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chuluoyi · 2 years ago

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✎ daddy-to-be

- gojo satoru x reader

in which you're worried about how he'd react to you carrying his baby

genre: fluff and comfort, mentions of pregnancy and dizzy spells

note: i feel soooo warm writing this *sigh* thank u anon who asked this!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei! Must we do this?"

"For real?!"

"Okaka..."

"Yoohoo! Hehehehe~"

You sighed at the sight of your tall paintbrush of a husband. Satoru was supposedly teaching his first years—Maki, Panda and Inumaki—and yet, from where you were standing, it looked more like he was bullying them into following his whims more than anything.

A kind reminder that… this silly man is the father of your unborn child.

He didn't know that you were pregnant yet, because you had discovered it just a few days ago and chosen to keep it a secret for the time being.

In theory, this was normal. You two were married and engaged in a high level of sexual activity—something Satoru made sure of—and therefore, conceiving a child was bound to happen sooner or later.

Admittedly, accepting the fact that you were carrying his baby wasn't as easy as you thought, even knowing that. You hadn't seriously talked about having kids, and sure, your husband might have just taken a young cursed boy Yuta into his care—and way before that, Megumi, but it wasn't the same with your own child. It can't be the same.

And not to mention that you two were jujutsu sorcerers. Where would raising a baby fit in this bloody, cursed world you lived in?

...and above all, as things stand now, does Satoru even want a baby?

You released another sigh as you walked away, but then your vision tipped and you had to grab the wall for support. Right, you hadn't even been feeling well these past few days. You got queasy easily, and you experienced sporadic bouts of vertigo too.

"Sensei?" Yuta's worried voice greeted you, and you forced yourself to remain upright. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, yes, I'm fine," you assured him with a smile.

"Should I get Gojo-sensei? You seem pale..."

"No, no, that's—"

"Ooh~ Wifey!"

You cursed his impeccable timing as the striking white hair of your husband came to view. A mischievous grin adorned his face, a bundle of sunshine and trouble as always, as he wrapped an arm around you.

"Don't you have to teach the second years? My pretty wife, you can't be slacking—"

His smile abruptly fell when you subconsciously leaned on him and he noticed your shallow breaths. Satoru promptly tightened his grip on you.

"Yuta," his tone had taken a sharper turn. "Go to the training grounds and train with the others. Class ends after that."

As Yuta nodded and proceeded on his way, he immediately turned to face you. "What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern. "Are you not feeling well? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you insisted, even though the edges of your vision started to blur.

Satoru pursed his lips, and you could tell even with his blindfold on, he was staring at you hard. "Don't be stubborn. Come on, let's get you home."

In an instant, he teleported you back to your shared home, his arms securely under your knees. You didn't know when the dizziness started to ramp up, but you were sure to fall if he didn't have a secure grip on you.

"How long have you been feeling unwell?" he inquired as he carefully lowered you onto your bed.

Realizing there was no point in hiding it any longer, you squeezed your eyes shut as your head rested on the soft pillow. "...since this morning."

Satoru expressed his dissatisfaction with a grunt. "In that case, you shouldn't have gone to school. From now on, you're on leave."

He fussed over you—removing your shoes, fine-tuning the air conditioner, and ensuring you were snug in bed. "What is causing you to feel this bad? Is it something you ate? We had dinner together, and I feel perfectly fine..."

You raised your gaze to him just as he tore off his blindfold, his eyes locking with yours. The blue of his eyes scrutinizing and assessing you, and suddenly, you felt insecure as he quirked an eyebrow, seemingly suspecting something. “Is there something you aren't telling me?”

This is it. You couldn't keep this from him any longer. This was his child as much as yours, he had to know for you to be able to decide on the next steps.

You exhaled. "I'm… pregnant."

Silence. For the next five seconds, you could've sworn that Satoru held his own breath.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, stunned, widened cerulean marbles blinking several times. "You...?"

You sat up, reaching for your nightstand and retrieving the five pregnancy tests you had stashed in the drawer, handing them to him.

Satoru fixed his gaze onto the two red lines on the sticks, examining them and then shifting his eyes between you and them several times. You didn't dare to look at him, feeling your hands starting to shake and your gut twisting.

But contrary to your dread, before you could blink, he pulled you into his embrace. Your heart melted as he softly murmured, "Dummy, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I was worried. I didn't think I..."

He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in deeply. "Silly... I'm supposed to be your safe space. You can and absolutely should tell me these kind of things..."

A lingering fear persisted in your gut as you croaked out, "Are you... okay with it?"

Satoru snapped his head so quickly, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean—of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

You didn't know why, but his impromptu and steadfast declaration brought tears to your eyes.

"Stupid," he chided, his voice tinged with slight giddiness and overflowing fondness, and doubled with the wide grin on his face, you were starstruck. Holding your hand, he pressed a tender kiss on your knuckles, and then on the wedding band resting on your ring finger.

His sincere, warm eyes spoke volumes as he said, "You are my beautiful, lovely, and amazing wife. And now you're about to make me a daddy. Why wouldn't I be thrilled about that?"

You had given him love that saved him in countless ways, some of which you might not even realize. And now, you were about to gift him another piece of you to love—his own family to cherish. Satoru was convinced he couldn't love you more than he did in this moment.

You cried even harder, wiping your face sloppily as you pouted at him, voice clogged with tears, a mixture of relief and happiness overwhelming you. "Why are you so s-sweet? You're u-usually... such a menace..."

"Hey! That's slander! I'm always nice to you!" he protested with a mock frown, trying to lighten the mood.

Satoru brought you into his arms again, affectionately stroking your hair. His excitement was palpable as he chuckled gleefully at the very idea of becoming a father to a mini-him or you in a not-so-distant future.

With that sentiment in mind, he genuinely meant every word of what he softly uttered in your ear:

"I love you, sweetheart. And mark my words—with everything I have, I won't let anything happen to you or our baby… I swear it."

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draftbeerbibi · 15 days ago

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FOR ME, IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU - Sylus x Non MC! ( Part 6 )

Summery: you find yourself in lads universe after a particularly close interaction with truck kun. How does life go from here after arriving in the N109 zone leaders backyard when MC hasn’t arrived yet?

Disclaimer, Sylus might be OOC, since I'm not very good at writing so bear with me. This will be multiple parts!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Something gnawed at him.

A feeling of unease he wasn’t able to shake. It was very uncharacteristic of him and it made his mind wander even when walking next to MC. They still hadn’t made any progress even after weeks.

The love he once held for her had dulled to a soft murmur, only held alive by the curse her past self inflicted on him. This constant cycle of love, pain and death had long since become something he started dreading. He no longer had the energy to entertain this façade, so instead, he tried to get her to remember, so she could finally break this binding curse and set him free.

A notification from his phone made him snap out of his train of thought.

He would’ve been happy seeing you used his card, but he heard you leave, and he’s seen you deteriorate these past weeks. He knew he should’ve spoken up. Knew he was breaking something that had yet to start.

Yet he didn’t know how to explain. “Hey, this is my soulmate, and I'm literally, sharing half a soul so I cannot escape my fate with her!” And expect you to understand? No. He was going to fix this before things could get out of hand.

Or so he thought. He thought seeing where you were would put him at ease, but the notification only rooted the feeling of dread deeper, seeping into his very being.

