#i wore the sweatshirt and the headset | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winxanity-ii · 5 days

Note

Hello, I'm not sure if the requests are open, so please forgive me! After reading your Gojo x Fem reader FIC "Gamer Gojo," awakened something in me. I wanted to see if I could request a gamer Gojo x Fem reader story, where the reader is really needy after watching Gojo play!😫or something like that feel free to reject this request if you don’t or feel uncomfortable. Thanks!

thanks for requesting and i hope i do your vision justice, forewarning, i might have made gojo a little mean 😩❤️

GAME OVER

ship: gamer boyfriend!gojo x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v ; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 9.9k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀)

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You unlocked the front door and stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla greeting you like a warm hug. Kicking off your shoes by the door, you slung your bag over the back of the dining chair and made your way to the living room.

Satoru was exactly where you'd expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV screen, fingers moving furiously over the controller. His headset was pushed back slightly, his white hair tousled in that effortlessly messy way he always wore it.

"Hey, babe," you called out as you passed by, heading to your shared bedroom.

"Mm, hey baby," he replied absently, his focus never straying from the game. His voice was a low hum, almost drowned out by the sound of in-game battle cries and epic orchestral music.

You couldn't help but smile; it was almost cute how engrossed he could get.

You dropped your bag on the floor and slipped into your comfier clothes—a soft oversized sweatshirt and your favorite pair of pajama shorts. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, wiping your face before heading back to the living room.

As you walked over to the couch, you noticed your little corner already set up: your pillow propped against the armrest, your blanket folded neatly and waiting for you.

Satoru might be lost in his digital world, but he never failed to make sure you had a cozy spot right beside him.

You plopped down next to him, the cushion dipping slightly under your weight. Leaning over, you placed a kiss on his cheek, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

Even though he was in the middle of a heated battle, he instinctively tilted his head towards you, almost like muscle memory, seeking out your touch.

"How was school?" he mumbled, his eyes still glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the controller with a practiced ease. You settled into your spot, draping the blanket over your lap and fluffing up your pillow.

"Same as always," you sighed, glancing at the TV. "Boring PowerPoints, boring lectures, boring discussion boards."

He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb rapidly tapping the attack button as he took down another cursed creature. "Sounds thrilling."

"What are you playing?" you asked, watching the screen as a dark, mythical landscape unfolded before you.

The game looked familiar—vivid bursts of cursed energy flashed as Satoru's character, a powerful sorcerer, slashed through hordes of enemies. It was the same one you'd seen him playing this morning before you left for class, though the setting now looked far more ominous, like he'd entered some cursed realm.

"It's Sorcerer's Domain: Curse Slayer," he said, his voice dropping as he concentrated, his character weaving through a series of devastating attacks from a towering boss. "A new MMORPG. The graphics are wild, right?"

You watched his hands as he played, fascinated by the speed and precision of his movements. His fingers moved deftly over the controller, each button press deliberate and fluid. The veins on his hands stood out slightly, muscles flexing with each motion as he navigated through the game with a kind of graceful intensity that made it hard to look away.

"Yeah, I mean, look at the detail on that cursed spirit," you mused, squinting at the screen as his character launched a spell that sent a wave of blue energy crashing into the boss.

It staggered, its grotesque form crackling with cursed energy before retaliating with a devastating attack. Satoru dodged it effortlessly, his thumbs moving in perfect synchrony with the game's frantic pace.

"Just playing with some friends," he murmured, his focus never wavering. "We're almost at the final boss level. Shouldn't take long."

You knew what that meant. Whenever Satoru got like this, it was best to let him ride it out. He was hyper-focused, chasing that rush of victory that came with beating a tough boss or clearing a particularly challenging quest.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it, then," you said, patting his knee gently. He hummed in acknowledgment, already diving back into his virtual world.

You reached for your phone and opened up your socials, scrolling through the latest posts and updates.

Time had slipped away, as it always did when Satoru got absorbed in one of his games.

It's been five hours since you'd come home, and he was still glued to the TV, headset on, fingers moving in a blur over the controller.

You'd spent the first hour scrolling through your socials, hoping he'd wrap up soon, but it quickly became apparent that he was in for the long haul.

Sighing, you put your phone down and got up from the couch, stretching the stiffness from your legs. "Might as well get some work done," you muttered to yourself, shooting a glance at Satoru. He was muttering something under his breath, the focused crease between his brows telling you he was neck-deep in whatever dungeon or boss battle he was facing.

You headed up to grab your things, pulling out your textbooks and laptop. It didn't take you long to finish up the few assignments you had left, the work more tedious than difficult. By the time you closed your laptop with a satisfied sigh, another hour had passed.

You looked over at Satoru, half-expecting to find him wrapping things up.

Nope. Still at it.

Shaking your head, you decided to be productive in other ways. You tidied up the living room, folding the blankets and fluffing the pillows. Then, you made your way to the kitchen to tackle the few dishes that had piled up in the sink. The warm water and soapy bubbles helped distract you from the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. You knew he got lost in his games, but this was getting ridiculous.

Once the dishes were clean and drying on the rack, you even managed to carve out some time to catch up on your favorite stories, scrolling through the latest updates from the authors you followed religiously.

It wasn't until your stomach growled that you realized how much time had passed. You glanced at the clock—7:00 p.m. Satoru had been at it since you'd come home, and it didn't seem like he was planning to stop anytime soon.

With an exasperated sigh, you trudged downstairs, your patience wearing thin. You found him in the same spot, the blue glow of the screen reflecting off his glasses as he barked a command into his headset, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Hey," you called out, but he didn't respond.

Typical.

You tried again, louder this time. "Hey, babe."

He glanced at you, barely registering your presence before turning back to the game. "Yeah, babe?"

"What do you want to eat? I'm starving."

"Uh, give me a sec." He leaned forward, fingers flying over the controller as he dodged and attacked, his character on screen spinning through a flurry of spells and sword slashes. "Almost done here."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You've been 'almost done' for hours."

"Just a few more minutes, promise," he mumbled, not really paying attention.

You sucked your teeth, feeling the annoyance bubble up again. "Fine, I'm just gonna order Chinese. You want anything?"

"Yeah, sure," he said absently, completely lost in his game again.

You rolled your eyes and pulled out your phone, scrolling through your saved takeout places. You placed an order for your usual dishes and added a few extras for Satoru, hoping that by the time it arrived, he'd be ready to eat.

Spoiler alert: he wasn't.

When the doorbell rang, you jogged downstairs to grab the food. You placed the bags on the counter and called out to him. "Food's here!"

"Okay, just put mine in the microwave, I'm almost done!" he shouted back, his voice muffled by the headset.

Your jaw clenched, the irritation rising again. You were hungry, tired, and honestly fed up with the damn game. But you did as he asked, placing his portion in the microwave before grabbing your own food and heading back upstairs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, chopsticks in hand as you picked at your lo mein. Every now and then, you could hear him shouting at the screen downstairs, his voice filled with excitement or frustration.

You scowled, stabbing a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force.

It wasn't like you weren't used to this. Satoru's gaming marathons were a known habit, something you'd learned to live with. But tonight, it just grated on your nerves.

Maybe it was the long day at school, or the fact that you hadn't really had a moment to spend together since you'd come home.

Whatever it was, you found yourself glaring at the staircase, silently cursing the game that had stolen your boyfriend away for the entire day.

When you finally finished eating, you trudged back downstairs, only to find Satoru still engrossed in his game, the food you'd microwaved for him untouched.

You sighed, putting his plate in the fridge and wiping your hands on a dish towel.

Now, you were seated in your little spot on the couch, legs tucked under you as you pouted at your boyfriend's side profile. Satoru was still fully engrossed in his game, his brows furrowed in concentration as he battled yet another wave of cursed spirits.

You'd been trying to get his attention for a while now—first by poking his arm, then by leaning into his side with an exaggerated sigh. You even went so far as to pull at his sleeve like a child, your lower lip jutting out as you peered up at him.

But all he did was shoot you a distracted glance, a quick "Not now, babe," before refocusing on the screen.

You huffed, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru was usually so playful, always quick to tease or scoop you up in his arms, no matter what he was doing.

But tonight, it seemed like the game had taken complete hold of him.

"Come on, that was bullshit!" he suddenly shouted at the screen, his fingers clenching the controller as his character took a heavy hit. "Seriously? Who designed this wack-ass boss fight?"

You watched as he leaned forward, his frustration bubbling over as he frantically dodged and countered, cursing under his breath as he tried to regain the upper hand.

There was something almost endearing about how seriously he took his games, but right now, you were far more interested in getting his attention than watching him rage at virtual monsters.

"What the hell! Get out of the AoE, you absolute trash-fucker!" he barked into his mic, and you couldn't help but snicker at the ridiculousness of it all.

Even when he was annoyed, he was still so damn dramatic.

You waited a few more minutes, hoping he'd wrap up soon. But when he let out a triumphant cheer, pumping his fist in the air as his character finally landed the finishing blow, you knew you'd have to take matters into your own hands.

Without warning, you shifted closer, throwing yourself into his lap. Satoru jolted slightly, but his eyes never left the screen, his hands still firmly gripping the controller.

You straddled him loosely, your arms sliding around his waist as you pressed your face into his chest, just under his chin. His body was warm against yours, and you could feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat through his shirt.

You curled up a bit more, pressing yourself closer as you mumbled his name.

"'Toru…"

Nothing. No response.

His eyes were glued to the TV, his fingers still working the controls as he maneuvered through another enemy onslaught.

"'Toruuuuu…" you whined again, this time louder, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You tilted your head slightly, sneaking a glance up at him, but he didn't even look down.

You let out a huff, your frustration mirroring his earlier outburst. You wiggled in his lap, hoping to at least distract him enough to get a reaction. But he merely shifted his weight, adjusting his position to keep you balanced without losing focus.

"...Almost there..." he muttered, his voice low and strained with concentration.

You let out another whine, your breath warm against his chest as you nuzzled closer, your hands clutching at his sides. "Baby, I'm bored."

Still nothing.

You sighed dramatically, tightening your hold on him as you turned your face into his chest, your nose brushing against the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled like a mix of his cologne and that clean, comforting scent that was uniquely his.

Another few minutes passed, filled with the sounds of Satoru’s character slicing through enemies and his occasional muttered curses.

Every now and then, he'd let out a triumphant shout or a frustrated groan, his fingers never stopping their rapid dance over the controller.

You could feel his muscles tensing and relaxing under your hands, his focus razor-sharp. He was clearly in the zone, but that only made you more determined to break through his defenses.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head just enough to peek at his face. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line as he concentrated on the screen.

The faint glow of the TV reflected in his eyes, and you couldn't help but admire the way his lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks.

But admiration wasn't enough right now. You needed his attention.

"'Toru..." you whispered again, your voice softer this time, almost a plea. You nuzzled your face against his chest, your lips brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you squeezed his waist gently.

For a split second, you thought he might finally look at you. His fingers paused, his body stilling under yours. But then, he shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off a distraction.

"Just a few more minutes, baby," he murmured, his voice distant, already slipping back into the game.

You groaned in exasperation, your forehead pressing against his chest as you let out a muffled scream. You knew he could be stubborn, but this was a new level of obsession.

For a moment, you just stayed like that, curled up in his lap, your face buried against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was soothing, the steady beat of his heart a reminder that, no matter how annoying he could be, he was still yours.

But that didn't mean you were going to let him off the hook that easily.

You pouted harder, leaning back to stare up at his face. Satoru's height always made moments like this a little ridiculous—he barely had to move, just a slight tilt of his head, and he was able to see right over yours, his eyes still glued to the screen.

You tugged at his shirt, your fingers curling around the fabric as you whined his name again, dragging it out like a petulant child.

"Satoru…"

He only hummed in response, the sound low and absent-minded as he continued to play, his attention still fully on the game.

A small breath of frustration escaped you, and this time, you decided to take more direct action. You reached up and grabbed his chin, your fingers pressing gently into the slight stubble that had started to grow there.

You pulled his face down, forcing him to look at you. His eyes, an intense shade of blue, almost too bright, blinked in surprise as if he were just now remembering you were there.

Up close, you could see every detail of his features—the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, still somehow perfect despite hours of being neglected. His lashes were long, almost absurdly so, casting soft shadows over the tops of his cheeks. And that slight stubble against your fingers felt both rough and familiar, a reminder of all the times you'd traced your hand over his jaw like this.

His eyes, usually sharp and playful, softened as he looked down at you. They were the color of the clearest sky, the kind of blue that held a thousand different shades, each one shifting and changing with his mood.

Right now, they were gentle, full of a warmth that made your heart stutter in your chest. You could see the flecks of lighter blue near the center, the darker ring around the edges.

It was like looking into the endless depths of the ocean, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you were mad.

He blinked again, his lips curling into that familiar, handsome smile that made you melt every time. The kind of smile that had gotten him out of trouble more times than you could count, the one that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

"Hey there, stranger," he murmured, his voice soft, almost teasing as his eyes roamed over your face.

Before you could respond, before you could get lost in that look he was giving you, something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes widened, the lazy smile dropping as he quickly remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

"Oh shit!" he yelped, his head snapping back up to the screen. "No, no, no—damn it!"

You could hear faint shouts from his headset, his teammates clearly panicking as whatever battle they were in started going south. Satoru's face was set in a small grimace now, his brows knitting together as he tried to salvage the situation.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered into the mic, his fingers moving rapidly over the controller again. "I got distracted. My bad, my bad—just focus on the healer, I'll tank this."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his sudden shift in demeanor, his earlier softness replaced with that determined focus you’d seen so many times before.

It was almost comical really, the way he could switch from doting boyfriend to intense gamer in the blink of an eye.

Still, you kept your grip on his shirt, refusing to let him off that easily. You watched as his jaw clenched, the muscles tensing under your fingers as he concentrated on the game. His eyes were narrowed now, the playfulness gone as he leaned forward, his whole body taut with focus.

"Damn it, Gojo!" one of his teammates shouted through the headset, the voice tinny and frustrated. "You almost cost us that round!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Satoru replied, his voice still a bit strained as he navigated his character through another onslaught of attacks. "I'll make it up to you guys. Just give me a sec."

Satoru tried to juggle his focus, his eyes darting between the TV screen and your face. He muttered a string of apologies, his voice laced with a mixture of guilt and distraction. "I'm sorry, babe, really. Just—just try not to do that, okay? I'll be done soon, I promise."

He attempted a quick smile, but his gaze kept flickering back to the game, his fingers never slowing as he guided his character through another barrage of attacks.

It was clear he was torn, wanting to give you his attention but still too wrapped up in the game to fully pull himself away.

Your patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. You sucked your teeth, the sound sharp and frustrated, and pushed yourself off his lap. "Ugh, I'm just gonna wait upstairs until you're done."

You turned to leave, annoyance radiating off you in waves as you took a step away from the couch. But before you could get far, Satoru's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

"Babe, babe, babe, wait!" he pleaded, his voice rushed, almost panicked. He tugged you back a step, his grip loose but insistent. "I'm sorry, really, I am."

Even then, he kept bouncing his attention between you and the screen, his character taking a few hits as he fumbled with the controller. He glanced back at the game, his jaw clenching as he barely managed to block an incoming attack. "I'll be done in a second, okay? Just—please don't go."

You crossed your arms over your chest, your glare piercing as you looked down at him. "You've been saying that for hours, Satoru."

"I know, I know." He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He looked back at the screen, his fingers moving in a blur as he navigated through another complex series of moves, and then back at you, his eyes soft with regret. "Just give me like, ten more minutes. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

You could hear the faint shouts of his teammates through the headset, their voices filled with frustration and urgency as they tried to coordinate. "Gojo, seriously! Pay attention!"

"Crap, I know, I know!" Satoru shot back, his hand still holding your wrist as his gaze flickered between you and the screen. His face was set in a small grimace, the strain of trying to balance his attention clear in the tense line of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh. You knew he was trying, but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

You didn't want to be that type of girlfriend, the one who pouted and sulked because her boyfriend was enjoying his hobby. But right now, it felt like you were competing with the game for his attention, and you were losing.

You stood at the foot of the couch, still stewing in your frustration, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You could feel Satoru's gaze on you, the weight of his eyes as he turned his head away from the screen, his fingers still working the controller almost on autopilot.

"Babe, I swear I'm almost done," he said again, his voice softer this time, a hint of desperation threading through his words. His lips were slightly parted, a pout forming as he looked up at you with those damn blue eyes of his—eyes that were usually so bright and playful but now seemed almost pleading, like he was afraid you'd slip away for real this time.

It was unfair how beautiful he looked, even now, disheveled and slightly sweaty from hours of gaming. His white hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction from where he’d run his fingers through it in frustration. His cheeks were a little flushed, the result of his excitement and annoyance blending together in that way only Satoru could manage.

And those eyes... Gods, those eyes. They were so impossibly blue, like the sky on a perfect summer day, framed by lashes that were almost too long for a guy, making him look absurdly beautiful even in his current state.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as he bit down on his lower lip, a small, almost childlike gesture that made your heart clench. "Please?" he added, his voice almost a whisper now, the sound of it tugging at the frayed edges of your resolve.

You huffed, the annoyance still there, but you could feel it softening under the weight of his gaze. He always did this, made it so damn hard to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that—like you were the most important thing in the world, even when he was being an absolute pain.

"Fine," you muttered, your voice begrudging as you took a step back toward him. "But this better be the last time you ignore me for some stupid game."

His eyes brightened instantly, a smile breaking across his face, wide and brilliant, as if you’d just given him the best news in the world. He shifted the controller to one hand and reached out with the other, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he gently tugged you back onto the couch.

"Thank you, thank you," he murmured, pulling you down onto his lap with an ease that made your heart flutter. He was always so strong, so effortlessly sure of himself, and the way he handled you made you feel delicate, cherished. His lips pressed against your temple, the kiss light and fleeting as he murmured another apology. "I'm really sorry, baby. You know I can't help it sometimes."

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, the words half-hearted as you settled against him, your arms slipping around his neck as you straddled his lap once again.

He kissed your cheek, then your forehead, his lips soft and warm as they trailed along your skin. "I'll make it up to you, promise," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear before he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You let out a small hum, your fingers toying with the flyaway hairs at the nape of his neck, the silky strands slipping through your grasp as you absently played with them.

You could feel his muscles shifting under your touch, the way his shoulders tensed and relaxed with every movement, every reaction to the game. His jaw clenched when something went wrong, a soft growl rumbling low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as you pressed closer.

Your hands slid up from his neck, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble as you leaned into him. He tilted his head slightly, giving you more access as he murmured something under his breath, his lips brushing against your hairline.

You sighed, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you snuggled into the crook of his neck.

From this position, you could hear every faint growl of frustration, feel the way his chest rumbled with each word he muttered. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand still holding the controller while the other rested on your lower back, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your skin.

It was almost mesmerizing, the way his body moved beneath yours, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with every motion.

You could feel the power in him, the strength in his arms as they tightened around you, the way his thighs shifted under yours as he adjusted his position, trying to balance you and the game at the same time.

"Come on, just a little more," he muttered, his voice low and intense, his fingers flying over the controller.

You could see the concentration on his face, the way his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes were focused, but every now and then, he'd glance down at you, his expression softening, his grip on you tightening just a bit, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were still there.

And you were—content for the moment, just resting against him, letting his warmth seep into you.

Your fingers slid back up to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you tugged gently, feeling the way his breath hitched in response.

You pressed your nose against his neck, breathing him in, the familiar scent of him making your heart flutter in your chest.

He let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes flicking down to you for a brief second, his smile a little strained but still undeniably sweet. "You okay, princess?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your fingers still playing with his hair, your lips brushing against his collarbone as you sighed softly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

And you were, even though you knew you'd be annoyed with him again later.

For now, you were content, wrapped up in him, feeling every rise and fall of his chest, every shiver that ran through him as you pressed closer, your face buried in the warmth of his neck.

The longer you stayed nestled in Satoru's lap, the more you became acutely aware of every little detail about him. The way his body seemed to mold against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his skin, and the soft hum of his breath against your ear.

The initial frustration that had simmered earlier was still there, but it had shifted, morphing into something else entirely as you tried to get comfortable, wiggling a bit in his lap.

Your legs tightened around his hips, and you couldn't help but notice how good it felt, the friction sending a small, involuntary shiver up your spine.

You tried to focus on something else—anything else—but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the growing warmth spreading through your body, the way your skin seemed to tingle wherever it touched his.

You shifted again, a little more deliberately this time, your hips pressing down against his. A soft, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and you buried your face in his neck to hide it, biting down on your lower lip as you tried to steady your breathing.

Satoru's chest vibrated against you with a low chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he brushed his lips along your jawline. "You okay there, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

Your heart stuttered, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his lips press a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. He was still playing the game, but it was like he could sense the shift in your mood, the way your body was reacting to him.

The bastard always had a sixth sense when it came to you.

"You've been squirming an awful lot," he continued, his tone almost taunting as he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "You trying to tell me something?"

You let out a small, frustrated huff, your fingers curling into his shirt as you tried to keep your composure. "N-No," you muttered, though the way your voice shook betrayed you.

"Mm, that doesn't sound very convincing," he teased, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin as his other hand tightened around the controller. His voice dropped lower, a breathy murmur that sent a shiver through your entire body. "You're not still mad at me, are you? For being such a bad boyfriend?"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each word he whispered making it harder to think, harder to breathe. "Satoru, you—" You tried to protest, but your voice faltered as he pressed a particularly firm kiss to the base of your throat, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

"What, baby?" he asked, his tone playful, almost mocking as he lifted his head to look at you. His eyes were darker now, a shade of blue that was almost dangerous, and the smirk on his lips was edged with something mean, something that made your stomach twist in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. "I'm trying to focus here, and you keep squirming around like that. You making it hard for me on purpose?"

His words, laced with a teasing edge, made your cheeks burn. You tried to pull back, to get some space to think, but he only tightened his hold on you, his fingers digging into your waist as he kept you firmly in place.

"Aw, don't be shy now,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I know I've been a bad boyfriend, ignoring you like that. But you didn't make it easy either, distracting me while I'm trying to win."

You swallowed hard, the heat in your face spreading down your neck, your heart racing as his words washed over you.

There was a roughness to his tone, a sharp edge of frustration that made your breath hitch, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight under your hands.

"'Toru, please—" you started, but he cut you off, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he let out a low, dark chuckle.

"Please what, baby?" he purred, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled against your neck. "Ya'know, if you're so impatient, you could just ride me." His words were like a shot to the heart, and your whole body froze, your breath catching in your chest as you processed what he'd just said.

You pulled back, eyes wide as you stared at him, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous. "W-What?"

Satoru's eyes darkened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned forward, his hands sliding down to your hips, his grip firm as he tugged you even closer. "You heard me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "If you're so needy, you can just ride me. I won't stop you."

He shifted on the couch, his body curling in toward you as he caged you in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he whispered again, his voice dripping with that mean, teasing lilt. "Go on, baby. Show me how badly you want my attention."

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your whole body heating up as his words sank in, the implications of what he was saying making your head spin.

You tried to form a coherent thought, to come up with some kind of response, but your mind was blank, your body reacting instinctively as you pressed closer to him.

"'Toru—" you started, your voice trembling, but he just smirked, his hands squeezing your hips as he tilted his head, his eyes lidded and intense as he watched you.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone mocking, almost cruel as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You were so eager to get my attention before. Did you change your mind?"

You shook your head, your breath hitching as his words sent another shiver through you, your fingers tightening in his shirt as you tried to find your voice. "N-No, I just—"

"Just what?" he pressed, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he whispered against your throat. "You said you were bored, didn't you? So why don't you entertain yourself, hmm?"

Your mind was reeling, the heat pooling low in your belly as his words wrapped around you, his voice a dark, seductive murmur that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.

He was teasing you, taunting you, and the worst part was, it was working.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you looked up at him, his face so close, his eyes boring into yours with that wicked gleam that made your pulse quicken. "I—"

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice softening just a fraction as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands guiding your hips, pressing you down against him in a way that made your breath hitch. "I know you want to."

You felt like your whole body was on fire, your thoughts a jumbled mess as you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as he continued to watch you, his eyes dark and hungry, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he whispered, "Don't make me ask again."

You bit your lip, your gaze fluttering to the side, a clear sign of your defeat. Satoru's eyes lit up with satisfaction, and a slow, almost predatory smile spread across his lips. "Good girl~" he purred, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach flip.

Without wasting a moment, his hands moving with an almost practiced ease as he helped you get situated on his lap. His teammates' shouts grew louder, their voices crackling through the headset as they realized he was barely playing, his movements on screen sluggish and inattentive.

"Gojo, what the hell are you doing?"

"Dude, focus! We're gonna lose!"

But Satoru didn't care. His attention was almost entirely on you, his gaze heated as he watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

With one arm, he easily lifted you up, his strength almost dizzying as he held you aloft, giving you just enough space to quickly throw off your shorts and underwear.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver as you tried to compose yourself.

You moved to straddle him again, your body desperate for the closeness, but he was quicker, his hands gripping your waist firmly. "Whoa, slow it down, babe," he teased, his voice light and teasing as he held you back, his grip strong enough to keep you still.

You gasped as he ran his long, deft fingers along your slit, the touch light and teasing, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his body was in the way, his hips and thighs keeping you spread open for him. "Babe—"

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled lowly. "Such a reactive girl. At least someone’s not mad at me." His words were laced with a smug satisfaction that made your heart race even faster, and before you could respond, he leaned in, licking up the side of your neck in a slow, deliberate motion that left you trembling.

His fingers continued their exploration, each movement deliberate and slow, teasing you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He found your entrance, his fingers sliding through your slickness, his touch almost reverent as he circled you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your body already aching for more as he continued his slow, torturous teasing.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed your neck, his lips trailing along your collarbone. "Already so wet for me, and I've barely even touched you."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. "Satoru, please—"

"Hmm?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with a playful cruelty as he slipped one long finger inside you, the motion so slow, so deliberate, that it made you gasp. "Please what, baby?"

