · View notes

oonajaeadira · 1 year ago

Text

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it.

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall.

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante.

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet.

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311?

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services.

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders.

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to.

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink.

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities.

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #year of tropes

343 notes · View notes

warabidakihime · 6 months ago

Text

Rules and Roses Chapter 3

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic).

★ content warnings : implied violence and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut. MINORS DNI.

comments are always welcome and greatly appreciated! hearing your thoughts motivates me to write more, so please leave a comment. have fun reading!

"Hey Akaza, good morning! Sorry to message you so early, but I need to let you know I'll be meeting with Ms. Rivera at her place today before lunch. Please have the car ready by 10:30 am. Thank you!"

Akaza, huh?

Akaza stared at your message, his eyes fixed on his phone screen, but his mind wandered. Minutes passed as thoughts raced through his head. Finally, with a deep sigh, he shook off his distractions, put down his phone, and began getting ready for the day.

One thing about you: you hated delays, whether caused by you or someone else.

There was a time when Akaza accidentally overslept, and you had an early doctor's appointment. Because he was late, you drove yourself and got annoyed at him for messing up your schedule. Eventually, you calmed down and reminded him that time is something you don’t like wasting.

Since then, Akaza has never missed an alarm and has always been punctual.

However, he was confused as to why you didn’t tell your husband about what happened that day. You're usually an open book and a chatterbox with your husband, so it came as a surprise Muzan wasn’t informed of his little oopsie.

He didn’t ask you why, though.

First, he didn’t want to push his luck, and second, he didn’t exactly want Muzan to find out. Muzan was known to be strict and blunt with everyone except you.

You have your rules, but Muzan has his demands.

Akaza knows this well since he was Muzan’s bodyguard before being assigned to you after your marriage. This change in his role was rather unexpected, considering your... dynamic.

As his mind wandered down this path, Akaza shook his head, his eyes closing in frustration.

“Don’t even think about going there,” he muttered to himself, knowing he didn’t have the patience to entertain such thoughts.

With another deep sigh, he continued getting ready. Once finished, he almost sprinted out of his room to start the car, ensuring everything was set for you to leave as soon as you were ready.

"Sign here, Ms. Rivera."

"Gladly."

Since it was a weekday, traffic in the capital city was manageable, and you arrived at your client's home right on time.

Muzan’s busy campaign schedule meant you often had to accompany him. If he wins the election, you’ll be the first lady, a role with its own important responsibilities.

Time flew by, and since your last meeting with Ms. Rivera a month ago, you were now down to the final run-through of her wedding plans for next month.

The only thing left was for your client to pay the remaining balance for your services.

After collecting the payment and discussing final details with Ms. Rivera, your meeting ended after nearly an hour. Akaza was there in the living room with you and the client, keeping himself busy with phone games,playing silently out of respect.

As he noticed the meeting wrapping up, he excused himself to prepare the car so you could leave promptly.

"Where to?" Akaza asked as he drove off.

"Hmm... let’s eat somewhere before going home. Are you craving something?" You looked at him, and he responded with a sheepish chuckle, "Don't worry about me, madam. You choose what you want."

"Honestly, I don’t know what I want to eat. I’m hungry but can’t decide what I’m in the mood for."

Akaza navigated the highway smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other propped on the door with his chin resting on his palm. He hummed as he thought about where to eat.

"There's this burger joint I know. It’s a bit far, but their food is good and cheap," he suggested. His tone exuded excitement, and as you listened to him, you noticed the excited tone, which for some reason made you equally excited as well.

"Sure! That sounds great. I don’t have any other plans, so we can take our time," you replied just as eagerly.

Akaza looked over to you for a minute, catching the pretty smile plastered on your face. Without his permission, his heart skipped a beat, and warmth seeped through his veins, softening his usually stoic demeanor.

Today, with the sun shining brightly and the breeze feeling wonderful against your skin, Akaza allowed himself to let his guard down just a bit and let his inhibitions win for once and just this once.

"It's decided, then."

With a fond smile, he nodded at you before stepping on the gas, determined to get you to the burger joint he enthusiastically vouched for.

The place where the remnant of your past lingered—the place where your Pandora's box awaits.

"This is so good!" you exclaimed as you took your first bite of the burger you ordered.

Akaza merely chuckled while watching you eat, his eyes filled with fondness and a little bit of pride. He was clearly pleased that you liked his suggestion when the two of you were deciding what to eat for lunch.

Through the years of serving you as your bodyguard, he learned that you were rather picky with the foods you ete. You have sensory issues, so certain food textures and scents are not to your liking.

You also don't like eating foods you hadn't tried before when you were very hungry, because what if you didn't like them? It would ruin your appetite right there and then. But this time, you had hearts in your eyes after taking your first bite of the burger.

"See? I told you it's good and mad cheap too. A little bit greasy, but we'll live," Akaza said with a chuckle.

You nodded enthusiastically in response. "Yeah, but to be honest, for some reason, the taste is familiar to me."

You looked around the burger joint, scanning every nook and cranny as you tried to gather your thoughts. "It's my first time here, yet this place feels so familiar, and the taste of their food reminds me of something, but I just can't pinpoint what it is."

Still lost in your own little world as you enjoyed your meal, a spark twinkled in Akaza's eyes as he listened to you.

"Maybe you've been here before, but you can't remember. I mean, if my schedule were as hectic and loaded as yours, I'd also forget stuff every now and then."

You hummed as you took another hearty bite, your pupils dilating at how much you loved it, making your bodyguard chuckle fondly at you. He didn't say anything more, knowing you were in the process of gathering your thoughts.

"I guess so, but I figure if I liked their food here so much, I wouldn't be able to forget this place. You know me and my obsession with food, Akaza."

Yeah, I know.

How could I ever forget?

"Most of what you make me do is either order you food or buy you iced coffee. How could I forget?" he replied with a teasing smile.

You playfully swatted him on the head.

Akaza snickered, finding absolute pleasure in teasing you.

"What? It's true! Check our chatbox—it's full of your food orders."

Rolling your eyes, you shot back, "And who’s the one who enjoys eating half of those orders with me?"

Akaza grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Well, can you blame me? You tend to overorder, and most of the time you persuade me to eat the rest of it."

"Overorder? That's rich coming from the guy who always insists on extra fries," you retorted with a smirk.

"Hey, those fries are amazing, and you know it. And I'm not one to deny free food," Akaza said defensively and quite audaciously as he is having this conversation with you, his main source of income, but over the years of working for you and spending time with you, the two of you have grown close and a lot comfortable with each other's company.

"Yeah, yeah, just admit you can't resist good food either," you teased.

"Alright, alright," Akaza conceded, laughing. "You got me. But seriously, if I didn’t help you out, you’d probably be buried under a mountain of food by now."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, maybe I do get a little carried away sometimes."

"A little?" Akaza raised an eyebrow, grinning.

"Remember that time you ordered enough sushi to feed an army? I had to go buy you medicine in the middle of the night because you got a bad stomach ache."

You rolled your eyes again, your cheeks a bit red due to a slight embarrassment, but you tried to cover it with a sheepish smile.

"It was a new place, and I wanted to try everything!"

"You certainly did," Akaza said, shaking his head. "But it’s all part of the job—keeping you happy and well-fed."

"And teasing me endlessly," you added.

"Of course," Akaza said while still wearing that damn teasing smile on his face. "It's also part of my KPIs."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head at his cheekiness. "Well, as long as you’re enjoying yourself."

Akaza leaned back, his expression softening. "I am. Besides, someone has to keep you grounded."

"Grounded, huh? More like keep me entertained," you retorted, smiling.

"That too," he admitted with a chuckle. "Ready to head back?"

You nodded, feeling satisfied both with the meal and the company. "Yeah, let’s go. Thanks for lunch, Akaza."

"Anytime, boss," he replied, standing up and offering you a hand.

With a shared smile, you both left the burger joint and headed back home.

Still on cloud nine from your spontaneous lunch out with Akaza, you entered the mansion, still chatting and laughing with one another. You didn't notice Muzan in the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of wine.

He had just come back from a busy day, which included attending business meetings at Obelisk Kibutsuji, participating in media interviews with his running mate Douma, and going to a fitting for an upcoming event you both would attend in about two months.

After such a hectic day, he rewarded himself with a drink to unwind.

At the sound of your melodious laugh chiming like bells in the hallway, his ears perked up, and he immediately looked up, his curiosity piqued. What could be the reason you were in such a good mood?

"Oh, hey, my love. You're home," you said lovingly as soon as you saw your husband in the kitchen.

"Yeah. The fitting ended a lot earlier, so I headed straight home," he responded with an equally loving smile.

Clearly elated to see him, you immediately sprinted with light steps towards Muzan, giving him the tightest bear hug and a smooch to match. Muzan happily reciprocated the kiss, making you giggle in between kisses.

Meanwhile, Akaza stood on one side of the room, waiting for you to either dismiss him or have him remain in his post should you have other tasks for him.

After a few more moments, you both pulled away and smiled at each other.

"How was your day, darling?" Muzan asked, still holding you in his embrace.

"It was great!" you replied.

"Oho? And may I know why?" Muzan asked again, his voice lacking the usual professional tone he used.

"My meeting with Ms. Rivera was successful, and we will be proceeding to the actual wedding preparations. And then, Akaza introduced me to this burger joint downtown, and it was so good! I need to take you there, my love. They have the best iced coffee too!"

"Oh, did he?" Muzan said, his scarlet eyes darting towards your bodyguard, who was currently wearing a polite smile as he regarded your husband with a nod and bow.

Muzan replicated his smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Turning back to you, Muzan said, "Well, when I'm not too busy or when we're in the area, let's eat there, hm?"

"It's a date," you giggled. Then you turned to Akaza and said, "You can go ahead and rest now, Akaza. Thank you so much for today."

"Yes, madam," he replied before bowing and retreating to his room at the far end of the mansion, beside Kokushibo and the maids' quarters.

Unbeknownst to you, Muzan was trailing your bodyguard's disappearing figure, and just as you were about to look up at him again, his undivided attention was back on you.

Giving your hips a good-hearted squeeze, he pointed to his half-empty wine glass and said, "Want a drink, darling?"

You nodded. "I'd love to."

The two of you walked back to the spacious kitchen. You sat on the countertop, your legs swinging merrily, as you watched your husband pour you a glass of red wine. After handing it to you, he walked over to the other side of the kitchen to look for something.

"How was your day, my love?" It was your turn to ask. Muzan smiled handsomely and replied in a relaxed manner, "Chaotic as always. To be quite honest, I think the fatigue is catching up to me."