Something was wrong, and he was going to figure out what it was. He excuses himself and left MC dumbfounded as he sent Mephisto flying to the bar and called Luke and Kieran instructing them to figure out your whereabouts.

He willed himself to calm down. Nothing was wrong, you just decided to get a drink. He didn’t even blame you, he was acting like a total dick and he knew it, but this was new to him too. He didn’t expect to fall for you, a mere mortal, so utterly and pathetically normal. Yet fall for you he did. You turned his life upside down in a way he hadn’t realised he craved. No longer bound by fate, revelling in the normalcy.

He should’ve known better. He had almost hoped MC wouldn’t show up, but to his utter dismay she did, and with her arrival, she threw everything upside down for the worse. His heart ached seeing you loose yourself more and more every single day, yet unable to explain himself, he spent more and more time with MC to try and get her to break the curse. But she wasn’t cooperating. Somehow, in this damned timeline, she had chosen another man, leaving him alone with this curse, destined to die by her hand yet again.

But he wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. So he worked harder, growing more impatient by the day. It had irked him, he was turning into someone he no longer recognised, or, to put it frankly, was scared to recognise. His fragile love story with MC started with the same damned feelings. But with you, he felt okay letting it happen. Being vulnerable was not something he excelled in, but he had learned with MC.

His phone lit up with a text.

Twins: we can’t find her. We’re pretty sure someone got her.

He felt his blood run cold. It was his fault after all. If he hadn’t run away and just told you straight up, you never would have gone there in the first place.

He orders the twins to find you. And even if it killed him, find you he would.

~~~

Everything hurt.

Your brain was pounding in your skull, a protest to the excessive drinking you had done last night. But it wasn’t just your head, no, every fiber of your being hurt.

Breathing laboured you try to move, but a sharp pang in your wrists made you stop in your tracks. Then you remember. The drinking, walking outside when suddenly your pulled into a car. The rest is a hazy blur and now you were here.

You try to open your eyes slowly. Your in a dark room, without windows, the only light coming from a singular lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that’s barely working. The room looks rundown, like a cement basement. It smells like dust and mold, and there are small puddles on the floor. The room is barren except for some racks with canned food. You guess it truly is a basement.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as you try to asses you situation. Your sat in a chair, with your wrists tied behind your back, making it borderline impossible to move. Why the hell did someone take you? Why would anyone even want you anyways? You don’t get long to think when you hear a door open and piercing light filters through. Before your eyes could adjust, the door is promptly closed again and an unfamiliar silhouette walks in your direction.

He's masked, so you can't make out his features, but even if he wasn't, your sure the pounding in your head would've made it impossible to see anyways.

He doesn't say anything, just assesses you like a product for sale. That makes your heart skip a beat. What if you are? You stare at him, questions clouding your mind, but fear grips at you so hard that you can't utter a single word, so all you manage to do is examine him as well.

He grabs a notepad and a pen off of a rack and writes some things down. You force yourself through gritted teeth to speak up. "Who are you, and why am i here?" He looks up at you, and despite the mask you could have sworn he was grinning but he doesn't respond, he just continues writing on the notepad.

And just like that, he leaves, isolating you with your thoughts. How long has it been? Where even are you? Did Sylus notice your absence? If he did, would he come? The air felt too thick, the humidity and mold mixing to make every breath taste like toxic waste.

You try to wiggle your arms, but the material around your wrist was tight, and when you wiggled too hard, it cut through skin. You hiss in pain, tears welling up in your waterline. You blink profusely as you try again, but to your dismay, the material doesn't budge but only cuts deeper. You wince as a tear rolls down your cheek.

You look around the room, searching for anything, but with no windows, and both your hands and feet bound, you had no way of escape. You were bound by the whims of fate, unsure if freedom was ever written in the stars for you.

~~~

He finally found a lead.

It had been hours since he last heard from you. Well, if a payment notification really counts as hearing from you. The twins were hunting down the streets for every lead they could find. At first he thought it was EVER, but to his surprise they had nothing to do with it, making it that much harder to track you down.

Checking the footage of Mephisto flying around Linkon, Sylus looked around the area of the bar. It had been cleaned meticulously, so they weren't amateurs, but then, something caught his eye.

Your bracelet.

Correction, the bracelet he had gifted to you for one of the auctions you had attended with him. It was concealed between some rocks and dirt, hidden from sight so that even he almost missed it. But thank the heavens he didn’t, because in between some of the beads of the bracelet some hairs were tucked. Possibly a sign of struggle. Immediately he called one of the twins over to have it checked.

He cursed himself for taking so long to find the bracelet. The next minutes felt like days, waiting while looking, not finding anything new.

He cannot remember the last time he lost control over his emotions like this. He, the leader of Onychinus, ruler of the N109 zone. But regardless of the titles he holds, it feels useless without you by his side. He should have told you. He shouldn’t have run away, trying to fix it on his own.

“Boss! We found a match, it’s one of the rising gangs. They traffic women without significant background so no one looks for them. We don’t know how they found her yet but we’re on their tail, almost know where they went too.” Kieran informs. Luke stands behind his brother, observing. He had never seen his boss like this.

“Good, we’re moving out as soon as we find her, you hear me?” They nod in unison at their boss’s words. Sylus’s phone rings, and when he checks it he sees MC’s name illuminating his screen.

He huffs out a soft curse as he picks up, MC’s soft voice echoing through the phone’s speakers. “Where did you go? I thought i was supposed to break this ‘curse’, how am i supposed to do anything when i don’t even remember anything?”

Her voice was soft, laced with concern. Had he shown how worried he was? He couldn’t remember, all he knew right now was that he needed to get you back asap.

“I know, listen, something happened and i’ll be back as soon as possible, in the meantime please just try to find any leads on breaking the curse.”

His head hurt, it was taking way too long to find you, especially with how many resources he has. What if something happened to you?

A soft sigh resonates from the phone.

“Listen, i don’t know what’s going on, but if i can help in any way, just let me know okay? You looked like you were about to set the world on fire when you left.”

He hums softly. “Thank you miss hunter, but i think it’s best if you don’t get involved in this specific case.”