You whimpered, your body arching into his touch as he added a second finger, his thumb brushing lightly against your clit in a way that made your vision blur. He moved with an easy confidence, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch.

"More?" he teased, his voice a low, mocking whisper as he pressed his thumb down harder, his fingers curling just right. "Is this what you wanted?"

You could barely think, your body already unraveling under his touch. He made it seem so effortless, the way he played you like an instrument, each movement calculated to draw the sweetest sounds from your lips.

You felt yourself tightening around his fingers, the pleasure building with each swipe of his thumb, each curl of his fingers.

It didn't take much for you to come undone, your body shuddering as he worked you through it, his lips pressing against your jaw, your neck, his words a constant, filthy murmur in your ear that only made you fall apart faster.

You could feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him as he kept his pace steady, his fingers relentless as he coaxed every last bit of pleasure from you.

And all the while, his teammates were still shouting through the headset, their voices a distant, almost surreal background noise as you lost yourself in the sensation, in him.

But Satoru didn't care. He had you exactly where he wanted you—right in his arms, every breathless moan, every shuddering gasp his to command.

You slumped against his chest, your breath coming in slow, uneven waves as the satisfaction curled through your body, making you feel warm and languid in his hold. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, the rapid beat of his heart thrumming under your ear.

You could still feel the faint aftershocks of pleasure rippling through you, your body trembling slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

But your reprieve didn't last long.

You felt Satoru's fingers tapping lightly against your lower spine, the touch almost teasing as he let out a low, breathless chuckle. "Didn't forget about me, did you, princess?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking, and you could feel the underlying heat in his words, the need that was barely restrained.

He shifted under you, his hips rolling up slightly to press against your core, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched as you felt the prominent bulge beneath you, the hard line of him pressing against your bare skin.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over your flushed face. You bit your lip, your hands moving to grip his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself, your body still weak and trembling. But he didn't give you much time to recover, his hands sliding down to your hips as he adjusted your position, his movements firm and insistent.

The friction of his sweatpants against your skin sent a shiver through you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, the steady throb of his arousal pressing against your entrance.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders, and you took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself as you lifted yourself up slightly, giving him just enough room to free himself from the confines of his sweats.

With a quick, practiced motion, he pushed the waistband of his sweatpants down, his cock springing free and slapping against his lower abdomen.

It was impressive—long and thick, the skin flushed a deep red at the tip, a bead of precum oozing from the slit. A faint white trail of hair led down from his lower abdomen, drawing your eyes down the length of him, and you could feel your mouth go dry at the sight. It twitched against his stomach, the movement almost impatient as it stood proudly between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a strange mix of excitement and anticipation coiling low in your belly as you looked down at him. The sight of him like this, so exposed, so needy, made your own body react instinctively, your core clenching around nothing as you felt the heat building between your thighs again.

Satoru let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "See something you like?" he teased, his voice a low, breathy murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing up your thigh as he gripped your waist, guiding you closer. "Don't be shy, baby."

You swallowed hard, your hands moving to his chest as you shifted in his lap, your eyes flicking between his face and the length of him, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to process what you were about to do.

He was watching you with that same dark, intense gaze, his pupils blown wide with lust as he leaned back slightly, giving you the space you needed.

You took a deep breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached down, your eyes never leaving his as you positioned yourself above him. You could feel his hands on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you steady, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants as he watched you with a mixture of anticipation and impatience.

"W-Wait—" you started, your voice barely a whisper, but he cut you off, his grip tightening as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Don't keep me waiting, princess," he murmured, his voice rough and needy as he kissed the side of your neck. "I've been patient long enough."

Your body shuddered at his words, your heart racing as you nodded, your hands moving to grip his shoulders as you slowly began to lower yourself onto him.

You could feel the stretch, the slow, delicious burn as he filled you, your breath catching in your throat as you took him in inch by inch, your body trembling with the effort.

He let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the couch as his eyes fluttered shut, his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you down onto him. "Fuck! Yeah, that's it, baby," he breathed, his voice strained and rough. "Just like that."

You could feel every inch of him, the way he stretched you, filled you, the sensation almost overwhelming as you finally settled in his lap, your body flush against his.

He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he looked up at you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, a small, almost dazed smile on his lips.

"There you go," he murmured, his hands moving up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks as he looked at you with a mixture of awe and desire. "Such a good girl for me."

You could only lick your lips, your own eyes dazed with lust as you stared up at him, feeling completely intoxicated by the sensation of him filling you so perfectly.

It was like he was made for you, every inch of him fitting just right, and you could barely think past the haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

You felt weightless, almost dizzy, and it took everything in you just to keep breathing, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself.

Satoru took a few more seconds, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his eyes drinking in the sight of you on him as if committing this moment to memory.

But then his entire expression shifted, his eyes narrowing, the gentle touch of his hands replaced by a firm grip on your waist. He suddenly jolted his hips up in a sharp, powerful thrust, his fingers digging into your skin as you gasped, your body arching in response.

With his other hand, he picked up the controller, his lips pulling up into a wicked smirk as he leaned back against the couch, his posture casual, almost lazy, despite the intensity of his gaze.

"Alright, baby," he murmured, his voice low and taunting. "Time to ride."

You couldn't even respond, your body moving almost on its own as you began to follow his command, your legs trembling as you lifted yourself up and then sank back down onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, each movement sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you felt him stretch and fill you again and again.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for support, your nails digging into his skin as you moved slowly, your body vibrating with every slight jolt of his hips as he met your movements with his own.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the pleasure building with each roll of your hips, each shift of your weight.

Satoru's reaction was almost maddening.

He was still playing the game, his eyes half-lidded as he focused on the screen, his fingers moving over the controller with a practiced ease. But his breathing was heavier now, each inhale a little sharper, a little more labored.

Every now and then, a small groan would escape his lips, his fingers tightening on the controller as he struggled to keep his focus. But he was still holding it together, still managing to play the game, his gaze flicking between you and the screen as if he were watching both of his worlds collide in the most delicious way.

It was almost infuriating, the way he could be so composed, so focused, even as you were falling apart on top of him.

You could feel the frustration and desire swirling inside you, the steady rise and fall of your hips turned into something more desperate, more needy.

You started to grind down against him, your body trembling with the effort, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you chased that high, the friction of him inside you almost too much, and yet not nearly enough.

You bit down on his shoulder, your teeth sinking into his skin just enough to muffle the sounds threatening to spill from your lips as you rocked against him, the pleasure continuing to build.

The warmth inside you was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with each desperate grind of your hips. Your thoughts were dissolving, your mind consumed by the need to reach the end.

But Satoru, damn him, was still so composed, so infuriatingly in control, even as his breath hitched and his muscles tensed beneath your touch. He was watching you with that same dark, intense gaze, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile as he leaned back, his fingers digging into your waist as he guided you, his voice low and teasing as he murmured, "That's it, baby. Don't stop. Show me how much you need it."

And you did, your body moving faster, more erratic as you chased that high, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure built to a dizzying peak.

You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your whole body trembling with the effort, and you knew you were close, so close, but you needed more.

You needed him.

Before you could say anything, Satoru's hips jolted up in a sudden, forceful thrust, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you letting out a sharp squeak, your entire body tensing as you clenched around him.

The reaction it pulled from him was immediate—a low, whiny groan slipping from his lips, his head falling back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the tight squeeze of you around him.

That sound—it sent you spiraling, your mind going blank with the need to hear it again, to feel that desperate intensity between you.

You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him, his features twisted in a mix of pleasure and restraint.

The sounds of your bodies moving together, the wet, obscene noises of him thrusting into you filled the room, almost drowning out the distant shouts from his headset.

The headset he'd been wearing slipped down to his neck, hanging awkwardly as the commotion and shouts from his teammates on the other end grew quieter, almost like they were stunned into silence by what they were hearing. But Satoru didn't seem to care anymore, his grip on the controller loosening until he finally just threw it to the side, muttering a rough "Fuck it," under his breath.

He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, and then he began thrusting up into you with a pace that left you breathless, his movements quick and forceful, each stroke long and deep.

You couldn't hold back the sounds now, your voice coming out in a series of warbled, wanton moans that felt too loud, too raw, filling the space around you.

You tried to bite down on his shirt to muffle the noise, but it was impossible, your whole body shuddering with each powerful thrust, your mind lost to the pleasure coursing through you.

In the back of your mind, a small, fleeting thought reminded you that his teammates could probably hear everything, but the haze of lust and pleasure had made it impossible to care. All that mattered was him, the way he was moving inside you, the way he was filling you so completely, so perfectly, that it left you trembling.

"Gods, you feel so fucking good," he growled, his voice rough and breathless as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "So tight, so wet... squeezing me like you never want to let go."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the filthy praise, the heat pooling low in your belly as he continued to thrust up into you, each movement more desperate, more intense than the last. "You like that, huh?" he whispered, his voice low and almost cruel as he rocked his hips up again, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Like being my good girl?"

You could only nod, your head falling forward as you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on, tried to keep yourself together. But he was relentless, his pace punishing as he fucked up into you, his hands guiding you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Come on, baby, don't hold back now," he murmured, his voice dripping with that dark, teasing lilt that made your whole body thrum with need. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear what a mess you are for me."

His words broke something inside you, your body shaking as you moaned loudly, your head falling back as the pleasure washed over you, overwhelming and all-consuming.

You could feel him shifting, his hand moving between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, quick circles that had you seeing stars.

Satoru's hips slammed into you, his thrusts fast and rough, his breath coming in harsh pants as he continued to fuck you, his fingers working you with a skill that made your head spin.

You could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable, your entire body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

"Gonna cum for me, baby?" he growled, his voice strained, his teeth grazing against your neck as he kept up that relentless pace, his hand never stopping its assault on your clit. "Come on, I know you're close. Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me feel you."

His words were your undoing, the last push you needed as your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat as you shattered around him.

You could barely hear yourself, your moans loud and desperate as you came, your entire body shaking with the force of it, your mind going blank as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.

Satoru wasn't far behind, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more frantic as he chased his own release.

With a final, deep thrust, he let out a low, filthy groan, his head falling back against the couch as he came, his body trembling beneath yours as he filled you completely.

You could feel the heat of him, the way he pulsed inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close, his hands still gripping your hips as he rode out his own high.

With nothing but your shared pants filling the room, Satoru shifted you gently, the movement drawing soft whines and groans from both of you as the overstimulation hit like a shockwave.

He carefully adjusted his position, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek.

You looked up at him, your vision hazy with the lingering remnants of pleasure, and saw the gentle concern etched into his features. His usually playful eyes were soft, almost vulnerable, as he searched your face.

"I'm really sorry for ignoring you earlier," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost hesitant as if he were afraid you might still be upset. "I hope you aren't still mad at me."

You managed a tired smile, the corners of your lips lifting as you leaned up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his chin, the best you could reach in your current state.

Your body felt heavy, languid, the exhaustion of everything catching up to you. "It's okay, 'Toru" you whispered, your voice hoarse but sincere. "We both get hyperfocused sometimes. Just... let's try to plan days like this better, okay?"

This was just how Satoru was—easily distracted, but always committed to seeing things through.

You couldn't really fault him for it, not when it was one of the things you loved most about him. "I know you don't mean to ignore me, but just... talk to me. Let me know when you're in the zone like this, and we can work around it."

He nodded, his eyes soft as he listened, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, comforting motion. "Yeah, you're right. I'll do better. Promise."

Before either of you could say anything else, a voice crackled through the headset still hanging around his neck, the sound startling in the quiet, intimate space.

"Shiiiit, the way y'all were fucking, I hope she still not mad either!"

The rest of his teammates erupted into laughter, their voices loud and boisterous as they teased and joked, clearly unbothered by the fact that they’d been privy to far more than they’d bargained for.

Your eyes widened in shock, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared at Satoru, his expression mirroring your own.

For a split second, you were both frozen, caught between embarrassment and disbelief.

Then, with a hasty curse under his breath, Satoru reached over, fumbling with the headset as he tried to switch it off, his fingers slipping in his rush. "Goddamn it," he muttered, finally managing to yank it off and toss it aside, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

You couldn't help it—the absurdity of the situation, the sheer ridiculousness of being caught like this by his friends, it all came crashing down on you, and before you knew it, you were laughing, the sound breathless and a little hysterical as you buried your face in his chest.

Satoru looked down at you, his lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face, but the sound of your laughter was infectious, and soon he was joining in, his laughter a low, rumbling sound that made his chest vibrate against yours.

"I can't believe this," you managed to gasp between giggles, your shoulders shaking as you clung to him. "I'm never gonna be able to look at them again."

He shook his head, still chuckling as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Don't worry, baby. I'll just have to kick their asses next time we play.”

You snorted, your laughter finally calming as you rested your head against his shoulder, the embarrassment still there, but tempered now by the warmth of his embrace. "You're unbelievable."

"Yeah, but you love me," he teased, his voice soft and teasing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

"Yeah..." You sighed, your heart swelling with affection as you snuggled closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. "...I do."

"Good," he murmured, his voice a gentle murmur against your hair. "Because I love you too."

And for a moment, everything else faded away—the embarrassment, the laughter, the lingering heat of what had just happened.

All that mattered was the warmth of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart, and the quiet, undeniable truth that no matter what, you'd always be his, and he'd always be yours.

A/N: y'all i think i'm broken, i can't seem to write straight forward smut without making a plot w/ it 😭😭💔 i hope y'all don't get tired of me doing it, but my mind won't let me get freaky until i picture it all like a movie 😔

292 notes · View notes

s0dium · 3 years

Text

Distracted

Gamer!Yuji x Reader

A/n: Title and story inspired by @xosuki and her story which you can check out here x (its very steamy heheh) sorry I haven't been posting this week schools been whooping my ass and my mental healths been rlly bad 😓but I’ll continue to do my best 😊

Summary:You're tired of your boyfriends attention always being on the screen. So you devise a plan.

Warnings: Fingering, riding, semi public sex(?)

You were such a perfect girlfriend. Always willing to help yuji, to tend to his every need and want, even if that meant you couldn't walk the next day. You never once complained about your boyfriends higher than normal libido or the way he sometimes used your pussy like a fleshlight to dump all of his cum in. No, you were by all means perfect.

But your patience was nearing its end. A relationship was supposed to be reciprocal right? You both were to tend to each others needs. But right now it felt like you were more or less being neglected even though Yuji probably didn't intend to.

Its been at least two hours since you came over to yujis house, where he has been seated infront of a computer the whole time, furiously typing in commands and talking through the microphone on his head set to your mutual friends, the faint sound of gun fire emmiting from his headphones.

“Fuck! Someone is trying to snipe me from the western building can you get him Megumi?” Yujis voice made you bit your lip as you sat on the edge of his bed and watched him from behind. At this point, everything was turning you on for no apparent reason. You hugged Yujis pillow to your chest and breathed in his scent, rubbing your thighs together as you eyed your boyfriend like a predator. He wasn’t even wearing pants, just simple black boxers that showed the perfect outline of his dick, the bulge being large even though Yuji wasn’t even hard yet. Your whole body was getting hot, too hot, especially the lower half of your body, and the warm weight in your stomach was getting too much to bare.

Ah fuck it.

You bent down to grab the hem of your sweat pants, pulling it down and kicking it off to reveal small light pink panties between your plush thighs. The fabric of Yujis oversized shirt brushed against your sensitive nipples as you removed your bra, electing a small gasp from you. There was already a small damp spot on the bottom of your underwear, and you slithered a finger down to your core to feel the wetness, wet clicking sounds emmitting from your pussy as you played with your folds.

No this just wouldn’t do. You needed Yuji.

Without making a sound you slowly walked to Yuji, nervously fisting the ends of the oversized shirt you wore, so big it was practically a dress on you. Soon you came into Yujis field of vision, and he took of the head phone on one of his ears curiously.

“You need anything babe?”

You didn’t reply, only moving forward until each leg was on either side of Yujis thigh, to which you suddenly sat down, too embarrassed to look at your boyfriend in the eye.

Tiny trembling hands came up to Yuji’s chest to fist the grey material of his sweatshirt as you slowly grind yourself onto Yuji’s bare thigh. You could no longer hear the muffled sound of guns firing that emitted from Yuji’s headphones and instead you could only focus on the aching empty feeling that resonated in your legs.

“Y/n.....” Yuji voice came out slightly strangled, groaning your name like a warning as he nervously bit his lip. His fingers slightly hesitated on the keyboard while he gave you fleeting glances from the corner of his eye, trying his best to focus on Nobara yelling commands instead of how he could feel your arousal seeping through your lace underwear.

“Yo Itadori, you good?” Megumis voiced boomed from the headphones and Yuji quickly unmuted and adjusted the microphone attached to his headset.

“Uh yeah, I was just talking to Y/n” A shudder racked his body when he heard you softly mewl into his neck. Light pink dusted your cheeks, making the tips of your ears almost the same color as your boyfriends hair, and your eyes were hooded with lust. God, you were so perfect, so helpless and eager for him to fill you up with cum like he always, always did.

“Please Yuji....” Your lips grazed over his ear, sending goosebumbps along his body “Im so horny please...” He let out a low groan at your words and you took one of his large hands away from the keyboard and guided it to your underwear for him to feel. You slightly jumped at the feeling of his fingers tracing your slit on the outside of your underwear and you slowly humped his hand in desperation for more contact.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he groaned. He used his thumb to push your panties to the side and then slowly slid two thick fingers in to feel your cunt. You clenched around nothing, pushing your hips toward his hand, basking in the way his digits elicited lewd wet noises from your body.

“Hmm~ yes, right there please yuji p-please~” You whine into his chest bury your nose into sweater to take in the scent of pine and and fresh laundry that you loved so much. Yujis eyes darted between the flashing graphics on the computer screen and the sight of his fingers disappearing in and out of your sloppy folds, lingering his gaze a second too long to the sight of them shamelessly spreading your folds, sliding along your clit and curving back inside you to swirl tight little circles against your g-spot.

“Yujiiii~m’ want you inside pleaseee” You do your best to speak at quietly as you can while while your hands reach down to palm the obvious outline of his dick against his boxers. You pull the hem down just enough for his length to spring out and slap against his abodomen and you can feel your mouth water at the sight of his throbbing cock. Yuji didnt take his eyes off you for a second as he watched one of your trembling hand wrap around his shaft and start to slowly glide up the erect length. He sharply inhaled when he felt your other hand move to spread the dripping pre-cum all over his sensitive angry red tip. You lift your hips up and move to position his dick underneath you, dragging his tip along your slit to collect the juices before lowering your self down until you bottomed out.

You have to bite into yujis shoulders inorder to prevent you from screaming due to the way he stretched you so perfectly, the burn of it leaving your stomach hot and wanting more.

“Oh fuck....” Yuji groaned into your ear, relishing in the way your pussy squeezed around him so tightly. You start to lift and lower your hips on his cock without warning, the sound of wet sweaty skin slapping mix and mingle in the sex steamed air.

“Itadori what are you doing just standing there, shoot the guy!” Nobara hissed and for a second Yujis attention snapped back to the screen to press a command only to fall right back on the way your pretty face scrunched up with pleasure. He let out a soft groan at the way your pussy feverishly grips his cock. You want to scream at the way his dick fills you up so perfectly every time you snap your hips down on him.

“Is y/n still talking to you or something” That must’ve been pandas voice who asked and Yuji scrambled his brain for the right words to reply

“Uh y-yeah sorry she just needs help looking for something right now thats all! I’m still here!”

Your stomach twists at the thought of being caught and Yuji quickly types some commands in to appease his team mates. Every vein on his cock dragged against your velvety walls, catching on your entrance as you pulled back before falling back on to him.

You wanted to engrave the scene that was happening in front of you into your brain.Yuji looked entirely bothered, face adorned with a deep pink blush,hair tousled from roaming hands and a harshly bit lip to emit any sounds from coming out.

Your too indulged in the pleasure to notice that two thick fingers had made its way into your mouth, pressing on your tongue so a string of saliva drips down your chin and onto your chest.

“G-good girl” Yuji barley manages to whisper out.

The words have you tightening around Yujis length, as you continued to lift your self faster up and down his dick. The high moan he gives, that you give too, mix and mingle in the sex-steamed air.

Yuji needed to say something about the tension deep in his stomach, how it was building and building until it was as tight as possible. All that left him, however, was a strangled cry when it snapped, and among it he heard you gasp. You bit your lip and slightly jumped at the feeling of sticky warm liquid filling you up and dripping down to where the two of you were connected. The feeling made the feeling of pleasure in your core come to a crescendo as you squeezed impossibly tight around Yujis dick, pussy fluttering as you toppled over the edge.

Yuji couldn’t look though, couldn’t open his eyes and ignore the colors he was seeing behind his eyelids. Everything was good - so, so, so good. His skin was buzzing, mind cloudy, and the only thing he could focus on was the throbbing that was taking over his body. When he did finally find the capability to look at you, you were a bit of a mess.

There was a silence as you layed limp on top of your boyfriend, the sound of heavy breaths from the both of you filling the room, Yujis dick still inside your warm cum filled cunny.

You both jumped when you heard a familiar voice from the head set on Yujis head.

“Please tell me y’all did not just bone.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuji smut #yuji x reader smut #yuji x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #jjk yuji #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #sukuna

5K notes · View notes

bvckybanres · 2 years

Text

going under - billy x reader

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x F!Reader

Part: 1/?

Summary: Billy is just trying to forget. Y/n is just trying to hide. But sometimes life has a way of bringing people together.

A short story of bruises, warm soup, and how a broken boy and lost girl somehow find each other in the middle of winter

The first time Billy saw her he’d brought a girl with him to Skull Rock with the sole intention of using her to forget all about his hellish life back at home in his stupid house with his shitty dad, irritating step-sister and gutless step-mom .

He recognised her instantly as the girl from across the street.

She always wore the same combination of oversized sweatshirts and worn out sneakers.

But this was the first time Billy saw her outside of their neighbourhood. He remembers seeing her out on the porch sometimes, usually with some thick book with too many words and a faded cover, but she’d almost always rush back inside the moment she noticed someone else outside, looking at her.

It had been a little curious at first, but soon enough Billy had forgotten about her and moved on. Besides, he had more important things to worry about, like booze, cigarettes and getting the hell out of this shitshow of a small town.

Not that his dad would ever let him get very far.

Billy blows out a plume of smoke from the cigarette that was dangling between his teeth and puts a hand out to stop Cheryl - he thinks that's her name, anyway - from getting any closer.

He wasn’t really in the mood to interact with anyone else.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He knows he can probably scare the girl away. Hell, he thinks if she even noticed their presence, she’d walk away herself, but Billy really wasn’t in the mood to even come into contact with anyone else today.

Besides, he had to pick up Maxine from the arcade in an hour so he didn’t really have any time to waste scaring away strange girls sitting alone.

“What the hell is that freak doing here?” Cheryl asked, scowling.

“You know her?” Billy asked, surprise edging into his tone.

Cheryl nodded. “She was in our graduating class. Y/n Y/l/n. She was always such a freak. She won the ‘biggest loser’ superlative, remember? Beat our Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson for it. Although, I guess Eddie has another million chances at winning that one since he’ll never graduate,” Cheryl laughed, rolling her eyes. “God, can she not hear us? Hello? Freak!” she spoke louder, taking another couple of steps forward.

“I think she has a record in,” Billy scowled, running a hand through his hair. He could just make out the cord of a cassette player from the edge of Y/N’s hoodie when she turned her head a little to the side. He still couldn’t see her face, or what she was doing, but he’d bet his camaro she had a book in front of her.

“Whatever,” Cheryl shrugged off Billy’s hand. “This isn’t a place for weirdos and freaks. Everyone knows what happens at skull rock. I’ll get rid of her.”

She marches over and pulls the hood off Y/n’s head, startling her.

She grinned as Y/n jumped and spun around, taking a few steps back away from Cheryl as she pulled her headset down around her neck.

“What do you think you’re doing here, freak?” Cheryl asked, leaning forward to jab y/n in the chest. “Think if you hang around her long enough you’ll see some action like a pervert?”

“I…what? No! I was just reading,” Y/n stuttered, eyes widening as she potted Billy a few feet behind Cheryl.

It was then that Billy and Cheryl noticed her jaw. A splattering of yellows and purples blooming along the left hand side.

“The fuck happened to your face?” Billy asked bluntly. It was the first thing he’d ever said to her, he thinks.

“Oh, uh, I fell,” she muttered, a pink tinge burning itself up along her neck and into her face.

“And to think you couldn’t get any weirder,” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve just lost my appetite,” she sneered. “I’m going home. Call me later, Billy,” she said, running her hand down his arm as she flounced off back through the woods and into her car, leaving Billy alone with y/n.

“I better get going too,” Y/n muttered, tucking her hood back over her head and dipping her chin down so no part of her face was visible. She bent down and picked up the book she had dropped and walked past Billy.

He didn’t say anything as she passed, giving her a few minutes headstart before walking back to his own car. He’d go pick up Maxine early, he decided, trying to ignore the easy way the bruise flashed familiar eyes time he’d blinked.

He’d sported enough of those himself, after all.

But no. Y/n said she’d fell. Besides, Billy didn’t really give a shit about the girl - Y/n. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t even exist.

And yet, when he got home that night, he couldn’t help sitting in his car for that extra ten minutes, watching the curtains flutter in the house across the street.

Let me know what you think and send me some requests please!

#billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy imagine #st #stranger things #stranger things imagine #going under #writing

538 notes · View notes

moonarchvs · 3 years

Text

Grocery shopping

summary- After finding an empty fridge at night and having no food for dinner, you and Tom decide to go for some grocery shopping.

warnings- allusions to smut, established relationship, FLUFF GALORE, Tom manipulates reader into buying a candy bar

author speaks- So, I was suffering from a writer's block yesterday and I was scrolling through pintrest to like get some inspiration and this pin just gave me an idea and here we are! But fair warning, I watched nwh today and I have a LOT of fic ideas so......be ready guys

Word Count- 1.4k

"Babe!"

With your pinky in your mouth and your eyes roaming over the open fridge, you called for Tom who was busy playing his new PS5 on the living room couch.

When you received no response you looked back to see his tongue poking out from his lips and his eyes focused on the screen as he constantly muttered something incoherent to you into his headset.

You huffed, annoyed and made your way towards him. You tapped his shoulder and he didn't even look at you. You gave him a look of disbelief as he egged on his fellow teammates over the headset, paying you no heed.

"Tom, babe, honey, sweetheart, darling, love?" You kept repeating and tapping his shoulder but to no avail as he raised a finger in the air and mouthed 'one sec' to you.

But you were done with his ignorance, so you grabbed the remote, turned off the TV and snatched his remote control from his hand.

Within a second his eyes were on you with his jaw dropped at the sudden switching off of the TV. His lips formed into a pout and he pulled you into his lap. With a yelp you threw your hands over his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Darling, you know I was playing that." He said in a low whisper.

"Don't darling me right now, I have been calling you for the past 20 minutes." You retorted.

"Okay, now you're exaggerating." He shot back.

"Thomas." You said, in a warning tone, with a glare.

"Sorry." He said immediately, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You hummed at his submission and said, "You know how we were planning to make mac and cheese tonight?"

He hummed for you to continue as he played with your hair. "Well we ran out of milk. And cheddar. And macaroni. In fact, the whole fridge is empty." You completed with a defeated sigh.

"Really?! What about the pantry?" He suggested, now holding your hand and rubbing circles on your knuckles with his thumb.

"Tom, who are you kidding, we never keep anything in the pantry." You deadpanned.

"Good point." He agreed as you leaned ahead and placed your head on his chest and his other hand cradled your head, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You two sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments when you heard him suggest, "You want pizza?"

You shook your head "We had to work on our cooking skills, remember?" You reminded him and he sighed in defeat.

"Well then what do we do?" He asked, bending his neck to look at you as you craned your own to meet his gaze when an idea struck you.

"You wanna go grocery shopping?" You offered but Tom immediately shook his head violently making you pull away and look at him.

"Why?"

"I'm in no mood to deal with fans right now, I'm too tired." He whined, pulling you back into your previous position.

"Oh c'mon love, Mr. Shelby knows you live here, he practically helped us move in remember." You said, referring to the owner of the departmental store which was walking distance away. "Besides, it's like 11pm, no one buys groceries at 11pm." You reasoned.

Tom looked at you, reluctance and hesitation clear in his eyes and now it was your turn to pout making Tom groan and peck your lips as he lifted you bridal style,

"Those lips will be the death of me."

10 minutes later you two were walking into the empty store and despite your protests or reasoning, Tom still wore an oversized sweatshirt with the hood on to be safe.

You grabbed a cart from the entrance and moved to the aisle where the cereals were placed.

"We even ran out of cereal?" Tom questioned.

"Well if someone did not insist on eating two bowls every single day we would not be in this position." You retorted, making him turn beat red.

Then you grabbed the biggest Lucky Charms pack you could get your hands on but just as you put in the cart you saw a captain crunch pack already lying there with smirking Tom holding the cart.

"You picked last time, it's my turn now." You said pulling the captain crunch out of it and placing the lucky charms instead.

"Because they are superior. Duh." Tom shot back, snatching the captain crunch and placing it back and taking out the lucky charms.

You and Tom were having a stare down as you constantly picked and kept the cereal packs back and forth, neither of you willing to back down.

Just as you both slammed the packs of choice together in the cart, Mr. Shelby, the owner came into view, "Sir, mam, can you please turn it down, we're getting complaints from the other shops." He said in a monotone voice, making heat rush to both of your cheeks.

You looked at him with narrowed eyes and outstretched your hand, "Two of both?"

"Two of both."

Next you went on to get 3 cartons of milk, cheese slices and other dairy products. Then you were moving onto the vegetable section when you noticed Tom wasn't beside or behind you. You looked around and saw him longingly gazing at something.

With eyebrows knitted in confusion and face scrunched up in irritation you went after him and sighed at his childish behavior when you realised he was watching the candy aisle.

He noticed you beside him and grabbed a hershey's bar and looked at you hopefully, "I want this candy bar."

"No."

"It's been so long-"

"No, Thomas." You snatched it from his hand and kept it back.

"You're supposed to be on a diet, remember?" You said trying to pull him but he stayed grounded on the spot.

"You can't spell diet with D I E." He reasoned and you just gave him a blank face but then his eyes lit up and you knew he was up to something.

"Sweetheart," He started, voice low as he circled you slowly making your heart race.

"Remember when we made the chocolate ganache?" He questioned and your eyes widened making him smirk. You distinctly remembered the last time you two prepared ganache in the lockdown for your birthday cake. Sam had sent you the recipe and you and Tom spent hours preparing the perfect one.

You remembered how the night had proceeded, first it was just two amateur cooks trying to make some chocolate ganache but soon it started into a food fight and then Tom had done something which took your breath away. Literally.

During this food fight, a lot of melted chocolate was spilled on both of you, just as you two calmed down and collapsed on the couch, after cleaning up the kitchen. Tom noticed some on your neck and had a bright idea.

He crawled over to you and straddled your hips and you looked at him with a smirk and an eyebrow raised. Wordlessly, the brunette leaned and sucked it off your neck making you grab the back of his neck.

He pulled away but you found the action so arousing, that you grabbed him by the collar and had pulled him into a heated kiss.

And then one thing led to another and let's just say, you could not walk properly for a few days.

Your eyes looked back at Tom who's chin now rested on your shoulder as he looked at you expectantly.

"F-fine but just 2 bars." You stuttered and Tom's features were taken over by a triumphant smirk.

"Atta girl." He whispered, slightly nibbling on your ear and releasing you immediately after. His antics made you shudder as your heart raced in your chest.

You shook your head and moved onto the vegetable and fruit aisle. You grabbed some potatoes, tomatoes, cauliflower and apples, oranges, and pomegranates.

"Babe! Look!"

You looked up to see your boyfriend standing with an acorn in his hand and an excited smile on his lips.

"What's up?" You asked.

"It's a-corn." He said And laughed bashfully right after.

You gave him a blank face and a silent apology to Mr. Shelby who watched the scene play out, cringing at the horrible pun.

Now that you were done with your grocery shopping you got your stuff to be billed.

"And that would be 48 dollars." The cashier announced.

Tom started to pat his pockets. Once he had checked all his pockets, his eyes widened and he looked at you nervously. You caught his nervous look and immediately understood.

"Tom, you brought your wallet right?"

#tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff

228 notes · View notes

mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?�� You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe16 hubert von vestra #fe3h fanfic #fire emblem three houses #hubert von vestra

16 notes · View notes

marveloussupernerd · 4 years

Text

Money Can’t Buy Happiness pt 2 - Jumin Han

Y’all ASKED and you shall receive. Sorry it took so long whoops school is horrible and the last four weeks of college are the worst ❤️ thank you for dealing w my schedule HAHA

Summary: you left Jumin, unable to stand the media bashing you every day, taking the first flight you could find. Will Jumin catch up with you somehow? This is fluff so you can guess the answer

You were lucky enough to get an aisle seat at least. Your seat partners were a couple in their early 20s who honestly... couldn’t keep their hands off each other. This wouldn’t have been an issue any other time, but you could just feel your heart break even more. You shoved your bag under the seat in front of you. You checked your phone one more time before you left. Eight missed calls from Jumin. A new chat room. Texts from everyone in the RFA, even V. None of it mattered anymore. You turned off your phone, letting a tear roll down your cheek.

“Excuse me,” the stewardess called, grabbing your attention. She wanted to check your boarding pass and your name. “You were the last one to book the flight, correct?”

Oh no. They had gotten to you? “...Yes,” you confirmed, hesitantly.

“I am so sorry to say this but the flight is overbooked. It was an error on our part. We can stick you on the next flight to Orlando and give you a voucher though!”

No. This was so much worse. “When’s the next flight?” Did you really want to know? How many flights could there possibly be from here to Orlando?

“About six hours. We’ll refund you and rebook and give you a complimentary voucher,” she had the same steady smile on her face. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I, uh, it doesn’t have to be Orlando. Do you know if there’s any sooner flights to North America?” You had unbuckled your seatbelt now, accepting your fate. You were going to have to get off the flight.

She tapped on her iPad a bit. “We have a flight to JFK in two hours.”

Shit. It was highly likely they’d get to you by them. So many dramatics just for it not to work. Maybe you should try Europe. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you noticed the plane had gone somewhat silent.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just been a long day,” you wiped your tears quickly, apologizing. “I guess that’ll work.”

She paused for a minute, listening to her headset assumedly. “Oh! It turns out we actually have an open seat in first class if you want to upgrade.”

“How much extra is it?” You asked skeptically.

She hit a few more buttons on the tablet. “$300.”

You reached into your bag to grab your card. “I’ll do that.” $300 extra was a bit of a steep price considering you were now on your own and unemployed, but you had to get out of here ASAP.

She scanned your card and had you sign. You pulled your bag out from under the chair and apologized to the person who was waiting on your seat. She led you up to first class. It would be kind of nice honestly. But it’d make you miss Jumin even more, you were sure.

“Alright, your seat is right here,” she motioned to the second section from the front.

You thanked her and started organizing your bag, trying to set it up before getting settled in.

“Disney World, huh?”

You jumped. You knew that voice. The one you loved so much.

You couldn’t speak. Not at first. You didn’t know if you wanted to yell at him or cry or kiss him. He took your bag from your hands, stowing it away for you.

“I didn’t think you’d find me,” you confessed. You figured that’d be a good baseline. You tried to keep your voice steady, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Of course I’d find you.” He smiled. “Come Now, sit down. We have a lot to discuss and a long flight to do so.”

You hesitantly sat next to him. The seat was so comfortable, especially compared to the one you were previously in. You buckled your seatbelt.

“Didn’t you read my note? I told you not to follow me,” you pouted. You still couldn’t tell deep down if you were actually mad though.

“You left a note?” He questioned, eyes wide. He shook his head. “I got a call from someone in security who saw you leaving with a suitcase. Seven has been hacking and I’ve been asking around the airport trying to find you ever since. I didn’t even pack a bag.”

“You didn’t?” You paused. This was supposed to be a serious conversation but... he had really done all this? “No change of clothes or anything?”

“Not even a phone charger.”

“You’re lucky I have one. Although you are in first class; I’m sure they’d give you whatever you ask for.”

The stewards were giving directions on how to put on a life vest and stuff. You ignored it.

“Why did you leave?” Jumin asked, his face falling the more he thought about the situation. “Did you fall out of love with me?”

“No!” You blurted out. You clasped your hand over your mouth; you were too loud. “Of course not. I love you so much. I just...” you sighed. “I’m scared. I’m not brave like you. Or poised like every other woman I meet at these fancy events. I’m not good enough to do any of that. And you deserve someone who is good enough.”

“You’re far more than good enough.” His hand moved slowly towards your own. When he saw you didn’t pull away, he laced his fingers with your own. “You have a personality. You’re innocent and sweet and you care about everyone. You like to make jokes and dance poorly and bake cookies when you’re sad. You’re so much better than all of the stiff ladies I have to mingle with. I think that’s why I like you so much. You’re so unique.”

“But I’m not strong enough to deal with it all.” You rested your head on his shoulder, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Sarah is constantly criticizing me. Your father is taking her side. The media thinks I’m overweight or only after your money.”

“You don’t have to face it alone. I’m here with you.” Jumin spoke, his words a promise.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can go on another day with everyone criticizing me and hating on me. I just feel so empty when I’m home alone reading their messages,” You whimpered a few tears falling loose.

“I will never leave you to face it alone again.”

“How can you be so confident though?”

“Because,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. A large diamond on top, the largest you had ever seen. Sapphires on either side of the main stone. “I want to marry you. Nobody can touch you when I’m your husband. I mean if! If, I am your husband. I understand if you don’t want to make a decision right now. You’ve had a complicated day. But I went out and bought this, today actually, before I knew everything that was going on. I wanted to protect you. I still do. But most of all, I want to be yours forever.”

“Jumin, I...” more tears were falling, your vision blurry.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and knelt down. “Would you do me the honor of-“

“Sir, I need you to buckle your seatbelt as we lift off.” A stewardess informed him, standing next to your little secluded room.

“Oh! But can it wait one minute? I’m-“

“I’m afraid it can’t.” The plane started to move.

“Yes Jumin,” you grinned, grabbing his hands and pulling him back into his seat. He was shocked, unmoving. You buckled his seatbelt for him. “All better. But yes. I will marry you.”

“You will?” He asked, as though he thought he was dreaming. Your left hand reached out to his. He slid on the ring, his hands shaking slightly and his eyes blank.

You kissed his cheek. “Not dreaming. I’m here. You’re here. We’re engaged.”

“I-“ he sniffled. He wasn’t usually that emotional of a person, but he was crying now. Crying. “I promise I will protect you. I don’t care if my father doesn’t accept you or the media doesn’t like you. I love you. I will protect you and make you feel so loved every day to make up for everyone else.”

You leaned in, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “But we can still go to Disney World right?”

“Of course we can still go to Disney World.”

“You’re gonna wear that suit the whole flight?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He scoffed. “Well you didn’t really give me time to pick out my fashion wardrobe.”

You pulled your sweatshirt over your head. You always layered on flights. You had learned your lesson in the past when you had almost froze to death. “Put this on instead. It’s oversized so it should fit.”

He smirked, looking at the lavender sweatshirt in front of him, running his hands over the soft fabric. “Okay.” You pulled the curtains surrounding you shut so he could change. “But what if you get cold now?”

“I’ll ask for a blanket. Or cuddle up with your suit jacket. Or just with you,” you winked. He shook his head, smiling, and got to work.

The thing with your businessman fiancée was he wore so many layers. Even during a passionate night it took at least three minutes to take everything off of him. First was his suit jacket, which he folded and placed on your lap, just in case you needed it. Then his vest. Then his tie. Then his button down shirt. So many intricate steps to look put-together. You only got a quick flash of his bare chest before he was shrugging your sweatshirt on. It seemed to fit him okay surprisingly. You were worried about his broad shoulders honestly.

“Well? How do I look? Is this my color?” He asked you expectantly.

“I know you’re joking but honestly you look really nice in that color. Extra pretty.” You kissed his lips. “Does it feel okay on?”

“It’s not too bad. The sleeves are maybe a little short, but nothing I can’t deal with.” He grabbed your knuckles and kissed your hand. “Thank you again for thinking of me.” He inhaled softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “It smells like you.”

You giggled. You squeezed his hand to get his attention. He opened one eye to glance your way. “You know what else smells like me? Me.”

He chuckled, burying his face into your hair. “I suppose you do.” He glanced up at you behind your locks. “Well. Good night. Let me know when we get to meet Mickey.”

“I’m not comfy though,” you whined, the weight of his head on your shoulder making you slouch in your seat.

He sighed dramatically. “I guess the good thing is that you chose a flight where the chairs can be converted to beds. Why don’t I call someone to come help us?”

“You certainly know how to spoil me, huh? How’d you get me in first class?”

“Well it certainly wasn’t $300. I won’t bother telling you how much it was. And then I had to bribe the man who originally had your seat to book another flight. Needless to say, we’ll take the private jet home. It’ll be cheaper.”

“You spoil me,” you kissed his cheek, “and I love you for it.”

“And i love you too.”

Not me wanting to write a disney world fic now nooo

#mystic messenger #mysme #Jumin han

40 notes · View notes

neocity-sarai · 4 years

Text

Fight for You

❂ concept: cyberpunk/futuristic au!

❂ pairing: mark lee x reader

❂ alerts: angst, fluff, mentions of blood, violence, death

3 years and 2 months that you’ve lived alone. 3 years and 2 months that you’ve survived without the help of your parents or any friends. Sometime ago, the world felt like it was truly ending. Disease and famine plagued the earth, it seemed as all hope was lost. Megacities were ruined from an onslaught of tsunamis, wildfires, and hurricanes. Your parents shielded you with the comfort of your small apartment, the warmth of their embraces to ease the anxiety. Yet, it wasn’t enough. You remember how your 15 year-old-self watched your mother slowly wither away, the disease could have infected her from anywhere: the grocery store, work, or from your own family. It felt unfair, the way people had to die when they had no choice to make money for the roof over their heads or to put food on the table. Your father held you close, his sobs shaking his entire body at the sight of your mother’s dying heart. Your whole world fell as silent as your mother’s heartline when your father whispered in your ear. He told you he was sorry, how he wished that he could tell you everything was going to be alright. He told you, “I don’t have much time left either.”

You could barely blink. You froze in place, your hands shaking at an uncontrollable rate. You eyed him incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

That night, you came home alone. You knew that the disease made adults more vulnerable yet you couldn’t believe that you had lost both of your parents in one day. All you could do was sit in your living room and cry until you couldn’t breathe. You screamed until your lungs heart, the weight of grief crushing your chest- it suffocated you. All that swirled in your head was memories of your mother cooking dinner while your father chased you around the dining table or the way you’d go to the city to explore, laughing in your family’s van as you drove. It was all too much. What were you going to do? Who would you call for help? Your family didn’t have many relatives in the area after your father decided to take a PR job in New York City. You felt all alone, the gloomy, steely skies looked especially lonely outside of your window. You couldn’t even see the sun.

You fell asleep on your living room couch, your muscles sore from the unmoving position of your legs and arms. Deciding to switch on the TV, you were sure that the government would send a social worker to come fetch you- that’s what they always said on the news. Surprisingly, headlines read, “New vaccine formulated by pharmaceutical team at New York Institute of Medicine.” Despite the fact being good news, you felt numb. It didn’t matter because you had lost your family. It was too late. Over the next two years, the government issued a world-wide administration of the vaccine, the diseases had almost disappeared entirely. People were able to go back to work, walk their dogs, and dine out with their friends. The UN had stated each nation would work together to rebuild the damage of what was lost, whole cities were torn down to restart again. Technology advanced just as quickly: the old, ruined world becoming a man-made virtual paradise. Engineers and infrastructure developers reached new heights by building jets that flew at 1,840 miles per hour to skyscrapers that seemed to pierce through heaven. Somehow, by mercy, you managed to see the world change. You survived.

Current time

Of course, there wasn’t a real opportunity to go back to school after the plague, it led you to look for other ways to contribute to the work force instead. In the old world, work consisted of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, even a neighborhood bee-keeper ; as a young kid, you never had a clear idea of who or what you wanted to be. When you started to stabilize yourself by taking small part-time jobs that didn’t require a degree or some form of formal education, you slowly started to accumulate savings. After a while, you had been eyeing a virtual game constructed by the Kynigos company that swept the world by storm. It was everywhere on social media, all of the sign boards that lined 2nd avenue to 7th. Almost every family on your block purchased these visionary headsets that allowed you to see life in a kaleidoscopic lense. When you tried yours on for the first time, it was utterly breathtaking. New York city mimicked that of rainbow road in your old mario kart game, the streets glowed hues of bubblegum pinks and electric blues. The skyscrapers were dripping with panels of evergreens and xanthous yellows as the sky sparkled as a net covered it, the tiny strands glittering with violet crystals. You continued to walk down the block, circles glowing over your eyes and floating signboards that advertised expensive desserts bobbed up and down. As you scanned your surroundings, every person on the street or drivers cruising down the road had their headset on. Cars projected virtual screens that were lined with data codes and numbers. Even the foliage on the trees changed a new color every morning and night, the clouds moved by glitching slightly. It was like you could sweep your fingertips across every color you could think of, the streetlamps dripping gold above your head.

Each time Kynigos uploaded a new software update, people would go ballistic over the installation of game mode. In place of a regular day job, you’d be able to make money by taking investors’ requests and errands. It ran on in-game currency that could be exchanged for real money in which you desperately needed to eat, to live. That’s where you were: you took requests for the smaller investors like fetching their meals or buying their groceries. Moving up, you honed your skills on clearing the game levels, earning access to a database of more promising, richer moguls. They were getting hungry, some of them crossing the law to conduct illegal activities in-game: Kynigos never really enforced the restrictions. No matter how much the government tried to take over the game, it would only gain more and more powerful. They always found their way around it. You had just cleared level 50, your reward was to establish a link with an anonymous client who offered 5 grand in exchange for a person’s identity. Not that you knew who the client or request was, you had become a bounty-hunter chasing for your next bankroll. You didn’t have time to pick and choose. At the corner of your headset screen, a pop-chat window appeared: “Hello. Please refer to me as Mr. C.”

You replied, “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone who can track down a person that I’ve been trying to find. The request is to confirm their identity and bring them to me. I will raise the reward if need be.”

You continue, “I need that in writing. May I have this person’s file?”

“I will send it over shortly.”

The chat window expands into a link, a typed document of the request along with a signature. You had been cheated out once, you were sure to not let it happen again. When you enlarge the file, it’s a picture of a boy who was much younger than you. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt, his black hair curled on one side of his forehead. His eyes seemed incredibly innocent, his doe irises complimenting the smile that graced his lips ; the sharpness of his cheekbones accentuating his prepubescent face. His name read, “Mark/ Minhyung Lee.” and was last spotted not far from where you lived. You asked, “Mr. C, why are you looking for a kid?”

“I have no obligation to answer that question. Regardless, are you able to do it? If you can’t succeed, I will have to take measures into my own hands.”

With the amount of money that was being offered, you would be set for a while. Taking the request seemed extremely worth it.

“It’s a deal, Mr. C.”

You pulled up your virtual map with a click of a button, the map expanding into the space of your living room. It showed every alleyway, every nook and cranny in the city. You enlarged the floating map with your fingers, zooming in on a couple blocks away from your apartment. From your room, you grabbed your back-pack and changed into a black body-tight outfit (a skin you won as a reward on level 15), and your hair tied in a loose knot. Dashing out the door, you headed for where this Mark was last seen. You walked around the city, scanning the crowds of people as you walked. The street lamps illuminated the moving sidewalk as people talked into their headset by the cafe windows. Colorful lights blossomed on the tiny windows of the tall buildings. How were you supposed to find such a young kid wandering around by himself? Was Mr. C. his father? Maybe a disgruntled relative? You were unsure. You stopped inside a convenience store, the view of a black-haired boy turned around in one of the aisles. You couldn’t see his face, could that be Mark? The cashier sleepily greeted you, his headset sat crookedly on the rim of his forehead. Making your way to the small boy, you walked in front of him to get a better look- it was not him. He looked up at you confusedly, “hey lady, should I get a chocolate bar or a lollipop?”

Pointing at the chocolate bar you winked, “Chocolate for sure.”

The child walked away from you as he perused through the candy aisle more. You felt a hand grab your wrist from behind to be met with a scruffy man who wore tattered clothes and scratched at his dirtied beard. His eyes bulged with hysteria, “Pretty girl, give me that!”

He pointed at your polished headset, his grimy fingers reaching for it. You stumbled back as your heart beat furiously in your chest, “Sir, I don’t want trouble. Please step back from me.”

The man takes another step towards you instead, his rough hands flying to grip your waist, “Say, what’s your name? Want to come with me?”

You try wrenching out of his grip, you shouted for the cashier’s attention- he’s too busy paying attention to the game to even hear you. The man’s fingers make contact with the skin on your hip which causes you to jolt, you struggle to reach for the knife at the bottom of your backpack.

“Sir, kindly back off!”

The homeless man swivels around, facing a boy about the same age as you. Looking at him, you had not ever witnessed a more attractive boy in a while. His hair was a chestnut color, the crest of it gelled over, his face was slim and defined. Even his lips were the prettiest shade of sakura blossoms, his obsidian eyes stern with fury. He pushed up a pair of version 3 cyber-glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Sir, I said to back off!”

Just like that, the homeless man raised his hands in mock surrender as he scampered out of the convenience store- leaving you staring at the handsome boy in front of you.

You nervously adjust yourself, “Um-I- thank you for that.”

The boy gives you a warm smile, one of his hairs falling onto his forehead, “No need to thank me. That guy was being a total creep. Plus, that cashier should be fired for being distracted.”

You laugh, you catch yourself staring at the abundance of watermelon pops in the boy’s hands. He eyes you and then back to his pops, “Oh, would you like one?”

Stammering over your words you shake your head a bit too wildly, “N-no t-thanks! I-I prefer mango?”

Why did you say mango? You hate mango-flavored things. He gives you a hearty chuckle, “Fair enough, mango’s good too.”

It goes without saying anything, you both pay for the treats as you walk on to the sidewalk, a cold breeze making you shiver. The boy cards his fingers through his hair, the streetlamps casting a golden flow on his highlights, “I guess this is where we part. I hope you don’t run into any more creeps.”

You nod at him, “I sure hope not. By the way, what’s your name?”

There, you feel like you’ve messed up. This stranger saves you from some homeless guy and you ask him for his name, his eyes are widened with surprise. You silently sigh in relief when he breaks into a toothy smile, “Yeah, um, My name’s Jonathan.”

His voice comes out a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure. You eye him, “You sure about that, bud?”

“Of course. I was just deciding whether or not to tell you Jon or Jonathan is all.”

You say, “Well, goodbye Jonathan. Thank you for helping me out today.”

You swerve to walk back down the street in which you came, your headset blinking with the weather forecast in the corner of it. You feel a hand catch your shoulder gently, “Wait-t, d-do y-you think we can exchange handles?”

Turning back to the boy, you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that, “Yeah, sure!”

Together, you calibrate your headsets as a glowing icon appears above his head, “Accept Jonathan as a friend?”