You frowned at this. "It's because you're pushing yourself too hard. Why don't you take a day or two to rest?"

"Hmm... I might. I'll check my calendar, and if it's not too full, I will move those schedules to a later date," he replied while rummaging through a kitchen drawer.

"Want me to give you a massage later?"

Muzan finally returned to you after finding what he was looking for, a familiar smile now plastered on his face. He walked closer until your knees were against his torso, and both of his arms were securely placed on each of your sides, caging you in place.

"Just a massage? I think I'm going to need more than that, Y/N."

Already understanding what he was implying, you mirrored his smile, wrapped your arms around his neck, and invited him in between your legs. "What do you mean?"

Muzan chuckled seductively, his face only inches away from yours, the tip of his nose touching yours, his scarlet pupils mesmerizing you.

"I need you naked and moaning for me, darling. Can you do that?"

You chuckled just as seductively, already feeling aroused. You could only nod in response, much to your husband's delight.

"Hmm... it's decided then. But wait, before I get sidetracked, let's take our night supplements first."

You rolled your eyes at that. "Not you edging me before we even get started, Muzan."

Muzan let out a hearty chuckle, highly amused at your choice of words. "I'll make sure to repent later."

"You're forgiven," you replied with a chuckle, then took the pills your husband prepared for you. While you were preoccupied, a rather odd expression was plastered on Muzan's face, but it quickly reverted back to 'normal' once you're done.

"That's a new brand, by the way. Douma introduced it to me. He said it's way more effective than the one we're taking."

"Really? Hmm... I've not heard of this brand before. Is it imported?" you asked while gulping down a glass of water.

"Yeah, it's made in Italy."

You hummed in response, and in a split second, you found yourself being embraced by your husband again. In all honesty, he nearly gave you whiplash, but that's just one of Muzan's many quirks you fell in love with.

Then you felt him place a sensual kiss on your neck, immediately turning you into a puddle, even more so when you felt his teeth puncture your flesh. Afterwards, he dragged his kisses from your neck to your jaw, then finally to your lips.

"M-Muzan." You moaned as you felt his hands roam around your body, leaving chills in their wake.

"Already, darling? I'm just getting started." He didn't give you a chance to respond, as the moment you were about to, he glided his tongue between your plump lips and invited yours to a dance of tango.

The kiss left you so hazy that you didn't even notice Muzan had already discarded your pencil skirt, your undergarments dangling on your foot, and your blouse and bra fully undone by his skillful hands.

"I missed you so much, Y/N. It's been a while, huh?" Muzan asked after pulling away momentarily before diving down to one of your breasts, immediately nubbing on your nipples, making you gasp and moan out loud.

"Y-yes," you breathed out.

It was already well into the night, and usually the both of you were already in bed given that you were always busy with your respective work. But at this very moment, you'd never felt more alive and hungry for each other.

It really has been a while since you last had sex. Heck, it had also been a while since you last went on a proper date. So craving each other like rabbits in heat wouldn't surprise anyone, considering the two of you were borderline obsessed with one another.

"Ahhh," you gasped, your back arching as you felt your husband's tongue glide over your needy clit.

Muzan continued his magic in your nether region, quickly sending you over the edge. You had one hand clamped over your mouth, nervous that if you let any more lewd sounds escape, you would wake the maids and bodyguards.

"Let me hear you, darling," your husband hummed between your legs.

Unbeknownst to you, Muzan had his eyes wide open and focused on the entrance of the kitchen. Even in the dimly lit room, he could see someone's shadow.

Still concentrating his gaze there, he spoke again.

"Come on, Y/N. Let me hear you sing. Say my name, darling. Who's making you feel good?"

As if on cue, you reached climax; your eyes shot open and then closed shut again in sheer pleasure.

"Ah, fuc—Muzan!"

Muzan smirked as he watched the shadow slowly disappear.

"Good girl."

143 notes · View notes

heliads · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I love your writing sm

could you pls do an f1 soulmate au with charles x carlos?

maybe whatever a person writes on themselves shows up on their soulmate so they write each other cute 'good luck' notes or jokes before races and maybe they realize they're soulmates when one of them gets a podium and the other person sees their drawings :)

i understand that you wanted this to be cute. however have you considered that they could be insane instead. have you considered that there could be mind games, bestie. think about the mental warfare (i am)

masterlist

Carlos Sainz believes that his secrets come out the fastest when he’s drinking. Doesn’t even have to be alcohol, his favorite ruiner of silence– he’s let out contract details and personal opinions just as freely with isotonic water after a race as with a shot someone hands him two hours into a post-race celebration. It’s easy to let your guard down when you think you’re with a friend, when the stakes don’t seem high, when he knows better but doesn’t want to admit it.

That’s why he feels a rippling wave of panic when he sees Charles walking across the Ferrari hospitality, two cups of coffee in his hands. Charles sits down at an empty table for two, places one cup in front of himself and one at the empty chair, and looks pointedly at Carlos. Carlos thinks to himself, this can’t be good, and mentally reminds himself to book an appointment with PR sooner rather than later.

He takes the seat. Some things, you can’t fight. Charles still smiles anyway, pleased, and says, “I got you coffee.”

Carlos had noticed this, surprisingly. It was difficult to ignore. “You’re being nice,” he remarks, blowing into the hole on the lid to cool down the liquid inside.

“I am nice,” Charles protests. His accent comes out more when he’s unhappy, it makes the syllables bunch up together like pleats of fabric.

Carlos arches a brow, and takes a sip of his coffee instead of answering. Scuderia Ferrari loves to claim that they adore the art of coffee just as much as their mother country, but every time Carlos gets coffee from hospitality it’s either flavorless or burnt, depending on who serves it. Charles’ attempt isn’t terrible, but he doubts Charles did anything more to prepare it than just put in an order. It’s a nice gesture, though. Just like Charles said.

When he looks up and the steam properly clears from his vision, Charles is still pouting at him. Carlos shakes his head, smiling to himself. He makes it so easy sometimes, to mess with his head. It’s kind of fun. Poker, but with a far prettier deck of cards.

“Alright, fine,” he relents, grinning so Charles knows he’s in on the joke, “I’m just teasing. No need to get mad, cabrón.”

“I’m not mad,” Charles says, a hint of a smile on his face although he stubbornly tries to shake it, “just interested in defending my honor.”

“Your honor?” Carlos asks, laughing in earnest. “So lord-esque, that is what I have been telling you. Of course Lord Perceval would defend his honor.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You can deal with my honor, mate. I got you coffee.”

“And I am grateful for it every time you bring it up,” Carlos says, and takes a sip to prove it.

Charles does the same, but his eyes remain on Carlos the whole time. “So? Is it true what they’re saying?”

Carlos wants more than coffee for a conversation that starts out like this. “Who’s saying what?”

Charles gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Everybody. They say you’re going to leave Ferrari when your contract expires.”

Ah. That. “People love rumors,” he says absentmindedly, “I never thought you’d pay attention to them.”

“I don’t usually, but I was interested in this one,” Charles admits. “You’d tell me if you were leaving, right?”

“I’m not leaving,” Carlos says.

Charles sets down his cup. “But you’d tell me, right?”

“I would,” Carlos says. Pauses. Starts again. “What’s gotten into you, man? I never took you for someone to fall for theories like this.”

Charles shakes his head a little too quickly. “I’m not. They just seemed to believe it.”

Carlos shrugs. “They believe a lot. My contract doesn’t expire until next year. They won’t worry about me for a while.”

“Should I?” Charles asks. “Worry about you, I mean.”

Carlos looks at him, really looks at him. The tense grip of his teammate’s hands around his coffee, even despite the heat still emanating through the cup. The furtive glances he keeps sneaking towards Carlos, then abruptly looking at the cup again when he gets caught.

“I’m not going,” Carlos says gently. More gently than he’d answer any interviewer, anyway.

Charles nods quickly, his head bobbing like a doll on a string. “Of course. Besides, I have too much interest for you to leave yet. Not until we figure out your, ah–” A pause. Delicate, but not at all from a polite inclination, no matter how it might seem to any outsider.

Carlos groans, exasperated. “My soulmate? My God, Charles, you have to give this up at some point.”

If it were not enough to have an overly inquisitive teammate, one that’s rather good at using his eyes and smile to get what he wanted, Carlos has been cursed with a racing partner that’s unnaturally interested in his missing other half. Carlos himself wants to figure out who his soulmate is, obviously, but at this point he thinks Charles is even more invested.

They all have soulmates. Supposedly. There’s probably at least a couple people out there who skipped that universal drawing of lots, but Carlos knows for certain that he is not one of them because his soulmate contacts him almost every day. Some people go weeks or even months without finding so much as a scribble appearing out of thin air on their skin, but Carlos blinks and there’s a new sentence on his forearm, bruising his knuckles, curling around his ankle. Whoever his soulmate is, they don’t care much for being ignored.

Neither does his teammate. Charles huffs out an exasperated breath. “If you will not be curious, I will be curious for you. You’re always so cagey about it, anyway. I know they write to you. Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course I want to know who they are,” Carlos scoffs. “What I don’t get is why you want to know. Why don’t you focus on your own other half for a change?”

Charles just leans back in his chair, grinning coolly. Ah, yes. Carlos has suspected for some time that Charles already has an idea as to who his soulmate is, but for some reason Carlos has never seen her around the paddock. It could be that Charles is just keeping their relationship private, but he doubts it. Charles likes his trophies visible and his games extensive. More likely than not, Charles has his soulmate engaged in some kind of cat-and-mouse game so they figure it out without too much help on his end. It’s hellishly manipulative, but he’s charming enough that they all let it slide.

Even Carlos, although he at least tries to put up a fight. Sometimes, he thinks Charles is amusingly aware of that, and doubles down on his efforts to get Carlos to cave until both of them are locked in some sort of affectionate stalemate.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Charles hums, pleased that he’s got the other hand. “I mean,” he says, leaning forward abruptly to seize Carlos’ hand in his own, “Don’t you want to know about yours? Aren’t you curious?”

Whoever sat at their table before them left a Sharpie behind by accident; Charles picks it up now, uncapping it with the same hand without letting go of Carlos. “You could just ask them right now, who they are,” Charles muses. The tip of the Sharpie hovers millimeters above the curve of Carlos’ palm, waiting.

Carlos stares at the black ink. It’s easier to focus on the skin when he mumbles, “They wouldn’t answer.”

You’re not supposed to. Unspoken rules. He’s never liked that sort of thing, and neither has Charles, who knows this and smiles unkindly anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Carlos asks, mostly to himself. Charles doesn’t appear to hear him. The Sharpie dips lower until it touches Carlos’ skin. Immediately, the black ink flowers into his palm. Carlos waits for Charles to keep writing, to scrawl a question like who are you or can I fly you to a Grand Prix paddock, asap but instead Charles flinches, slams the palm of his own hand down towards the table, and covers up the pen again.

