Chat, is that Rizz? | j.ww (m)
Pairing: Streamer!Wonwoo x Streamer! F.reader
❀ Summary: Your rivalry with Wonwoo has existed for as long as you’ve been streaming. It’s fun, and both of your communities love it. Wonwoo is happy to play along - at least until you question his rizz while live, and he feels like he should remind you just how much rizz he has.
❀ Word Count: 5,366
❀ Genre: Established Relationship, Faux Rivals
❀ Type: Smut, a hint of fluff
❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
❀ Warnings: This is so cheesy and stupid and I don’t care!! Explicit language, teasing and light antagonization, gamer and streamer speak in spots, sexually explicit content including spanking, fingering, unprotected sex, hint of overstimulation, playful banter and teasing during sex, bodily fluids, soft dom if you squint. UNEDITED.
❀ A/N: I don’t care that parts of this are kind of cringe, @daechwitatamic tells me to write so I write and I needed to get out of a writing slump. Yes the game they are playing is Valorant. No I did not call it Valorant. Have I played Valorant in the last year? No! Anyway, please enjoy this shameless porn no plot! Also please don't arrest me for the fucking TERRIBLE puns.
❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.
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“You’re never going to hit Immortal with that strat, Wonwoo,” you tease, cringing as he gets gunned down by the enemy team’s Reyna. “Rotated too early.”
“Here they go,” Seungcheol mutters into the mic, his exasperation making you grin as you fix your eyes on the screen. Like both you and Wonwoo, Seungcheol has already died in the round, watching as Mingyu navigates the map to pick up the bomb to attempt to save the round.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you while you were dead,” Wonwoo shoots back. You scrunch your nose, knowing that it is, unfortunately, true. “I was in the land of the living. You know. Because I didn’t dry peek long and die.”
“Seungcheol told me to push site!”
“Maybe push with util, though? Or be better.”
On the right side of your screen, you can see your chat blowing up. You grin and roll your eyes - you aren’t actually bothered by Wonwoo and you know he isn’t mad either. Playing games with him always elicits teasing and a steady back and forth.
Once upon a time, his poking might bother you. Now, you’ve played enough games with Wonwoo over the last two years to know better. It’s all in good faith, and it’s part of the joke, this ongoing way the two of you bicker and go tit for tat.
“I am nothing if not an accommodating teammate,” you offer back. Mingyu manages to get to the site, swinging wildly to check for enemies. “I’m a helper. I like to help people.”
“You can help me by shutting up,” Mingyu mutters.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo echos, a smirk prominent in his voice. “Shut up.”
“No I’m talking to you too,” Mingyu assures. “And you did rotate without me and too early. So she’s right.”
That shuts Wonwoo up, a chorus of laughter echoing in the headset as your team watches Mingyu try and go for the clutch. Your laughter fades and you mute yourself on Discord in an attempt not to distract Mingyu, eyes flicking over to the comments flooding in on your stream.
It’s a rewarding feeling to see how many there are, donation notifications popping up on the top of your screen making your heart stutter a little. You can see Seokmin moderating as usual in the chat, reminding people the commands for frequently asked questions and removing anything weird.
There is a lot of weird.
“Thank you for the dono, Shaezy98. Yes, PiCheolwinning, I hit Immortal a few days ago! What do you guys think about doing a nonstop stream until I hit Radiant? Would that be fun?”
Resounding yes responses flood the comments. You grin, pulling your legs up into the chair to make small talk with the community you’ve so carefully built over the last few years. You see a suggestion in the comments that makes you laugh, leaning forward to unmute yourself in Discord.
“Hey Wonwoo,” you ask. “My chat wants us to try 1v1 where we customize each other’s settings. Thoughts?”
It’s a common question. People love the dynamic you and Wonwoo specifically have, enjoying seeing the friendly rivalry grow over the years. You can recall several streams you’ve done just playing together, hosting charity events and promoting new games as a dynamic duo.
Some wonder if you’re together. There’s no hard evidence, but there's chemistry there. A lightness to your banter that comes with a familiarity your fans try to piece together, a gentleness that sounds the edges of your insults to make sure the other knows your kidding.