You say, “Accept!”

Jonathan’s name adds to your friends list, not that you had any previous names added anyway. He finishes adding to you as well, your name hot on his tongue as he repeats it daintily. Giving you a final wave, you both go your separate ways. You decide to look for Mark in the morning.

Later that night, you find yourself staring at a message notification from Jonathan. Tapping in the air, you press on it- you bite your lip in anticipation. A bubble appears over his message, “You still up?”

You type on your virtual floating keyboard, “I am, wanna chat?”

Another bubble appears: “proceed with projection communication?”

You look yourself up and down, your outfit only consists of a pair of striped pajamas unlike your black suit earlier. You can’t imagine that Jonathan’s dressed up at this hour. Accepting the bubble, a scan of Jonathan’s virtual body appears in front of you as if he’s sitting in your desk chair. He looks different from earlier, he wears a thin t-shirt that reads ‘Vancouver’, his hair glimmers with wet drops from his shower and he holds an acoustic guitar in his hands. At first he doesn’t realize that you’ve accepted the projection call until he drops his guitar to the ground, fumbling in his chair, “Oh! hi-i, I didn’t see you there for a second..”

You laugh at his silliness, “you were the one who initiated the call in the first place!”

“Still! One second, I need to get something.”

When he finally returns, he holds a bowl of cereal in his hands, spooning sugary flakes into his mouth before toasting the bowl, “Cereal baby!”

“Who eats cereal at this hour?”

“Me- I do!”

You smile at him, leaning back into your pillows, it’s almost too surreal that it feels like Jonathan is staring right back at you from your room. It’s like he’s right there with you.

You continue, “So, what do you like to do in your free-time?”

He looks up from his bowl, “Hm, I uh- I guess I just listen to music or watching Netflix? Something like that?”

“I see you have a guitar by you, do you play well?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I wouldn’t say too good but I do enjoy playing? I write a bit too.”

“Can you play something for me?”

He gives you a playful smirk before breaking into a high-pitched laugh, “Put me on the spot now aren’t we?”

You reply, “You kind of set yourself up by bringing out a guitar. Of course I was going to ask.”

With a heavy sigh, he mumbles, “This is a song that I wrote when I started living on my own.”

You feel your heart swell at the sight of this stranger whispering soft words of song, the strums of his guitar filling the emptiness of your room. When he’s finished, you give him a standing ovation, “What do you mean not too good? You’ve got talent.”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, “Gotta stay humble, you know?”

Your memory plays back to Jonathan’s words: “I started living on my own.”

You tread into unknown waters, “Listen, let me know if this is too personal but when did you start living alone?”

Visibly, his frame becomes stiffened, his lips press into a thin line, “About three years ago? I think?”

He’s the same as you. You continue, “Do you still keep in touch with your parents?”

A flash of pain coats Jonathan’s face, his teeth sink into his lower lip anxiously, “You know-w, I-I think we should call it a night-t?”

You’ve pushed too far. “Oh, yes- sure. Right, good night.”

Like that, Jonathan’s projection disappears from your desk chair, the call ending with a beep. You throw your headset to your nightstand with a clang, throwing your head into your pillow. You doubt that Jonathan wants to talk to you after pressing into his private matters.

When morning comes, your heart jumps at the notification at the top of your messages bar. You click on it, Jonathan’s audio file plays, “Hey-y, I-I’m reallly sorry for uh- I-I kind of left you hanging last night? Can we meet up and talk? Possibly? Let me know when you get this.”

You respond back to him, “Hey, don’t apologize. It was my fault for pushing you where you weren’t comfortable. I’ll forward my address.”

Within the next hour or so, you find Jonathan standing in your doorway as he raises a bag of mango and watermelon pops from the convenience store in his hand. You usher him in, “You got here quite fast..”

He smiles at you, setting the bag on your table, “I’m pretty speedy. Also, you’ve got a nice pad.”

“Oh- yeah, technically it used to be my parents but they well- they passed away.”

His face turns somber, his features darkening with hurt, “I’m sorry for your loss y/n.”

Trying your best, you muster a small smile at him, “It’s okay. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I-uh- no, I’m good.”

With a heavy sigh, Jonathan plops himself on your couch, his eyes shifting to the vibrant city view outside, “Anyway, I-I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night.”

Shaking your head, you answer regretfully, “No, it was completely my fault, I should be sorry.” The features on his face turn sharper. He stiffens again, his fists curl beside him on the couch, “I also haven’t been too honest about myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Jonathan. That’s just an alias- my real name is Mark. Mark Lee.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The boy that your client is after is sitting on your living room couch. How could you not recognize him? Your headset tab has his file bookmarked- he was a child then. Of course, he’s matured.

“Why would you lie about your name?”

Jonathan- now, Mark sighs, “Because, I have to. You asked me about my parents? They were murdered by some gang leaders because they owed them money so we could survive the plague. They did what they had to so we could live. They’re still after me.”

You hand flies to your mouth in shock, “Mark, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”

Mark places a warm hand on yours, “It’s okay- don’t be sorry y/n. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word, I swear on it.”

Mark picks himself up to move closer to you, your knees almost touching, “When did you start living alone?”

The memories of you watching the doctors send your parents’ bodies to the morgue surface in your mind. You can’t stop the flood that breaks the dam. Digging your nails into your palm, you sniffle, “My parents passed away from the plague on the same day. Like yours, they had to work and go outside for us to survive. I was on the streets a bit before I could make money myself.”

It’s impossible. You can’t stop the tears that stream on your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I miss them so much.”You feel a thumb swipe your tears away. You open your eyes to see a blurry vision of Mark’s concerned face, his fringe swept on one side of his forehead, “I’m here, it’s okay. I miss mine too.”

In a split second, you fall into the crook of Mark’s chest, snuggling into his arms. You hear the slow thrum of his heartbeat, the music that beats with his soul. It’s beautiful, the way his doe eyes gaze down at you and the way it feels when you reach up to sweep the hair out of his eyes, “Thank you, Mark.”

He doesn’t say anything, he continues to rub circles on your back comfortingly as he thumbs your hand in his lap. Afterwards, you and Mark decide to eat dinner with Mark in the city. With Mark beside you, everything seems ten times more vibrant. Musicians play on the streets, their instruments laced with colorful threads (bonus items that tune your instrument automatically). Robotic helpers roll around in the restaurants as they pick up tabs, refill waters, and do little things that could be cumbersome for humans. You and Mark sit on the second floor of your favorite ramen restaurant, one that your parents frequented often. Laughing at the way Mark slurped his noodles made you happier. For some odd reason, Mark reminded you of the comfort that your parents had- a warm glow that always brightened the room. He placed his chicken into your bowl, forcing you to eat his no matter how much you protested. When you were done, Mark led you to the third story of the restaurant, a rooftop garden that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking: the skyline reflected an ocean of colors onto the water as the Brooklyn bridge allowed flying vehicles to soar across the sky. You both sat on the edge of the building, Mark pulling your body closer to his. He rested his head on your shoulder as he hummed some unrecognizable song, the honking of cars is the only thing that disrupts him. Steadily, you brought a hand to the scar on his cheekbone- causing him to raise his head at you. Mark leaned further into your touch, his hair fluttering in the wind slightly, “Can I um, kiss you?”

Smiling, you crash your lips onto yours, his lips feeling plush and soft at first. You move one hand to entwine Mark’s hairs in between your fingers, causing him to let out a moan. Your kiss grows more passionate as you part your mouth for him to move his tongue, your body temperatures rise- an alert pops on to your headsets. Ignoring it, Mark leans further into your lips while you arch your back on the roof. He pushes you flat against the concrete, his lips detach from yours with a sound. When you look at him, Mark’s half lidded eyes and swollen lips pop from the colorful netted sky that hangs above him, you say, “Wow, you’re good Mark Lee.”

He laughs into your shoulder, his giggle full of mirth. You don’t resist when he presses a kiss to your lips for the second time, you take harder control than he does. You roll onto your side so you can climb on top of him instead. Mark reaches up to place a hair behind your ear before you lean in to press a kiss to his nose. His eyes glimmer with adoration, “y/n, the things you’re doing to me right now-”

Mark starts to press a burning kiss to the hollow of your neck, you pause when a notification flashes on your messages bar. You open it, it’s from Mr. C. It reads, “Y/n. I’m afraid you’re out of time.” You scramble off of Mark, causing him to yelp, “Oh god, y/n, I-I’m so sorry, I- did- I go too far? I shouldn’t have done that- oh my-”

You press your hand to Mark’s lips, “It’s not you. I have to tell you something, it’s-”

“What? What’s wrong?”

You both sit up, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier I just forgot about it because we were talking and I-I just don’t-”

Mark’s expression turns firm, “What is it?”

“I just passed level 50 in-game. I got a request from a client and he told me he was after you and I took it because I thought I needed the money and now that I know you’re the person he wants, I don’t know what to do-he says we’re out of time!”

Mark looks down, his face morphing into slow pain, “Did you have that request since we met?”

You shout at him, “Yes! But, I was never going to sell you out, I swear! I started to like you and I wouldn’t have done that!”

Marks still casts his eyes down, “Y/n, I have to go right now- I can’t be outside-”

“You’re too late!”

You and Mark swivel your heads to see a skinny man dressed in a plaid suit hop off his emerald hoverboard, a pistol sits in the grip of his hand, “I’ve got you now Mark Lee! And y/n has led me straight to you!”

Mark practically leaps across you, forcing you to move behind him, “Just stay behind me.”

You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. The man- Mr. C. looks hysterical when he flashes Mark a sinister grin, “Your parents still haven’t paid their debt. You’ll serve as compensation.”

He aims his gold-lined pistol at Mark, cackling before he sends a smoking bullet flying to Mark’s chest without a warning. You scream, Mark falling on his side as he clutches his wound. Mr. C. spits in your direction before zipping off on his hoverboard, leaving you to press your hands to Mark’s body. Already, your hands are covered in crimson blood, you smell the iron scent of it and it makes you sick. You don’t even realize that you’re screaming now, “Hold on! I’m going to get you to a hospital okay? Hold on!”

Mark lets out a weak cough, his eyes failing to stay open. You cradle his head, “Mark? Mark, stay awake! Stay with me, please!”

Once more, he reaches up a bloodied palm to your cheek, your tears falling onto his shirt, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

You whimper, “It’s not okay! Don’t leave me! I’ll be alone again!”

The hot tears blur your vision, it’s getting harder to not collapse. You see Mark smile at you, “you know, you’re the only person that’s made me feel less lonely since my parents died.”

Clutching his hand, you feel the calloused skin along his palm, wanting to savor every bit of him, “Mark, I’ve fallen for you.”

Nodding, “And I, you.”

With the last bit of strength he has, Mark kisses you with scarlet fire before letting out a bone-chilling groan. His lips fall away from yours, his body landing on the roof with a thump. You hold your breath, your head pounds with harsh pain. You can’t believe the sight of Mark’s once musical spirit so bereft of life. Finally, your breath hitches at a notification that appears in your message inbox at the top of your virtual screen, “hello, y/n.”

83 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

addiction, m | myg, ksj | 4

WARNING: A suicide attempt occurs in this one. There are no tags because I don’t want someone floating through tags finding this by accident. If you’ve read this far, be warned and be safe.

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader

summary: Min Yoongi suddenly becomes aware that his roommate is involved in some fucked up shit. Kim Seokjin meets Yoongi. Kim Taehyung makes an appearance. Everything is going downhill. ??? is revealed.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, violence, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

He heard a crash and loud swearing, even though the music in his headset. He looked at the time. It was the middle of the night. Frowning, Yoongi looked away from his computer screen. His roommate was usually quiet and, most of the time, he never heard her when she came and went.

Was it a burglar?

Carefully, he removed his headset and placed his ear to the door of his room. Someone was in the kitchen. Breathing heavily, swearing softly. He recognized that voice. It was definitely her. His hand closed around the doorknob and he opened it slowly, as quietly as he could.

She was leaning against the kitchen sink. He recognized the black hoodie and the black jeans from earlier in the day. The kitchen light was on and he could see they were covered in dirt. She was peeling the black gloves off her hands and tossing them on the floor. He narrowed his eyes. She seemed to be cradling her right arm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She shrugged off the hoodie and it fell. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. Then she used her left hand to pull the black sweatshirt over her head, right arm still inside it. He almost looked away to give her some modesty, but instead his eyes widened.

She wore a black bra with a thick band, but, even then, he could see her sides and shoulders were battered. There was a small tattoo under her left shoulder blade. It looked like the simple outline of a sun, but the bra covered half of it so it was hard to tell. Her skin was covered in bruises that were rapidly turning shades of blue, purple and black. Her breathing was labored and with each breath he could see her spine shudder with pain.

What the fuck…?

She seemed to be bracing herself. He couldn’t see her face, just the back of her matted hair, tangled and covered in dirt. It was eerily quiet. With a deep breath, she raised her left hand to touch the edge of the sleeve still hanging on. He held his breath. The sound that came out of her was between a muffled scream and a sobbing cry as she peeled the right sleeve from her arm, knees almost giving out. It made his heart sting and drop at the same time.

The sleeve was wet. The sweatshirt fell to the floor and he could see the red blood streaming down her right arm, caked onto her skin.

“Holy shit.”

She whipped her head around, holding her arm with her left hand, eyes wide and bloodshot as he burst out of his room. Her right arm was covered in cuts, with a particularly large one on her forearm.

“What the fuck happened?”

He almost yelled, which was very uncharacteristic of him. Even he was surprised. But not surprised enough to avoid seeing the curve of her breasts as she stumbled to the floor. He rushed forward and then stopped, torn between what to do. “We need to take you to the hospital,” he said hurriedly, fumbling with his pockets to get his phone.

“No,” she croaked. “Yoongi-ssi, stop.”

He managed to grab his phone but it fell from his hands. Undeterred, he scrambled to get it from the floor, only for her to kick it aside.

“Yoongi, stop.”

He froze at her cold tone. His head lifted to see her straining as she stood up again, sighing. She reached over to the sink and turned on the water.

“You wouldn’t…” he breathed.

Her left hand tightened into a fist. Her knuckles were white. She stuck her bloody arm under the water. The sound that came out of her wasn’t human. It was the pained yowl of an injured animal, jaw strained as she ground her teeth.

“You’re insane.”

She didn’t respond. Tears streamed down her face as she attempted to wash off as much blood as possible, even reaching to wipe the dried bits away with her free hand. He stood up, reaching for a white towel. She shook her head furiously, snatching it away from him and running it under the water.

“That cupboard,” she growled, pointing. He opened it to see a first-aid box.

He took it out and opened it for her. “What happened?” he asked, gently this time.

She pushed the contents around, picking things out of the box messily. “Got jumped.”

His jaw dropped. “We should report it.”

“I am not going to report it, Yoongi.”

He watched her rip open the butterfly bandages with her teeth, applying them carefully to the largest cut. He had the strangest feeling she had done this before.

“… What were you doing?”

She scoffed. She hadn’t dried the tears on her face. Her eyes were very red. “Walking.”

He stepped forward and accidentally kicked her hoodie. There was something very solid in there. He looked down, but then she called his name.

“Get me the gauze in the same cabinet,” she commanded tiredly.

He reached over and handed it to her. By that time, she had pushed her clothes to the other side. She wrapped her arm expertly, focusing the gauze on the cuts and applying medical tape to hold it together. The cuts were still leaking a bit of blood, making his stomach turn.

“Sexual assault?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, sighing. “No, but it was about to be.”

He bit his lip. “You shouldn’t go out alone.”

The black orbs flickered to him, surrounded by red. Even through the crying, the pain, the blood, she still looked at him like he was the insane one. There was a cut on her lip, caked with blood.

“Don’t pretend to care.”

Before he knew it, he reached out and touched her hand, taking the medical tape from her. She narrowed her eyes at him. He shrugged it off.

“You can’t bandage the upper arm properly with one hand,” he said sternly.

She seemed to hesitate, but accepted his help, silently holding her arm out. He worked quickly and carefully, placing gauze down on the cuts before wrapping it. Thankfully there weren’t any deep cuts on her upper arm.

“You don’t seem like the type to let some guys beat you up,” he commented.

“Maybe I wanted to disappear for once,” she muttered.

He paused. He stole a glance at her eyes. It felt like he was looking into the abyss and he looked away quickly, disturbed.

She took the medical tape from him and checked her arm. “Thanks,” she mumbled quietly. She began to collect the refuse from the band-aids.

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t say anything, just tossing the things into the trash. She began to collect the medical supplies, but he placed a hand on hers, making her stop. Her thin hand was shaking. He said her name and she didn’t even look up at him.

“I’ll put them away,” he murmured.

She turned and tried to pull her hand out of his grasp but he held on.

“I know what it feels like to want to disappear.”

There was a short, tight silence. Then she yanked her hand out of his hold.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t succeeded yet,” she hissed.

She winced as she knelt down, grabbing her black sweatshirt. He watched her ball it up carefully, tucking the bloody towel and the bloody sleeve in the center of the mass of fabric. He found himself chewing on his lower lip nervously.

“Do you want ice?”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.”

She collected her clothes before standing up again. She stopped, not looking at him.

“If you tell anyone about this, I will end you.”

She did not move. It was definitely a threat.

He reached over to the sink and turned it to warm water. He ran the towel under it, dampening it. She turned her head to glare at him but he reached up and gently wiped her face. Her eyes widened as he calmly dabbed her tears away. He gave her an awkward smile.

He was too afraid to say anything.

Yoongi had just finished washing the dishes. He dried off his hands on the spare towel, remembering her words to him a few moments ago. They had been sitting at the kitchen counter, not speaking as they ate the meal he had prepared. She looked worse today. He could see the bruise under her hair.

“Thanks for the meal.”

She had said it so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. He had turned his head and saw her staring at the rice in her bowl as she chewed in small bites.

“Ah.”

It was hard to talk about it because it seemed like she didn’t want to. He was awkward anyway when it came to this kind of stuff. He hoped being near another human being was enough for now. He told her he would do the dishes and she had thanked him before slinking back into her room.

The sun streamed in though the kitchen window, lighting his hands as he folded the dish towel. He knew her mental state wasn’t his responsibility. He could just ignore it and walk away. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. And that was the problem.

A sharp knock rattled him out of his thoughts.

He looked up, turning his head to look at the front door. The knock came again, persistent. He frowned and went up to the door, looking at the intercom.

It was a man. Elegantly dressed in a black coat, white shirt, and black pants. He had one hand in his pocket. Broad shoulders. Dark hair, suspiciously handsome face. Yoongi had never seen him before and he would remember a face like that. Somehow, he already felt annoyed.

He opened the door only a little. “Yes?” He kept his voice terse.

The man smiled at him. He had an easy smile, with full lips. Yoongi noticed the man’s coat wasn’t any old black coat. It had two overlapped C’s on it. His white shirt collar was embroidered with red and silver threads, crystals sewn into the fabric. The pants were well tailored and his black shoes were definitely high-grade leather. He even smelled rich.

“You’re the roommate, huh?”

That wasn’t what Yoongi expected to hear. He narrowed his eyes.

The man nodded, as if this was what he expected as a response. “I’m here to check up on her.”

“Who are you?” Yoongi retorted. He began to close the door, but the man slammed his palm on it, stopping him. He was still smiling, but there was an edge to his gaze now.

“He’s Kim Seokjin.”

They both reacted to her voice. Yoongi spun around, taking his hand off. She was standing at the entrance of her room, wearing the same black t-shirt and loose black pants from lunch, closing the door behind her as she limped out. Seokjin pushed his way inside, snapping the front door shut behind him. Yoongi glared at him and opened his mouth, but Seokjin beat him to it.

“I didn’t expect you to have a male roommate,” Seokjin said casually. Despite his nonchalant tone, Yoongi felt the coldness in his words.

She glared at Seokjin, completely ignoring Yoongi’s annoyed look. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, smile gone now. They seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes. Yoongi looked from one to the other. Her bruised, tired face and the face of a pristine, privileged man who seemed to be fuming with anger.

She cocked her chin at him. “Who was it?”

Seokjin snorted. “Jungkook. You don’t give him enough credit. Kid told me you were acting weird so I followed up on it.”

He sent someone to stalk me. She clicked her tongue and looked at the ground before glaring back at Seokjin. “Well, I’m fine, so you can leave.”

Seokjin scoffed. He pointed to the arm she was cradling. “That’s fine?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not dead, am I?”

“You will be if you keep acting like this.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead she stubbornly looked away from them, staring at the wall. Yoongi kept silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He had always seen her as a strong person, but, at this moment, it felt like he was witnessing vulnerability that he wasn’t meant to see. Even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation, he understood enough by Seokjin’s words alone. Seokjin, on the other hand, acted as if Yoongi wasn’t even there. He was only focused on her. His Moon.

“I can handle myself,” she said to the wall.

“Will you stop acting as if people wanting to keep you safe is a crime?” Seokjin scolded, making her shudder at his tone.

Her eyes shifted and fixated at them, as if she was addressing them both at once. Yoongi knew what that look meant. Back off. He had used it himself, many times. Seokjin glared back pointedly, not breaking the gaze. She sighed, looking away from them and going into her room. For a moment, Yoongi thought that she was exiting the conversation, but then she emerged from the room holding a black paper bag. She placed it in front of Seokjin and took a step back, looking up at him pointedly. Yoongi could see black fabric and dirt.

Her clothes from that night?

Seokjin’s brown orbs flickered downwards before making eye contact with her again. “The gun, too.”

Yoongi’s eyes grew wide. Gun? She didn’t look at Yoongi, instead frowning at Seokjin. Then she turned her heel and went back into her room, only to pop back out with a smaller plastic bag. She shoved it into the black bag with her left hand.

“There, satisfied?”

Seokjin’s expression was irate. She knew if she was at his house right now, he would be less restrained but Yoongi was here so he wasn’t giving her his choice words. Instead he pointed to Yoongi beside him, addressing his presence for the first time since entering.

“He doesn’t know anything, does he?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wanting to be around someone who isn’t crazy isn’t a crime either, Seokjin.”

Seokjin sneered, picking up the black bag and turning around, placing his hand on the doorknob.

“He’s crazy if he continues to stay here after this.”

And then Seokjin opened the door and left, leaving Yoongi standing with her, the two of them staring at the closed door. She bit her lip. She didn’t look at Yoongi.

“So… that’s why the room was so cheap, huh?”

She looked at the floor, fiddling with the medical tape on her arm. “Something like that.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. For some reason, Yoongi wasn’t afraid of the appearance of Seokjin, his uncanny ability to know that she had been hurt, or the fact that she had a gun. It was obvious now that whatever was going on was illicit at best. No, what bothered him most was the fact that she didn’t seem like herself. At least, not the self she was when she was around him, before all this happened. He quietly said her name, and she turned her head to let him know she was listening.

She still didn’t look at him.

“I’m going to guess you’re not supposed to have the gun.”

She paused and shook her head slowly. “That was my gun.”

Yoongi was stunned into silence.

She took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t remember how many guys it was. Three or four. They thought I was a guy because the hood was up, so they dragged me into an alley and beat me up. Probably wanted money or something. But one of them yanked the hood off and they realized I was a girl. I hadn’t made much sound, so I guess they didn’t notice sooner.” She was looking into the distance, not quite there with him anymore. “One of them had a knife. I fired off a warning shot when he stabbed me in the forearm. That’s what made them scatter.” Deep breath. She looked up at the ceiling.

Yoongi pursed his lips, contemplating. “He took the evidence to help you.”

She chuckled. “You think too highly of him.”

There was a deafening silence. He whispered her name, softly, and she turned more towards him, staring at his hands. His fingers were twisted together. He was picking at his cuticles aimlessly.

“Why do you have a gun in the first place?”

The side of her lips curved upwards, but there was no mirth in that smile. It was at that moment that she finally looked up at him. Her dark, dark eyes found his brown ones, trapping him in the abyss. For some reason he felt his heart drop, pulled down into the blackness. Maybe, if he tried really hard, he could escape. He just had to look away.

But he didn’t really want to.

“I don’t want you to be involved, Yoongi. You don’t deserve that.”

His throat felt dry. “Involved in what?”

Her smile became a sad one. “My demons.”

He took a step towards her. It was like a dream, looking into those eyes. It felt like he was running, running into the forbidden forest, burrs and branches snagging on him and trying to pull him away.

“Is it the reason why you look so empty all the time?”

Her lips parted. Then she closed her eyes, freeing him from her gaze. She nodded.

“Yeah.”

A few days later, another man showed up. A younger man, with a backpack and a boxy smile.

“Yo!”

Yoongi blinked at him. This man was wearing a patterned purple shirt and loose black pants with a pair of loafers. The unknown man bowed to him, boxy smile never leaving his face.

“I’m here to see the patient,” he said cheerfully in his deep voice.

“What patient?” Yoongi grumbled. “And who are you, anyway?”

“Me?” He placed a tan hand on his chest. “I’m the Doctor. I’m here to redress Moon-noona’s wounds.”

Yoongi made a face. “Who the fuck is Moon?”

The young man pointed inside the apartment. “Your roommate.” He kept smiling despite Yoongi’s grumpy attitude. “Seokjin sent me.”

At the mention of his name, Yoongi frowned and backed up, allowing him to enter. He had no reason to comply, but the sudden appearance of this guy wasn’t a coincidence. This is one of Seokjin’s minions? He watched as the young man shuffled to her door and knocked in it gently. He didn’t seem like a minion. Actually, he seemed quite harmless compared to the authoritative air Seokjin gave off.

“Moonie-noona? Are you awake?”

Whatever happened to no guests? Yoongi felt annoyed at his development, but judging from the expression that suddenly appeared at the bedroom door, he wasn’t the only one.

“Why are you here, Taehyung?” she mumbled through squinting eyes.

Taehyung grinned. “Here to take care of you. Hyung said you didn’t do a very good job.”