“Maybe you should do it yourself,” Charles mutters by way of explanation.

“Maybe,” Carlos says. He’s not sure if he’s agreeing or not. It would be easier, he thinks, to have Charles take the wheel again. It would also hurt more. Carlos caps the pen when it becomes obvious that Charles will not. “Drink your coffee,” he says. “It’ll get cold.”

Charles does as told, which is sort of surprising. Usually, he likes pushing the envelope until someone tells him to quit it. It appears to Carlos, though, that they have reached an unspoken limit, a line drawn out in black Sharpie on tanned skin that will not be crossed again.

A few minutes pass. They’re both quiet. Charles whispers into the condensation of his cup, “You’re not leaving, though, right?”

Carlos smiles. “I’m not.” Contracts change, obviously, but he’ll try to fight it. They all try.

They leave not long afterwards, race week means that they don’t have a lot of time to sit around. There’s always something to be filmed for media duties, an interview to conduct, checks to run through with engineers. Still, Carlos is somehow calmer than he was before, even despite the additional caffeine.

Charles, by contrast, seems jumpier than usual as they head towards the exit.

“Did you enjoy your coffee?” Carlos asks pointedly.

Charles glances quickly over both shoulders, then groans when he’s sure that no one can overhear him. “No, God. It’s terrible.”

Carlos chuckles. “But you went to so much trouble to get it. Surely you can pretend it’s more than just terrible. You drank, like, all of it.”

Charles gives him an appraising look. “It’s better with someone else.”

It occurs to Carlos, as he walks back to his driver’s room, that they may not just have been talking about coffee after all. He’s stopped by one of his PR advisors on the way back– apparently there’s a new TikTok trend that would be just great for him to do– and although he doesn’t feel that shaken, he must look it, because they only get halfway through a discussion of trending sounds before the agent asks if everything is alright.

Carlos scoffs. “Of course I’m alright.”

The agent arches a brow. “Are you sure? You look a little unsettled. Don’t tell me you were talking to George about track times again, he has that effect on everyone before qualis.”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, I didn’t see him. I was speaking with Charles, though, about nothing in particular. Just coffee and soulmates and stuff.” Unable to stop himself, he leans a little closer, drops his voice until it’s more of a whisper. “He’s found his soulmate, hasn’t he? She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

His PR agent, surprisingly, shakes their head. “No, he’s said nothing about it to us, and we’ve asked loads of times. Are you certain that they’re a she, though? That wasn’t the impression I got.”

Carlos stands utterly still. He thinks his blood may have cooled in his veins, congealing into a solid. He is not sure he could move if he tried. “Charles told you that?”

“Once,” the agent says offhandedly. “He got sick of us asking about his mystery woman. I don’t think he meant to let it slip, but you know how he is with secrets.”

They’re laughing at that. Carlos tries to chuckle along with him, but he can’t really do more than nod, because now he’s thinking about Charles’ soulmate being a man. It’s the driver in him, he supposes, the dreamer, that if he can imagine any scenario he would also imagine himself in it, and so it follows that now Carlos cannot stop thinking about the man on the other side of Charles’ heart being him, being Carlos. The picture fits a little too well.

Carlos had never pictured his soulmate and thought of a man, but sometimes he’ll be up on the podium with Charles, champagne high and bright in the air, and he thinks maybe– maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, not having a girl like that. He already knows what it’s like, anyway, to be at the top of the world and have another man standing there with him. If God did not intend for us to be with someone of the same sex, then why would He make it feel so natural?

Carlos somehow manages to end the conversation, to slip back into the relative safety of his driver’s room and lean his entire body weight against the door. He stares up at the ceiling, hands fisting the red fabric of his Ferrari jacket at his sides, and he lets himself, for the first time, wonder if his soulmate might not be a man as well. Anything Charles can do, Carlos can too, or so the commentators have started to say. Anyone Charles could love, Carlos could too. Anything his would be theirs.

It is a risky thought. Pessimists will tell you that soulmates are good for nothing but getting your hopes up. Carlos does not know who his soulmate is nor, odds are, will he ever. It does no good to think about what he wants until he already has it.

Later that day, Carlos tells his soulmate in non-descript block letters, All things must end. He caps the pen and covers his hand for the rest of the day. He sees Charles some hours later, looking pale and frightened. Carlos cannot, will not, imagine why.

He tries to push it from his mind. They are not hiding in Ferrari hospitality for the thrill of it, after all, but to prepare for the race ahead. Qualifying comes and goes, nothing to write home about but at least they should be decently in the points. One of them might be able to make it to a podium if they can give Lando Norris the slip. The best case scenario is that Checo will bin it so they could get a 1-2, but who knows if they’ll have any semblance of luck today.

Carlos qualified one position ahead of Charles. Fred Vasseur is already starting to eye him like a lamb to the slaughter, and Carlos makes a mental reminder to continually ask his engineer for Charles’ times during the race. He has a feeling that team orders might be given.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t make Carlos angry towards Charles as much as he thinks it should. He is irritated by Ferrari, of course, for picking one driver over another, but that’s expected in any given scenario in which the cars are swapped. Usually, though, that sort of thing happens enough times that you start directing your ire towards the other driver, but Carlos cannot manage that. In fact, he never has. Hating Charles is unthinkable. It would be easier to hate himself. Right?

Getting ready in his driver’s room before the race that Sunday, Carlos is struck by a sudden, unthinkable idea. He rummages around in his belongings for a while before coming up with a pen. Dark, thick, the kind you use for autographs when the hapless fan forgets to bring a writing implement of their own. Carlos uncaps it, stares at his skin, then starts to scribble. Words, underlined, circled. Do well. Good luck. Please.

He doesn’t know if– but he could, maybe, if he saw. Carlos loses himself in a frenzy, then snaps out of it just as quickly when his palms get covered in writing. The sound of footsteps outside his door makes him flinch, and he tugs on his gloves as fast as he can, smearing the ink even more than before. It doesn’t matter. Odds are nothing will come of this anyway.

The race goes as expected. Checo does not crash, much to the chagrin of all other teams, and Carlos gets stuck behind him long enough that they start talking about switching him with Charles, which happens around lap forty. When the checkered flag waves, Charles is third, Carlos fourth. He parks quickly and hurries over to the front. By the time he gets there, Charles has already withdrawn inside the cooldown room but Carlos can shoulder in with the other Ferrari crew and shout and slap each other on the back and that’s good, too, it really is.

He will tell himself that it is. Carlos, by now, has gone to a lot of teams and learned about a lot of strategy choices. He knows how to convince himself that something is fine, that the decisions of the team are ones he agrees with. He can idle with the crew and stare up at the podium with a fixed smile on his face, because Carlos is a Good Teammate and Good Teammates show up for each other. They accept team orders when they come their way. They do not stand in the shade of someone else’s idol and think, this isn’t fair.

Of course it isn’t fair, it’s motorsport. Charles is the one they love the most, even when he’s erratic and crashes every other race. Charles is the pretty boy, the golden one, Il Predestinato. Carlos is merely his father’ son.

Charles, who figured out the whole game of soulmates months before. He guessed, at least. Told that to Carlos one night, grinning, drunk, spiraling after another lost podium. Charles had waited with wide eyes and a frozen smile as if waiting for Carlos to put something together, but the other shoe never dropped and eventually the moment ended, both of them pulled apart by other friends, downing other drinks, pretending they never existed.

Carlos thinks of it now. He watches Charles emerge from the shadows of the space behind the podium to stand in the blinding sunlight, waving down at all of them. One of the mechanics is elbowing him in the side, speaking in that low voice they all get when they do the boy’s club talk, you know, someone’s soulmate likes him well enough, obviously, and Carlos has no idea what he’s talking about until he looks up and sees. Sees Charles, his palms dark with ink. From up here, it’s too small to see what is written. The Catholic boy in him thinks stigmata which is wrong, obviously, because there is no great divine mystery here, not when Carlos knows what happened.

Not when Carlos was the one to write all of it earlier that day. He’d almost forgotten during the course of the race, but it all comes flooding back now. That’s his ink on Charles’ hands, and that means– That means Charles is his soulmate. Always has been. Always will be.

Carlos stares up at him. Charles looks down, and although he’s been grinning with victory this whole time, the smile that slides onto his face upon seeing his teammate is different than before, it’s knowing. Charles knows that Carlos has figured it out at last. He’s been waiting for him to do it all this time.

It’s almost obscene, how close Charles must have come to telling him about a thousand times. Who would risk it like that? No one. Charles would. Carlos pictures him with the Sharpie earlier that week, black tip poised above his skin. How he’d caught himself before giving himself up. Perfect timing, a driver’s reflexes. Like managing to right yourself right before sending your car into the wall. Or, better, like doing it anyway. Like accelerating before you go. Like leaving your hands on the wheel so your wrists can break, too, not just your heart.

Yes, Charles would. Charles Leclerc would. Charles, so impatient for his first championship that he’d give up his current chance by overshooting every corner, by doing too much until he ends up in the wall time and time again. This is the man who would expose his soulmate like a throat to a knife, and Carlos has known this about him for years.

The Ferrari section of the paddock is insane after getting a podium, so no one notices when Carlos fights his way through the crowds to let himself into Charles’ driver’s room. It’s empty when he arrives, Charles must have many more people to get through, so he paces relentlessly back and forth until Charles shows up.

Charles bursts through the door, still talking to someone down the hall. His exuberance crashes to a halt the second he sees Carlos waiting, and he hurriedly tells whoever is there not to wait up. Charles carefully closes the door behind him, locks it too, and then it’s just the two of them and this great and all encompassing secret for company.

Charles swallows. “You know.”

Of course he does. Friends show up at each other’s driver’s rooms all the time, but this isn’t just on the order of congratulations for a good race result. They would not be hovering on the edge of this great precipice if it was just that.

“You knew earlier,” Carlos challenges.

Charles ducks his head in a nod. “I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Carlos asks.

Charles’ gaze is shifty, it flicks from ceiling to floor to walls, anywhere but Carlos himself. Charles has always been a daredevil for the risks, but he’s never had the stomach for what becomes of them. The consequences are always a thousand times worse than the actions.

“I didn’t think you would want it. Want me,” he corrects, almost whispering.

This is so absurd that Carlos almost wants to laugh. Almost, because the look on Charles’ face is so pitiful that he can’t even smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” Carlos asks.