Wonwoo lets out a deep hum. “You’re gonna go demon mode on my settings. Then I’d have to change them back.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’s worried about his settings, as if he can’t export them. “Is that a no?”
“What’s in it for me? Besides my fucked up settings and the risk you change all my weapon skins.”
Clearing your throat, you put on your best telemarketer voice. “The benefits to this offer are endless. For a limited time only, you can take advantage of quality time spent with me-”
“Not a benefit.”
You ignore his interruption, a vein in your forehead ticking at the comment. “You can protect your honor and pride as a gamer, and as a special early bird offer, I’ll give all donations from that stream to a charity of your choosing. Thoughts?”
Mingyu ends up losing the round, earning a resounding sigh and curse from everyone on the team. You move your mouse around to click through weapons and set yourself up for the next round. “They’re going to force,” you say, momentarily distracted from your sales pitch by strategy. “Wonwoo I can buy you a marshall.”
“Yeah.”
You make the transaction for him and drop the weapon so he can pick it up, noting the comments coming in from viewers.
NoLo88: See, she always does stuff for him - I swear they’re together!!!
EzBoyZ: No way would she date him.
NoLo88: Are you kidding? Have you seen Wonwoo? He’s like the hottest streamer ever.
LoLPog69: Ugh I hope they’re not dating, she’s better single.
“See, I’m fun. I’m nice. I’m a team player who helps win games. What do you say?”
“Fine, it’s a date.”
The way he so casually says it makes your stomach flip. You hesitate for a moment, blinking in surprise before you realize he’s said it without really thinking about it. Biting your bottom lip to fight a smile, you ask, “Oh? A date? Chat, is that rizz?”
“Oh fuck off,” Wonwoo huffs, trying to cover up his mistake. You can’t help it - your smile spreads as he rushes to gloss over what he said. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“He’s trying to rizz me, chat!”
“In your dreams.”
“You should change your tag from WonuWizard to WonuRizzard.” Wonwoo curses as he gets killed. You cackle, killing an enemy and taking their gun. “Oo, an operator. Do you want this, Wonwoo? What about changing your tag to RizzardOfOz?”
Wonwoo groans on the other end of the mic and you can imagine the way he pushes back in his chair, sinking a little further down as he spectates the match. “Yes, save the op for me, please. Also, get your chat out of mine. I’m going to get a Rizzstraining order.”
You note the way he says for me when he asks for the weapon you’ve picked up to keep for him. It is a favor to him, intended for him. Your viewers notice.
Seungcheol swears. “You two are insufferable to play with sometimes. We’re trying to win a game.”
Mingyu huffs. “Just stop Rizzsponding, Cheol. They’ll shut up eventually.”
With a laugh, you settle in and focus on the game. Even as the teasing dies down, you and Wonwoo fall into a comfortable give and take, working together to win the next few rounds and eventually, the entire match after Wonwoo closes out the game with an ace.
“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, stretching. It’s getting late at night, and you feel a little tired. “Mad Rizzpect, Wonwoo. Up your rizz game and maybe I’ll go on a date with you.”
“Up my rizz game?” His tone has shifted as everyone starts talking over one another, Seungcheol and Mingyu getting into it over something sports related. You’re focused on the soft purr of Wonwoo’s voice, though. The raspiness of it. “If I wanted to rizz you, I would.”
Fuck. His voice. You shift a little in your seat, clicking around your secondary monitor that is off stream to pull up Wonwoo’s stream. It loads, immediately showing his dark room with slow pulsing RGB lights in the background and shelving displaying different collectible items.
Wonwoo looks like he always does: leaned back casually in his seat, the glow of his computer reflecting in the lens of his black-frame glasses. Dark bangs hang in his eyes, the rest of his hair hidden by the hood that is pulled up over his head. He’s chewing on one of the strings of his hoodie as he talks to his chat, voice gentle.
His hoodie has a little animated version of him over the left side of the chest, the character winking and giving finger hearts. You feel your lips twitch - you always loved the little cartoon version of himself. As always, he looks totally at ease. It’s the same even in an intense game, Wonwoo never feeling the need to lean closer to the screen or showing the tension in his shoulders.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
Except when you can force a rise out of him, of course.