She frowned and came out of her room. She had to lift the sleeve of her large grey sweatshirt to reveal her arm.

“It’s fine.”

The medical tape was peeling and the gauze definitely needed to be changed.

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. “Looks like a good try.”

Yoongi winced and turned around to escape to his room as she groaned. Taehyung was leading her to the kitchen, patting her back reassuringly.

“Could you dampen a towel, please?”

Yoongi froze. Taehyung’s deep voice was directed in his direction. He turned around to see Taehyung’s large, expectant puppy eyes staring at him. Yoongi pointed to himself. “Me?”

Taehyung nodded cheerfully. “Thank you!”

Yoongi shot him an indignant look, but Taehyung was already helping her to take off the sweatshirt carefully, completely ignoring Yoongi’s reaction. She was wearing a tight black tank top underneath. Taehyung looked over the bruises that were turning greenish-yellow. He shook his head, frowning at her.

“You should have changed these sooner,” he scolded softly. He opened his backpack and sat her on the floor, spreading out his supplies.

She sighed. “I know, I know.”

Taehyung began to undo her work gently, careful not to pull on the tape too hard. “You could have asked your cute roommate to help you.”

“Shut up.”

Taehyung smirked. “O-oh?”

She didn’t reply. Yoongi appeared with the damp towel. Taehyung smiled and thanked him again, placing it beside him. He leaned over her to catch Yoongi’s attention once more.

“Trash can?”

Yoongi’s eye twitched, but he retrieved it. He came back to the sight of her forearm cut exposed, clotted and brown from being under the bandage for so long. He winced. Taehyung gently wiped it clean, clicking his tongue.

“Who bandaged your upper arm anyway? There’s too much tape,” Taehyung complained.

“I did,” Yoongi muttered. He squinted as Taehyung peeled the tape away. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

Taehyung exhaled exasperatedly. “It’s excessive. You need to let wounds breathe and have blood circulate properly.”

Yoongi’s face fell. “… Did I make it worse?”

Taehyung was about to say something, but he caught her glaring at him. He changed his words into a faint whistle, giving her a cheeky smirk. “You should have contacted me. I’m the doctor after all.”

“You look too young for a doctor,” Yoongi commented, suspicious.

She rolled her eyes. “He likes to think he is.”

“I’m very knowledgeable!” Taehyung exclaimed. “Don’t berate me.”

Yoongi watched as Taehyung expertly applied ointments and adhesive bandages to each cut. Taehyung continued chattering away and she begrudgingly responded to him. Yoongi wasn’t listening, fascinated by Taehyung’s quick work. Alright, and his pride was little hurt by Taehyung’s comment.

“Moonie-noona, hyung is worried about you.”

“Hyung can take that worry and shove it up his ass,” she shot back.

Taehyung clicked his tongue as he cleaned her skin with an alcohol wipe. She flinched, but he held her still with his strong hands.

“Why does he keep calling you that?” Yoongi suddenly interjected.

“Hm?” Taehyung cocked his head at Yoongi. “Oh? Doesn’t she seem like the moon? Elusive, only shows up at night, often hiding?”

She smacked Taehyung’s shoulder with her left hand. “Stop saying nonsense. It’s a nickname from a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Taehyung’s lips formed a small ‘o’ and he nodded, giving Yoongi a strange expression.

“What?” Yoongi snapped.

“Nothing,” Taehyung responded lamely, placing the last bandage on her upper arm. He tapped the hem of her tank top. “Show me the bruises.”

She made an aggravated noise. “Taehyung, they’re just bruises.”

He sighed. “You’re so stubborn. Alright.” He separated some medical supplies and stood up, opening a cupboard to pull out the first aid kit. Yoongi’s eyes widened. Taehyung had picked the correct cupboard on the first try. Realization hit him and he pursed his lips, thinning his mouth into a line. Taehyung tucked the bandages into the first-aid box. She got off the floor, and Yoongi spied the sun tattoo once again, half-covered by the edge of the tank top.

“Thanks, Taehyung.”

“You want to get back to work?”

She pulled up the sleeve of her bomber jacket. “It’s healed.” There was only a small bandage left.

Seokjin frowned. She leaned her head against his chest. She had come and sat in his lap without him asking. It made him suspicious.

“I’m bored of being at home.”

She even smelled nice. Some kind of musky, cherry perfume. He puffed his cheeks. It was almost like old times. She placed a hand on his thigh and traced patterns on the fabric, making his heart skip a beat.

“Do you really think you’re ready, Moon?”

Her face turned up, eyes on his. Lips so close that he could feel her breath on his skin.

“Don’t you trust me?”

He heard her enter the apartment. He stared at the folder on his desktop. It was right there. He could stand up and show her right now. He had it on his phone too. All he had to do was stand up.

Why are you so nervous, Min Yoongi?

He could hear the audible click of her door closing.

It bothered him that he kept thinking about her hands. He wanted them laced around his, wanted to know what her touch felt like. He kept dreaming about those dark orbs, seeing them in his mind’s eye, trapped in their darkness. He kept wondering about that sun tattoo on her back.

What does it mean?

He told himself it was normal. Maybe his mind was dreaming up scenarios for him, starved for intimate attention. It wasn’t actually her. It was natural instinct.

I can’t even believe my own bullshit.

He slid down in his chair, fixated on the computer screen but seeing nothing. He knew she was involved in some crazy shit. She had a fucking gun after all. Perhaps she was part of the mafia or a gang. His hands ran through his hair and he pulled his head back facing the ceiling. He knew he should report her to the police and yet he did nothing because he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

If I was… if I could be…?

He frowned, knowing how that question ended.

She was sitting at her table, sitting in front of ten lines.

Ten lines.

Ten neat lines of white powder she had made herself. She had made those lines very calmly on her glass palette. Surely, ten lines was enough. And if it wasn’t, the bottle of pills was nearby. It was supposed to be for Jimin, but with luck she wouldn’t even have to deliver to him.

With luck, she would never have to deliver anything ever again.

She looked up from the ten white lines to the pictures above them. So many pictures. She had printed them out for once. Memories. Of him. She never told him but she loved taking pictures of him. He looked good in all of them, even if he insisted the candid ones were terrible. The heart-shaped smile shone back up at her like a beacon of hope. She loved his smile most of all.

It was an accident.

Just a dumb argument that escalated to him leaving the apartment, crashing a party. Someone gave him drugs and he took them. He was confident and gullible. Not everyone gave clean cocaine. Sometimes it was mixed with other substances – for the thrill, the potency, and the idiocy. When he started going into shock, everyone had run. She knew why. They didn’t want to get caught. Police didn’t find him until hours later and by then there was no pulse.

She thought she had cried all her tears, but they threatened her once again. Maybe she would let them come this time. The last time.

“Hoseok…” she breathed, his name leaving her lips for the first time in a long while. It felt a little foreign at this point. “Hoseok, I really tried. I tried for so long.” She felt her voice starting to crack, a hard lump forming in her throat. “But I’m weak. I can’t do this anymore. I know I’m a coward…” Her whisper trailed off. The images started to blur and she felt drops fall onto her black sweatpants. His sweatpants. “If you could see me now, you wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.”

She had always been stubborn in what she wanted to do, ignoring her parents’ wishes and running forward on her own. Her constant rebellion made her parents cut ties with her, but at that young age, she had seen it as a blessing. After investing in cryptocurrency, she had enough money to live on her own as a young adult. She could do whatever she desired – party it up, drink all night, fuck shit up. That’s when she had met Jung Hoseok, a ball of boundless energy, cheerful and cute, coupled with an infectious laugh and always going on about his dreams of becoming a dancer. Slowly but surely, she had become the moon to his sun. His light had shone on her and she followed him everywhere he went, circling him with her blind love. There was just that small problem of his slow-forming but highly addictive coke habit. But why did that matter? They were in love and love triumphed over all.

Didn’t it?

He had been very adamant for her not to start. Whether it was selfishness of his own habit or actually looking out for her, it didn’t matter. She was wrapped around his finger and his dreams. The coke habit was such a little thing.

“We had fun, didn’t we?”

Her chest hurt from holding back her tears. It felt like she was suffocating.

Every day was a wild ride of this and that, of partying with Seokjin and friends. She had sex before, but she made love to Hoseok. She could still remember how much he enjoyed being petted and caressed, cuddling for hours. It made the nights screaming back and forth about withdrawal nothing. It made the begging and pleading with Seokjin bearable as he handed Hoseok another dose. None of it mattered because he would kiss her at the end of the day and smile at her. He was her hope and she was his.

Or so he said.

She curled up in her floor cushion, sliding to the floor as she tried to stifle her crying, wrapping her head with the sleeves of the grey sweatshirt. No. His. She was always his.

“I just want to see you again.”

She knew how pathetic it was. How stupid it was. And yet.

It took her a long time to collect herself. She had to wipe her tears and her snot and sit back up. She needed a clear nose for this. She had chosen this way to end it all because it seemed fitting. She locked eyes with Hoseok’s picture, his heart-shaped mouth smiling at her one more time. The last time.

She leaned over the table.

There are two endings.

Click here for Kim Seokjin’s ending.

Click here for Min Yoongi’s ending.

masterpost

25 notes · View notes

gamerwoo · 6 years

Text

Wonwoo: Out of Luck

Anonymous asked: hi :) do u have requests open? if yes, can i send u a prompt for a wonwoo smut? :D Ok, so the prompt is "give me your hoodie and fuck me in it" lol dont ask and maybe for gamer!wonwoo? 👀👀 If youll feel inspired for this, thank you! ♡

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/warnings: pro gamer/overwatch league au, a little bit of fluff n angst but like it’s honestly all just mostly smut lmao (fingering, oral)

Word count: 4,147

Summary: Wonwoo has a lot of weird superstitions as a pro gamer, but he has two big ones: fucking you in his jersey before any games he’s particularly nervous for, and always wearing his lucky sweatshirt under his jersey during every game. However, when his team loses for the first time to yours, he fears that his lucky sweatshirt has run out of luck. So you decide to put some of your luck into it.

a/n: since I already have a gamer!wonwoo series, I decided to just put it in that universe. hope you don’t mind, anon!!

You walked into Wonwoo’s room after Minghao let you into their team house, the first thing greeting you being your boyfriend’s back. Of course, he was wearing his Serpents sweatshirt, which was completely black with the bright red printing. There were snakes that went down both arms, but the thing that your eyes were always drawn to was the ‘WONU’ printed on the back with his jersey number below it. Ever since the team manager gave the Serpents those sweatshirts before the recent season began about two months ago, Wonwoo’s worn it just about everyday.

“Doing something?” you asked with a small smirk.

Wonwoo turned, his glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose as he looked at you before he went back to scouring his floor that was already covered in clothes. He’d only been back in the team house for a couple months, but he already made a mess of his room.

“I can’t remember where my jersey went,” he replied in almost a mumble as he scratched the back of his head, making a bigger mess of his curly hair. “I didn’t leave it at yours, did I?”

“No, I gave it back after the Soonyoung incident,” you replied with a slight chuckle at the memory -- even if it did embarrass the hell out of you and you couldn’t look Soonyoung in the eyes for about two weeks. “Speaking of Soonyoung, is this why he won’t let you live with him and Chan?”

Wonwoo scoffed, bending over to shift through sweatshirts and t-shirts, “Please, have you seen his room? He’s messier than I am.”

“Why are you looking for your jersey anyway?” you questioned as you went to sit in his gaming chair, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “You don’t play until Thursday, and it’s Monday.”

Your boyfriend turned to look at you, a smirk that made your stomach do flips gracing his face. His voice was lower when he spoke.

“We’re facing the NYXL on Thursday, and I need all the luck I can get until then -- starting today.”

You never knew what it was with Wonwoo loving to see you in his jersey -- and loving even more when you wore it while he pressed you into the mattress or bent you over his desk or had you in his lap in his chair -- but you never complained, and you especially weren’t now since you barely even had the time to see Wonwoo in person in the last two weeks.

In an instant, you were up and helping Wonwoo search for his jersey, making him laugh at your eagerness.

“I think Serpents versus Warriors is a match everybody always looks forward to,” you could hear one of the casters saying as your team walked through the crowd and up to the stage. “Because of the known relationship between WonU on the Sozhou Serpents and m0chi on the Busan Warriors, people look forward to seeing this game.”

“Yeah, there’s something about watching a couple kill each other in a video game that really seems to rile everybody up,” the second caster agreed. “The matches between Serpents and Warriors might be even more popular than seeing the two home teams go up against each other.”

You just smirked to yourself, giving hi-fives to the fans on either side of you. Yuta in front of you turned his head to give you a playful smile before he carried on to the stage, following Jihoon, Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Hongbin up to the computers. As you passed by Wonwoo who sat at the very end of his row of computers, you smiled at him and shot a finger gun at him, making him blush slightly and roll his eyes.

It also made the crowd coo at both of you, which you ignored as you went to sit in your seat that was four away from Wonwoo.

Your coaches prepared you for this game ever since the Serpents’ first game. They were on a winning streak -- Wonwoo insisted it was the sweatshirt -- but your coaches were planning to bring that to an end. You and Wonwoo both knew well enough to not let the game get between you, which you learned that the hard way, so whether you beat him or not wouldn’t matter.

Keeping all of that in mind, you put on your headset and prepared for the game.

“So _____,” Mingyu spoke up, “what are the stakes between you and Woo?”

“What stakes?”

“If you win, are you getting a face full of mattress tonight?”

You heard the whole team groan, with Hongbin reminding Mingyu that their comms were being recorded, and Jihoon breathing out a, “Please just shut the fuck up.”

After the signing, you asked Mingyu to drop you off at the Serpents’ team house. You had been congratulated all night, as well as getting asked how Wonwoo was feeling about his team’s first loss of the season.

“Nobody likes losing, but he’s fine with it,” you shrugged even though you didn’t really get to see his reaction other than ‘shaking his hand’ at the end of the match which was actually him giving you a quick kiss and putting a childish pout on his face.

“He’s just happy he lost to his girlfriend rather than some other team,” Mingyu scoffed, sliding the poster he was signing over to Taehyung on his other side.

But now you were able to have a real conversation with him about the game -- although, judging from the texts Chan sent you, you were sure Wonwoo was losing his mind for whatever reason.

Not many people stayed at the team house anymore. Soonyoung and Chan had their own place they stayed when they did have to be in California for most of the year, Tao lived in his own apartment, and you had never really seen Sanghyuk around much at all. So as far as you knew, it was Wonwoo, Junhui, Minghao, and two or three other boys from the roster that you knew but only really interacted with while making the walk of shame out of the house in the morning.

You went up to Wonwoo’s room, only to find it empty. You frowned, turning around and trying to think of where he would be. Did he even come home? Maybe he went to Chan and Soonyoung’s.

“Hey, Hao?” you spoke up when you saw the Chinese player walking out of his room and down the hall.

He paused where you were, smiling at you, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Where’s Woo?”

“Um...” he paused as he tried to think, his glasses starting to slide down his nose when he slightly scrunched his face. “I think we went to the practice room for a bit. He might be streaming or something. He was really sulky after the match, though.”

All you could do was sigh and thank Minghao before you made your way back downstairs and walked through the large house until you got to their practice room where they usually held scrims. You knew Wonwoo was probably upset over his weird rituals not working, but you’d also never seen him upset over losing before. You weren’t really sure what to expect when you saw him.

Entering the room full of computers, you saw only one person inside: Wonwoo. His back was to you while he clicked away at the computer, clearly in the middle of a game. He occasionally mumbled something to himself, but you couldn’t hear what it was. You just knew it wasn’t in reply to Twitch chat because he only had one monitor to work with in the practice rooms.

“Hey, Wonwoo?” your voice was quiet and almost timid as you approached him.

It wasn’t that you were afraid he would snap at you, but you were afraid of somehow upsetting him further since you were the one who ended his winning streak.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair and knocking off his headphones as “DEFEAT” showed up on the screen. His head laid back against the chair as he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands as you continued to make your cautious approach.

“I lost it,” he groaned.

You shrugged, leaning back against the desk as you gave him an apologetic look that he couldn’t see behind his hands, “It was just one match.”

“No, I mean my luck!” he clarified as he dropped his hands and looked up at you with a pout that you couldn’t help but melt at. “My luck is completely gone! Now I’m on a losing streak!”

“I doubt your luck is gone, Woo,” you chuckled.

“You took it,” he whined, gripping your hips to pull you closer before he buried his face in your stomach. “Ugh, it was probably from Monday.”

“But you beat New York, remember?” you reminded him as your fingers moved to play with his hair. “We didn’t do anything after Monday.”

The two of you had a ‘no sex before we face each other’ rule because you refused to give Wonwoo any sort of luck -- even if you didn’t believe that sex or his dumb sweatshirt made him any luckier. But it also just made sex after your game that much better.

“That was the last of it,” he insisted, his voice muffled by your body. “The rest of it went to you.”

All you could do was laugh softly, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Give it baaaaack,” he whined.

“Wonwoo, I--” you paused, suddenly getting an idea. It might’ve been pretty stupid since it would feed into both of his dumb superstitions, but you would still get something out of it for yourself. You smirked, lightly gripping your boyfriend’s chin to make him look up at you. “I have an idea...”

“Will it make me win again?” he asked, a pout on his face and even in his tone. “Will it make my sweatshirt lucky again?”

“Maybe...”

He instantly perked up, “What is it?”

You bent down, whispering as seductively as you could manage, “Give me your hoodie and fuck me in it.”

You felt Wonwoo stiffen, and a soft groan came from the back of his throat as his hands tightened on your hips.

“Oh my god, why didn’t I think of that before?” he asked, though it was mostly to himself. “Get the door, okay?”

While you rushed to the door to lock it, Wonwoo stood up and took off his Serpents sweatshirt, as well as his white t-shirt that was underneath. When you turned back around, you saw Wonwoo wasn’t making any moved to remove his black joggers even though you could already see a small bulge forming in them.

He gestured for you to take off your own shirt, which you quickly did as you walked over to him. Your Warriors jersey was dropped, landing carelessly on the floor while you reached to un-clip your bra as well and toss that over onto another monitor.

“Arms up,” he instructed with a soft smile as his eyes raked your naked torso.

You stood in front of him, arms raised over your head. Wonwoo helped put his hoodie on you, chuckling when your head poked out of the top hole with your hair a mess. You couldn’t help but giggle, pushing the hood back and fixing your hair as best as you could.

While you did that, Wonwoo’s fingers moved down to your joggers, tugging on them until they made it far enough past your thighs to drop to the floor on their own. You suddenly felt arousal shoot through you, the realization of what was about to happen in the Serpent’s practice room. Somehow, the fact it was in the practice room only turned you on further.

Wonwoo gently pushed you to sit down in the chair he was just sitting in. He would’ve preferred doing this in his room, but he didn’t want to make the trip through the house and up the stairs -- plus there was less of a chance of being heard in the practice room. Not that he really cared if you were heard in the moment, but it made things less embarrassing afterwards.

Dropping down to his knees, Wonwoo’s eyes never left you. His eyes scanned over your body and how you bit your lip in anticipation, watching his every move. His tongue darted out to went his lips, always loving the look of you in something that was his -- especially if it belonged to his team and had his name on it. He felt that it really drove home that fact that you belonged to him.

“You always look so good,” he mumbled, dipping his head down to your clothed core as he put one of your legs over his shoulder.

You sucked in a breath when you felt his finger hook your panties and push them to the side. One of your hands went to his hair when you felt his plush lips wrap around your clit, sucking and licking softly. The finger he used to move your underwear aside teased your entrance, making you wiggle your hips as much as you could just to get it inside you. Wonwoo chuckled softly, the vibrations against you making you moan out quietly as he slid his long digit in easily, curling it and pumping at a steady pace.

You swung your other leg over the arm of the chair, opening your legs further to give Wonwoo more access. He smirked against you, lifting his head a bit to speak.

“Eager?”

You weren’t even going to deny it, nodding your head shamelessly. He couldn’t help but laugh deep in his chest before he brought his mouth back to your clit. He added a second finger, your other hand that was gripping the other arm of the chair going to his hair as well. You whimpered his name softly as he scissored his fingers inside you, feeling how wet you became so quickly. The room was quickly filled with squelching sounds as his fingers moved in and out of you, pumping at a faster pace.

“Wonwoo,” you whined, your head falling to the side as you watched him eat you out.

“Hmm?”

“Fuck me.”

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened, pulling away from you. His fingers slid out and he put them in his mouth as he stood up, seeming to decide how he wanted to do this as he sucked your arousal off of his digits. You stayed perfectly still as you watched him, waiting to see what he’d want you to do.

His eyes drifted to his phone that was still on the desk, softly buzzing and glowing to life with a text. With his glasses on, he could see it was from his groupchat with Soonyoung and Chan.

Hoshi: so

Hoshi: hows it feel to lose to your girlfriend

Hoshi: hows it feel to have your winning streak completely obliterated by your own girlfriend

Hoshi: 😏😏

You watched as Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed before he looked at you, almost glaring at you.

“Sit on the desk,” he ordered, nodding his head toward the space between two of the monitors.

You got up from the chair and positioned yourself on the desk between the monitors, your hands pressed on the space behind you to prop you up. You lifted your hips as Wonwoo hooked his fingers in your underwear, sliding them off your legs in record time. He had this new fire ignited in him that you’d seen before when you’d beat him at almost anything that you’d turned into a competition or when he had a particularly rough stream or match. It made you excited, arousal starting to drip down your thighs.

Wonwoo bent down to get a condom from his backpack before he stood up and pushed his joggers and boxers down just enough for his erection to spring free. He tore the condom wrapper open before he rolled the condom down his length, stroking it a few times to get it fully hard as his eyes scanned over you a few times.

“I can’t believe you ended my streak,” he grumbled, his eyes locked on yours as he stepped forward to align himself with your entrance.

You giggled softly with a cocky smile, “Angry?”

“No,” he scoffed as he thrust into your sharply, causing you to gasp and sit up straighter. He smirked at your reaction as he added, “just annoyed.”

He set a pace that was much faster than you anticipated, having to put your hands further back on the desk near the wall just to steady yourself. His hands gripped your hips tightly, keeping them in place while the rest of you rocked back with each snap of his hips. Your head dropped back, just inches from hitting the wall, while your eyes were half open to look up at him.

Wonwoo’s hands slid up from your hips, moving under the hoodie as they traveled up your torso and to your breasts. He kneaded them roughly, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples and making you moan out his name.

“Come on,” you breathed, a lazy smile on your face as you moved one hand to hold onto Wonwoo’s shoulder, your legs wrapped around him as well, “you can do better than that. I beat your team and fucked up your winning streak, and this is the best you can do?”

“Shut up,” he grunted, moving one hand out from under your clothes to put against your neck. He didn’t squeeze it, he just rested it there as almost a threat.

“Holding back in-game first, and now this?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as a soft moan fell from your lips. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was working judging from the way his eyebrows set lower on his face in concentration. “No wonder you lost, Woo.”

Wonwoo gripped your thighs with both hands, pulling you forward in a sharp tug. You slipped to your back on the table, nearly hitting your head as you gasped. Wonwoo’s thrusts sped up as he put one of your legs over his shoulder, drowning out any teasing words that you wanted to say and replacing them with mewls of his name.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, groaning at the way you clenched around him at this new angle.

You nodded, shamelessly admitting it.

He bent over you, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other moved back to your hip, “You’re the biggest pain in my ass.”

His lips pressed to yours as his hips kept their fast, rough pace. One of your hands moved down to rub your clit in fast circles, chasing the high that you were so close to. His mouth moved down your jaw and to your neck, leaving wet kisses as he nipped and sucked at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hissed.

“Me too...” you whimpered, raising your hips as best as you could in your current position.

Wonwoo sat up straight again, his fingertips digging into your hips as he moved his hips as quickly as he could. You could feel your eyes threatening to close as your orgasm approached, your back arching off of the table.

You came with his name coming out in a high moan, followed by whatever profanity your brain could think of, your eyes closing as Wonwoo rode out your high while also getting himself to his own. Feeling you clench around him pushed him over the edge, high, breathy moans falling past his lips as his hips began to stutter.

After the two of you had managed to come down, Wonwoo slowly pulled out of you and removed the condom, tying it up as he made his way over to the trash. He adjusted his bottoms while you just laid on the desk and tried to catch your breath.

“You alright?” he asked with a soft chuckle, leaning over to look at your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the hand he offered to help pull you up. “Feel better now?”

“I wouldn’t have been so worked up had it not been for your big mouth,” he told you with a laugh, poking your stomach as you stood up.

“Listen, we both needed it,” you insisted as you grabbed your underwear and put them back on before you put your own joggers back on. “Do you think your hoodie is lucky enough now?”

“Eh, maybe wear it for a little longer to make sure your luck rubs off on it.”

“You just like seeing me in your clothes.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s all tied up, and this last round will decide who wins: the Suzhou Serpents or the Chengdu Hunters,” the castor announced as the clock counted down.

As always -- unless they were playing -- you went to the game with Hansol and Seungkwan. Despite the fact Seungkwan still insisted he wouldn’t root for “the enemy”, Hansol was very supportive and cheered for the Serpents anyway -- including the rival tank duo that Seungkwan still refused to warm up to.

“They’re close to winning,” Hansol said in your ear above all the yelling as the two teams ran out of spawn. “Do you think they’ll do it?”

“They better,” you sighed. “I can’t be forced to wear that sweatshirt 24 hours a day again."

While you did like wearing Wonwoo’s clothes, you didn’t want to be stuck in a hoodie when you were in LA. You had become a walking waterfall from how much you sweat just stepping outside, especially since the sweatshirt was black.

“I hope the Hunters win,” Seungkwan said for the umpteenth time, pouting as he watched the screen.

“You wanna see _____ in the Serpents jersey some more?” Hansol asked.