Charles blinks in surprise. “Because you were never even that interested in finding out who your soulmate was, mate. Always said it would just be some girl you didn’t know. I didn’t want to see your face when you realized you didn’t even get some girl but me.”

“I didn’t want to look too much into my soulmate because I was afraid it wouldn’t be you,” Carlos says in a rush, and as he admits it he knows it’s true.

How could it be anything but that? Carlos could have picked any team, but he went here. A hardheaded (formerly red) bull chasing not just the scarlet flag but the matador himself. Charles, all along.

Charles’ eyes are wide, lashes darker even than the ink still staining his palms. “So you’re not mad, then?” He asks cautiously.

“Not mad and not leaving,” Carlos reiterates.

A ghost of a smile flickers over Charles’ lips. “You cannot blame me for wanting to be sure, I didn’t want you to go until I managed to tell you.”

“You certainly took your time about it,” Carlos comments.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Just because we are racers does not mean we have to do everything fast, Carlos. Be patient.”

Carlos arches a brow. “You are telling me that?”

Charles has the grace to look at least a little ashamed. “Yes. Well. I can be patient now.”

Of course he can. They both can. Most people spend their entire lives searching for the answer to a question that is no longer a mystery to either of them. Time is all they have, time and sweet-sticky champagne and the sensation of being at the top of the world. Nothing will change them. Everything will. For once, though, the change does not scare him. It’s not bad, all of the time.

Sometimes, it brings him Charles. Sometimes, it brings him this. No, not bad in the slightest.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

also: @quill-of-a-sparrow

all tags list: @wordsarelife

217 notes · View notes

ryuichirou · 8 months ago

Note

I wanna start with I love your blog sm and I’m not trying to jump on the train, in fact I don’t even mind if you just read this and don’t post or even just delete after you read, but I know where the “Rook gaslighter” thing comes from and wanted to explain (I also just LOVE talking about rook even if its negative). Im not explaining to change your mind but rather to inform!! Because I love spending hours analyzing the characters, pls don’t stop drawing rook!! Ever!!

ANYWAYS now that “please don’t hate me I have to uncontrollably explain everything about my favorite character(s) the second someone doesn’t know about one small detail 😭” is over, I will explain! During Vil’s lab wear vignette, Rook asks Vil when he’s going to start his new diet. Vil, confused, is like what??? Tf?? And rook is like “yeah :D you have put on 3 pounds exactly :)”. Vil is lowkey like wtf Rook I haven’t noticed shit and rook is like “okayyy but who do you believe? Me or literally anyone else?” And vil is like “yeah you’re right, I’ll adjust my diet, thank you rook”.

The ‘issue’ with the “rook is a gaslighter” is it’s SOLELY a fandom thing (and maybe with other characters, but still, like. Vil is a world class model he CANT put on weight like a normal person could because it’ll unfortunately affect his career. The beauty world is just like that, irl too. Plus, this is something he wants for himself, even if he admits to hating the diets during his overblot, it’s still a part of who he is). Vil, himself, views rook’s behavior as a helpful thing, he appreciates Rook’s supernaturally keen eye! He might be offended but ultimately he would not have Rook as his vice-prez if he didn’t respect or admire Rook in some way.

I adore the way you draw them together!! The one where vil is like “how dare you! Just because he’s strange doesn’t mean he’s like that!” And rook is behind him with blood on his face, he’s so cute! I recently found another blog that is similar to yours that I also wanted to see if you knew bc they draw rook out the same way you do! @/fadiesismin is so cool and I think you’d love their artwork!!! Also I’m very sorry for the long-winded ask, in my defense, I’m also a Sagittarius. Rook 🫶 Me, xoxoxoxoxo!!

Sagittarius Anon! I’m sorry it took this long to reply.

First of all, thank you for enjoying our stuff and for your support! I am very happy that you like the way we portray RookVil. Their relationship is very interesting and honestly quite nuanced; we don’t usually gravitate towards ships that have this strong of a “they’ve been dating for a while” vibe, but these two are just too charming. Probably because despite them deeply understanding each other and sharing a lot of values and passions, they really aren’t a perfect couple, and we get to see it in moments like the vignette you’ve mentioned, or Rook’s lab wear vignette, or on multiple other occasions. Rook isn’t the perfect boyfriend, in fact, he is quite a menace sometimes without really meaning harm (still, he technically made Vil cry at least once); but there also isn’t another person that would get Vil as deeply as Rook does and support him as well as Rook does. What they have is special, but isn’t perfect at all.

As you already know, we also love talking about characters a lot, so I even though I am late with this reply, I am happy to have an opportunity to talk about these two and Rook specifically. So thank you for sending this ask and waiting!

I’ve seen this vignette being used as an example of Rook being gaslighting/manipulative before, and to be honest, I don’t really get this argument. I understand that the reasoning is usually that Rook sounds similar to a man that lies to his girlfriend about her being fat because he wants her to be even skinnier or just to be an asshole about it, but here is the thing: this isn’t what Rook is doing though. Gaslighter always has ulterior motive behind their manipulations, even if it’s just to mess with someone else’s head for fun or to control this person. But with Rook (both in this vignette and in general), what you see is what you get: the man is brutally honest, sometimes even too honest. Vil himself is very aware of that and has mentioned it multiple times.

It’s just like you said! Vil never lets anyone forget that his looks are important to him (both because of his own standards and because he is a model), so of course Rook would comment on something that he noticed. This is the foundation of their relationship: Rook gives Vil his feedback because Rook sees things that other people don’t. Does it mean that this feedback is always 100% necessary and Vil should change things according to how Rook critiques him? Of course not. Maybe sometimes it would be better for Vil to just take it easy and relax instead of perfecting every single thing, but this isn’t what Vil wants for himself: he doesn’t want to be pampered, he wants to be appreciated for his hard work. Rook enables Vil’s perfectionism, but don’t forget that Rook is that force in Vil’s life that doesn’t let him forget what he is doing all that for (I’ve talked about Rook being protective of Vil’s “beauty” = love for art here). Vil having a toned body is something that Rook enjoys, but this is mainly something that Vil wants himself; I kind of think that as long as Vil’s passionate and unapologetic about things that he does, Rook would find beauty in him no matter how he looks. Remember him at the end of ch6 after Vil’s grandpafication? Yeah exactly.

Alright, I digress. The point I am trying to make is that Rook is very direct with Vil, sometimes even too direct, and this is the opposite of gaslighting. Even when he suggests things “lightly”, he is still upfront about them: he doesn’t try to plant any ideas in Vil’s head.

Rook sounds and acts like a jerk sometimes, but he means well, and it’s not an excuse, just a fact. In Rook’s head, Vil always takes his direct remarks and observations very well, what’s so different this time? Even if you’ve been with someone for years, fuckups are unavoidable, especially for someone who has problems with tact.

To reiterate: could this scene be triggering or upsetting? Absolutely. Are there people who comment on other’s weight to make them insecure or make them doubt themselves? Absolutely. Is this what Rook does? Absolutely not. It just isn’t true to his character: he wouldn’t gain anything if Vil started doubting himself, in fact, he would have hated it. He doesn’t want Vil to be insecure or unsure, this is literally what he confronted him about at the end of Ch5. He also doesn’t need to do anything for Vil to trust him more than others: Vil already does. When he was saying that he knew better than anyone or anything else, he stated the truth, and this is what so fucked up about Rook: he really does know better.

It’s very important to remember that these characters have their own circumstances and their own writing, and we are fucking blessed to have a cast of characters this interesting and complex.

By the way, I am saying all of this as someone who wouldn’t mind Rook being a gaslighter and could see fanon scenarios where it could work, but those need to be very well-written not to ruin his character, because honesty is an integral part of Rook Hunt. For better or worse.

Also, I know you haven’t mentioned Jade, Anon, but since this entire discussion started with comparing the two, I wanted to note that Jade’s Dorm Uniform vignette exists. Vil literally looked at him man and decided not to trust him for one moment, even scolded Rook for even humouring the idea that Jade was telling the truth. And this is just one instance; we are constantly being reminded by everyone in cast about the fact that Jade is shady and we shouldn’t take seriously the majority of things that he says (pretty much verbatim to what Floyd said about him in the Playful Land event). Jade doesn’t care about honesty, he doesn’t care about lying either: all he cares about is what to say to make the others react in the most interesting way possible. He loves messing with people, and the world is his playground….

(I am also pretty sure that he comments on Azul’s diet; this has nothing to do with gaslighting either, just thought I’d mention that since we’re talking about this)

Anyways, thank you again for your ask, Anon! I hope this wasn’t an exhausting read. I always feel like I haven’t said everything that I wanted to say, but fortunately I still have tons of replies to write, so I’ll have my chance..! Probably.

PS. @/fadiesismin’s works are very good!!

#replies #rookvil #about characters

43 notes · View notes

asahicore · 2 years ago

Text

treasure reaction :: when their crush kisses them randomly!

pairing. ot12 idol!treasure x reader genre. tooth-rotting fluff and that's it word count. 6.3k a/n. i had gotten a request for this on my previous blog and had only posted the hyung and middle line parts, so this is a repost with the maknae line included as well <3 i had so much fun writing this and i can't wait to write more fluffy headcannons like this in the future.. also some of these are wayyy longer than others don't mind me i got carried away lmao and if u read one of these and think it'd be a good long fic then let me know i'd be more happy to write them out in more detail ok hehe enjoy and don't forget to reblog and lmk what u think please !!!!! xxxx

HYUNSUK. whenever you were around, this man became even more of a giggly mess than he already was. you’d clicked as soon as you’d met and lately, you’d been hanging out more and more, never getting bored of each other but not quite ready to put a label on your relationship just yet. this particular day, you were hanging out at his studio - his flattering excuse to hang out had been that he needed inspiration for his next song and your presence would give him just that. he’d been working on his song for about five minutes when he turned to you, saying he was unable to concentrate with you around. clearly, he hadn’t tried to keep the charade up for long. you told him you’d try to be as undistracting as possible but he shook his head and said he wanted to spend time with you anyway. and that’s how you found yourself engaged in an aegyo battle with hyunsuk, the goal being to make the other cringe as much as possible. you realized right there how whipped you must’ve been for him, considering his aegyo didn’t make you cringe at all, but rather made him all the more endearing to you. so much adoration for him washed over you that, without thinking, you placed your palms on the sides of his face and pressed a kiss to the top of nose. you quickly pulled away, both of your faces turning a deep shade of red as realization of what you’d just done dawned on you. after three seconds of looking stunned, he fell into an umpteenth burst of giggles and asked with a grin, “what was that, y/n?”. you hid your face in your hands and mumbled that it was nothing. “just ignore it,” you said. “i don’t think i want to ignore it,” he said, a smile still playing on his lips, but the lightheartedness of his tone did nothing to hide the meaning behind his words. you felt your breath hitch in your throat as his eyes drifted down from your eyes to your lips, and this, ladies, gentlemen and non-binaries, is how you had your first kiss with choi hyunsuk.