A bunch of notifications flood in your chat. You look over to them, reading through them and grinning. You pull your mic toward you, shaking your head. “Ugh I have all the Wonwoo apologists in my chat defending your rizz.”
“Good” he shoots back. You watch in delayed time as he smirks on his end. He so rarely does a full smile, but you know it’s beautiful when he does. “You need to take Rizzponsibility for implying I have no rizz.”
“No way,” Mingyu gasps. “Two Wonwoo puns in a single night?”
“Puns and attempted rizz?” You ask, cocking your head. “Huge day for Wonwoo fans everywhere.”
“Again, that wasn’t rizz. You’ll know it when I use it.”
“Sure, sure. Or maybe you just… don’t have any.”
You watch the tick in Wonwoo’s jaw. A grin spreads across your face and you try to suppress it, knee bouncing in anticipation as you watch the minute changes in his expression. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his gaming chair, hypnotizing you for a moment. He has long, elegant fingers paired with a beautiful set of hands.
“You really think I have no rizz?” he asks, voice low and oh you know that voice. You suppress a shiver and shake your head ‘no’ before realizing that he can’t see you. Or he does - because he says, “Use your words like a big girl.”
If you weren’t on stream, your eyes might roll back in your head at the soft purr of his voice, the way in which he immediately switches gears, put out by your accusations that you already know are false.
And because you’re you, you push him a little more, interested to see where it goes. “Are you watching my stream, Jeon Wonwoo?”
“Mhmm. Trying to learn rizz, since apparently I have none. Go on, show the class. What have you got?”
Seungcheol and Mingyu both ooo and quiet down, putting you on the spot. Heat tiptoes up your neck to your ears. Being a streamer by nature is being under the spotlight, especially when you have a high follower account. This is different though, the pressure suddenly flipped to you as your friends settle in, waiting.
“It’s all about the charizzma,” you joke, voice a little raspy. You swallow, eyes flicking to your secondary monitor where you can see Wonwoo watching his screen with a growing grin. “I can’t teach you how to have that, Jeon.”
“What can you teach me, Angel?”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You know that commanding tone anywhere, the soft shift from teasing to something a little darker, a little sharper. He doesn’t care that you’re both on the screen for live viewers, that this will be recorded, or that you have friends on the call, who have taken a backseat to watch the fencing match.
And the angel. Sure, it’s a small part of your brand and gamertag, but the way Wonwoo says it implies something intimate. Darker. A gentle caress of the word against your skin.
When you come up with nothing, Wonwoo grins on screen, devastatingly handsome. He knows he’s surprised you. “Not a problem,” he quips. “I’m an excellent teacher. I can teach you how to rizzpond to a direct question.”
He surprises you by ending the stream suddenly. You blink in surprise, both Seungcheol and Mingyu calling Wonwoo’s name, assuming his internet has gone out or has been interrupted. With shaking hands, you remove one side of your headphones, listening. Heavy footsteps sound in the hall and you squeak, hitting the hotkey to show be right back on your stream.
Wonwoo stands in the doorway. He gives you a single, lopsided smirk before waltzing toward you, a predator stalking prey. His dark eyes are focused on you, drinking you in.
“Noooo,” you yell at him, giddy and panicked all at the same time. You hold your hands out to push him away but he links your fingers instead pressing his palms against yours and pulls you toward him. He jerks your computer chair toward him, your knees crashing against his. “Hiiiii.”
“No rizz, huh?” his voice is barely a murmur.
“Ummm,” you glance over to your set up where the be right back glows. Wonwoo follows your line of sight before dropping his gaze back to you, eyes asking a question. “Do you… want to?”
Elation falls across his face. “I’m down if you are. You know that.”
Chewing your lip, you smile and nod. You’ve long been planning to reveal that the two of you have been dating for a long time, and the present feels right. Not to mention the implication of him ending the stream and you slamming the be right back on at the same time.
Wonwoo leans down and grabs the arms of your computer chair, spinning it around and pushing you back into the frame. He leans over your shoulder, the smell of sandalwood and lavender enveloping you, making your head spin. He hits the hotkey to turn your stream and mic back on.