Seungkwan’s eyes widened, realizing it was a catch 22 -- he either wanted Wonwoo’s team to lose which would result in more Serpents apparel, or he wanted them to win which would mean he would be cheering for the enemy. You and Hansol just laughed at him before turning your attention back to the screen.

It was back and forth a lot, but it was finally down to 99% on each side. The Serpents had control of the map, but the Hunters could flip it at any time. You were standing up with half the crowd, shouting encouragement at the team you were rooting for. Hansol joined you, but Seungkwan stayed seated, contemplating his decisions.

Finally, somebody stepped too far off the point, and the overtime bar went down in a second, half the crowd going absolutely wild. The arena changed to the colors for the Serpents as the team stood and patted each other on the back for their victory.

As the Serpents walked across the stage to shake hands with the other team, Wonwoo’s eyes met yours in the crowd, flashing you a wink.

You left with Hansol and Seungkwan while Junhui went down to be interviewed. You went to the lobby to wait for Wonwoo while a handful of fans had gathered around the three of you, asking for pictures and autographs that you smiled and agreed to.

Finally, you felt an arm wrap around your waist as lips pressed to your temple.

“You did it,” Wonwoo grinned, pulling you closer into his side.

“I’m glad that whole crisis is over,” you told him. “It was silly.”

“Oh, _____!” you heard somebody call your name.

You turned around to see Soonyoung jogging over to you with a smug grin -- only letting it fall when he saw Hansol and Seungkwan beside you. Still, he went up and stopped in front of you, giggling to himself before he spoke.

“You left something in our practice room the other day,” he told you.

Your eyebrows furrowed while Wonwoo just gave him a puzzled look. Nobody had known you were in the practice room except Minghao, but they assumed you were just in and out.

“I did?” you asked, sure that you had brought everything home with you.

Soonyoung reached inside his half-zipped backpack, pulling out a bra that he let dangle on his finger by the strap. Your eyes widened as your cheeks heated up.

“This,” he began, swinging it a bit, “was on my monitor.”

You quickly grabbed the article of clothing before stuffing it in the pocket of Wonwoo’s hoodie. Seungkwan and Hansol were snickering behind you, Wonwoo joining in even though he knew he’d gotten caught about having sex in the practice room. But hey, it wasn’t like his underwear was found in there by his friends.

You glared at your boyfriend, growling under your breath, “I’m getting you back for this.”

He just smirked, “Can’t wait.”

949 notes · View notes

iwritecuziwant · 3 years

Text

[Original] A 20 meters square apartment

There are love stories that people yearn for, there are those that people cringe at and then there are us, ordinary people falling in love ordinarily.

I was an ordinary kid with ordinary hobbies, personality and interests. My parents had all these fantasies and high hopes of me. Like any other Asian parents. The older I grew, the more their dreams got shattered.

I got soaked in the rain. I had crushes on random people. I studied hard but I played harder. Those ordinary days I spent seemed never end.

“Studying here means you have no future!”

That was the most bullshit words my dad had ever spitted out. Yet, I never argued. Silence was a totem of my pride. Obedience was a shield full of despair.

I thought agreeing to study abroad was a way to escape. As well as the perfect reason to blame him for my failures. I thought I would never be able to mature. I thought I would always be a miserable coward.

Until I met the most beautiful creature, um... no... a girl I meant, on Earth.

Well, the story of us didn’t start when I first saw her on that balcony. She had her hair tied into a bun, her slim figure and light skin was all my parents would have asked for in a child. The beauty was far away, enough to hide her features from my thirsty gaze. But I could have bet she was a true beauty by then. My jaw must had dropped way down to the concrete floor, from where I stood and stupidly stared.

No, the story also didn’t start when an old lady with the most heart-warming smile took me, a total foreigner, in her apartment. Xenophobia was a thing for these people.

“It’s fine. You seem genuine” Was all she said and I successfully found a roof for myself in this faraway land.

The story may have started when I heard a loud thud in the middle of my favorite song. Out of all consequences one could think of, especially after living there peacefully for a long time, how many would think of blood and death? Such imagination sent my feet running towards the room.

I must thank my pessimistic imagination then, because in the pitch black room - in which one could barely see their hands through thick darkness - I found her.

“Gr-gramp?” With an out of breath voice filled with uncertainty, the beauty laid there on the floor - unconscious. Her pale face and the ladder lying randomly next to her got illuminated by my mobile flashlight. And the next thing I knew, I was next to the old crying lady on a hospital bench, impatiently staring at the emergency room.

What on earth was she doing in such darkness? The ladder might be a hint, she could have been fixing the lights. Anyhow, that was the best explanation I could think of.

“She will be fine” I cracked my head for the best vocabularies as I tried to comfort the poor old lady.

Luck smiled. The door from the emergency room swung open. And only one sentence, the stone weighing down on my heart was lifted.

“She’s awake.”

The story must have started when she turned her head towards us. “Suffocating beauty” was all I could think of as I eventually realized our eyes never met.

-------

“Hey! Turn the music down!!”

It took me insisting on visiting her everyday with the excuse of “Just to make sure” until she was comfortable enough with our small talks through our balconies. The apartment was small enough that there was only one room each floor. Her room was right above mine all those time and I never saw her once until the incident.

“Can I come up there?” I casually threw my head backwards as I tried looking over for the balcony above my head.

“For what? Making sure again?” She laughed with the voice that could send anyone begging for her attention. “It’s been a week!”

“No, I just wanna hang around” I finally told her the truth for once.

Dead silence. Slight panic washed over me as I quickly search for some humour, awkward humour. “Princess, what shall I need to be your friend? A glass slipper?”

There was a quiet chuckle and I almost missed it.

“What’s the point? I don’t possess a pumpkin coach anyway.”

“I don’t care what you possess. I just wanna be your friend.” I replied in a hearbeat. “Unless... you don’t want me to.”

Another wave of awkward silence.

“...Why?” She finally asked. Timidly.

“Well...” I scratched the back of my head, wishing I had learnt more cheesy lines in her language. I stuttered with all I had in mind. “Because I like you? No wait. Not like like. More like friendly like. Ugh... How can I say this...”

Another contagious laughter came. Gosh, I love it.

Before I could die of embarrassment...

“Ok. Come up here, weirdo.” She said, a hint of amusement lingered in her voice.

I died of happiness.

---------

“What does this word mean?”

I never failed to show up twice a week at her place since then. For small talks. Gradually, I learned about her name. Her job, a freelance commercial writer as well as a novelist. I knew she was older than me, but then I learned her age. Her dark room got brighter and brighter as time goes by. My gadgets appear on her dining table bit by bit. My favorite music she once hated deliberately danced with her orchestra albums. Her uneasy frown slowly turned to a calm and welcoming smile. Like a cat, she slowly got comfortable with my presence.

“Spell it.” She said without turning to me. The slim figure, wearing a comfortable black pyjama, quietly sat at the small desk.

“Wait, you’re working?” I looked at her laptop screen. The usual notepad filled with neat words was not there, she was staring at a blank page, headset on, words were typed and deleted like she was drumming an aimless beat.

My eyebrows arched.

“Love.” She simply explained. It didn’t take her long to throw herself on the desk, yawning defeatedly. “I have zero experience. Can’t write.”

“Want me to share my experience?” I laughed, couldn’t help putting a hint of pride in my tone. Although... the longest relationship I have ever been in only lasted for 2 months, I didn’t plan to tell her that.

Her eyes widened as she put her headset down on the desk, finally turning to face me.

“You? Experienced in love?” The puzzled look sold her out. “You sound like a kid!”

That was her way to say I sounded inexperience.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to” I pouted, attempted to show my bruised ego.

An angelic laughter sent my heart ringing.

---------

“I wanna go shopping. Come with me!!”

Questions turned to suggestions. Hesitation turned to bold ideas. Things came after another. Time flew by. The number of visits stacked up. Until I knew it, I had been popping up at her door randomly, anytime. Yet, I never saw her out. I even prepared to receive a refusal as well as a prompted why question. The angel never ceased to ruin my pessimistic side.

“Sure. We might as well have a walk!” She lazily shouted out from her bedroom.

“Wait... That was easy?” I shut the door behind me as I automatically flicked on the lights.

“Did you expect a no?” She emerged from her bedroom, leaning on the wall to put on her socks.

She wore a simple white sweatshirt with a black pleated skirt, a casual outfit but it made her wonderful body stood out. I blinked as I tried to turn away from the sight.

“Well... um...”

A mischief smirk was hanging her face. I felt like a thief being caught red-handed and stammered.

“You meanie” I huffed, crossing my arms.

The girl finally bursted out laughing, holding her stomach as her tears leaked out. “I get it” She said through her laughter.

“I rarely go outside. Gramp brings me food anyway.” She wiped a tear as she made her way to the door, to where I was.

“She doesn’t let you go outside?” My voice filled with shock and uncertainty as my jaw dropped.

“Don’t think of her like that.” She pulled out a pair of black boots. “I’m just lazy.”

“So it’s my pleasure you agreed to tag along then?”

“Yes. You should be grateful” She chuckled as we locked her door.

We went out for the first time

-----------

Love was a luxurious word.

“What is love?” I once asked myself.

The images I had was full of those sudden romeo-and-juliet cliché moments. The imaginations were all those romantic movies scenes that one rarely found in real life. I had been waiting for such love.

I had been waiting for a sudden magic touch that washed all of my senses away. I had been waiting for an intentional hit that made me realize the dull world I lived in. I had been waiting to become a character in those fairy tales we read.

“Then, how do we know if we were in love?”

“How do we know if it was the person?”

The longer I spent with her, the more I wondered about love. I caught myself daydreaming more, the fantasies of us holding hands and travelling to places started kept knocking the door. I was caught staring so many times that a regular "because you're beautiful" didn't suffice anymore. I painted her in my memory. The wrinkles by her eyes when she smiles. Her quiet blush and how she bit her lower lip whenever she caught me staring. How her hand brushed away some of her hair when she tried to focus.

It finally dawned on me. I fell in love.

The thought scared me. The possible consequences horrified me. I got terrified upon realization.

The love I once wished for came. But it was not luxurious. It was not magical. It was not sudden.

It was sneaky.

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

I spent days and nights thinking about the “What if” questions

Her shaky voice, trembling hands and slightly torn lip gave away her fear as she poured her heart out about how much she hated herself.

It broke my heart to pieces as I ran my hand carefully on her sweaty back.

The slight smile she pulled as I complimented on her great observation skills haunted me.

“My life requires observation after all”

Those words were light as feather yet it felt like an oppressive mountain she was under.

The tingling sensation whenever we held hands. The electricity hit me whenever our fingers intertwined. Those were all familiar, yet scary, feelings.

Butterflies in the stomach, they say.

The closer we got, the harder to hide.

The fear grew together with the curiosity.

“Why do you spend so much time with me?”

A touch of loneliness, a touch of hesitation, a touch of doubt... yet, there was also a touch of hope in her nervous voice.

The way her face swiftly changed from a surprised expression, and a hurtful disappointed bit on her lips, to a faint smile of acceptance. The way her shoulder tensed as she got stiffened. It was her best cover whenever she was hurt.

Yet, such cover came up when she first heard of people hitting on me.

Such cover was there when I joked about having a crush on someone.

Such cover was there so many times that I had to struggle from getting high hopes.

If I must be honest, I intentionally pulled such cover up in her ... as a childish way to check.

“How do you know you’re in love?”

Her ambiguous gaze, her hand holding her chin and her dreamy eyes.

My heart lost a beat. Whether was it hope or was it fear, I never knew. Might be both.

“If you ask that question, it is certain that you are” I tried to pull the most genuine smile I could. The horrible knot in my guts made me feel like vomitting.

“Could it be me?” I asked myself.

I don’t know.

A part of me wished she would. Another part was filled with doubts.

However, the thought of her dating someone else never settled.

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

Love was a sweet friend of jealousy. Love was the mother of anxiety. And, love, was the house of unordinary emotions.

She lost in thoughts more often.

She usually bit her lips with faint red colored cheeks.

She listened to love songs that she swore she would never like.

Yet... I also realized

Her smile dropped.

Her usual frown took place.

Her nervous tapping rythm.

Her heavy sigh.

“Do you ever think of telling them?”

One day, I dropped the question.

She was dumbfounded.

“No. I’m pretty sure I’m out of their league.”

She sounded out of breath with a faint smile. It seemed forced. There was a vague sadness lingered in her usual unfocused gaze.

In a moment, I thought I could have stolen a kiss from her.

I was an ordinary kid. But dear God, I started having unordinary desires.

She liked her fluffy smooth pillow.

She liked the smell of honey and orange.

She liked the sound of orchestra music.

She liked being lazy indoor as she listened to the falling rain.

She liked drinking warm milk before bed.

She liked comedy genre movies.

I never had the courage to ask her directly if my name was in her favorite list.

However...

I caught her hugging my mohair teddy bear.

I caught her satisfied smile as she was sniffing the scent of coffee in my cup.

I caught her turning up my favorite album which she claimed “not my cup of tea”.

I caught her excitedly checking for the weather everyday before our trips.

I caught my favorite tea brand in her cupboard.

I caught her gripping me tightly whenever we turned on horror movies - her most hated genre on Earth, she said.

There were so much more, yet I was too afraid to believe in the hints I got.

They said Love is blind and I sure was.

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

Sometimes it takes one to realize how easily they can lose a person to say the words.

Sometimes it takes one to realize they are out of time.

Sometimes it takes one to reminisce to realize they missed their chance.

Love is not cruel.

Time is not heartless.

It was just us being indecisive.

I felt like a kid losing his toy as I helped packing her luggage. She was gonna go back to her hometown.

I was so used to her presence after all those time that I vividly felt a hole drilled inside my heart.

“You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms as her face twisted into a concerned look.

What could I say? Don’t leave me?

I furrowed my eyebrows.

I had never felt so uneasy, scared and irritated, ever. Never.

I wanted to lie as I usually did. Yet, something was holding me back.

“I’m ok. Don’t worry” Those words could have ended everything.

Have I always been that coward? My dad words came rushing back into my brain.

Have I always been forced to do things I didn’t wanted? The bullshit totem of pride, silence, was what I needed to get rid.

Have I always been left with no choice? Obedience, my ass.

So what if I got rejected?

So what if things wouldn’t work out?

Screw consequences.

I didn’t want to have regrets anymore.

“I think I’m in love”

I muttered under my breath. Finally.

-----------

Love is weird.

It could lift us to the highest clouds.

It could bury us to the lowest grounds.

It could blew a wind of courage into our soul.

It could destroy our confidence in one beat.

It could enlighten our darkest world.

It could darken our brightest mood.

It all depended on how the person chose to take our love.

I gently squeezed the graceful hand in mine. I chuckled as I see the blush started creeping onto her face.

“What?” She mumbled, burying her reddened face into the wool scarf we were sharing.

“I was wondering... What did you do with the ladder the day I found you?”

“I was checking the lights.”

I blinked, trying to digest what she was saying.

“I thought you never use it?”

“I don’t.” She shrugged. “But it kills no one to prepare for the day prince charming comes banging on the door.”

We both laughed. And... That was enough for me.

There are love stories that people yearn for, there are those that people cringe at and then there are us, ordinary people falling in love ordinarily.

#original writing #writeblr #fluff #original work #sparkling doughnut

0 notes

mywebfoot · 8 years

Text

Close Combat

Had to write a Strong Woman Do Bong Soon Fanfic. Because chemistry.

This fic is in the near future, just after the timeline seen in Ep 9′s previews.

----

Min Hyuk, holding the knife’s edge forward, punched upward. The blade angled perfectly to maximize contact across Bong Soon’s chest. The curved edge of the knife landed on Bong Soon’s left upper chest and sliced across her body to her right shoulder. She squeaked, then gasped from the searing slice. She put her hand to the gaping hole in her fluffy daffodil yellow sweatshirt. She looked down at her hand, and it came away from her body dripping bright red blood. She glared at him.

“You didn’t,” she growled. “How could you cut me!”

Min Hyuk merely shrugged. She wanted knife training, she would have to put up with some slicing. Despite his own superior height and training, he wasn’t going to go easy on someone who had the genetic advantage of super human strength. That made no sense. His coach had told that in close combat, a missed opportunity was death. That his chosen weapon, the SOG Seal knife was a narrow sliver of murderous metal was part of the strategy. Long, light, and balanced, it further enhanced his reach advantage.

That’s what he told himself to stem the tiny regret he felt at her gasp of dismay. Still, he strengthened his resolve – she would recover, and he knew the enemy would have worse in their armory.

Bong Soon struggled to get air into her lungs. Her chest burned where Min Hyuk’s knife had made contact. That had hurt.

Bong Soon’s eyes narrowed. Just because he was tall and lean, he would take advantage of his height and reach, would he? She tightened her grip on her push daggers. As her tiny fists curled around the handle of the T-shaped daggers, the blades between her index and middle fingers twitched. Elbows tight at her side, she charged at Min Hyuk. She might be small, but she knew how to focus her strength now.

Min Hyuk saw her curl up into a defensive ball, and saw her attack coming. He immediately shoved his arms up, forearms forward to bear the brunt of the attack, but she was ludicrously fast. In a double upper cut, she snapped her fists at him. Two shocks of pain punched into his armpits. Her inexperience shows, he thought amidst a wave of spreading pain. She had aimed high and wide, too high to fatally puncture vital organs.

He managed to wheeze a mocking laugh at her. “You missed.”

She straightened. Then raised her chin. “I didn’t.”

Min Hyuk went slackjawed. The true viciousness of her move hit him at the same time as he felt the gush of warm blood down his ribs.

“The armpit has no inconvenient bones, Ahn Min Hyuk.”

It felt like his arms were being dislocated at the shoulders.

His hands fell limply to his side. His knife clattered to floor, splashing it a lurid splash of crimson. He couldn’t believe it. He felt the trickle of warm blood dribble down his ribs. She got him, after just two hours of knife training. He had expected her to learn fast, but certainly not attain deadly precision this quickly.

“Bong Soon,” he gasped as he bent over, wanting to cup his hands to his armpits, but finding that his arms hung uselessly at his sides. He staggered toward the wall and leaned on it.

Bong Soon stood over him, 5-foot-nothing of victorious warrior princess, and punched her fist in the air.

“That was daaeeeebak!” she squealed. “Let’s do it again!”

He eyed her through the fog of pain that was slowly taking him over. She was so overjoyed to have won that she was practically wriggling. Her over-sized sweatshirt only hinted at the little lithe body under it, but Min Hyuk had had enough close combat grappling with her to know it was there. Despite the excruciating pain, a thought popped into his head. It stayed there and refused to leave. It wasn’t exactly a PG 13 thought. Bong Soon inspired thoughts further down the alphabet. Like ‘R’ for restricted. Sometimes even X. Truthfully, he hadn’t had a PG 13 thought around her ever since that charged moment in the hospital. On the perfectly convenient hospital bed. With her slipping dangerously between his legs to dry his hair. He could have sworn Bong Soon had had the same fixation on his lips that he had on her sweet curvy lips. He had nearly tested that theory, but of course, Gook Do, the supreme third wheel, lamp-post extraordinaire had to have walked in on that charged moment.

That moment had been lost, but not the lesson learnt from the encounter with the thugs. Ever since he’d been discharged from the hospital he’d been working on this new combat simulator for knife training. He never wanted to see her come this close to being stabbed again. He could have beat himself on the head for neglecting weapons training, but it didn’t seem at the time that she’d ever get that far. He should have known Bong Soon better. He’d already learnt that her jutting chin meant that she could get creatively mean.

From his crouched position he examined her happy dance. Through the VR glasses, her chest was still dripping blood, completely at odds with her sunshiny smile and the bouncing bob of chestnut hair. The blood spatter had been easy to model for the simulator, as had been molding her sweet face. That one he could do in his sleep, and had done so in too many fevered dreams. He’d traced the contours of her nose and lips more times than he could remember. No, what was difficult had been setting up the tiny pain and pressure simulators he’d built into the second skin suits they were wearing. Even though the wound was virtual, the pain delivered by the nano shock units were quite real. Fortunately, the pain was already fading. The system recognized a ‘fatal wound’ victory, and was already resetting for the next bout. Her fuzzy sweater faded away, as did his street clothes, leaving them clothed in the silvery grey second skins.

Bong Soon had gone on to full victory dancing now. She hopped and twirled. The sight of her slim curves gyrating in that tight body suit made him forget the last of the debilitating pain, and he straightened. Discomfort gave way to familiar bemusement at the combination of cheerleader and butcher that was Do Bong Soon. Frisky and frightening.

“Want to try something else?”

She paused in her dancing. “Will I win?” she grinned.

He thought for a bit. Who wins in a seduction? He couldn’t answer that one. He settled for “Maybe.”

“You’re just saying that because you lost. To me.”

“I did,” he acknowledged seriously. He reached over Bong Soon’s head and opened a panel on the now grey and blank wall of the simulacrum. The console slid out and he tapped a new set of conditions into the system.

Bong Soon’s face turned serious too, and she stilled. “Is this another weapon? What will we use this time? Sticks? Pipes?” She waved the little remotes in her hand that had taken on the shape and form of daggers until a few seconds ago.

His woman was pretty gangsta, the thought popped into his head. She’d always been gangsta, but just not his woman. Not yet. Maybe tonight.

“No weapons,” he said. He reached out and took them from her hands. He set them on the ground and straightened, his eyes full of hot intent. Bong Soon didn’t notice. The room darkened to a midnight shade. In the VR screens of the headset she still wore, Bong Soon could see little except the square of Min Hyuk’s shoulders, outlined in a dim, red light that seemed to pulse. The best she could imagine, it seemed they were in some emergency chamber with the electricity cut off. Oooh, dangerous, she thought.

She dropped to ready stance. Right foot back, knees bent, arms bent and hands ready.

“Relax,” Min Hyuk’s amused voice came out of the dark, somewhere to her right and above her. How does one seduce an adorable but prickly hedgehog?

“No fighting?” She straightened, confused. “Then what are we doing?”

“Trying out some new s...,” he hesitated. “Simulations.”

Bong Soon heard the gentle rush of a waterfall before the sensation of gushing water moved over her skin. She jumped at the unexpected cool tingling. Then she laughed out with delight.

“This is great! I can actually feel like I stepped under a waterfall!”

“How’s the temperature, too cold?”

His hand touched her upper arm, as if to check for cold. She didn’t need the tight second skin to tell her that his warm, hard fingers were sliding up to wrap securely around her shoulders. She felt him take a step closer. His chest was in not two inches in front of her and she felt overwhelmed by his proximity. Was she imagining things or were there also waves of heat coming from him? A shudder ran through her.

“It’s a bit cold,” she lied. “Could you make it warmer?”

“I could.” He ducked a little to look at her face, trying to judge if he was freaking her out, but she kept it averted from him. Doubt assailed him. Maybe he should just give up trying to get her to see him as a man, and not some Boy Genius Entrepreneur. After all, she was still infatuated with That Policeman.

His entire being protested and his jaw tightened. Not another moment could he stand even imagining her with anybody else. He needed her. He had to have her in his arms, not struggling to get away in a fight, but fighting to get closer. As adults do when making love. As they nearly had on that hospital bed.

“Liana,” he instructed the system, “Bath setting.”

The temperature rose, and the sensation of rushing liquid on her skin turned into one of gentle lapping. It started from the bottoms of Bong Soon’s feet, rose past her hips and waist, and stopped at about her breasts, where the sensation was particularly strong. Her breath caught. Her eyes slid shut because she felt a tingling sensation there that she’d never experienced before. Her heart was racing, and she had a distinct suspicion as to why, but couldn’t ask Min Hyuk if that was the case. They’d built up quite a friendship in the past few months, but somehow she didn’t think it was appropriate to ask a male friend what arousal felt like. Not this male friend. She asked a safer question.

“Is the water at my... my... chest height?” she choked out around the lump that had formed in her throat. She was dismayed that her words came out with halting puffs of air.

“Look.” His voice had changed. It seemed gentler. Understanding. Huskier. His hands, still clasped around her shoulders, tightened.

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. She opened them behind her VR headset and saw that they were now in some kind of underground bath chamber. Cerulean streaks coruscated on the glistening stone walls. The streaks emanated from the dimly lighted water, making it seem like liquid sapphire. The water came up to her chest and sparkled around her. Her small gasp echoed, as if the cavern were low and narrow. She looked, but she couldn’t see the ceiling in the darkness above her. All she could see were walls with subtly patterned tiles and the twinkling liquid they were standing in.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s pretty.”

“You’re pretty.”

Her eyes darted to his face. Frustratingly, it seemed that he had masked his face in this simulation.

“I can’t see you,” she complained. And she desperately wanted to.

“You sound afraid.”

“I’m not. I just want to know...too see if...” she couldn’t say it. But she could try something else. Reaching out with her hands, she rested them on his chest. It looked slick and shiny from the simulation of water on their suits. In the tips of her fingers, she felt his pulse jump, and hers accelerated too. He took another tiny step closer. His grip shifted, from holding her to softly caressing her shoulders.

“What do you want to see?” his disembodied voice came from the blank darkness that covered his face.

She bit her lip, and decided to be brave. “No suits,” she whispered.

He was shocked. And too turned on to celebrate. His breath snagged. “Li...” his voice came out in strangled croak. He winced. Cleared his throat. “Liana,” he tried again. “Nude,” he breathed.

The word echoed in the chamber, meshing into the quite lap of the water.

As Bong Soon watched, the grey of the suit faded under her hand, until she saw the simulation of his skin appear. It was as taut as she had imagined it, as dangerously tempting as well. Her finger, almost of its own accord traced the ridged center of his sternum, dragging down until it reached his belly and the water line. Beneath that the water distorted the illusion, giving a teasing glimpse of what lay below. His breath got deeper, the muscles on his chest shifting as he struggled for air. Bong Soon was slaying him with that curious finger on his body.