He rubs his temple, MC agrees and hangs up the phone, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again. Then just like that, one of the twins sends coordinates. He doesn’t need a name to know that they found you, so before his mind can even process, his feet are already moving.

~~~

The door opened again, and this time 3 men entered.

They looked rushed, and one of them moved over to you to untie you. Were they discovered? Were they moving you? Not without a fight they’re not.

As the man stepped behind you to tie you up again you quickly elbowed him, resulting in him falling to his knees gasping for air. You could have sworn you heard bones breaking but you didn’t focus on that as you now had the attention of the other 2 men on you. You could maybe dodge them? You sure as hell were going to try.

As one of them lunged at you, you moved out of the way as fast as you could. He managed to grab a hold of your blouse and tore off your sleeve as the momentum sent him toppling over his friend. Colleague? Didn’t matter. You turn to the other man and you freeze.

Your eyes grow wide as your met with the last man holding a pocket knife in his hands. You were so not prepared for this. You never bad to fight, not even in the N109 zone. Sylus had always kept you close to him so not once had you been forced to retort to violence yourself, but being eye to eye with someone who clearly has the intent to kill made something in your brain switch, clearing up your mind more then any hangover drink ever could.

Your hands tremble as you stare at him, and it’s like a countdown to your death. He swings, and you barely evade, but while stepping away he slices at your arm. A groan escapes your lips as you grab tight to the wound. It’s a shallow cut, but still bleeding much heavier then you would like.

Before the man could swing again the door bursts open with way more force than necessary causing it to fall out of its hinges entirely. And when your met with his crimson eyes you can feel relief wash over your entire being. He looks feral, eyes locked on the man with the knife, and before you can blink the man disintegrates into thin air. The other 2 men follow suit and just like that, your alone with him, heaving heavy breaths of relief.

Tears spill over your cheeks, and before you can fall to the ground he picks you up effortlessly, caging you in his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you allow yourself to let go, and you sob. You knew you looked ugly but you couldn’t care less right now. You were safe. He was here. He cared. Enough to save you at least. Enough to not let you fend for yourself.

And he keeps whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you finally collapse under the heave weight of fatigue, letting him swoop you up.

“We’re going home.”

And then you’re out.

~~~

A/N: Hello! I know every update is taking longer and longer and I'm sorry for that, but I have never written an action scene before and none of worked right in my head :( Thank you for being so patient with my I really appreciate it y'all! That being said, I hope this chapter was worth waiting for and I'll work hard to cook up more delicious food for everyone <3 Have a great day everyone!💕

Taglist:

@jeondyy @animegamerfox @nm4565natty @famouschopshopgalaxy @supershygirl @justpassingdontworry @madam8 @babygirl-panda19 @sleepykittyenergy @corvid007 @bubera974 @t0rchknight @z3vl @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @dysphxriaii @strxw-bxrri @sillyfreakfanparty @cordidy @rynnpersonal @maria-elite @dana-nite @misselysia @phisen @wiosna88888 @hao-ming-8 @mentaltrouble2201 @gkfofucha @reni502 @0nychinus @lighting-and-shadow @harbingers-lullaby @yeahhemmings- @moonlight-dream54 @eialovescats @thisfeelswrong @cheshire-kitsune @nutshellera @mblaqgi @iunse @ninaaargh @tenaciouszombiewombat @sylusaethercore @000rpheus @udejoenrlddo @dyeinsomniadontwake @222410 @hon3yydew @angelwhizpers @dyeinsomniadontwake @starllight613 @pluto-890

#love and deepspace #lads #l&d #lads x you #l&ds #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #fanfic #for me it will always be you #angst #l&ds sylus #l&d sylus #l&ds sylus x reader #sylus x non mc

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wordstome · 1 year ago

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how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

youtube

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

#anti ai #cod fanfiction #c.ai #character ai #c.ai bot #c.ai chats #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #writing #writing fanfiction #on writing #fuck ai #ai is theft #call of duty #cod #long post #I'm not putting any of this under a readmore #Youtube

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frenchkisstheabyss · 21 days ago

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♡ ｐｌｅａｓｅｍｅ ♡

♡ Pairing: drug dealer!wooyoung x good girl!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut/playful enemies to lovers

♡ Summary: If there's one thing you've learned from having a criminal as a step brother it's this: Never, under any circumstance, get involved with a guy like him. It's messy, it's risky, and it almost always ends in tears. It's the #1 reason you've pushed Wooyoung away for so long but sadly for you he's sickeningly handsome and painfully persistent. A combination that was bound to break you down and today's the day.

♡ Word Count: 3.7k

♡ Warnings: san's your step brother (only mentioned), wooyoung's a criminal but a cute one, heavily tattooed woo, he low key/high key worships reader's body, kissing, oral sex (f receiving, reader's first time actually), fingering, a lil handjob, scratching, unprotected sex, a lil rough sex, cock riding, choking, creampie, pet names (baby, princess).

♡ A/N: Hello, my darlings. For whatever reason (he's super fucking hot) I've had a thing for Wooyoung lately. I'm also such a sucker for a criminal/mafia/etc boy who's super soft for reader and that's how we ended up here. As always, if you end up reading this I hope you have fun with it my loves. xoxo

The perfect sunny day. You’ve been waiting months for the weather to break and finally you’ve been blessed with one. Refusing to waste it, you’ve been relaxing by the pool all day. Occasionally you’ll take a dip, letting the cool sparkling blue waters wash over you, but mostly you’ve been right where you are now. Spread out on a lounge chair, your earphones blaring your favorite song as the sun sprinkles its rays across your soft skin.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a long time and the preciousness of it isn’t lost on you. At any second your stepbrother and his “business associates” could charge through the front door, bringing chaos and bloodshed with them, but you try not to think about it. For now this sprawling villa is all yours and nothing can take that from you. Well, almost nothing.

“What are you doing out here, kid?” Wooyoung asks, staring down at you through a pair of dark tinted sunglasses.

With your eyes closed, you hum along to the music, blissfully unaware of his existence. Wooyoung takes a long look at you, his gaze scanning you from head to toe. In all the years he’s worked for your stepbrother not once has he missed an opportunity to observe your beauty and this is the opportunity of a lifetime to say the least. He prides himself as being a man who bows to no one but he’d get down on his knees just to beg for one nibble at that plush figure of yours.

Pushing his glasses back to the top of his head, he leans in closer to that pretty face and shouts, “You should really be more aware of your surroundings!”

His breath skims your cheek and you open your eyes only to see the shadow of a man, his features obscured by the sun. “Aah, shit!” you scream, scrambling out of the chair and nearly falling as you do.

Wooyoung cackles, reaching out to you in a half hearted attempt to offer some comfort. “It’s okay! It’s me!”

You snatch your earbuds out, your eyes adjusting to the brightness as you begin to make out who it is in front of you. “Woo?” you squint, “You son of a bitch! What’s wrong with you?”

“Wait, I’m sorry!” he apologizes but you’re already raining slaps down upon him. Using the duffle bag in his hand, he holds it up, blocking a few of your hits.

You maneuver around it, landing a half dozen more hits before you tire yourself out. “You don’t sneak up on people like that! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I said I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you, honestly. Come here, let’s make up” Woo opens his arms, approaching you for a hug and, as always, you shove him away. The rejection doesn’t even sting anymore, he just takes it as a part of your charm.

Eyeing the hefty bag in his hand, you fold your arms across your chest, eager to get him out of your hair. “Tell me what you want. Quickly.”

“Well, I have this delivery…”

You throw a hand over his mouth, refusing to hear another word. The less you know the better. “San’s not here so you can go. Thank you. Goodbye.”

With that you ease back down into your chair, ready to carry on with your day like this never happened, but Wooyoung’s not giving up so easily. Part of you knew he wouldn’t.

Wooyoung scoffs, his tongue poking his cheek, “You know I can’t do that. Today’s the drop off date and I don’t miss my dates, not for anyone. Not even you, princess. So here…”

He holds the bag out to you and you shoo it away. The only thing worse than knowing what’s in that thing is having your fingerprints all over it. “Fine, I’ll show you where to leave it but get that thing away from me and don’t call me ‘princess’, got it?”

You get up with a huff, pushing past him and storming towards the house. Wooyoung takes his time, lingering behind for as long as he can, too stunned by this perfect view of you from behind to move.