Your eyes drop to where you’re displayed in the camera, Wonwoo leans against the back of your chair, chest pressed to your shoulder as he grins at the camera. Your thighs clench, seeing that same cocky smirk you’re used to making a brief appearance on camera.
“Sorry chat,” Wonwoo announces. “Sorry Cheol, Mingyu. I have to handle the disrizzspect going on in my own home. Say byeeee to chat, Angel.”
“Byeeee,” you squeak on instinct, watching as he waves while your comments explode. He closes out the stream and cuts off the Discord call where Seungcheol and Mingyu are screeching, shutting down your computer entirely so there’s no chance for accidents.
Stomach fluttering, you take off your headphones and look up at Wonwoo to find he’s already staring down at you, dark eyes hungry. You slide down a little in your chair, feeling your mouth go dry. You got what you wanted, but now that he’s there and you can feel the intensity crackling between you, you can’t help but balk just a little.
“What?” he asks, lips twitching at the corner. “Rizz got your tongue?”
“I guess maybe you have a little rizz.”
“Ohhh, I see.” Wonwoo pulls your seat backward, spinning your chair around so that you face the bed. He lets go of the chair and walks backward, sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him, heart beating, breath quickening. “Now that there’s no one here I have rizz.”
You pout. “It’s our brand.”
“Mhmm.” He leans back on your bed, the mattress dimpling under his weight. He pats his thigh with one hand. “You just love getting under my skin, don’t you?”
You climb out of your computer chair, stumbling a little as the blood starts to flow from where they were crisscrossed. He tsks at you as you regain your footing, padding over to where he sits, legs spread, thighs straining against his athletic shorts.
Carefully, you climb into his lap. Your body buzzes as you settle over him, one knee on either side of his hips. You lean your weight into him, hands resting on top of his shoulders. Even through his hoodie, you can feel how warm his skin is.
“Are you happy now?”
“Huh?”
One of his hands leaves the bed and cracks against your ass, starling you. You squeak and lean forward, the sting making your eyelids flutter. “You’re not even listening, are you?”
“I wasn’t.”
His hand kneads your ass through your shorts, soothing the sting from the slap. “I asked, are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?” You nodded, letting your head hang down, burying your face in his neck. It’s warm and safe there, your thoughts sticky as his hand continues to explore your ass. “Remember when I said use your words like a big girl?”
“Yes. Yes, I got what I wanted.”
“And what was it you wanted?”
When you hesitate to answer, too focused on your slamming heart and stuttered breathing, his hand comes down across your ass again. You curse, melting into him, letting him bear your weight entirely. “Wanted to rile you up.”
“It worked.”
“I can tell.”
Wonwoo’s hand trails to the edge of your shorts, fingers dancing along your thighs. You’re hype aware of his touch and the way it sends fire through you, stomach in knots and cunt aching between your legs as he fingers the hem of your shorts.
“Is it okay that I interrupted your stream?”
The question is so much softer than he was a second ago. You lift your head to look at him. His face swims into focus, a momentary flicker of nervousness. Wonwoo is rarely impulsive, but the move to announce your rivalry is more romantic than most people knew was unplanned and spur of the moment.
“It’s definitely okay. Is it okay with you?”
He nods, leaning forward to run his nose up the side of your neck. He inhales, taking in your scent and humming while the hand running along your shorts pulls at the fabric. “Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be upset.”
“No. Now the people in your chat know you’re mine.”
“Yours?” His mouth brushes against the hollow of your throat, hot and wet. Your head tilts back, lips parting as his tongue flicks against your skin. “Just wanted to claim me, is that it?”
“Your fans are horny?”
He nips your neck and a moan drips from you. “Yours aren’t?”
“Not like yours.”
“Too bad for them. There’s only one angel who can get under my skin.” Wonwoo takes you by the waist and rolls you over. Your breath leaves you in a huff as your back hits the mattress. He leans over you, knees caging you in on either side of your hips as he presses his mouth to your jawline, sucking kisses up toward your ear. “Only one drawback - she thinks I have no rizz.”
You bring your hands to the hem of his hoodie, desperate to feel him. Sliding your hands under the fabric, you press your palms against his stomach, feeling his muscle flex as his skin warms your hands. His mouth is wet against your skin, teeth nipping your earlobe teasingly, drawing a raspy sound from you.