“Bong Soon,” he breathed. “I don’t think I want to hold back any more. I don’t think I can. I need to know.”

I need to know too, she replied in her head. She looked up and searched his eyes, but frustratingly saw nothing but his mask. Why? Why would this confident, successful man hide his beautiful face, and all that he was? Surely he had nothing to be embarrassed about. But she knew he hid shame. The shame of being looked down upon. Being told he was worthless, valueless, pointless. His vulnerability gave her strength to be bold.

Soothingly she whispered, “I need to know too. I need to know whether you have that look in your eyes that you had in the hospital. Whether you’re staring at my lips the way I was staring at yours.”

She reached up and in quick succession knocked her glasses and then his off their faces. Both clattered to the cement floor of the training room. The sparkling cavern disappeared.

His tousled hair emerged, spiking in all directions. But she could see his eyes, and they were as searingly intent as she remembered. That look made her feel hotter than any simulator could, and in places that no simulator ought to be. She had not imagined the needy begging in his eyes. She reached up and stuck her hands into hair and accepted him and all that he was.

She stood on tiptoes, dragged his face to hers, and kissed him silly.

His need exploded. His arms wrapped tight around her and he pulled her against his chest. The second skin continued to simulate the lapping waves of a warm bath, and between that and Bong Soon’s body pressed tight against him, his brains short-circuited. In his mind’s eye they were at once standing up against each other and also floating nude in a warm salty sea cave. The mental composite of slick, naked woman that it conjured drove him crazy and he kissed her without holding back.

Bong Soon, too, was drowning in the sensuality of simulator twisted with reality and had no mental space left for anything except exploring Min Hyuk’s deliciously male lips while cavorting in a warm bath with him. She hopped and wrapped her legs around him. She nibbled, she ate. She helplessly indulged every wicked thought about his mouth that she’d tried to put aside, and still found more things to do to them. Licking, sucking, and feeling drunk was involved. She twined her arms around his neck and wriggled closer. The sexy, wriggling thrust of her hips against his throbbing, thrumming center nearly killed Min Hyuk.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. He pulled away from her with a loud smacking of their lips being torn apart. He was panting hard, and so was she. He opened his eyes and looked at her, finding it impossible to believe that his yearned-for fantasies were coming true, each and every one of them crafted and specifically molded for months around the woman that was Bong Soon. She blinked dazed eyes at him.

“Is this real?” he panted, unable to separate real from virtual any more.

Bright fluorescent light poured down from the ceiling lights, and glistened on her lips, swollen and damp from the savage loving. The seconds ticked away as both held their breath. Reality threatened their newfound understanding.

And lost.

That night, second skins were stripped away. Min Hyuk got his gangsta woman.

----

Hope you liked it!

#strong woman do bong soon #fic

38 notes · View notes

segadores-y-soldados · 8 years

Text

Segador: It Is Not Him

A story about how the earliest picture of the original Overwatch Commander came out.

And how it is not him.

Not in the way he knew himself.

And not in the way he would become.

---

AKA, fuck vague half-answers on twitter.

Segador: It is Not Him

September 7, 2052: Overwatch’s New York Headquarters, United States - one year after the end of the Omnic Crisis

Gabriel’s pretty certain he’s never been so uncomfortable in his goddamn life.

The headgear pinches at his scalp, squeezing his cheekbones with unsettling pressure; he finds himself already missing his beanie, soft and warm and yielding. The blue chestpiece doesn’t fit right - it’s too loose around his shoulders and too snug around his ribs; he finds himself already missing his black one, handcrafted by Torbjörn to fit perfectly. The turtleneck - seriously, a fucking turtleneck?? It’s not even Kevlar! - scratches and is too warm for September; he finds himself missing his grey hoodie with gentle, flexible cotton.

But above all else -

Gabriel looks at the weird glowing rifle in his hands - sleek and black with orange lights, one of Ana’s “side arms,” because only a sniper would think of a standard assault rifle as a “side arm” - and hefts it with unnerving discomfort.

Above all else, he misses his shotguns.

With pounding frustration and an increasing headache (or was it increasing frustration and a pounding headache?), Gabriel steps out from behind the little partition where they had given him room to get changed. He squares up before the small group of people in the room - his four closest companions, Ana’s seven-year-old daughter Fareeha (who’s looking rather bored as she smashes some buttons on her gamepad), and a bunch of the new recruits who are milling about awkwardly.

“I look ridiculous,” he growls.

The four heroes - Jack, Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn - are lounging around the main room of the base, all of them also wearing these fucking weird ultra-blue “Overwatch” armor sets. Reinhardt looks especially uncomfortable and especially blue - Torbjörn had barely managed to whip out the cobalt armor for him last-minute when Adawe had told them about the “Overwatch global reveal” photoshop to them last week. The tiny engineer, meanwhile, looks completely out of place without his usual red armor, and he tugs at his beard nervously as he assesses the new recruits. Jack and Ana seem to pull the look off well, as its basically the get up they’re already used to: Ana’s reading something on her datapad, adjusting the beret perched on her silky black hair. Jack is leaning slack against the arm of a cheap couch, looking completely at ease with himself, tapping away at his datapad with a faint smirk as Fareeha next to him whines, “Jack, that’s not fair -”

“This is why I told you not to battle the Overwatch Pokemon Champion, Fareeha,” Jack grins to her before he and the others turn their attention to their commander -

There is stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence in the room, broken only by the faint electronic chirping of some pocket monster passing the fuck out on Fareeha’s gamepad.

Torbjörn snorts as Fareeha’s tiny shoulders begin shaking. Ana flashes a terrible, dry smile before covering her mouth and looking away. Reinhardt squints at him with his good eye and Jack gives him the most awkward, fucking fake smile Gabriel has ever seen on him, muttering with some effort, “You - you look good, Gabe.”

“I look fucking ridiculous -” Gabriel starts with a scowl before Ana shouts, “LANGUAGE, GABRIEL.” Her daughter doesn’t even seem to notice, however - Fareeha is giggling and chortling to herself as she shakes Jack’s arm with bubbling excitement and the blonde second-in-command is also starting to shiver with stifled laughter.

“What happened to yer beard?” Torbjörn asks with slight horror - because the beard enthusiast of Overwatch would be the first to notice that it was different. Gabriel frowns, rubbing a gloved hand over his chin, muttering, “Well...Gabrielle said to look presentable so I tried to trim it down but I fucked it up -”

“GABRIEL REYES, I SWEAR TO GOD -” Ana yells, rising from the couch and whipping around to face him in one smooth motion. Gabriel grits his teeth, grumbling, “SORRY, I screwed it up so it got this fuc- this fricking bald patch so then I had to make it even and now it looks like shit- turds and then I had to trim down all the rest of it and I look ridiculous -”

“You look fine, Gabriel.”

Gabriel glares viciously at the newcomer entering in from the hall by where the new recruits are milling about. She’s a short, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman with bright eyes and wide lips that are quick to quirk into a smile, her short curls bouncing with every casually confident step of her heels. Her fondness for bright textiles is not daunting even now in the dying days of summer in New York: she apparently felt whimsical as all fuck today because she’s wearing a bright blue dress - the same blue as their uniforms - with interwoven orange and silver-grey strands. Her eyes light up as she assesses the Overwatch commander, looking him up and down with smug approval. Gabriel snaps, “I look overdone, Gabrielle.”

The Security Council’s Under-Secretary-General gives him a vague wave of her hand, saying in her Nigerian-tipped accent, “You look professional, Gabriel. You finally look like a leader.”

“So what, I was just chopped liver before?” Gabriel snaps, as the pressure in his head grows and he shifts the gun in his hand nervously. It’s not live, obviously, and Gabriel’s trigger discipline is too good even with an empty rifle in his hands, but the thing still makes him uncomfortable, it still doesn’t feel right, he feels -

He doesn’t feel like himself.

Jack gives him a soft, playful, happy smile and Gabriel softens a little.

At least someone is finding the humor in it.

“A beanie and sweatshirt are not appropriate for the Commander of Overwatch when he makes his public debut,” Adawe reminds him, before giving him a matronly fingerwave, “You have been putting this off for nearly six months, Reyes, and the United Nations cannot delay this any longer. Now, come with me - the photographers are waiting. The rest of you wait until the set up people call you.” Adawe turns as abruptly as she came in, and Gabriel gives one last glance at Jack, who nods at him affectionately.

Gabriel sighs -

He’s fucking weak to that look -

And then he sets off after his boss, striding past the four heroes and the little girl still giggling and the bewildered new recruits.

For a woman just under five feet tall and wearing three inch heels, Adawe is fucking fast.

Gabriel practically jogs up to her in the hallway to the main entrance, muttering, “Gabrielle… Gabrielle… Adawe, fucking stop.”

That gets her attention, and she snaps around towards him with a fierce stare, squaring herself up to him rather impressively with her short stature as she whispers dangerously, “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Gabriel -”

“I can’t do this.”

Adawe pauses because -

There’s a cracking in his voice.

Gabriel knows he has problems conveying his emotions - Jack always jokes that Gabriel’s face could make a bed of nails look soft. Gabriel knows he has problems expressing himself - he can never find the right words to say. Gabriel knows he has problems opening up - his heart struggles behind the layers of steel and bravado and taunting sarcasm, barriers only a select few have managed to get past.

Gabriel knows he has problems taking pictures.

Gabriel locks onto her dark eyes and -

He wouldn’t call it begging, per se -

But he’s definitely pleading with her:

“Please… Please, Gabrielle - we need to talk about this,” he says softly and Adawe’s dark mood lightens a bit as she says to him gently, “...It is just a few pictures, Gabriel.”

“...It’s not the pictures, Gabrielle.”

Adawe’s eyes - normally so bright and lively, now turned solemn and serious - search his for an answer and Gabriel whispers, dangerously close to feeling vulnerable -

He feels uncomfortable.

He feels unlike himself.

“This isn’t me, Gabrielle,” Gabriel says, his voice breaking under the pressure of a too-tight headset and the pressure of a too-tight chestpiece and the weight of carrying an empty rifle that isn’t his, “The meetings, the Security Council, planning city reconstructions, balancing budgets - I’m a general, not a politician.”

“There are still many parts of the world under great violence, Gabriel,” she reminds him, with a gentle pressure but a pressure nonetheless, “The world still needs you as Commander.”

“Out there, on the battlefield, sure, yeah, fuck, I’ll fight, I’ll always fight, but this?” Gabriel says, gesturing to himself, to the ridiculous blue pieces of armor and the empty rifle, “This is playing fucking dress-up -”

“Funny,” Adawe smirks at him, “I thought you would have liked that, considering your fondness for that American costume holiday.”

“This isn’t fucking Halloween, Adawe,” he snaps, perhaps a touch more...violently than he should have, “This is not what I wore when I was ripping heads off Bastions or tripping up Spiders or even destroying Titans - and it won’t be what I wear when I put down terrorists or gangs or mercenaries.”

“It’s just a photoshoot, Reyes -”

“We need to talk about putting Jack or Ana in charge of Overwatch.”

Adawe stops, her mouth sealing into a tight line and Gabriel scowls at her, muttering in a low, dark, bittersweet growl, his words curling out of his lungs like black smoke, “I’ll fight whatever new battles this damn organization faces, I’ll do whatever needs to be done - whether that’s mercing a few bad guys or cleaning up the leftover Bastions or fucking balancing budgets - but you cannot keep putting this off on me. We both know that this is a fucking sham, my math skills aren’t fucking great, I can't persuade anyone anything for shit, and you need someone who will fight your political battles, who will balance your budgets, who will find great recruits, and who will actually take good photos when you pressure them into it -

“And we both know that is not me.”

Adawe gives him a long, intense stare before replying quietly, gently, “...The Council will be hard to convince, Gabriel.”

“I already know they don’t like me - trust me, it’ll be easier than you think,” he says dryly and she cracks a wry smile, “I see I cannot pull the sheep over your eyes.”

“That’s not… yeah, okay, yeah, you’re right, I see it all,” Gabriel sighs, realizing that there are some battles that just aren’t worth fighting and she chuckles brightly, all sunshine and smiles and warmth, “It may take some time - a year...perhaps two. The Council is focused on a good many things and changing Overwatch’s Commander is not even near being a top priority, not when you are still perfectly capable of both killing Bastions and doing your finances. ...But perhaps…” she adds slowly, a sly, crisp, mischievous smile on her face, “Perhaps you send Jack to fight your political battles with the Security Council instead, yes? I do not believe any of us want to hear you give another speech like last week’s.”

Ah.

That fucking shitshow.

Gabriel is wrong.

THAT was the most uncomfortable he had ever been in his goddamn life.

“...Trust me, I’ll be more than happy to let Jack handle you ambassadors,” Gabriel mutters, feeling some of the pressure ease off of him, “He’s way better at this shit than me - shit, Adawe, he was telling me about this idea of making a medical sciences division to help deal with all the problems people are still having - he has this whole vision of having a huge team of doctors and scientists to work on giving out medical help and supplies and developing more efficient resource technologies - he wants to try and reestablish clean energies like Dorado and - what’s so funny?”

Adawe is laughing brightly to herself and Gabriel scowls as she reaches out and pats his arm, saying cheerfully, “I am glad to see you looking happier! You have been frowning all day, my son.”

“Well, yeah,” Gabriel grins at her smugly, “You made me wear this shittyass costume - it’s not even good quality, Gabrielle. I could fucking design a better Commander outfit myself.”

Her eyes flash widely at the challenge in his voice and she mocks him, “I would pay good money to see you wear something other than your sweatshirt on the battlefield.”

“I never said it would be for me,” he smirks and Gabrielle just pats his arm again, laughing, “You have too much time on your hands! I should be giving you more responsibilities. Perhaps you can take some of the pressure off of me.”

They resume their walk down the hallway to the entrance of the Headquarters, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering, “Jesus, first y’all need me to stop the robot apocalypse and save the world, next you need me to rebuild cities, and then you need me to file your damn taxes - just fucking ask me to wipe your asses, why don’t you?”

“Do not talk like that in front of the press,” Adawe chides him solemnly, “After five years I am used to your...unique way of speech, but please, mind your tongue for five minutes.”

“Be seen and not heard, huh?” Gabriel asks her wryly and she smirks at him, “It is only going to be a few photos, Reyes.”

“...One photo.”

“A few.”

“...One?”

“...How about a deal?” Adawe asks him as they pause before the large doors, “You give me five good photos, and I will let you leave early.”

“I won’t have to wear this piece of shit anymore?” Gabriel asks hesitantly and Adawe grins, “The others will still need pictures...and Jack has your beanie, I believe.”

“That motherfucker,” Gabriel mutters, but there’s no anger to his tone - just smug playfulness. Jack would keep his beanie hostage just to tease Gabriel while the commander is forced to be dressed like a total tool.

“Do we have a deal?” Adawe asks, her eyes glittering brightly.

Gabriel grins at her.

He’s not comfortable right now.

He does not feel like himself.

Hell -

This is not him.

But he thinks of four heroes, waiting in another room, dressed in matching colors; he thinks of how the four of them - all dressed differently, all dressed in whatever they were comfortable in - rolled from battlefield to battlefield, felling potential apocalypse after potential apocalypse; he thinks of how Torbjörn’s turrets provided him cover-fire as he sprinted across rubble and concrete, he thinks of how collapsing behind Reinhardt’s shield provided him such relief, he thinks of how he heard Ana call into his comms about her position, about pushing them forward, about gaining ground -

He thinks about biotic fields and the smell of pulse munition and a tall figure dressed in blue armor who would probably look even better with a long, regal overcoat -

He thinks about the comforting warmth of a black cotton beanie, about the gentle embrace of a familiar grey sweatshirt, about the weight of a shotgun, one in each hand -

This is not him -

But for them,

It could be.

Gabriel grins at her vibrantly, vivaciously, viciously, “It’s just a costume, right? Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

This is not Gabriel Reyes.

But for a few minutes, and few quick photos -

He can pretend it is.

---------

Segador: It is Not Him

September 6, 2077: Cultural Heritage Museum, Numbani, Nigeria

“AY DIOS MIO,” Sombra wheezes at him in harsh, brittle, aching laughter as she points to some image on a holoprojector, “Is this you??”

Reaper glances her her sullenly - he feels bare without the mask, but there was no fucking way security was gonna let him in in his usual gear, so he’d donned a surgical face mask, only half-pretending to be sick when they had shuffled up to the ticket counter like good little spies trying to lay low. Stuffed into a hoodie and a beanie, the majority of his face concealed by pastel green cotton, he’d actually somehow been able to maintain much of his mystique.

With a grumble, he stalks over to her, muttering lowly, “We’re supposed to be scouting this shit out, not playing around.”

“The Gauntlet’s not even here yet, Gabe,” she says to him lightly, rolling her eyes before pointing back to the screen, “Pero, verdad - is this you??”

Reaper looks at the image on the screen, and then a dark, bittersweet, smokey scowl consumes his face.

Oh.

This fucking picture.

The posed, statuesque image of a dark-skinned man with a too-tightly-trimmed beard and a too-tightly-set headpiece and a too-tightly-locked chestplate and a too-empty assault rifle, with a huge, majestic Overwatch flag fluttering in the background against a blue sky with fucking fighter jets in the background - as if early Overwatch had anything more powerful than used station wagons to fight Omnics with -

This fucking picture, which mocks him, which reminds him of the person he could have been, the commander he could have chosen to be -

The commander he never wanted to be.

God, he fucking hates this picture.

“...No,” Reaper growls as Sombra cackles, “It’s totally you - qué chingados, pinche mierda - I gotta send this to Arañita -”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE -”

“Hey.”

The two of them glance at the newcomer - Reaper still glaring viciously and Sombra still sporting the widest, biggest shit-eating grin - and the grizzled, scarred old soldier looks at them with a confused scowl, muttering, “...The fuck you two up to? Aren’t we supposed to be scouting this shit?”

“Uh -” Reaper says unhelpfully as Sombra snaps out a hand to 76, pulling him over to the holoprojector, saying eagerly, “Oye, oye, Jack - is this Gabe??”

Jack takes a second to process the image and then -

In the stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence -

He fucking laughs.

The years and the stress and the explosion and his myriad of problems have tempered the sound, made it harsh and gravelly, filled it with the ashes of what they had once been, but there’s a light there, a brightness, as if someone is pulling the sun out of the depths of the oceans -

And then Sombra is laughing again too, and snapping a picture with her biosystem as Jack wheezes, “Can I get a copy?” and Gabriel growls, “Listen assholes -”

“What the shit is going on over here?” Ana asks as she joins them from her rounds about the museum hall and both Jack and Sombra pull her to the projector and suddenly all three of them are laughing and Gabriel -

“Fuck this shit, I’m gonna rejoin Talon,” Gabriel huffs but suddenly there’s a warm, gentle pressure of a hand on his arm and Jack is there, smiling brightly at him from underneath scars and a silver-white five-o’clock shadow.

“Don’t be mad, Gabe,” the ex-commander chuckles to him and Gabriel softens a little at the words. Jack jerks a thumb to the statue of himself a little ways off to the side, asking playfully, “Wanna help me knock the head off that jackass?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

#my writing #my fics #ficlet #segador #it is not him #reaper #gabriel reyes #alright #now back to my regularly-scheduled shitshow

87 notes · View notes

aykimra · 8 years

Text

Color Me Surprised

Chapter 3 [2] [1]

Word Count 2.2k

Rating Mature

AO3 Link [x]

Summary Jeremy’s hair color changes based on his emotions, and Ryan is more than a little intrigued.

Jeremy wasn't usually the type of person who minded silence while at work. They talked almost continuously for multiple hours every day, so any little break in between filming was actually always welcomed with open arms.

Needless to say, he could understand why Ryan might have a headache after a live podcast. However, that didn't stop him from feeling concerned for the man. He much preferred when they could talk and jeer as loud as they pleased, and Ryan wore a wide grin to show how much he truly enjoyed it.

With a huff, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, tightening the strings just enough to where it wouldn't slide off his head with the slightest movement. Jeremy would much rather the others didn't notice the mix of lilac and grey that he caught a glimpse of from his reflection in the monitor.

He was worried, and while there was nothing wrong with that, he didn't want anyone asking any questions.

Well, there actually weren't many people around who paid attention to the little nuances of his hair color. Only Ryan seemed to notice the subtle shifts, and act according to each one. Unfortunately though, he was the one causing the change at the moment, and if he saw, then he would certainly want to do something about it.

To be truthful, Jeremy hadn't really noticed it at first. It was obvious to tell if someone was avoiding a certain subject because it had previously made his hair blaze red. But, it was more difficult when the action was as slight as Ryan continuing to run his mouth about something because a slight orange had overtaken the strands.

But now that he'd seen it, Jeremy couldn't seem to stop. And he was astonished about how much he had apparently been missing, just because he wasn't paying attention enough. And what was even more amazing, was how much he craved seeing those little acts. He couldn't do anything about his emotions, of course, but he'd never been more grateful to be human with a heart at the mercy of his surroundings.

It was just that Ryan was incredibly kind. Even more so off camera than on. That is, when he wasn't playing the part of some madman. The fact that he'd take time out of his day, or switch up his routine just because of a silly emotion seemed crazy, but maybe that was just because nobody had ever done it before.

It had always seemed in the past that people would use Jeremy's hair to their own benefit, rather than his. They'd talk cautiously whenever he was angry, and even more so when he was sad. They'd offer generic, sympathetic words that held no real emotion, and he'd long since learned that they were only spoken as a safeguard; they could say 'hey, I tried,' if his mood didn't improve.

He supposed that he was thankful he didn't shift to blue too often. In fact, he didn't think that color had overtaken his head since before he began working for Achievement Hunter. Jeremy didn't think he could take it if Ryan saw him that way.

What would the man do? Would he be just the same as everyone else, unable to deal with that rare change?

He was a bit frightened to find out. At least he was pleased with his life at the moment. It didn't seem like something he would have to deal with anytime soon.

But, then again, emotions were always unpredictable.

"Jeremy?" came a quieter than usual voice from the other side of the room. Ryan's headache must not have completely left yet. "Is your computer still working? Everything look okay?"

He looked up from the screen to meet the man's eyes, and he didn't miss the strange expression Ryan was wearing, although everyone else probably would have. He knew that wearing his hoodie up was a bit strange, since he usually didn't bother in the office, but he ignored the gaze's meaning in favor of answering the actual question posed to him, rather than the silent one.

"It's great. Thanks for fixing it, Ryan," he said with a genuine grin, and that seemed enough to make the man nod, smiling back slightly before looking down at his own work once again.

He sighed to himself, reaching one hand up to tug at the fabric over his head, making sure it remained in place. Ryan cared too much, the bastard.

A loud clang drew his attention to his right, and he looked to see Gavin fiddling around with the mess on his desk, and a controller now resting on the floor behind him.

"What the hell, man?" Michael spoke first, asking what Jeremy was sure they were all wondering.

"Leaned too far back in the damn chair," the man muttered, spinning around to grab what he'd apparently dropped as he saved himself from falling backwards. Well, it was his own fault for leaning back in a chair with wheels, and Jeremy scoffed a laugh at the thought.

"Are we filming anything today?" Michael asked in an effort to change the subject, after letting out a long suffering sigh that was surely directed towards the man on his right.

"Not much to do in GTA or Minecraft without Geoff or Jack," Ryan hummed.

"We could do VR the Champions or something," Gavin suggested, but Jeremy shook his head.

"We don't have any games right now that we haven't already done a video in," and at Ryan's agreement on that matter, he continued, "We should do something new if we're gonna through with setting that shit up."

While that was a large factor in his not wanting to film a VR game, Jeremy couldn't deny the fact that he was also still concerned about Ryan's headache. Something fun and more laid back would be easier on him, rather than having to stand and move around. Besides, a lot of the fans ate up those types of casual videos. "Let's just do something easy and fun, where we can just fuck around," he finished.

The were thoughtful noises from around the room as the others considered their options, and Michael actually opened up Steam to look through his games list. "Fun and easy, fun and easy," the man muttered to himself as he scrolled. And then, a victorious chuckle. "Ah, what about we golf with our friends? We're friends, right?" he laughed.

"I would assume so," Ryan replied dryly, although if Jeremy looked around his monitor just right, he could see a little smile of amusement tugging at the man's lips that betrayed his tone.

"Well, we could film something in that? I mean, I'm sure we can pull something entertaining out of our asses for a video," Michael hummed with a scoff.

"Yeah, I'm fine with that," Jeremy agreed quickly, and as the other two did the same, they all began setting up to film.

"How's your head, Ryan?" he asked the man after a few minutes, when he stood up to do some adjustments to his mic stand.

Glancing over only once as he fiddled around with his microphone, the man gave a short nod. "It's better. Although, I'm still glad I don't have to stand around in that hot as hell headset." And, when he finally stood up straight again, the smile he gave looked so much like a thank you that Jeremy couldn't help but to offer his own grin in reply.

"Facecams or not?" Gavin questioned the room then, and they all paused for a moment before shrugging.

"I don't think we need to," Michael said, and Ryan agreed with a "Nah," and a shake of his head.

"Alright," the British man said, leaning back in his chair. "Then I'm ready."

"Yup, same here," Jeremy agreed, starting his audio and capture and then syncing before they stated the video as officially started.

"So uh, what kind of video is this? Are we just golfin' like friends, or is there gonna be some sort of competition here?" Ryan questioned as they looked through the game's setting, choosing the course number, and their golf balls.

"Oh, there's always competition in golf, Ryan," Michael said with a little breath of laughter.

"Alright, that's true, I guess. Any particularly special rules, then?"

"Losers each give the winner ten bucks," Gavin suggested instantly.

"You wanna lose ten bucks that bad?" Jeremy teased, which earned him a chuckle from all of them.

"Eh, it's just ten bucks," the man said with a shrug, although that wouldn't be picked up by his audio recording.