JIHOON. treasure finally had a day off and jihoon had insisted on taking you out for a shopping date. (when he’d called it that, his usual confident facade had crumbled just a bit and his cheeks had reddened as he finally fully admitted to his intentions with you.) you’d told him to spend the day relaxing at the dorms or with his family, but he’d been adamant on taking you out, promising he’d pay for everything and anything you wanted as a thank you for waiting so long to hang out with him. he took you to a shopping mall in the fancy part of seoul and you had one of the best lunches of your life there - you weren’t sure if the food was just that amazing, or if it was because the boy you were with made everything a thousand times better. after that, you’d strolled from boutique to boutique, you too shy to ask for anything, but him making up for that by constantly handing you a bunch of clothes for you to try on. you grew more and more confident as you tried more outfits on, pretending the changing rooms were your personal runway as jihoon clapped for the outfits he particularly liked - although he found you so pretty, you could wear the most disgusting piece of clothing on earth, he’d still think you were incredibly beautiful. by the end of the day, you had a wardrobe full of new amazing outfits, and you wondered how jihoon still had a cent left in his bank account. you insisted on paying for coffee as if that changed anything, and he’d said it wasn’t necessary but he found it endearing how resolute you were about getting him that latte. as you waited in line to order, you noticed how he was carrying all of your bags without a single complaint, and you were just so grateful for him in that moment that you leaned in and pressed a peck to his cheek, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as you pulled away. as soon as he’d felt your lips, his heart had started beating like crazy, but he didn’t want to lose his cool in front of you so he simply looked down at you and said, “i should take you out more often if this is how you’ll thank me.” let’s just say you went on many, many more dates after that.

YOSHI. after not seeing you for a few weeks, yoshi missed you more than he wanted to admit (even though he’d tell anyone who’d listen just how much he missed you). you knew he was busy with comeback preparations and told him you could wait, but one afternoon, he decided to sneak out of practice, knowing he’d get told off by his leaders and managers but missing you too much to care. he made sure you were actually free that day and told you to meet at your favorite hang-out spot, an underground arcade and food court. his heart was pounding at the idea of seeing you again after such a long time, and when his eyes finally found you, arms crossed as you waited for him at the entrance of the building, a huge grin spread onto his face. you could tell something was different by the way he hugged you when he got to your level - the hug was a bit longer, a bit tighter than usual, and you felt your heart swell when you realized that maybe, just maybe, he liked you the same way you liked him. you pulled away after a few seconds, his arms still around you as you smiled at each other. you did all the things you usually did: compete on the dance game machines (he always won) and on the car racing machines (you always won), then tried to win the other a stuffed toy from the claw machines (neither of you ever did), then ate an unhealthy amount of french fries as you sipped on a strawberry milkshake and he on a vanilla one, even though you always stole a bit from each other, and both ended up with a strawberry-vanilla shake. everything you did was the same as usual - but it felt different. his eyes lingered on your face, his hands found a way to sneak themselves around your waist. when you decided to take a few pictures at the photobooth, he insisted that you sit on his lap rather than side by side like usual, and you did, wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you firmly by the waist. after two shots, you decided to take your courage in your hands and finally do something about this tension between the two of you, so you leaned in to press a kiss on his cheek. but he must’ve felt your stare on him, so just as you leaned in close to him, he turned his face, and your lips ended up on his. you both pulled away at the same time, the photobooth taking a picture of your stunned expressions. however, his shock quickly turned into giddiness as he added another coin to start the booth again, and just as the lights went off, he kissed you on the lips, on purpose this time. “that way, we have pictures of our last seconds as friends and of our first seconds as a couple,” he’d explained afterwards.

JUNKYU. this was another normal day for you and your best friend: just hanging out on his bed, laying in increasingly random but comfortable positions, stalking your old classmates on facebook or watching niche asmr videos for hours and ordering your comfort food when your stomach growls became too loud and painful to ignore. this time, you were separately scrolling through tiktok, only ever talking to show the other something you think they’d like. you stumbled upon a new trend, one where two friends sat together and the one making the tiktok kissed their friend when certain lyrics of the song played, hoping they will kiss them back. you glanced at junkyu - maybe he didn’t know the trend, because the sound coming from your phone hadn’t seemed to catch his attention. it painfully reminded you of just how much you’d been wanting to kiss your best friend immediately. how could you not when he was so adorable? wiping the corner of your lips when you ate messily, the way he laughed when you made stupid jokes, his warm hugs whenever you had to go home; it all made you fall more and more for him, but like any person with feelings for their best friend, you knew it was risky to admit them to him. so you stayed quiet - until that day, at least. you thought, “if he doesn’t want to kiss me, at least i can play it off as doing the trend.” so you sat up and asked him to do the same, sitting at the edge of the bed together. you prompted your phone on one of his shelves, making sure the audio and video were cropped right before you pressed play and ignoring him as he bugged you with questions. “you’ll see, just sit there and uh… listen to the audio. listen carefully, okay?” you instructed quietly. he obediently did as told, an excited expression on his face. when he realized he knew this song and what lyrics came next, a huge grin spread onto his lips, and before he knew it, you were leaning in and kissing him. neither of you knew that the other had been waiting for this exact moment, but he kissed you back instantly, even pulling you back in when you started leaning away and smiling into the whole kiss, the tiktok long forgotten as the music played over and over in the background. long story short, this was how make-out sessions became a thing when you and junkyu, your best-friend-turned-boyfriend, hung out.

MASHIHO. finally back home in japan for a month-long break, mashiho was planning on spending as much time with his family and his friend group from high school, which you just so happened to be in. once upon a time, you and mashiho had been very close. it was very obvious to all of your friends that you liked each other, but neither of you had dared to make a move, scared of damaging your friendship, and before you could gather the courage to confess your feelings, he had been whisked away to south korea to finish his training and debut as a member of treasure. this was the first time you saw him in real life and not on a screen in almost two years, but it only took a couple of days for your feelings to come back as if they had never disappeared in the first place - which they probably hadn’t, anyway. it’d been a week since he’d come back, and you were all hanging out at the basketball court of your old high school at 10 pm after having gone out for dinner. most were playing a game of basketball but you and two of your other friends had decided to hang back, saying you’d eaten too much to move around when you really just couldn’t be asked. mashiho, who was used to destroying absolutely everyone on the court, was of course surprised when his friends were able to stop some of his attacks and shoot perfectly even from afar. they took a small break and you told him how they’d practiced during his absence so that they could finally play an actual game against him without being ridiculed. the smirk on mashiho’s face as he said, “alright then, bring it on,” was very unhealthy for your poor heart who started beating a thousand times a minute, the simple action launching a horde of butterflies in your stomach. you watched the game, and more precisely him, with a lot more attention after that, shouting his name for encouragement and clapping when his team won a point. when he winked and waved at you after landing a shot, you really felt like the girlfriend of an american athlete at one of his college games, and you liked that feeling a little too much. you were so invested in this game that when his team finally won, practically all thanks to him, the adrenaline made you jump up from your seat on the ground to run over to him and press a congratulatory kiss to his cheek. this already made everyone cheer louder than the game did, so imagine just how loud your friends were when mashiho, shaking off his surprise, grinned wider, took you by the waist, and kissed you on the lips.

JAEHYUK. similarly to junkyu, i imagine jaehyuk as being a besties before lovers type of guy, except that he really treats you like his girlfriend but just doesn’t have the guts to actually call you that. he always takes you on ‘hangouts’ that are more like dates, facetimes you at random hours of the day and night, calls you pretty whether you’re dressed up or not; he just does everything right, basically. everything but one thing, which is to make things official, and you’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t worry a little bit. you’d heard too many stories of girls being led on by their friends who act like boyfriends without the label and then turn around and make her think she’s delusional when she asks them about it. you really doubted jaehyuk could act like that, and in your head the worst-case scenario was that he was just oblivious to what he was doing and thought it normal, even though his friends always told you it was as clear as a sunny day he liked you and was just too scared to make the final move. this was why you had made up your mind that on your next date-like meeting with him, you’d finally gather enough courage for the both of you and act on your feelings, whether that meant straight-up confessing or doing something that couldn’t be seen as ambiguous in terms of where you two stood. it hadn’t even been a couple days since you’d taken this decision when he called you, asking if you were free next sunday, his nearest day off. as always, everything went perfectly, from his compliment on your new outfit, to the diner he’d picked out, to the way he made you laugh and your heart skip a beat. jaehyuk, however, wasn’t the type to flirt just to make you happy, but also so he could hear it back, and so he always found ways to make you compliment him as well - the fun part was to tease him and pretend you hadn’t noticed his new haircut or that you didn’t like his outfit that much just to see him pout and then grin widely when you said you were joking and that, yes, he looked very handsome. “oh yeah? so handsome that you wanna kiss me, i bet?” - this was another one of his favorite lines. you usually dismissed him with a roll of your eyes and told him to shut up, but today, you stayed quiet, thinking this might be your chance. he took your silence as flusteredness and added, “oh my god, you totally wanna kiss m-”, but you effectively interrupted him with a quick peck on the lips, shutting him up for good as you leaned back in your seat and continued eating as if nothing happened. he stared at you blankly, mouth slightly open, and touched his fingers to his lips like the female lead in a kdrama. without a word, he leaned in as you did seconds prior and pecked you just as quickly as you had, making you the shocked one this time. “if you get to do it, i get to do it too,” he said, pouting down at his food. when your gazes found each other, you burst into giggles, and after you calmed down, he very cutely threatened “just wait until it’s the two of us. i’ll show you what a real kiss is.” let’s just say that from that day on, there was no hesitation as to whether you two were just friends or dating (hint: it’s the latter).