“I think,” you gasp as he drops a hand between your legs to press against your clothed cunt, “That she might be wrong about the rizz.”
Wonwoo’s fingers apply pressure, barely circling your clit through the fabric. It worsens the ache between your legs, your thoughts getting scattered as you squirm underneath him. He brings his mouth to yours, stealing a greedy kiss.
This is the part of Wonwoo that you know only you see. Where the calm and collected gamer turns into an all consuming force, stealing the breath from your lungs as his tongue presses against yours. You kiss him back with equal want, whimpering into his mouth as he presses his fingers a little harder against you.
“Please,” you breathe against his mouth between kisses. “I know I was mean but please.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m sorry!”
“Are you, though?” He mouths down your neck to your collarbone, the sting of his teeth soothed by the rough pass of his tongue. “You got exactly what you wanted and more.”
“I ammmm.”
His laughter is rough. The hand between your legs comes up to the top of your shorts, dipping past the waistline to sink downward. He groans when he feels the dampness of your underwear, the way he’s already worked you up.
“No rizz,” he mutters to himself. You throb when you feel his fingers pull your underwear to the side, knuckles running up your wet folds where he stops at your clit to press down. Your nails scrap against his abs, body tensing under the stimulation. “This is a wet fucking fucking pussy for someone who has no rizz.”
You can’t think of a response, mind reeling as Wonwoo plays with you properly. You writhe in his hands, melting as his fingers brush up and down your slit before coming back up to gently circle your clit. Your feet kick a little under him, unable to sit still as he works you - teases you.
Fuck you realize he might do this all night.
“You have a lot of rizz,” you breath, pressing the back of your head into the bed, gasping in surprise as he sinks a finger into your entrance. Already you’re clenching down on him, wanting more. “Fuck.”
“I don’t know… maybe I just… lack what you need.”
“No,” you answer quickly. “Just… ugh like that.”
The ease at which he knows how to touch you makes everything feel tenfold. Wonwoo knows you like the back of your hand, both intimately and mentally. What had started as two streamers annoying one another had turned into friendship at some point - you’d met him at a convention and realized he was far gentler and softer than you imagine.
That had turned into something further - something deeper. The want when you were around him was something that you hadn’t expected, but it hasn’t gone away since. Even though you get to have him like this, finger stroking your inner walls and palm pressed against your clit, you always want more. Can’t stop wanting him.
“Want,” you mutter, the only word you can think of. You feel the smile pressed against your skin, the wetness slicking his fingers as he presses in a second, stretching you. Your hips can’t off the bed but he pushes you back down, making you whine.
“Why should I?”
“Cause.”
“Not a good enough answer.”
Wonwoo starts to retract his hand and you scramble, digging your nails into his hip to claw him back toward you. “Cause I love you.”
“Closer…”
“Cause I want you.”
“So close.”
“Cause I need you.”
He hums in thought. “Good enough. Help me take these fucking shorts off.”
Wonwoo pulls his hand out of your shorts and leans upward. You rip your hands from his hoodie to slide your shorts off, peeling your underwear down as you do. He taps you on the thigh, fingers sticky from your arousal as he shifts higher. You know what he’s asking, scooting backward on the mattress to give yourself more real estate.
His mouth comes back down to yours, lips soft. You love kissing him, tongue tangling as you bring your hands up to slide your fingers through his hair. He makes an appreciative sound, one hand supporting his weight as he hovers over you while the other slots back between your legs to resume where he left off.
Unrestricted by your shorts, he’s able to thrust his fingers properly. Your gasps break his kisses, hips rolling to meet the stroke of his fingers. He’s always been skilled with his hands, able to peel you apart, pressing the pads of his fingers into that sweet spot over and over again.
His thumb presses against your clit, adding stimulation as he moves it from side to side slowly, aided by the wetness gathered there. You let yourself get lost in him, pressure tightening in your stomach as you climb toward an orgasm.
Your hands are everywhere - pulling at his hair, pulling at his shoulders, pulling at his arms. He lets you grip at him, lets you squirm beneath his ministrations, letting you have free reign. It’s a favor to you, in a way. He’s letting you get away with your earlier teasing, not drawing it out like he’s known to do, not making you beg.