"How about last place buys lunch tomorrow?" Michael suggested instead, ignoring Gavin's words as the first hole loaded up and they began aiming their shots. It was a relatively simple one, so it only took one hit to get close to the hole.

"Can they choose where to go?" Jeremy asked, easily following along with what he knew wouldn't come to fruition. It was one thing to accept a bet of two dollars from Gavin, but forking over the cost of lunch for four was going a little far.

"As long as it's somewhere good," Michael laughed.

"Deal," Ryan agreed after only a second's thought, and Jeremy looked at him in surprise.

"Seriously?" He asked, eyebrows raised, ignoring the game for just a moment. "You'll really buy the three of us lunch if you lose?"

"I might not lose."

"Ryan," Michael said with another laugh. "Remember 3D Ultra Mini Golf? You lost pretty fucking badly there."

"Listen, the one round fucked me, alright? I think I did okay in the other parts," he replied in a jesting affronted tone.

"This is only one round. If you lose you lose," Jeremy cut in to remind him.

"Oh, I know. I'm agreeing to the terms. Lunch is on me tomorrow, for those in this room right now, if I lose."

"Well, fine. I guess I'll agree too, if Ryan and Michael do," Jeremy muttered as he finally looked back to his screen. it appeared as though he was the last to take the final shot, and he sunk the ball in with one hit.

"Well, we're all tied at par with that hole. I'll fucking do it," Michael said. "So, Gav, are you in?"

"Yeah, I mean, chances are, I'll get a free lunch."

"Or you'll just fucking lose horribly," Jeremy laughed.

"Or that," the man murmured, sounding mildly worried.

"Well boys," Jeremy declared suddenly, "We've got ourselves a competition." And then, they began seriously, and put in as much effort as possible while still being sure that the video would be entertaining once it came out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ryan couldn't exactly say that he was surprised to find himself sitting in last after their decided eight holes, with a wonderful score of +19. He'd certainly done worse in less time before, yet he still managed to lose to the others this round.

Though, he also couldn't say that he was upset. After all, he'd been the first to agree to buy lunch, so having to do so wasn't really a problem. In fact, it was almost the opposite.

"So what are we having to eat tomorrow, Ryan?" Gavin asked with a wide grin once the recordings were all stopped and saved, ready to go for editing.

As if in thought, he hummed for a moment, but never really had any plans to chose the place he'd be buying from in the first place. "Jeremy, what do you want for lunch tomorrow?"

"Huh?" the man looked up, confusion clear across his face. Ryan smiled lightly at the sight. That was exactly what he wanted. "You're asking me? You get to choose, y'know."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna. Pick for me, Lil J."

A bright green could just barely be seen as it bloomed underneath the man's hoodie, and Ryan caught sight of a bit peeking out from the front, the color vibrantly noticeable. Jeremy was silent for a while, obviously thinking over the question he'd been posed. Eventually, he looked back towards Ryan. "Torchy's," he said with a sure tone.

"Tacos it is then," he agreed with a nod, and Jeremy looked almost pleased enough to melt, although unfortunately, he didn't stay still quite long enough for Ryan to truly see the emotions cross his face.

He liked doing things that made the man happy, and kept his hair the positive colors that showed he was in a good mood. Little acts like this - asking him what he would like to eat, for one example - were simple and easy, and Ryan had never minded doing them, if only to see Jeremy so pleased.

"Good choice, Jeremy," Michael applauded the man, and he received quiet thanks in reply.

In a good mood, despite his loss in the game and the impending doom that awaited his wallet, Ryan joined the other three in finishing up for the day before they all left the office to head home. Tomorrow he'd keep his promise and buy Torchy's for Michael, Gavin, and Jeremy, but the thought running through his mind was that he was really only doing this for one of those men.

#team battle buddies #battle buddies #doolwood #jeremwood #achievement hunter fanfic #mywriting

20 notes · View notes

theconservativebrief · 6 years

Link

Pornhub has 80 million daily users and more pornographic videos than any other site in the history of the internet, and now it wants to be Playboy.

More specifically, what Playboy was in the ’90s. “A lifestyle brand, a fashion brand,” explains Alex Katz, co-founder of the Madrid-based creative agency Officer & Gentleman, which has been leading the brand strategy for Pornhub for the past four years.

Co-founder Javi Iñiguez jumps in: “The girls were wearing sweatshirts and purses with the Playboy bunny even though they might not have seen a Playboy magazine in their lives.”

Fair enough. Who doesn’t want the cultural clout of Hugh Hefner, literally everything else about Hugh Hefner aside?

It may be a small shock to discover that Pornhub even has a brand strategy, but it makes sense. The company has spent the past several years doing what anybody would do once they become superrich: buying their way to coolness. And, by extension, buying their way to women, whom the company has historically had a hard time appealing to.

I mean, who doesn’t see the connection between lifestyle brands and chicks?

Pornhub’s first website launched in 2007 and was acquired by the MindGeek conglomerate in 2010, at which time it merged with YouPorn, RedTube, and Xtube to become the Pornhub network. From there, it easily consolidated power to become the biggest porn distribution platform ever, but its new challenge was to become a brand that anyone would talk about out loud, and just maybe, someday, wear on a T-shirt.

Models from the ’90s-inspired Playboy fashion line launched last year by Joyrich. Joyrich

In 2014, the network held a contest asking advertising and creative professionals to submit concepts for safe-for-work, PG-13 Pornhub ads that could run in traditional media spots. The move was a reaction to a year of mainstream misses and only two hits: In 2013, Pornhub finagled a centerpiece montage (with clips handpicked by VP Corey Price) in the heart of the porn-focused Joseph Gordon-Levitt rom-com Don Jon. It also nabbed dozens of headlines in outlets from BuzzFeed to SBNation when CBS refused to air a 20-second, completely innocuous ad spot during the Super Bowl. By the time anyone bothered to point out that Super Bowl ads are only sold in 30-second increments, the scam had done its work.

Thanks to the contest, Pornhub buddied up with both Officer & Gentleman and Vendetta Studios, an LA-based viral video production house headed by Dave Lehre — an anxiety-inducing internet personality best known for one of the first viral YouTube clips, “MySpace: the movie,” and more recently for an elaborate stunt in which he fashioned himself into “the first white American K-pop star.”

For Pornhub, Lehre made a litany of viral videos, mostly ads for Pornhub’s new product releases: a VPN service, a “BaDoink” VR headset, a $1,000 robotic twerking butt, and so on.

“Make the brand accessible to the world” was the brief, Lehre says. Make it PG-13; make it live on YouTube; make it shareable. “When we came in, it was all potential. Nobody had tapped the power of Pornhub.” He pauses. “Damn, that sounds epic.”

Officer & Gentleman’s first projects were also tech-related: videos for a cryptocurrency called Titcoin and a (real) piece of wearable tech that would recharge your phone while you masturbated. It was called Wankband. At Christmastime last year, noting the success of gift cards for streaming services like Spotify and Netflix, they started selling Pornhub Premium gift cards. “We thought it would be the perfect Secret Santa present at workplaces and stuff like that,” Iñiguez says.

(Please don’t give a Pornhub Premium gift card to anyone you work with.)

So, is Pornhub … a tech company? “Depends who you ask,” Katz says, though he seems uninterested in the proposition. “But I think the brand … it’s an entertainment company. You don’t see anyone wearing Facebook shirts because they’re cool.”

Right, right. Cool, we’re doing cool here.

“[In online porn], everyone has the same product, so the only way you can differentiate yourself is by building a brand,” Katz explains. “We only want to create advertising that can go viral.” That means safe-for-work content. “[Pornhub] has enough porn; they need content that’s shareable.”

“Everything has to go viral,” Iñiguez points out. So you throw a lot of shit at the wall to see what sticks. The list of what Pornhub has not been willing to try in the past four years would probably be more expedient, but here we are.

It launched its own lube brand, then the world’s largest lube slide. (One of Lehre’s projects, of which he says, “They didn’t come to set, they just said ‘Oh, we have these 5-gallon drums of lube we can send over.’ We got this huge slide. They sent all these porn stars to hang out and slide down it. That was a magic day.”)

“[In online porn], everyone has the same product, so the only way you can differentiate yourself is by building a brand”

At one point, the company started a record label and hosted music video premieres for California rapper Mykki Blanco and Michigan metal band King 810. It hosted a porn film festival in New York, featuring soft-core entries from Miley Cyrus and James Franco. It made an “adult adult coloring book” featuring X-rated sketches from Instagram and Tumblr artists, which it then sold exclusively at the Think Tank Gallery in LA, Verso Books in Milan, and the menswear boutique Off the Hook in Montreal. It launched a line of sex toys, then commissioned Spanish electro-pop band Perlita to create a song from sex toy noises.

The high-end Italian denim company Diesel became the first fashion brand to advertise on a porn site in January 2016, kicking off a much-covered official partnership with Pornhub. Creative director Nicola Formichetti told Dazed, “We all go on websites like Pornhub, you know? So before you start jerking off maybe you can stop and look at our new pants.” For New York Fashion Week in 2017, Hood by Air sent a Pornhub-inspired line down the runway (models wore their hair stylized as if it were coated in semen, and jackets reading “HUSTLER” and “NEVER TRUST A CHURCH GIRL”).

In September that year, the New York streetwear brand Richardson announced a capsule collection featuring Pornhub-branded hoodies, hats, swimsuits, jackets, and T-shirts — one featuring porn actress, poet, and Pornhub spokesperson Asa Akira, and another featuring the flags of countries in which Pornhub is banned. Two months later, the New York outerwear brand Moose Knuckles debuted a limited-edition Pornhub bomber jacket that was sold through the Rihanna-blessed SoHo streetwear staple VFILES.

VFILES is also beloved by Pornhub’s most important woman: Kim Kardashian.

Last summer, the team stopped by the De Re Gallery in Los Angeles for “Make Me Famous,” the first exhibition by “professionally provocative” Instagram-famous twins Allie and Lexi Kaplan — just to pick up a painting of the Kim Kardashian–Ray J sex tape, which is now prominently displayed in the company’s LA office.

Pornhub loves Kim. When she was robbed at gunpoint later that year, Pornhub offered $50,000 “in exchange for information leading to [the] arrest and conviction of criminals who robbed Kim Kardashian.” The press release said that everyone at Pornhub was “deeply saddened” by the “horrible incident,” and reminded the world that Kim Kardashian’s sex tape with Ray J “remains the most viewed video on Pornhub with 110,198,725 views and counting.”

“We consider her to be a member of the Pornhub family,” Pornhub VP Corey Price tells Vox. “As such, we wanted to extend a helping hand and do all that we could to help bring the wrongdoers to justice.” Ultimately, the police didn’t need Pornhub’s help, but it’s a nice gesture. The video now has more than 143 million views!

Pornhub hosted a sci-fi art installation in LA’s De Re Gallery last summer. Maggie West/Pornhub

This June, the company sponsored an elaborate sci-fi art installation at the LA nightclub Union — handing the reins over to LA photographer and activist Maggie West (best known for her “Fluid” series, containing abstract images of blood, saliva, and semen) and New York artist Ryder Ripps (best known for creating the branding for Soylent and using the Ace Hotel’s artist residency to hire two Craigslist sex workers for a widely-reviled project called “ART WHORE”).

Then it partnered with the editorial arm of luxury fashion seller SSENSE to produce an avant-garde photo shoot and literary companion essay called “The Data of Desire,” using Pornhub analytics to figure out which sneaker brands are most fetishized in porn. (Converse, Nike, Adidas, Vans, and Yeezy, in that order.)

Then last month, Kanye West told Jimmy Kimmel he “still looks at Pornhub” and the company reached out via Twitter to offer him a lifetime subscription to Pornhub Premium. Two weeks later, he was serving as creative director for the first annual Pornhub Awards in Los Angeles, which were reportedly a disaster but came off, anyway, as a major coup.

West debuted a new music video featuring the currently incarcerated Lil Pump at the awards and brought G.O.O.D. Music signee Teyana Taylor along to perform. He dressed porn stars in the latest Yeezy collection (when he bothered to dress them at all) and arranged them onstage to accept futuristic-dildo-shaped award statues he also supposedly designed. The next day, he announced a line of Yeezy sweatshirts featuring the night’s winners, including “Nicest Tits” honoree Kendra Sunderland and “Hottest Female Ass” honoree Mia Malkova.

“Where do these [partnership] decisions come from?” Katz parrots back to me. “Well, we can’t be in mainstream spaces, so we become this outsider brand that’s doing out-there things. That’s what attracts these other brands like Richardson and Yeezy. Pornhub has an outsider quality that draws people to them.”

Here’s the rub (sorry): Per Pornhub’s own data, as of December 2017, just 26 percent of the site’s users are women.

This is not really a problem, as what Iñiguez pointed out is true: Girls didn’t have to read Playboy to buy the clothes. But it is kind of a problem, mostly because women make up a large share of the people on earth, and Pornhub has basically nowhere to go within the demographic it already serves.

So far, Pornhub has tried selling Mother’s Day–specific cardboard VR headsets, publishing site traffic insights from the day of the 2017 Women’s March, and weighing in on International Women’s Day to announce that it would change the “female-friendly” tag on its site to “popular with women.” It also pointed out that searches for Amy Schumer rose 513 percent in tandem with her Instagram post about the holiday.

“More than ever before, women are coming forward to express their desires more openly,” Price says. “And we want to provide resources to support that.”

So, this January, Pornhub debuted “F*ck Your Period.”

“There are two types of women: women who have sex on their period and women who don’t,” Katz tells me. “It’s 49 [percent] to 51,” (based on an informal Pornhub survey of its female users). With that, uh, fact in mind, Pornhub launched a campaign with the goal of explaining the health benefits of having an orgasm during your period. It made its own period calendar app and encouraged women to fill it out so that each month, they would receive a free login code for Pornhub Premium for the duration of their period. “[The goal was] to get girls to experiment with Pornhub for the first time in case they hadn’t,” Katz says. “Pornhub is a sex-friendly, female-friendly company.”

Pornhub’s cryptocurrency launch in New York. Officer & Gentleman

Yet the campaigns aimed at women are rarely the ones that blow up. In March, the site started accepting cryptocurrency as payment and had models stroll through the Financial District in Pornhub-branded ski masks, tossing plastic coins and licking the Wall Street bull’s balls. This worked: It got press.

The following month, Pornhub launched a program called “The Visionaries Director’s Club” with the aim of “[diversifying] porn production” and gave rapper Young M.A. a budget to write and produce her own pornographic short film. The company described the film in a press release, writing that it would appeal to “our progressive generation,” and adding, “While high production level lesbian content is often clearly created with the male gaze in mind, M.A’s debut film is authentic and genuine to her taste profile.”

Last month, it gave a similar budget to pansexual singer and rapper Brooke Candy, who wrote of her film, “We had the most next level crew of fine artists from all over the world and the cast of actors that I chose really had an inner beauty which they unleashed on film. It’s queer, it’s sex-positive and it’s super-hot.” This didn’t work — it got no press. But the data says that female usership of Pornhub grows every year, Price points out. So it’s fine.

As a woman who menstruates, did I know that orgasms make period cramps less painful and bleeding cycles shorter? I mean, as a woman who drinks water, did I know it keeps my organs running?

Pornhub’s brand strategy is elaborate, multifaceted, funny, and cool. It’s also as simple as a bunch of straight boys chasing what straight boys so often chase: a projection of ease and edge that makes them appealing to other boys like them, and a veneer of caring that they hope will grant them an in with women.

Want more stories from The Goods by Vox? Sign up for our newsletter here.

Original Source -> Pornhub wants to be a lifestyle brand

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

0 notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

addiction, m | myg, ksj | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is falling hard, but he’s not making much progress. Kim Seokjin is lovable is a weird way. Jeon Jungkook makes bad choices and we try to keep him alive, until he’s too intuitive that is.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

When Yoongi heard her door open, his head whipped around from the kitchen. He had been in the middle of cutting some green onions. She emerged from her room like an animal from a cage. Black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, carrying a tan shopper’s bag. She didn’t seem to notice him, engrossed in her thoughts as she rummaged through the bag for a moment.

He felt he had to say something. Anything.

“Do you know where the scissors are? I can’t find them,” he called.

She looked up, blinking at him. Her hair was half-tied back, lashes dark and smokey but her lips were a peach-pink instead of the red she commonly wore. And those dark, dark eyes. He looked away from them, fixating on the wall next to her head.

“Ah, Yoongi, you didn’t use the kitchen scissors for a package, did you?” she replied, somewhat exasperatedly. “Or maybe I misplaced them…”

She hurried over, opening the drawers one by one. He noticed her nails were red and black striped. They weren’t before – she must have done them herself. She opened each drawer hurriedly but delicately, accentuating her long fingers. He had a sudden image of those nails raking down his back, pinpricks of pain clouding his mind–

“Here they are.” She placed the scissors next to the cutting board and he nodded hurriedly to make the image disappear.

“Thanks.” It came out terser than he wanted it to but she seemed not to notice. She was slipping black gloves on her hands as she turned away.

“Don’t forget to open the window when you cook meat,” she reminded. She must have seen the steak on the counter.

“I’ll remember.”

He could hear her putting on her shoes. His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest. He took a deep breath and turned around, her name falling from his lips breathlessly.

She raised her eyebrows at him as she put on her black face mask.

“Do you… know how to sing?”

Listening to the weekly rundown as a lot like listening to a teacher’s lecture. She stood in that room once again, except Seokjin was pacing, reading off his notebook as he recited the names, times, and places she needed to be. How much to bring. How much they would give.

She could remember it all quite well at this point, but that didn’t mean she needed to look at him. She didn’t need to look at his pretty dark hair covering half of his forehead or his well-fitted pale pink shirt and tailored white pants that were mysteriously not see-through. Just focus on the people. Times. Places. Not Kim Seokjin.

“Are you listening?” he was saying sharply.

“Of course, I am,” she replied automatically. “You just said Jungkook, 2300, at that god-awful club I hate going to.”

A small smirk appeared on his lips. “That’s my Moon.”

Please stop, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. She did not like these mental invasions and conjuring ideas in her head. He was doing it on purpose. He was planting them in her mind on purpose.

“Moon.”

She jumped. Somehow, he was right next to her.

“You seem to be on autopilot today,” he observed. He was wearing a pair of round glasses that he definitely did not need. Aesthetics, he would say if she asked.

“I’m not.” It was a stubborn response. He raised his brow at it.

“I cannot have you airheaded. I’ll have someone else pick up your week,” he said sternly.

Her eyes went wide and she grabbed his left arm, shaking her head furiously. “No. No, Seokjin, I’m fine. I can do it.” She squeezed his upper arm, looking up at him. Don’t take this away from me.

And then, Seokjin did something uncharacteristic.

He winced.

She let go immediately. She had felt… something under there. And then, through the light fabric, she realized there was a bandage wrapped around his bicep. Even a bump of flattened gauze.

“You… got injured?”

He scoffed. “It’s just a scrape.”

She looked up at him. No one bandaged scrapes. Not like that. She hadn’t managed to feel it enough to determine if it was a gunshot wound or a cut. He seemed annoyed and his features hardened. He wasn’t going to say what it was even if she asked.

“Who did it?”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “I’m fine, my darling. Are you worried?”

“I wanted to know if I should be worried,” she snapped.

He chuckled and placed a hand on her head. She tried to angrily swat it away but stopped as soon as his sentence finished.

“I’m trying my hardest to stay alive for you.”

“It’s just a demo, there’s no need to–”

“No, no, I want to do this right. It should sound good if you’re going to present this to a company.”

Yoongi readjusted the headset on his ears and sighed. They had been at it for a little while now. He had helped her warm up her voice, match pitch, recorded a little, but all in all, her voice sounded a little too robotic. It wasn’t her fault – she wasn’t a singer after all, only his roommate helping him out for one song. He could have attempted to sing it himself but he knew it wouldn’t have the feel he wanted.

Their makeshift setup was a table between them, her face right in front of the mic, his computer and monitors beside him.

She had the lyrics in front of her, hand on her lips, mouthing the words.

“Yoongi… is this about you?” she asked quietly.

A sudden embarrassment came over him. He bit his lip and looked away, fixating on the floor.

“Well… yeah,” he confessed. “It’s about how I feel. About the push and pull of dreams, what it means to have a dream, feeling trapped because maybe my dream wasn’t what I thought it was. Or maybe… maybe I don’t have one anymore.”

It was hard to say out loud what it was really about, but his lyrics were crystal clear.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Remembered her whole world, her sunshine and her planet, the one she had turned into her reason for living. The beautiful heart-shaped smile, the silly laugh. The times when she sat next to the record player and watched him dance to the music. Who needed a sofa when a dance floor was more important?

He sensed a shift in her demeanor. He looked up from the floor to see her closed eyes, clenched hands on top on the papers he had scribbled his lyrics on. He wondered what she was thinking about.

Music, she had always thought, was fun. It had brought her joy until it didn’t. She had agreed to this because, to be honest, she had been curious about what he was working on. But she hadn’t expected Min Yoongi to write something so vulnerable and relatable.

She opened her eyes.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

It was the strangest thing. Her eyes were like black glass, shimmering. When she sang, it was clear and heavy at the same time. Heavy with emotion, a longing he couldn’t place.

“So far away…”

“You wear glasses?”

Yoongi looked up from the kitchen counter. He had been staring at his phone, a yellow notepad on the counter as he scribbled notes. “Oh. No, I just thought…” He shrugged, taking them off his face. “I thought they would get me into the lyric writing mood,” he trailed off awkwardly. “They were cheap and I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

She gestured to him as she took a glass out of the cabinet. “Put them back on. They make you look studious.”

He laughed dryly, putting them back on hesitantly. “Yeah, but do they make me look attractive?”

“Yes.”

He froze. That was not the answer he expected. He stared at his notepad pointedly. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to look up and see her expression. He didn’t want to see her stifling a giggle or smirking at him.

“Are you not finishing the song we were working on?”

He chewed on his lip and lifted his head, seeing her standing on the far side of the kitchen, looking at him curiously. No teasing smile on those pink lips. As far as he could see, she wasn’t making fun of him.

“I am finishing it. It… takes time.” And I don’t like confronting that part of myself. He tried to play it off, but he knew it wasn’t working. It was making everything more awkward.

She nodded, her dark flowy waves spilling over her shoulders. Then she gestured to the space between them, looking apologetic. “Oh, I’m not avoiding you or anything,” she said hurriedly, rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t want to read any of your unfinished lyrics… I know that stuff can be private. You might not want me to see them.”

“Oh…” He continued chewing on his lip. It was a bad habit. “That’s respectful of you.”

She cringed a bit as if she hadn’t meant to say anything. “Ah, well, you know… I don’t want to accidentally see anything you’re not ready to share yet.”

It was the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It was almost as if he was looking into a mirror, but that was impossible, because her eyes were dark glass that reflected nothing. It came and went, leaving him wondering what he was supposed to infer from that moment. Then he realized the hands holding the glass were black gloves. Ripped straight leg black jeans and a huge black hoodie with a black sweatshirt underneath. She suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“I’ll wash my glass when I get back, okay? I have to go.”

He cleaned her glass after she left. There were no other dishes. He washed it carefully, looking into the clear crystal, seeing through it but also seeing nothing at all.

Something was wrong.

“Come on, Moon-noona.”

Hands clawing at her sweatshirt, dragging her closer in the cramped private room of the club she hated, but she was too distracted with something else. She grabbed his hands before they could slide up.

“Jungkook, what have you been taking?”

He chuckled, sliding across the wall, batting his lashes at her. His pupils were unfocused, brown irises quivering.

“Fun shit.”

He laughed and laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever said. The music was so loud that the bass seemed to be vibrating the thick smoky air. Either that or it was the bodies hitting the walls as they drunkenly danced and humped each other.

He hooked his fingers on the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her close. He reeked of alcohol.

“Let’s have some fun before we get to business, yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, grinning.

“What did you take?” she asked sternly, ignoring his words.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, some of something?”

She did not like this one bit. She had to pry his fingers off her. “No transaction today.”

“Aw, come on,” he whined, wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her back to him.

She swore. His arms were like a vice. He pressed her against his dark green satin dress shirt, and even through her layers she was reminded the guy was fucking ripped. Ripped, drunk, and high on who-knows-what. Probably ecstasy. Great. She kept her waist away from his, planting her feet on the floor.

“You’re too uptight, noona.”

He was not supposed to touch her, but he was not supposed to be this drunk or this high either. If it was anyone of her other customers, she would have left without saying anything. But he was basically a kid. A kid who was trying to take even more, who probably thought he was invincible.

She had Seokjin on speed dial. She could reach into her pocket and call him with one hand and his lackeys would come handle the situation immediately. She could.

“Jungkook, look at me.”

He tried to, brain trying to compute as the battle between stimulant and depressant waged on.

“Let me go.”

He pouted. “You don’t like me? Everybody likes me.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

He let her go, slowly, still frowning. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

She drew back, watching him closely. “There is no guy,” she said absentmindedly.

“There’s always a guy,” he said exasperatedly. “Or girl, or whatever. Even if they’re imaginary.”

She would have to report the cancelled sale to Seokjin. He would be pissed. “There’s no imaginary anybody,” she replied dismissively, trying to figure out what to say so Seokjin wouldn’t go apeshit on this poor kid. Definitely wasn’t going to mention any touching.

“There is; you just refuse to admit it.”

A chill went up her spine. “What did you say?”

He shrugged, sliding to the floor, holding his shoulders. “You’re in your head, Moon-noona. In there all day, letting them dictate you like a puppet.”

Her eyes narrowed. She reached into her hoodie and threw the tiny plastic bag at him. It hit him in the chest and slid down onto the floor. He blinked multiple times, looking at the packet of white powder and then her retreating back as she left the room.

“On the house.”

masterpost

22 notes · View notes