ASAHI. no matter how much he liked you, asahi had a tendency to get very immersed into whatever he was doing at the moment and sort of forget about your presence in the room. in his own somewhat awkward words, he’d tried to reassure you that it was just because he felt extremely comfortable around you and didn’t feel the need to keep you entertained, that he was happy when you just chilled together, each of you simply doing their own thing. you were usually fine with it too, happy to just be with him, but this one day, you’d gone over to hang out at his dorm so you could spend actual time chatting and hanging out with him, not just scrolling through social media while he worked on his latest painting. you’d whined about it when he started painting but he told you he’d be done in ten minutes. ten minutes passed, then another ten, and another ten. you’d call out to him every now and then but he’d always repeat the same thing - “i’ll be done soon.” your complaints barely reached his ears, your whines earned a mere chuckle, so when you’d had enough, you’d gotten up and said, “fine, guess i’ll just go hang out with jaehyuk then,” sure that that would get his attention. but he just replied with an unbothered, “sure, he’s probably in the kitchen.” you scoffed at his nonchalance, and decided desperate times called for desperate measures, so you stomped over to where he was sitting and pressed an aggressive kiss on his cheek. this finally got his attention and when he looked at you with a stunned expression, you were scared you’d completely overstepped your boundaries - it wasn’t like you two were actually dating, even though every member and their mom were telling you to. but his face immediately softened as he took in your small frown and pout, realizing he’d been very negligent of you. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to upset you. let’s hang out now.” his words already warmed your heart, but when you saw he’d been drawing a picture of you from when you had gone to a park together, you thought you couldn’t get more in love with him. later on, he teased you about your method of getting his attention, but he definitely didn’t complain when you did it again, practically lending you his cheek (because he was too shy to give you his lips) for you to peck.

YEDAM. you realized that bang yedam liked to show off, just a little bit, when he invited you to watch practice at his company building for the fifth time. he liked impressing you with the new intense choreography they’d just learned or with his angelic vocals that never failed to make goosebumps appear on your skin. the members teased him about having ten times more energy when you were around, but your smile and claps as you watched him and the praises you gave him afterwards made it all worth it. he’d liked you since he met you at school - you still remember his trembling hands and his deep blush as he asked you if you wanted to come to his practice for the first time - but seeing you getting along with his members, learning the dance from mashiho, copying hyunsuk’s rap and laughing at asahi’s and jeongwoo’s antics, it all made him like you even more; you fit right in. he asked them what to do about these feelings, and they all advised him that next time he asked you out, it should be just the two of you. yoshi, in all his wisdom, told him that having you over at the company like he usually did was a good idea because it was familiar and comfortable, but that it could be at a time where he practiced individually. doyoung added that he should sing a love song as way of confessing, and everybody groaned at the cheesy idea, but yedam, for some reason, thought it was the greatest, most romantic thing ever and thanked his friend, thumb on his phone already pressing your contact, ready to call and ask you out. you said yes immediately, heart pounding at the idea of it finally being just you two after months of hanging out in groups, whether that was with your friends at school or with his members during practice. when you got there, you talked for a bit, the electric tension in the air making you both feel giddy. he warmed up before he got the song ready and told you to “listen to the lyrics carefully” with a very pointed look. you couldn’t contain your smile as you nodded, excited for whatever he had planned. lo and behold, you had the honor of not only being the first to hear the piano, demo, yedam solo version of the one and only darari, but also of being the inspiration behind the song. when it was over, yedam turned to you with a sheepish smile, asking “did you like it?” and being answered with a chaste kiss to his lips. his hands found your waist as if by instinct and, as he looked up at you with wide eyes and you looked down at him with a huge grin, you replied, “i loved it.”

DOYOUNG. nobody will ever convince me that doyoung doesn’t give the biggest university campus hearthrob vibes. i know this whole post was idol!treasure but just for him i’m gonna make an exception cause… yeah. doyoung is that guy in your really boring class that you only go to because he’s there, even though you never speak to him. all you’ve done is gaze longingly at him and look away abruptly when he catches you staring, so you’re sure he must think you’re crazy until one day when your professor announces a group project in pairs and doyoung swings around on his chair, looking right at you and smiling as if you were friends that already knew they’d partner up. you look around and behind you, trying to see if his smile is actually directed at someone else, but everyone’s already speaking to their partner. when your eyes find doyoung again, he’s already walking towards you, grabbing the empty chair beside you and plopping himself down on it. “wanna do this together?” his smile is blinding and all you can do is nod slowly and mumble out “s-sure.” and that’s how you become friends with doyoung, and how your infatuation with him turns into an ever-growing crush. working on a project together leads to meeting at the library for study dates, leads to taking coffee then lunch breaks, leads to texting random things during the day, leads to inviting each other to parties, leads to hanging out outside of school when the project is over, leads to you being head over heels for him. it doesn’t help that along with being ridiculously handsome, doyoung also happens to be a gentleman who knows your coffee order by heart, is easy to work with, makes you laugh, and flirts with you shamelessly. you’d like to say that after a few weeks, comments such as “you look pretty today, y/n” don’t affect you or that you don’t feel anything when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, but that would be the world’s biggest lie. the fated kiss happens at half past midnight on a tuesday during exam season. there was an essay you had completely forgotten about, and you only had twenty hours to do all the reading, come up with a topic, and write it out - the professor didn’t accept extensions, because they were evil. you had briefly told doyoung about this, but you just thought he’d send you a sweet text of support - not that he’d show up at the library, two cups of coffee in hand. “here, they’re both for you. motivation and comfort,” he grinned, placing them on the corner of your table. “oh my god, doyoung, i could kiss you right now,” you breathed, heading straight for your first cup. you almost spat out the coffee when he replied, “then do it.” you don’t know if it was the deliriousness of having been awake for such a long time, or if it was the adrenaline of having to finish an assignment on time, or the fact that he still managed to look good at midnight under the bright yellow fluorescent lights of the library, but you did it. you stood up and pressed your lips firmly against his for a few seconds before pulling away and returning to your essay. your cheeks were burning and you were too shy to look back at him, the realization of what you had just done hitting you. “y/n?” “yeah?” “is that it?” you can feel his gaze burning holes through your head, but still you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.”i don’t have time right now. sorry.” a beat passes and you pretend to read a paper, but none of the words on your screen passes. “then will you come to my dorm when you’re done?” another beat. “yeah. okay.” “okay.” he kisses the top of your head and whispers ‘good luck,’ and your cheeks manage to burn even more. you think you might combust right then and there, but at least you have an even better incentive than a good grade to finish this assignment. ok now who would read this if i turned it into a full fic…

HARUTO. the gods of love and fanfiction were on your side when they made you besties with haruto’s sister. he was back in japan for his break, and on his second day home, his sister asked if you could come over for dinner. you usually saw each other every day, if not at school then at each other’s houses or in town, but that hadn’t been possible the day before since it was her brother’s arrival, and she was already having withdrawal symptoms. their parents gladly agreed - you were like a second daughter to them at this point, much like your friend was to you parents. he hadn’t really thought twice about it at first; he remembered you as his sister’s shy friend that smiled a lot but didn’t talk very much. well, you still smiled a lot but were more talkative now; and either you had changed immensely in the year since he’d seen you last, or he just didn’t have that good of a memory, because when he saw you again, he himself grew shy because of how pretty he found you. his cheeks reddened when his parents coddled him or bragged about his achievements, his head hung low in embarrassment when usually he’d have welcomed the compliments with open arms. “gosh, you need to eat more, son! it’s like they don’t feed you over there,” his mom grumbled, scooping a huge portion of rice in his bowl. he wanted to dig a hole in the ground when you giggled at his mom’s antics. he grew more and more comfortable around you as time passed, considering you were over at their house at least three times a week, but he still found himself unable to get a full sentence out while looking you in the eyes. the way he was around you was so different from his usual personality that it was obvious to everyone that he had a crush on you. you found him extremely endearing, but knew there was no point trying to pursue what might be there, since he’d have to leave soon. it was only on his last night home that you gathered enough courage for the both of you. it was late in the night and you were sleeping over at your best friend’s house, but the coffee you had stupidly had at 6pm was keeping you awake. quietly, you walked out of your friend’s bedroom and into the kitchen to get a glass of water, but sound from the living room distracted you. you took a peak in and found haruto on the couch, watching an action anime. he almost had a heart attack when you called out his name, not expecting anyone to be up at this time. “what are you still doing up? shouldn’t you be getting some sleep before you leave?” you asked, sitting down next to him on the couch. if you couldn’t sleep, might as well stay here. “i can never sleep before i go back to korea. i love being there but i just… i hate waking up and knowing today’s the day i leave home.” it surprises him how easily the truth comes out, but it feels nice to put it out there - he doesn’t want to cause his parents sorrow by telling them how much he wants to stay even though he can’t. “you want to make it feel like your time here is longer or something? so you stay up…” you say, looking at the bright colors of the tv. “pretty much, yeah.” you ask him what anime he’s watching and scooch closer to him, letting a comfortable silence fall between you after he’s answered, the only sound in the room coming from the tv. after a couple of episodes, you feel sleep wash over you, and stretch your arms, letting a big yawn out. “going to bed?” haruto asks, pausing when the next episode starts to play, and you nod. “you know, ruto,” you start, and his heart skips a beat at the familiar nickname - it’s a lot nicer when you say it rather than his mom. “it’s normal to feel sad when you leave home. but it’ll still be here, waiting for you to come back.” you smile at him. “i’ll be here too.” you get up, but before you leave the room, you turn back towards you, and lean down to press a soft kiss to his nose, a feature of his you’d always secretly loved. you grin as you watch his face break into surprise, and wish him goodnight, chuckling. “g-goodnight, y/n.”

JEONGWOO. as soon as he’d stepped into the classroom on the first day back to school and saw you there, jeongwoo knew he’d have the fattest crush on you. your carefree laughter as you talked with your friends, the glint in your eyes, the sound of your voice. he liked everything about you immediately, and that feeling only grew as time passed, even though you’d never had a proper conversation. always the class clown despite his idol status, he never failed to bring attention to himself with his funny comments and reactions, yet somehow managed to stay likable and not become that obnoxious guy who doesn’t know yet to stop. but when he was with you, he grew quiet. if you were on the same group, he’d barely look at you, only talking to you when absolutely needed. naturally, you thought he hated you. but when he found out you lived in the same neighborhood as his dorm, he’d shyly asked his manager if he could walk home from school once in a while rather than be driven home, and then he’d shyly asked you if you guys could walk home together, taking you by surprise. rare were the days he actually got out of school at a normal time, but when he did, he always waited outside the classroom door for you, earning him a few whoops from his friends and hushed giggles from yours. the first few times, he stayed pretty quiet, and you almost wondered why he’d asked you in the first place. but soon enough, his more playful side, the one you’d see at school or on t-map episodes (although he didn’t need to know you watched those), started to come out, and he’d talk with you about anything between the earth and the sun. you found yourself agreeing on the same crazy things, making up insane conspiracy theories, going back and forth on a topic no sane human would talk about and each sentence you uttered only adding to the craziness, both of you egging the other on and nodding as if you had unearthed the planet’s wildest truths. when you got to your house, you were so high on the incredible things you and jeongwoo had discovered that you pressed a quick peck to his cheek, thanking him for walking you home. before either of you could realize what you’d just done, you’d already closed the door behind you, leaving a very stunned jeongwoo to stand at your door for a few seconds, two fingers on the spot your lips had blessed his cheek and a smile growing on his face. his hyungs never heard the end of it that evening.