“So…” he says when he's finally caught up to you, “How’s work?”

“Fine” you snap, navigating the halls with little care for if he can keep up.

“You still best friends with that girl, uh, Charlotte?”

“Scarlet and yeah, still friends.”

“How about your little boyfriend?”

His mocking tone makes you roll your eyes and you throw back a sharp look at him as you turn down a hall lined with sleek, black doors. “Broke up.”

Wooyoung pouts, hand over his heart, “Ouch, sorry to hear that.”

He may be offering his condolences but that slick grin on his face says otherwise. Wooyoung’s been trying to get with you for as long as you can remember. You’re far from oblivious to it and for his part Wooyoung’s been far from subtle about it. Being mean to him has done nothing to discourage it but you continue to try, hoping that one day he’ll get the message and back off. It’s not that you don’t like him. The truth is the exact opposite. The crush that Wooyoung has on you is mutual. So mutual that just the sight of him has your stomach in knots.

With those gorgeous features and that silky dark hair, he’s your every fantasy come true but he’s also trouble. You’ve seen what falling for a guy like that can do to a girl and you refuse to spend your days crying while he rots in a prison cell somewhere. You just weren’t built for it but sometimes when you’re alone and his eyes are on you the way they are now, his gaze hotter than the sun itself, you contemplate letting your inner desires cave to your better judgement.

Refocusing on the task at hand, you push the thought away. “You can put it in here” you say, opening the door to the guest bedroom.

Wooyoung steps inside, waiting for you to join him, “You scared to come in or something?”

“No, I just don’t need to. Closet’s over there.”

“I’m kinda blind without my glasses. Help me out?”

There’s that smile again, the one that has you melting beneath that cold exterior. Giving in, you walk over to the closet, sliding it open for him.

“Here.”

Wooyoung tosses the bag inside and when he does you swipe his glasses away, inspecting them. “I know these aren’t prescription by the way.”

He just shrugs, snatching them back, “Yeah but they’re cool, aren’t they?” Stepping closer to you, he slips the glasses onto your face, beaming at how adorable you look. “They look cooler on you though.”

A tingly feeling comes over you at the realization that you’re wearing something of his. It’s such a silly, schoolgirl thing but it’s nice and you can’t keep yourself from enjoying it. You crack a smile, a rare occurrence, and Wooyoung’s face lights up at this new achievement.

“Oh my god, did you just smile at me?” he teases, tattooed fingers extending to brush along your arm.

You grab his wrist before he can, staring him down behind the pitch black lenses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” you deny, forcing the cursed smile way, “You must be, I don’t know…seeing things.”

Wooyoung laughs, inching closer to you until you’re pressed against the doorway, a thin layer of clothes the only thing separating your barely clothed body from his. Taking the glasses off of you, he shoves them in his back pocket, making sure your eyes are visible when he asks this. “How long are we gonna do this?”

“How long are we gonna do what?” you ask, your pulse racing at his closeness to you. He’s even more attractive up close, not a solitary flaw in sight, and the dark shift in his demeanor only makes you swoon harder.

Twisting his arm free of your grip, he laces his fingers between yours, his thumb drawing light circles on the back of your hand. “Go back and forth like we don’t both want the same thing.”

It’d be typical of you to pull away and it crosses your mind that you should but for some reason you can’t. Chewing at your inner lip, you try to avert your eyes elsewhere, “And what exactly is it that you think I want?”

Wooyoung tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your face closer to his. Your lips are dangerously close to touching. One wrong or right move—depending on how you look at it—and they’ll meet.

“Me” he whispers and your body tenses, giving away just how correct he is.

“I…I’ve never said that” you stutter, flustered by him for the first time. You feel naked, your secret laid bare. How could he know?

“Then say it now. Say you don’t want me and I’ll stop” he says, brushing your lips with his.

His tongue peeks out, teasing the seam of your lips and they part for him instantly, granting him easy access to the warmth of your mouth. That’s it. Years of fighting this blown to bits by a simple kiss. Only it’s not simple at all. The motion of his tongue is like a whirlwind, sweeping you up in him and nothing has ever felt so right.

Your hands float up to cradle his face, your touch more precious to him than anything in the world. He didn’t know you’d surrender. For all he knew you could’ve kicked him in the balls and showed him the door. But it was worth the risk to put to rest what felt like an eternity of pining. He needed to know and now that he does there’s no turning back. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

The kiss grows deeper with every motion of your lips. Time itself seems to stand still as you fall deeper into each other, a thin haze falling over your minds at the heaven of this indulgence. Slipping a hand along the curve of your hip, he reaches back to grab a handful of your ass, groaning at how deliciously soft it is.

“San says guys like you are no good for me” you say, the aching between your thighs betraying the very concept of that.

His fingers find the strings of your bikini bottom, tugging at the carefully tied bows little by little until the fabric falls away. “Let me show you how good I can be for you, princess.”

You bite down on his lip just hard enough to make him pay for calling you that again. Wooyoung grins, kissing his way down your body. He takes care to press his mouth against every inch of you. Your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach. By the time he’s down on his knees, his tongue dragging along the meat of your thigh, your body’s vibrating from the sensation of being devoured so fully. But there’s still more of you to taste and Wooyoung’s drooling at the sight of it.

He glances up at you eagerly, tapping his left shoulder and you know exactly what he’s asking. You drape your leg over his shoulder, your thigh pressed right up against his cheek. Wooyoung’s always known you to be this bold, confident girl but a sudden shyness washes over you and he can’t even lie, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever…”

You bury your face in your hands, shielding yourself from the truth of his statement. It’s not like you haven’t been with guys before but they were all too focused on themselves to give you the special attention you so intensely longed for. Now, with Wooyoung’s face hovering close enough for his breath to tickle your clit, you can barely keep yourself together.

Wooyoung strokes your entrance, swirling his fingertips in the juices dripping from you. “That’s a shame. She’s so pretty” he groans, curling his tongue against your clit.

You tremble at the contact, walls clenching as his digits press into you, scissoring you open. Moans spill into your palms, the feeling of him licking between your folds too perfect for you to keep quiet.

He reaches up to grab your arm, tearing your hands away from your face. “We’re all alone, princess. Let me hear you.”

Slurping harshly at your pussy, his fingers sink in deeper, your cushy walls swallowing them hungrily. The silver watch on his wrist clicks with every rotation, matching the rhythm of him pounding your core. He purses his lips around your bud, alternating the amount of pressure he applies to make sure you can’t possibly predict what’s next.

Your body tingles from head to toe, pleasure creeping into parts of you that you didn’t even know it could reach. The room’s just quiet enough to hear your arousal swishing around on his tongue, the space between his fingers squelching as you leak down his hand. You’ve never been this wet before and that knowledge only makes you wetter. A part of you has always known that Wooyoung could give you exactly what you needed. It seems criminal to have denied yourself of it for this long.

“Woo, aah, baby…” you gasp, hands clamping down on his shoulders when he hits your sweet spot.

He leans back, lips glistening with your essence. “Did you just call me ‘baby’?” he asks, lightly petting your spot to keep your walls quivering, “Sounds so cute coming from you.”