Moans bracket the wet sound his fingers make in your cunt as he works you to the edge. Your breaths come out in short hisses behind clenched teeth and your thighs squeeze his hand. He’s unfettered, laughing roughly against your ear, breath hot.
“What would your chat say?” he asks. “Huh? What would they say if they knew you fell apart like this? That your cunt melts around my fingers.”
“Fuck,” you whisper, so close to your orgasm that your ears are starting to buzz.
“All this time they thought we were frenemies. Have no idea I get to have you like this whenever I want.”
“I’m gonna-”
“Yeah, you’re gonna.” His fingers press harder, the pressure mounting further. “Gonna come all over my fingers, yeah? Just like you always do?”
You do.
Everything comes together in one, cohesive snap. You arch into him, muscles squeezing, teeth clenched, eyes shut. It feels good when you unravel, coming around his fingers as they fuck you through it, determind to extend your high for as long as he can.
Your breathing is ragged by the time you start to come down, shirt sticking to your skin and neck and face flushed as you try to escape him. He laughs a little, hand slowing until his fingers are still inside you, pressed deep.
When you open your eyes, the room is spinning. It takes you a second to focus on him. His head is hanging, gaze focused where his fingers are still shoved in your pussy. You can see your arousal shining on his wrist and feel where you drip down the curve of your ass.
“A lot of cum for someone with no rizz,” he notes, lifting his head to grin at you.
“Oh shut up.”
“Oh?”
He retracts his hand and you make a pitiful sound at the loss. He stands up, suddenly leaving you cold and shivering. He brings his fingers to his mouth absently, popping them between rosy lips as he sucks your fluid off easily, making an appreciative sound.
“I mean if you want me to leave-”
“No, no! No need for that.” He smirks. “You’re already… here and stuff.”
“And stuff.”
Rolling his eyes, he peels the hoodie up and over his head. You watch, suddenly entranced by the blue tint on his tan skin and the way his muscles flex when he leans to kick off his sweats. Wonwoo is beautiful, his body made up of equal parts streamlined edges and softness.
Sleeper build, you’d joke the first time you saw him shirtless. On stream, he’s always hidden in baggy shirts and hoodies. You’d never realized he was hiding a body that was at peak athletic form, oversized clothing giving way to rippling arms and a hard chest.
Naked, he shuffles back to the bed. You let him pull you out of your top, thankful for the warmth of his hands skating over your chilled skin. Your nipples tighten in the cool air, your toes curling at the sensation as you lay back on the bed and look up at him.
Haloed by blue light, Wonwoo looks like some sort of demon or angel. You’re not sure - perhaps he’s equal parts. His hands reach behind your thighs and lift, pressing your legs upward toward your chest. The stretch feels good but it also pries you open, making you writhe when you feel the weight of his cock on your pussy.
“Hold yourself open for me,” he murmurs gently. Your hands reach behind the back of your knees, pulling. He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning over you to press his weight into the backs of your thighs, helping. “Stay just like that, fuck.”
You do as he says. You have no other choice, especially when he presses the head of his cock into your entrance, sinking in slowly. You let out a loan moan shaped in his name as he presses in, the fit tight and the pressure delirious.
Wonwoo bottoms out, holding himself to you, hips to ass for a second. He presses in all of his weight, the mattress creaking under you as he does. He drops his chin to his chest, curses as he takes a few deep breaths, chest heaving.
You fuck him up too. You know it and you love it, watching as he looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust, but still full of love. It simmers right at the surface, so obvious that you wonder how anyone could ever not see it when it’s right there.
Slowly, he starts to move. You suck in a breath, head falling to the side. Your fingers ache where you grip your thighs, knuckles shaking. A light sheen of sweat wicks your legs, making your hold slip a little. It’s okay, though. Wonwoo leans into you, keeping you pried open as his hips fuck into you at a steady pace.
Each thrust feels like it punches the air from your lungs. You draw in deep breaths when you remember, otherwise distracted with the way he crowds you in, crushing you to the mattress. The feeling of him is insane, your thoughts cobwebbing together, the only word you can think of being his name.