JUNGHWAN. i have no idea what it is about the three youngest members that give me huge ‘shy-when-in-love’ vibes, but junghwan is no exception. it was your last year of high school and even though you were drowning in homework and college applications, your parents had made you get a part-time job to help with the eventual university fees. luckily for you, your mother had a friend whose hairdresser had a cousin that worked at YG entertainment, and could get you a job as a part-time barista in the building café. he just needed to make sure you weren’t completely unqualified and wouldn’t freak out whenever you saw an idol, and it was set. you can’t lie, the first few times a winner or ikon, or worse, blackpink, member walked in, you had to really concentrate to not spill the coffee everywhere out of nerves. but it didn’t take you long to realize they were just regular people craving caffeine like you, and the fact that your coworkers and the company staff were completely unfazed helped as well. treasure, as the newest and most active group of YG, came by a lot, and you were glad to notice they were always friendly and polite with you - your friend who was a huge teume would be enthralled by the information. however, even if they weren’t all talkative extroverts, there was one member who was particularly quiet: junghwan. you thought nothing of it until one day, walking in for the start of your shift, you saw him chatting with the other barista, but as soon as he saw you, he grew quieter, answering in hums and short sentences, glancing at you in what seemed a nervous fashion. since you were a new addition, you chalked it up to him being shy around strangers. but then, he started coming in in the evening, when the café was relatively empty, and sat at a table after ordering rather than just getting his drink and leaving. he got out his homework and would simply work on it for thirty or so minutes, most of the time alone, sometimes with one of the older members. you didn’t say anything, and after a month, he finally talked to you for something else that his coffee order. you placed his drink (always an iced choco) down on his table, and as you were about to walk away, he called out your name. “yeah?” you said, turning around quickly, perhaps too quickly. the fact that he came in at such quiet hours meant that you had much leisure time to do nothing other than stare at him, unbeknownst to him. you knew he was a handsome guy, but being able to observe him so closely made you notice so many of his cute habits, and before you knew it, you were developing a crush. “how do you like it here?” he asked, and that was it. he forgot his homework as you answered his question, which prompted more from him, which prompted more from you. after that, you got into the habit of talking every time he came in, venting about your problems, bonding over shared interests, laughing at cat memes together. more often than not, this resulted in him being late for practice or never getting around to his homework. since you were in the same year level and he didn’t have as much time to study as you did, you also helped him with subjects he struggled with. you’d spent a week going over a history lesson with him, which had started out with him hopeless but he grew more and more confident about the upcoming test, thanks to your help. he had been really nervous about it, so when he barged in the café, a huge grin on his face and graded paper showing a bright red ‘B+’ in hand, you were so proud that you couldn’t help but run to him and take his face in your hands, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. his eyes grew wide and he looked down at you in disbelief, but before you could run away and hide from what you just did, his grin found its way back to his face and he took you in his arms for the warmest hug you’d ever received. “i couldn’t have done it without you, y/n.”

permanent taglist: @ozymandia-s @bbujiikseu @lalalalawon @sd211

486 notes · View notes

ayo1dk · 1 month ago

Text

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

ミ✩ Warnings : General Tomfoolery, Cursing(?), Bad Flirting, Fingers go into a mouth 🫳🫦

ミ✩ Pairing : Miguel O’Hara x Reader (2nd!POV [you/your/yours])

ミ✩ Summary + Relevant Details : You got yanked out of our world, where there is no Spider-Man, and ended up in Miguel’s HQ. They have no idea how to send you home (or where your home is) so you just kind of.. live there. And you make it a point to flirt with annoy Miguel everyday since he taught you how to use, and gave you some loaner, webshooters to get around.

ミ✫ Parts : N/A

ミ✩ Note : im so silly for writing this ahahhah— IF YOU CAME FROM JAI THEN JUST KNOW I COULDNT BE BOTHERED TO MAKE MIGUELS PERSONALITY SO I DID THIS INSTEAD TO SATISFY THE SCENARIO BREWIN IN MY NOGGIN 👹👹👹 if you’re not from jai then don’t worry about what I just said I’m perfectly normal and this is a perfectly normal first post for tumblr trust // this is literally me trying to get back into writing fanfics/oneshots don’t judge the shoddy writing too harshly 😭

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Miguel was, as usual, in his office.. or what counted as his office at least. The clicking of a keyboard was the only sound to be heard in the otherwise quiet room, broken occasionally by a huff of frustration or a small break where he either cracks his knuckles or takes a sip from the coffee cup perched a little to the side of his main computer screen. He was working on getting through some paperwork since it was much easier to breeze through it at his own pace regularly rather than let it pile up and feel overwhelmed trying to do it all at once.

Lyla, ever eager to poke fun at Miguel, projects a little hologram of herself right in front of his screen, hands on her hips as she smiles widely. Sure she’s glitching a little but that’s just par for the course with her. Miguel, however, raised a brow since he didn’t exactly call for her and couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head that might need his attention at this very moment. “Heeeyyyyy,” Lyla says, drawing out the word and pitching her voice just a bit higher than usual. “What is it, Lyla?” Miguel questions, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. Might as well relax since his assistant had a tendency to dance around the issue before getting to the main point.

“Well, I was gonna give you a heads up about something but if you don’t wanna be polite…” She tells him, narrowing her eyes mischievously. The male feels a flicker of apprehension at her cryptic wording, but obviously it couldn’t be too bad if she was messing with him about it. “And what exactly did you come here to tell me?” He pushes, not too keen on getting suckered into saying ‘please’ again. “Nothing!” The AI chirps out before glitching away, leaving Miguel more curious than anything else. Oh well, it couldn’t be too bad—

“COFFEE DOWN, HANDS OUT!” Yells a familiar voice, making Miguel immediately straighten up and put his cup down. His head snaps upwards and his eyes widen at the sight of you, laughing, falling, and narrowly missing the various beams placed above his desk as you hurdled straight towards him. He doesn’t even get a chance to yell back before he has to put his arms out to catch you, mostly out of muscle memory since this isn’t even close to the first time you’ve pulled this stunt.

You let out a grunt as you finally crash down into his arms, mostly from the sudden change from zero gravity to gravity wanting to turn you into a pancake and Miguel thankfully not letting that happen. Still, it doesn’t take long for you to bounce back and plaster your signature grin on your lips. “This would be the perfect time to try out the ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ pick-up line on me,” you quip, for what Miguel swears feels like the millionth time, and he promptly drops you, letting you hit the floor since it would no longer result in serious injury.

“What did I tell you about doing that?” He gruffly chastises, crossing his arms over his chest — mostly just to hide his pecs since he could feel you staring at what you dubbed as his ‘man boobs’ — and staring you down disapprovingly. “Not to do it when you’re working!” You easily reply, choosing to sit yourself up but not bothering to actually stand quite yet. “So why are you here now?” His voice sounds absolutely exasperated as you clearly understood what he said so why did you blatantly ignore—

“Well, you weren’t working when I jumped down. Didn’t Lyla interrupt you?” You explain with an innocent smile, like you hadn’t just admitted that you found a loophole to his argument and promptly used Lyla to extort it. And the fact that it’s a reasonable argument only makes Miguel sigh in frustration because of course you would only learn to be crafty when it came to finding ways to annoy him. “Ay por dios…” He grumbles, his eyes closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath to calm himself.

After a couple moments of silence pass, he opens his eyes and looks down at you- Oh fuck, you weren’t on the ground anymore.

“We should test the physics of the upside down Spider-Man kiss scene. Purely for science, of course.” Miguel’s head immediately jerked upwards and his eyes widen as he sees your upside down face hanging right in front of his own. But the surprise is fleeting as he quickly regains his usual unamused expression. That seemed to be his signature look whenever you were around. “I’m not kissing you,” he pointedly states before reaching a hand up and quite literally shoving your face away from his, not caring about how uncomfortable it might make you feel—

He pauses, his entire body freezing as he tries to compute what the hell just happened. Slowly, he pulls his hand away from your face, a flicker of horror appearing in his eyes as he stares at his fingers. His saliva soaked fingers. Saliva soaked from going in your mouth.

“Yikes, didn’t think that was how you’d enter me for the first time,” you chuckle out, disconnecting from the web you had been using to hold yourself up and flipping so that you landed crouched on the ground. Your gaze shifted between him, his hand, and the nearest exit. Lyla appeared, hovering over your right shoulder, with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I’d run if I were you,” she suggests, pretending to whisper in your ear but not even trying to be quiet. And with that, you sprinted away from Miguel before he regained his sanity enough to try and pummel you into the ground.

“SEE YOU TOMORROW, DARLING!” You call over your shoulder with a laugh, immediately jumping off the nearest ledge to start plummeting into the depths of the HQ. Maybe he’d forget about this whole thing after a good nights rest…

“Y/N!!!”

…or not.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

✩彡 Word Count : 1,028

13 notes · View notes

curlys-crash-log · 28 days ago

Text

Hiya everybody!!!

This is an askblog for Post Crash Curly!!! Who set it up??? How does Curly “answer”??? Why set this up??? Aren’t there more important things to focus on at this time!?!??? Why not use this to get help instead of run a blog?!?!?

Great questions Friendo!!! But there’s more important things for you to focus on too!!! Like taking responsibility! Trying some Mouthwash!!! And keeping an eye on what that James fellow is up to!!!! Boy howdy he might get up to some fun shenanigans!!! Come along once in a while to keep us- I mean him- or uh me!!!! That’s it me!!! Keep me company and see what’s going on. It sure is boring only laying in a hospital bed day after day!!!

Ooc/Mod notes: I made this blog in a little rush of inspiration after seeing so many pre crash blogs get post crash comments. I thought “huh why don’t people send those to post crash ask blogs” then realized, there probably aren’t that many post crash ask blogs!!!! I mean really, in that situation there’s far more important things to worry about than social media, but also what would you do while you just wait for rescue??? Curly is my pick because he’s the least likely to make any sense for a post crash ask blog. Also he’s my blorbo. Is he even the one actually running the show here???

Rules: this is my first ask blog, I’m not sure what to make for rules.

- Curly has three response modes: proper, translation, and internal.

•Proper is him struggling to speak, broken words, sounds and hard to understand. Text may be coloured if he tries to talk about a specific person

• Translation is….well a translation of his struggle to speak, but are the translations accurate?