Wooyoung picks up speed, moisture splashing on your thighs as his fingers dip in and out of your core. Your nails dig into his shirt, hips rocking to match his movements. The pressure building is so intense it makes you dizzy. Your brain’s so scrambled that you have to remind yourself to breathe. You arch with that next desperate gasp for air and he takes advantage of this new angle, sneaking a third finger into you.

“Say it again” he begs, still lapping at your clit, “Be a sweet little princess and say it for me.”

“Baby…” you whine as your glossy eyes meet his, “My baby.”

Wooyoung’s been hard for you since he saw you by the pool and it’s only gotten worse with your arousal coating his tongue but the sound of your voice—floaty and satisfied—calling him yours does something special to him. Something that has every bit of blood in his body rushing to his cock, the throbbing of it against his zipper borderline unbearable.

A switch flips on in your brain reminding you that, your current position aside, he’s the one wrapped around your finger and there’s something incredibly hot about that. He’s a man that’s committed crimes you’d never dare ask about. He’s been to prison more than once, made men twice his size wish they were never born, and all his heart desires is for you to want him. You might not know what it feels like to wield the power he has outside of this room but, if it’s anything like what you’re feeling right now, it’s no wonder he can’t let it go.

Summoning all of your inner strength, you thread your fingers in his hair, tilting his head away from you. “Take your clothes off” you demand, sliding your leg down from his shoulder. You do your best to put on a strong front but your legs are turning to jello and it’s only a matter of time before they give out.

Wooyoung rises to his feet, staring back at you defiantly. You think for a fleeting moment that he might not listen. Maybe your bossy act was over when you opened your legs. But your fears are quieted with two simple words.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t take your eyes off of him as he strips down, slowly revealing a toned body mapped with tattoos and a cock you can’t resist wanting inside of you. “Like what you see?” he asks, pretending not to notice you blushing.

It’s distracting how pretty the head of his cock is, pearls of precum decorating the swollen tip. “I’ve seen better” you lie, prying your attention away from it.

Wooyoung takes your hand, wrapping it around his length to let you feel it pulse. “Have you?” he teases, noticing how you mindlessly trace each vein, admiring the slight curve of his cock as you stroke it.

You shake your head, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, “Can I ride it? For…research purposes.”

“Research purposes? Is that it?” he laughs, guiding you over to the bed.

Pulling you down onto him, he captures you in another sugary kiss, untying your top to let your bare breast rest in his palm. You straddle his lap, your pussy gliding down his length as he toys with your nipple, the bud pebbling with every pinch. He grabs your ass, lifting you up until his tip is pressed right up against your entrance. When he lets go your body slams down onto him, the thickness spreading you so wide that you scream between his lips.

“You said you wanted a ride” he whispers, raising his hips to meet yours, “Take it.”

Tiny spots of color litter your vision, a flash of heat catching you off guard as you do what you can to adjust to the stretch. Your lashes flutter away the moisture forming in the corners of your eyes as you sit up in his lap, hands splayed out on his chest feeling it rise and fall with every uneven breath.

“Ah, fuck, princess…” he hisses when your full weight settles onto him and he bottoms out, his tip kissing your cervix.

Your pussy hugs him tightly, hips rotating to feel him in every way you can. Feeling him in your hand is nothing compared to having him between your walls. You cling to him, picking up on all the finer details. It’s as if your body wants to remember it. Commit it to memory so that the ecstasy of this fullness never fades away, even after he slips out of you. Not that he has any intention to. He’d stay here forever if he could, enveloped by walls as smooth as velvet, his senses overwhelming him like its his first time.

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are?” he asks, gently massaging your thighs.

You pout, knees pressing into the mattress as you lift up a few inches, pausing your movements. “Just cute?”

Wooyoung grabs you by the hips, slamming you back down, and the force of his thrust almost makes you fold over. “Cute. Beautiful. Gorgeous…” he hums, palms tracing your figure, “You’re everything I could ever ask for and I knew from the day I met you that I’d do anything to have you.”

“Even get on my nerves?” you tease, intentionally flexing your walls around him.

A whimper escapes him, the shock on his face beyond amusing to you. “Now that was cute” you giggle, repeating your actions but this time he holds back, refusing to give you the satisfaction.

Lacing his fingers around your neck, he gives it a light squeeze that warns he can go harder. “Don’t threaten me. Do it” you dare, scratching red marks down his chest.

Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate, tightening his hold on your neck with a controlled strength that makes you feel safe and in danger all at the same time. His free hand finds your clit, his thumb toying with your bud as you ride him faster.

The deprivation of air leaves you lightheaded, heightening the feeling of everything else and you find yourself zoning out. There is no room, no bed, no house. Only the two of you pushing each other further towards the edge. Wooyoung can tell when you’re right there, the stuttering of your hips giving away how close you are to falling apart.

“You gonna cum for me princess?” he coos, thrusting into you.

You bounce in his lap—a mindless, helpless, whining mess—and his brain’s eating itself alive trying to decide where to look. At all those pretty faces you make? At the way your body jiggles from the impact? At the place where your bodies meet to make all of those delectable sounds? His eyes dart back and forth, indecisive and needy. He wants to take in all of you but there’s not enough time for it. His stomach muscles are tightening, that familiar tension clawing at his insides.

He flicks your clit faster, maintaining his hold on your throat until you arch one last time, a moan ripping from your throat even in the absence of air. He turns you loose, the air rushing back into your lungs as your high takes you under wave by devastating wave. You collapse onto his chest and Wooyoung holds you close, too hypnotized by the feeling of you soaking his length to brace himself for how quickly he comes undone. He erupts deep within you, spraying your walls in thick layers of warmth that only make you crave more.

It’d be the lie of the century to say that sex wasn’t something you’ve always wanted from each other but that was never just it. You wanted what came after too. The closeness of having your bodies intertwined, basking in the afterglow with his arms around you. The softness of his lips pressed to your forehead as he whispers the sweetest things to you.

“You know you’re mine now, don’t you?” he asks, lovingly petting your hair.

“Oh, really? Who says?”

He leans down to kiss you and any shred of resistance melts away. You are his. You should’ve been all along. Somewhere in the back of your mind your worries linger. What if he gets into trouble he can’t get himself out of? What if you lose him one day? But, as he stares at you with stars in his eyes, you can’t imagine the alternative of not having him at all.

#wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #chubby reader #plus size reader

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webism · 9 months ago

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KINKTOBER DAY THREE: bondage with nanami.

kinktober masterlist

Nanami, your other half, is meticulous and an overbearing perfectionist on the best of days. You love it about him, love the way that when it comes to you, everything has to be perfect to no fault. You love his dedication to the simplest of things, his attention to detail, you love his patience.

You don't love it when he's using said perfectionism to prolong your time being tied up. You see it in his pretty eyes, that knowing look—he's not taking his time for the sake of perfection, he's taking the time to perv on those frustrated whines that you let out the longer he takes.

Your wrists are bound at your front, a soft shibari rope wrapped around your skin. He had picked it out himself, opted for a more expensive option as it was less likely to irritate your skin—after all, you're being bound to further enjoy yourself, not to decorate your skin with marks he'd much rather leave with his mouth.