He pants, his arms scooping around your shoulders to pull you into him. A curse leaves your mouth. He’s got you folded in half, no escape from the drill of his hips, the air turning to static between you. Wonwoo is pressed close and you somehow wish you were closer, wanting to drop the grip on your thighs to hold him instead.
Wonwoo reads you like a book. “Go ahead,” he hisses between thrusts.
“Thank you,” you gasp, dropping your legs in favor of sliding your hands through his sweaty hair, nails scratching his scalp. You feel him shiver and you do it again, pulling his face to you so that you can brush your mouth against his, barely a kiss. “Fuuuuuuck, Wonwoo I-”
“I know.”
“Close close close.”
He doesn’t pick up his pace but he throws his weight into you more, fucking you deep and hard. You see stars, squeezing your eyes shut as you slide against one another, muscles aching, lungs screaming. You feel like you can’t breathe but you don’t care, skating the line of your second orgasm so close.
Your heart pounds in your ears. Your breath scrapes your throat. There is a moment of absolute nothing but white noise and then you’re crashing, slamming into your orgasm with enough force to knock your head with his when you lurch forward.
It doesn’t even hurt, the electric pleasure outweighing the knock to your head as his fingers dig into your shoulders, cradling you harder as he pistons faster, getting himself to peak. You go limp, held tilted back as he growls your name and loses a rhythm, breath hissing between his teeth.
For a moment everything is disjointed until he slows to a stop, letting you unfold but pressing his body down onto yours. His weight is comforting, grounding you as your thoughts wander, a little confused and without navigation as your system reboots from the orgasm, tired and staticky.
Wonwoo kisses your jaw lightly, a gentle contrast to seconds ago when he folded you in half.
Slowly, he slides to the side, giving you room to breathe. Your body is slick all over - especially between your legs - and the room cools your over-warm skin. You crane your neck to face him, eyes fluttering open as you come back to, a little more lucid.
His dark eyes find yours and he grins before tossing an arm over your waist just to keep you connected. You place your hand on his arm, returning the gesture, just wanting to touch him.
“I think I died,” you joke, voice rough. “God.”
“Yeah? Hey chat,” Wonwoo hums, a grin splitting his face. “How about that for rizz?”
-
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i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace
— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟
summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two.
pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader
word count: 3.1k
tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time
a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.
You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning.
In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.
"C'mon! We're gonna be late!"
This really wasn't your scene.
Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea.
If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.
Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"
It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase.
Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.
But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.
After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!
That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked.
He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.
And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you.
The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them.
"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"
He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck.
You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.
"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"
The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived.
Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here.
"Ti! It's him!"
The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table.
You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute.
Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even.
Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close.
That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers.
It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this.
I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time.
But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.
Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.
"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.
You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"
"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"
Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next.
On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life.
And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.
The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.
"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"
Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks.
"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."
Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—
You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name.
He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?
"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches.
This is too fuckin' cute.
"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"
"H-Hayami."
"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"
Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up.
"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"
Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.
Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often.
He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.
A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.
"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"
This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life.
Hawks brings his visor back down.
You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement.
You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"
Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing.
And scribbling his number on the back of one.
"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"
Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings.
Hawks is smirking.
"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"
The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again.
"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors.
You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy.
"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"
"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.
"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."
"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back.
"Oh, hey! One last thing!"
You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.
You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'.
"You're kidding me."
Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.
"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"
"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"
It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"
"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"
"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.
Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."
The two of them high-five.
...They're probably right.
You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.
I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday.
It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining.
You chew your lip.
Then, you decide.
You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster.
"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.
"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster.
"Ohmygod."
It's ringing.
Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.
"'Ello?"
Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out.
"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"
Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"
A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."
"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."
Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."
Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.
Until now.
His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back.
You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver.
"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"
You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.
"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"
"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."
Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.
"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter.
"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."
There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.
"I'd love that, Hawks."
This is new for him.
Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants.
And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over.
God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.
Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."
He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun.
"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"
His laugh is warm.
"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."
"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"
Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation.
"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.
It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."
"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."
"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."
Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke.
"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"
"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"
"I'm countin' on it."
"Bye, Hawks."
"See ya, chickadee."
You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.
Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"
"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."
Their screaming wakes up Hayami.
As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated.
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