•Internal is Curly’s thoughts and what he really wants to say, this is most likely to come in a reblog or post rather than a response to any ask directly.

[ ] - words in these brackets will add context to Curly’s spoken words as he’s hard to understand

{ } - when these brackets are used it indicates an internal monologue, usually a more detailed response or something a little more serious, something the translator may find boring or Curly might not give a physical response for them to translate

- be civil please, if you wouldn’t say it to a stranger on the street please don’t send it to me.

- nothing overly sexual or violent please, this is something I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this but better safe than sorry

- feel free to yell at scold or deride Curly, but don’t go too far. He’s not evil, he’s a complex character that made mistakes (his greatest one was putting too much faith in Jimmy). Don’t pile everything at once!!! Let his guilt fester!!

- post crash curly and pre crash curly are two different characters to me or characterizations of the same person. Treat them as one and the same but keep this in mind!!

- I may use this blog to interact with other MW ask blogs, but I won’t mess with their lore or timelines. Anything from this Curly would seem like a whisper or a dream, a fragment from another timeline.

I may add some more to the rules if people act up but for now they’re just simple.

When MW ask blogs inevitably lose their spark and fade away I think I’ll keep this as a general MW, Wrong Organ/and their future projects blog. Even as an ask blog I’ll still reblog fanart and be open to analysis/character discussions and things, just make sure you make anything like that clearly directed to me!!!

That’s all for now, enjoy your time here and thanks for stopping by!!!!

🧿🩹🩸💊🧿🩹🩸💊🧿🩹🩸💊🧿🩹🩸💊

#Mouthwashing #Askblog #Captain Curly #Post Crash Curly #I wonder how clear it is who Curly’s blog manager/assistant is #I’m mostly on phone until I can get a laptop or my desktop set up I don’t think mobile can do colour text can it?

7 notes · View notes

iqueenlost · 1 year ago

Text

Part 1/5 (probably) of my andreil fake dating au

@givemethedamnflowers @bikevindayy @mai-feri @neilimfinejosten @runpinocchio @youweremyversaillesatnight @paradoxolotl @paysomeonetopaysomeone @asteria-astraeus

----------

It was all Nicky’s fault.

Well, technically it was Andrew’s stupidity’s fault, but he was going to ignore it and blame Nicky anyway. They were at Nicky’s for Thanksgiving when the pest popped up the question he would ask every family gathering.

“So, Andrew…” he paused dramatically, because why wouldn’t he. “Are you still single?

And that had been it. Andrew was tired, he was working on a case that took a lot from him. A thirteen-year-old boy who had been raped by his stepbrother since he was seven and it was hitting way too close to home that it had given Andrew nightmares. He hadn’t had a good night of sleep for almost three weeks now. So he could be excused when his sleep-deprived ass had blurted out. “Neil’s my boyfriend.”

His heart came to an abrupt stop the moment the words left his mouth. He felt his mask of indifference begin to crack as he looked across the table to where Neil was looking at him, a spoonful of mashed potatoes halfway to his open mouth.

Andrew was thoroughly fucked. Of all the names he could have used to get Nicky off his back he had to have said Neil’s name. As if Nick hadn’t known Neil for years, as if he hadn’t known Neil for years. Besides he had a crush on Neil since they met in his senior year of high school.

Neil carefully placed his spoon on his plate, a mischievous grin forming on his lips, his ice-blue eyes glistening dangerously. Again: Andrew was fucked.

“I didn’t think we were going to tell everyone yet.” He said slowly, all fake innocence.

The table exploded with noise that Andrew could barely register, all his attention focused on Neil and his smirk and his stupid good looks. Today he was dressed a bit better than usual, in a brown cashmere sweater and olive green denim jacket, probably a courtesy of Reynolds. The colors blended well with his auburn hair and made him look like the personification of autumn. Most of the freckles on his face were gone with the absence of the hotter summer sun, but Andrew could remember each one of them perfectly. Noticing and remembering each and every little detail about Neil was enough to make Andrew forget where he was and what was happening around him.

Today though his mind was occupied with other things. Why did Neil join in on the lie? Was he only being his chaotic self? He knew Neil was prone to saying anything that came to his mind simply to stir shit up, but usually, Andrew knew exactly what he was thinking, or he could make a pretty accurate guess.

“Pay up, bitch!” Aaron’s voice sounded from Andrew’s left. Andrew snapped his head in his direction with a scowl as he took in the scene. Aaron had his hand up in Nicky’s direction, a smug expression settled on his face. Nicky sighed, taking his wallet from his pocket to supposedly pay Aaron.

“Don’t forget my share,” Eric said when Nicky went to put his wallet away. “I told you this was the year.”

“You betted on us?” Andrew asked. That Nicky and Aaron made bets about him wasn't a surprise, but even Eric?

“Of course they did,” Neil said. “And I bet Matt and Dan did as well, it's going to be fun telling them.” he laughed.

“We are not telling them.”

“You told Nicky, I think it's only fair I tell people too.”

It was official, Andrew was going insane. He should have stayed in bed instead of coming to Thanksgiving, he didn't even have something to be thankful for this year, and his life was going downhill. They were not a real couple and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what Neil was playing at here. And to be honest, whatever it was he was not going to join in. He made a mistake, slipped up a little, but he was going to set things straight and not get tangled up in a lie. Especially not a lie that involved Neil and his messed-up idea of fun.

“We’re not.” Andrew crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He opened his mouth to tell everyone the truth when Neil caught him by surprise again. “Let’s not have this discussion now, babe.” He pursed his lips in Andrew's direction and went back to his mashed potatoes. The nickname rolling out of his mouth like this wasn't the first time he ever called Andrew that. Like this wasn't a monumental moment in the history of Andrew. Like this wasn't going to come up again as soon as Andrew laid his head on the pillow that night and keep him awake for hours.

Nicky snickered and leaned over Eric to whisper something at him. Aaron paled to a green color, a disgusted expression beginning to form on his face. “Never ever call me that from now on.” He said to Katlyn.

She smiled at him, slapping his shoulder lightly. “I'm happy for you, Andrew.” She said, leaning forward to look at Andrew from her seat on the other side of Aaron’s chair. All Andrew could do was nod at her and go back to his food.

There was a time when he couldn't even look at Katlyn. That was when he thought she wouldn't be good for Aaron and when she showed him she was, he then began to be afraid she would take Aaron away from him and instead of a strained relationship, they would have nothing at all. But she didn't take Aaron away on the contrary actually, seeing her relationship with her sisters made Aaron reevaluate his relationship with Andrew. They became closer and after they began to have joint therapy sessions they now had something that resembled what the relationship between brothers should be. Andrew had reached the point where he could admit she was alright most days and even great some days.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Nicky jumped away from Eric and pointed a finger between Andrew and Neil. “We're not ignoring this GREAT revelation and going back to lunch. I need dets, gimme the dets. I need to be fed after watching you two pinning for almost ten years. I earned the right to every juice detail of this relationship. I swear you two got together just when I changed my choice on the bet. I lost fifty bucks.”

“You’ve earned nothing and I'm giving you nothing.”

“Oh, don't be shy Andrew. Tell them exactly what goes down between us.” Neil chimed in, biting his lips suggestively while raising his eyebrows at Andrew.

Andrew felt his blood rush downwards with every image his fucked up brain conjured as a result of Neil's suggestive expression. Nope. Not the time to be thinking about that.

“Please don't, not at the table.” He vaguely heard Aaron say.

“Stop.” Katlyn scolded. “If Andrew and Neil feel comfortable sharing with us we should hear them as their family.”

“You, Katlyn, are too good for this world,” Neil stated. “And definitely too good for Aaron.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, thank you, I prefer your brother.”

Aaron gagged at that and Andrew got the fuck away from them immediately, Nicky’s delighted cackle following him all the way to the front door. Before he could even open the door he heard the soft taps of Neil’s shoes on the hardwood floor. Usually, Neil walked like a ghost without any sound but when he clocked in on the fact that it freaked Andrew out not hearing someone approaching him from behind he always made sure to make his presence known before he reached Andrew. It was one of the things that made Neil different from everyone else. He just got Andrew without Andrew even needing to say anything.

“I’m sorry if it was too much.” He stopped beside Andrew, leaning his back against the wall and looking down at his feet. “I just wanted to get under Aaron’s skin, I didn't think how it would sound to you.”

Andrew gritted his teeth. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” At Andrew's snort, he continued. “I really don't know. I guess I just didn't want Nicky to catch up on the lie at first, but then I thought it would be funny. You know me, I don't have a sense of humor.”

That wasn't true, Neil could be really funny. Or maybe his sense of humor was just the right amount of acid and sarcastic that his remarks made Andrew want to laugh, even though he didn’t most of the time.

“You’re really not as funny as you think you are.”

“I don't think I am.”

“Exactly.”

The corners of Neil's lips pushed up in a small smile. “We’re okay, right?”

“We were never not okay Neil.”

“Good.” he smiled softly. “Does that mean we still can tell Dan and Matt about the change in our relationship status? And Alison? We have to tell Alison, it’ll be gold.”

“Why would we tell them?” Andrew asked, running his right hand over his face. He was too tired for this, he didn't want to use his brain to solve Neil, even though most of the time it was his favorite thing to do.

“First, funny.” Neil put one finger up. “Second, it really would get Alison off my back about not dating anyone ever.”

“You could just tell her you’re ace and don't want to date. Or tell her to fuck off, whatever works best.” Andrew suggested.

“I know, but I don't want to have this conversation with her, or anyone else really.”

“Because you love to make your life more difficult. And mine, you're really into that.”

“Come on, Andrew. What’s the worst that could happen? We go on a few dates, lie to a couple of friends. I bet we're going to laugh about it in a few years.”

Andrew was sure as hell he would not, but for some reason telling no to Neil was very hard. “Okay.”

“You’re the best, babe.” He said with what looked like an attempt at a flirty smile.

“I’m going to stab you.” Andrew hissed.

“No, you’ll not.” He laughed brightly. “You’re too well adjusted now.”

Andrew almost gasped, and he probably would if he hadn't perfected his bored resting face to a T. “Take that back.”

“Nope.” beamed Neil, he straightened his body and got past Andrew to open the door. “Do you want to get out of here? We can go home and watch some crappy detective show?” He tossed over his shoulder.

-------------

Things I want to make clear:

— Aaron it's homophobic in this au, he just don't want to know about his brother's sex life, or anyone else's for the matter.

— Next part is in revision and it's from Neil's POV

— Little spoiler: Neil's a high school math teacher because I said so 😆

Check Part 2

#aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #fake dating au #chaotic neil josten #andreil #fanfic

99 notes · View notes