Still, he works on the rope around your waist with no sign of eagerness or a rush towards completion. Instead, he continues to watch your body in what looks like a clinical examination, hands working gracefully as he knots the rope against your skin and builds a harness, no doubt good to hold onto so you can't start to shift away once thinks become overbearing. You sit on your shared bed, eyes heavy and stuck on his face as he works—calculated ministries become just a little quicker as you pout.

"Ken," you whine, subconsciously trying to pry your wrists apart to grab at your lover. Your fingers find nothing but air, your arms bound, rendering you useless.

"I'm almost done," he says calmly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He finishes before any other complaints can leave your lips, though you suspect he could have been finished fifteen minutes ago if the sight of rope against your bare skin didn't send blood right down to his cock.

He stands back from where he's working with satisfaction, a pleased look in his eyes that makes you want to squirm, wanting to crawl into his lap and beg forgiveness for whatever you might have done wrong in your past life if it means he'll just fuck you already. But you keep your head up, eyes set on his.

Your legs are bound thigh-to-calf, your throbbing cunt forced onto display by your bindings—if Kento were a worse man he'd leave you like this, bound with a vibrator against your pretty clit for hours on end as he files some paperwork or catches up on the novel he's been reading.

And although the thought is enticing, turning your moans and drawling orgasms into ambient music for the house you share, he's a selfish man at heart and could never deprive himself of you—not when you're like this.

"I think you're beautiful, my love," he leans over you, brushing a cool knuckle over your warmed cheek. A flush spreads across your cheeks, warmth blooming in your belly. His touch doesn't last long, his hand trailing off your shoulder and dipping down to tug at the rope that twists around your torso.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He tries again, and pulls so hard on your rig that your back meets the mattress and, all of a sudden, your Kento is hovering over you, cock hard against his slacks. "And you know that I love you."

"I know," you nod.

His hands fumble for his belt, and he's hooking his cock out of his pants in the same breath—too eager to fully undress. "I appreciate your trust in me," he tugs at a rope around your thigh to get you just that little bit closer to him; you can feel the heavy weight of his length against your stomach—and he can see just how deep inside of you he will be soon enough, "Though I fear seeing you tied up like this… it makes it hard to be gentle with you, love."

You lean up to kiss his jaw, his lips, anything you and reach while bound so intently. "I don't need you to be gentle with me. I am at your disposal."

Something in your lilt breaks the band of resistance that holds your lover still—he groans as he presses forward, pushing into you without any preamble. You're beyond wet, he hardly feels bad for not prepping you on his tongue beforehand. He has plans of ruining you with his mouth once he's fucked you full of him. "How can I possibly deny you?"

As he bottoms out inside of you, Kento grabs the rope that binds your wrist and lifts them above your head, pressing them into the sheets and rendering you completely motionless. Try as you might, you can't move an inch—you're entirely at his lust-glossed mercy. "That's better, hm? Much easier now, yes?" He pushes deeper into you, grunting out as he fills you in. "You don't have to think, don't have to move, you don't have to anything but take me."

The words are familiar to you—you've heard them hundreds of times before. In the throes of ecstasy, they sound like a lullaby to you—though this time there's some truth to his words. A genuine lack of need to move, to speak, to try and keep your hips at pace with his. As Nanami pulls back, drags his aching cock out of you before rutting right back into your tight core, you're able to completely relinquish control.

And god is it narcotic. The ruthless pace that he sets, muscles that cord his arms keep you in place as he bullies his cock into you. His mean thrusts are occasionally broken up with an open-mouthed kiss to your waiting lips, though the world is spinning too fast for you to register much other than raw, undiluted pleasure. You barely have the voice to announce your orgasm, let alone ask for permission to cum, so when your orgasm wracks through you like tropical waves against a cliffside, your lover can't help but bite at your exposed neck in feigned disappointment.

"Oh, love," he coos, but doesn't slow the roll of his hips even slightly. "You know I don't like it when you don't use your words."

You can't, not with the way he's fucking a second orgasm into you before you've even recovered from your first. Not when you're bound so tight that you know you have no way out of his ministries, not that you want one. You haven't felt so blissed-out in a long time, and there is no place safer to lose your mind than in Kento's arms. Though there's a dangerous lilt to his voice when he leans own, thrusts sharp into your overstimulated pussy, and whispers against your ear. "You're going to wait, and you're going to cum alongside me, love."

It's all too much, your vision is near-white with hot pleasure and you worry that you'll never think a straight thought again if he keeps rendering you dumb like this. You try desperately to climb up the bed, away from his overwhelming size, but he's got an iron-wraught grip on your bindings. "Ah," he chides. "Don't run, take me- I know you can."

The moans that rip from your throat are made for porn, especially in conjuncture with his groans and bitten praises. It's not long before his ruthless pace starts to falter, and the slap of skin against bruising skin starts to stutter as your lover reaches climax.

"With me," he chokes, the hand that had held your wrists up finally falling down to rub relentless circles over your sensitive clit. You're overwhelmed, orgasm cresting almost painfully as your mind blanks and you come harder than you think you ever have before. Nanami releases inside of you, his free hand holding you as close as humanly possible through your bindings.

And once he's cum, stolen a few breaths to steady himself enough to lift himself up and look down at you, Kento Nanami fears he might be a bad man. Because with the way you look, tear stained cheeks and complete lack of freedom, he can't help the words that slip from his lips.

"You can handle another, can't you, love?"

tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #kento nanami smut #kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x you #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento smut #jjk x you

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saatorus · 3 months ago

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she won't go away— a sukuna fic

art creds to to_0fu (twitter/x)

pairing — college sukuna! x reader

synopsis — of all the people in your chemistry course, you get stuck with ryomen sukuna—the most insufferable, arrogant asshole on campus. he barely does any work, runs his mouth like it’s a sport, and somehow manages to make your life even more exhausting than it already is. if this project doesn’t kill you, he just might.

teaser wc — 1.8k (long for a teaser but i'm desensitised to any word count below like 100k words)

actual wc — 20-25k (gonna try and force myself to stick to this and not go into the 30s..)

tag list status — closed! the fic has been posted

warnings — explicit sexual content!!! sukuna being an absolute vile dick and saying questionable shit (i need him to be at least a lil canon compliant), mentions of reader and sukuna telling each other to go die, reader not being meek and letting him walk all over her, mentions of feeling insecure, multiple crash outs, angst?? will add more as i go along!

“That ‘little homework’ is forty five percent of our grade,” you bite out.

“Don’t give a fuck,” he grunts, sounding bored.

You inhale deeply. “So, I was thinking—”

But he groans, dragging a tattooed hand down his face. “Are we seriously doing this now?”

“Yes, we’re seriously doing this now,” you snap.

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring. “God, you’re fucking annoying.”

You’re not sure whether you should be offended or hurt. On one hand, obviously as a normal human being, being spoken to like this from a person you’re quite literally talking to for the first time is bound to hurt your feelings. On the other hand, this guy’s dickhead personality is kind of well known through your university. Your grip on your pen tightens, but you keep your voice even.

“I’m annoying because I want to pass?”

”You’re annoying because you talk way too fuckin’ much.”

That stings more than you’d like to admit.

You grit your teeth, ignoring the way your stomach tightens, and push forward anyway. “If we divide the research today, we won’t have to meet up as often,” you say, firmly. “I assume you’ll want to do as little work as possible, so let’s just—”

“Holy shit.” Sukuna pushes his chair back with a loud scrape, fixing you with an exasperated look. “Do you ever shut up?”

You blink, stunned.

Toji snickers.

“Oh, come on,” Sukuna scoffs, throwing up a hand. “You’re gonna sit there all wide-eyed like I just kicked your fuckin’ puppy? You started it.”

Your fingers twitch against the table.

“Started what?” you ask, voice dangerously calm.

“This whole thing—acting like I’m some bum ass delinquent who needs a babysitter.” His eyes narrow. “If you wanna play boss, go find some other loser to be a bitch to.”

Your patience snaps. “Or you could just not be a lazy asshole. Do you lack brain cells? You’ve seriously told me to shut up like 5 times in the span of about ten minutes. Do you have a problem where you can’t focus?”

The air between you shifts.

Sukuna’s jaw tics. His expression darkens, something sharp flashing through his eyes, but then his lips pull into something crueler than a smirk—something with edges, something dangerous.

“You think I’m lazy? Got somethin’ wrong with me because I can’t take your nerdy bitching?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Glad you have the ability to comprehend what I said.”

That makes him grin. “And you think I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

He hums, tilting his head. Then he leans forward, just slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice drops into something smug, mocking—

“Then why the fuck are you still talking to me?”

Your blood boils.

What the fuck is his problem?

You lean forward too, matching him, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “Because I have to, dumbass,” you snap. “I tried to change my group. I begged. I offered to do extra credit. I would have written a whole goddamn thesis if it meant not sitting across from you—but guess what?” You gesture sharply between you. “I’m stuck with you.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Tragic.”

You let out a frustrated breath, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white. “So, as much as I’d love to pretend you don’t exist—”

“Then do it,” he interrupts, tone dry.

You blink. “What?”

“If you wanna pretend I don’t exist, go ahead,” he drawls, leaning back lazily. “Do the whole project yourself. You’ll probably enjoy it, since you’re clearly getting off on playing group leader.”

“Oh, my god.” You clench your fists, barely restraining yourself. “Why are you such a dickhead? Parents not teach you basic respect?”

“Because you don’t shut the fuck up,” he snaps, finally looking genuinely irritated.

Your lips part, incredulous. “I’m literally just trying to do the fucking project? Like any normal human being?”

“No, you’re trying to control shit,” Sukuna says flatly. “Like this is some big deal—like I haven’t passed a million of these useless classes already.”

You stare at him. “You think this is useless?”

He smirks. “Yeah.”

Oh, you hate him.

“Some of us actually give a shit about our grades, Sukuna.”

“You know my name? Cute.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to stay calm, trying not to launch your textbook at his stupid, perfect face. “I don’t care how many classes you’ve passed,” you say, voice taut. “You’re doing this one with me. I care about this project. And if I have to suffer through working with you, you can at least pretend to give a shit.”

He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. No.”

You exhale slowly, trying—failing—to stop your hands from curling into fists.

“I swear to god—”

“What, huh?” he cuts in, voice dripping with condescension. “You gonna whine to the professor again?” He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Pathetic.”

Your jaw tightens.

He grins, like he’s won something. Like he’s getting exactly what he wants—like this is a game to him, something to toy with, something to waste his time on.

And you refuse to let him win.

So, you straighten your spine, lift your chin, and meet his gaze without flinching.

“Fine,” you say, voice steely. “If you want to half-ass this, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to pick up your slack.”

Sukuna watches you, amused, as if he’s waiting for you to crack.

When you don’t, he smirks.

“We’ll see.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

“Well, unfortunately for you,” you say stiffly, “you actually have to do your share.”

Sukuna snorts. “Says who?”

“The professor.” You cross your arms. “Since apparently, students have been slacking on group projects, we have to submit proof of collaboration—meeting logs, progress updates, actual proof that we’re working together.”

His expression darkens.

You fight the urge to smirk. Suffer.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

“Nope.” You press your lips together, trying to hold back your pure satisfaction. “So, congratulations, Sukuna. You have to meet up with me at least once a week.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring at you like you’re personally ruining his life. “You’re telling me I have to sit through this shit every week?”

“Yep.”

“You specifically?”

“Yep.”

Sukuna groans, dragging a hand through the unruly pink strands of his hair. Then, just as you’re about to remind him that this is literally his problem for being a shit student, he lifts his head—eyes raking over you in a slow, lazy once-over.

And then, he smirks.

You freeze.

“What?” you snap, immediately on edge.

His smirk widens.

“Nah, I was just thinking,” he drawls, tipping his head back against his chair. “If you were hotter, this would be way less painful.”

Your stomach drops.

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, all you can do is sit there, stunned, completely caught off guard by how casual—how easy—it is for him to say something like that.

Like it’s just true.

Like it’s a fact.

Your fingers dig into your sleeve.

And the worst part? It’s not even the insult itself that stings—it’s the sheer, blatant dismissal. The fact that he looks at you and immediately decides you’re not worth even pretending to be interested in. As if you were hoping for his attention. As if you were seeking his approval.

You clench your jaw.

“Yeah?” you say, voice flat, emotionless. “Well, if you were smarter, I wouldn’t have to carry your useless ass through this class.”

His grin falters, just barely, but you see it—and for once, it’s your turn to smirk.

You lean forward, matching his posture, tilting your head mockingly.

“Guess we’re both disappointed, huh?”

For a moment, Sukuna just stares at you.

And you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, how his fingers twitch against the table like he’s fighting the urge to rip you apart.

Good.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, tipping his chair back slightly, acting unfazed even though you saw the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Damn,” he muses, voice slow, dragging. “Didn’t know you had a mouth on you.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “Didn’t know you gave a shit.”

Sukuna scoffs. “I don’t.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do your work.”

He lets out a low, mean laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

“Generous?” You nearly choke. “You’ve been nothing but a dick since the moment I sat down.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Could be worse.”

Oh, you want to strangle him.

Instead, you inhale sharply through your nose, pressing your palms flat against the table before forcing yourself to stay on track. “Whatever,” you say, shaking your head. “Here’s the deal: we have to meet at least once a week. I don’t care where. I don’t care when. But we need to get the work done, and I need proof that you were actually present—because if we don’t, we both fail.”

Sukuna glares at you, as if the very concept of responsibility offends him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face again. “You’re really gonna be a hardass about this, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t care about failing?”

“Not really.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why are you even in this class?”

At this, he finally drops his chair back down onto all four legs, leaning in slightly. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, voice lower, more serious. “I don’t need this shit. I’m here because my old man thinks I should at least pretend to give a fuck about college.” He smirks, sharp and taunting. “But don’t get it twisted—I don’t actually give a fuck.”

You pause, studying him, trying to piece together the weight behind his words.

Of course, you know he comes from money. Everyone does. The Ryomen family name carries weight, old money, power, prestige—so it makes sense that college, for him, is just some bullshit obligation rather than a means to a future.

Still, something about the way he says it—how bitter it sounds—sticks with you.

Not that you care.

You roll your eyes. “Right. Got it. Poor little rich boy.”

His smirk drops.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then—

“You know what?” Sukuna says, voice eerily calm. “Fine. I’ll meet up with you.”

You blink, a little thrown off by how easily he gives in.

“…Okay?”

“But.” His gaze darkens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost like he’s daring you to argue. “You work around my schedule.”

Your stomach twists with irritation. “That’s not—”

“Not my problem,” he cuts in smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t do morning meetups. I don’t do last-minute bullshit. And if you start bitching about how I ‘don’t take this seriously,’” he mocks, voice lilting high, “I will walk out and leave you with an automatic fail. Or whatever the fuck happens to your grade if the other person doesn’t do their part. Got it?”

Your blood boils.

But what can you do? You already tried to get reassigned.

So, through gritted teeth, you say, “Fine.”

Sukuna smirks.

“Good girl.”

a/n: very overused trope but i love college au sukuna. sorry for making him a total asshole but i promise character development!!!!! i looove a good enemies to lovers, as seen with my take on nerdjo lolol!!! also yes this fic is based on "she won't go away" by faye webster and yes this song and it's lyrics will be making a cameo in my fic heheh... hope you all liked the teaser!!

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zorosangell · 3 months ago

Text

⛥ﾟ・。 beach

synopsis: after zoro finds you unconscious on an abandoned beach, he quickly takes you to shelter... where he learns that something's off.

cw: possible multiple parts, fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is so lost, reader's is a bit dense (only because she doesn't know), let's be real i think we can all tell what she is, miscommunication (kinda resolved), zoro is a gentleman

a/n: let's all pretend mermaids don't already exist in the one piece world <3 and look at my man's back in the picture yummy!

"Huh... I could've swore we left the Sunny right here..." Zoro muttered to himself, confused, as he scratched his chin, eye scanning over the expanse of the empty beach.

There wasn't a single ship in sight, nothing but waves and sand seeming to stretch for miles before him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken that right back by at docks.

With a sigh, the Zoro dropped his shoulders, arm resting limply over the hilts of his swords as his free hand came up to shade his eye from the scorching sun.

"Guess there's no harm in walking a little further," he caved, pressing forward. "I stick to the shore, I'm bound to come across the Sunny eventually."

The crew had dropped anchor on a nearby port island for a much needed supply run, and after the girls split to go shopping, and the boys went chasing after Luffy, the swordsman decided to take his time exploring the island, leisurely sightseeing as he nursed a bottle of sake.

But, in true Zoro fashion, he managed to get himself turned around and eventually lost in the maze-like pier, the winding turns and frequent dead ends finally leading him to the edge of the island.

Hard Rock Cove.

Letting out another tired sigh, Zoro raised the sake bottle to his lips, taking a small sip before promptly pulling away, his expression contorting into one of disgust.

The summer island heat had turned drink unpleasantly hot.

'Jeez...'

If there was anything the swordsman wanted more, it was to be in the safety and shade of the crow's nest; where he could finally have a moment away from the broiling air and take a nice, well-earned nap.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

"Other plans" being you.

As he wiped the sweat off his brow, Zoro turned to look further into the beach, only to see an odd-looking figure lying on the ground, surrounded by seagulls.

'The hell...?'

He took a moment, eye squinting to get a better look, only to quickly widen once he realized what it was.

A woman.

You were lying there, unconscious and helpless to the screeching birds that had already begun to peck at your flesh.

"Crap," he hissed under his breath, breaking into a mad dash. "Damn things are gonna eat her alive!"

As he ran over, he started making loud noises, growling and roaring in order to scare the birds away from your possibly-living corpse.

"C'mon! Get outta here! Damn vultures! Leave her alone!"

Terrified, the seagulls quickly flapped away, squawking and shrieking at each other as they left to go find another meal.

With that out the way, Zoro sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink as he finally turned to you.

In which... he finally realized that you were completely naked.

"Crap!" he flushed, eye wide as he quickly turned his back toward you. "Where the hell are her clothes?!"

Not wasting a second, he shrugged off his robe, leaving himself shirtless as he draped it over your exposed body.

"She must be shipwrecked or somethin'. She's soaking wet," he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his neck. "Doesn't look too banged up, though..."

Bending over, Zoro carefully scooped you up, hooking his thick arms under your thighs and behind your back, cradling your—most likely—concussed head.

"Still, I should probably bring her back to Chopper. She might have somethin' wrong anyway."

Slowly, his gaze traveled toward your face, his breath hitching slightly as he finally got a good look at you.

Your skin was delectably sun-kissed, the water droplets creating a natural dew and giving it an alluring, ethereal shine.

Your hair was surprisingly soft and silky, cascading down your back and adorned with a few seashell-like, pearl-encrusted hair clips, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your face was soft, long eyelashes fanning your naturally peachy cheeks while your plush lips remained in a perma-pout, your resting expression downright adorable.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was heating up and tightening over himself, rendering him unable to breathe.

You were a vision—easily one of the prettiest women he had ever seen.

'Good thing I stumbled across her and not the damn cook.'

Out of nowhere, a water droplet hit the swordsman's nose, forcing him to glance up at the quickly darkening sky, the rain slowly beginning to pick up.

"Damn. I can't carry her through this. She'll die before I even make it to Chopper," he cursed, frantically glancing around for somewhere to hole up. "There gotta be somewhere around here we can lay low for a while..."

Luckily, he spotted a cave not to far away, large enough to shield you both from the weather.

"There."

Slightly stirring, you let out a faint groan, your eyes still unable to open.

"Relax. I'm getting us someplace safe," Zoro assured, picking up the pace as he made his way over to shelter.

A crackle of lightening punctuated his sentence, the suddenness causing even him to flinch ever-so slightly.

"Just sit tight."

Weakly, you let out another whimper, still stirring from your sprawled out spot on the cave floor.

"Still out cold..." Zoro grumbled, crouching down to your level before beginning to lightly tap your cheek. "Wake up... C'mon, woman, wake up... wake up."

Though, sadly, you didn't budge—quite literally out like a light.

"Damn... maybe I should move her closer to the fire?"

The two of you had been safely hidden away for quite some time now, and the swordsman was beginning to worry seeing as you had yet to wake up.

'Maybe she hit her head... got one of those brain-dead situations...'

If Zoro was being honest, he was probably the worst person to have around in this particular predicament.

Sure, he could keep you from being devoured by ravenous seagulls, and give you his clothes to keep from catching a cold, but past that he was pretty much useless.

He didn't have a single ounce of medical knowledge past Me hurt, me train, which was, to anybody else, pretty much inapplicable.

"Mmmph..." a light voice suddenly hummed, snapping the swordsman out of his thoughts.

Turning his head, his eye landed on you, watching intently as you slowly sat up, eyes fluttering open and brows furrowing.

"Good, you're awake," he nodded, a small smile rising to his lips. "Took your sweet time. You were startin' to make me worry."

"ᝰ.ᐟ꩜" you exclaimed, excitement apparent in your tone as your gaze settled on the flames not too far away.

Instantly, Zoro's expression fell, his relief replaced with confusion.

"Huh?"

Starstruck, you quickly crawled over to the fire, seemingly attempting to start a conversation.

"٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ .ᐟ"

"Hey, are you... all right? You hit your head out there or somethin'?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

But you completely ignored him, too entranced by the dancing magic before you.

"⋆｡𖦹°‧.ᐟ"

Without thinking, you reached out to touch it, only to let out a squeak and quickly recoil at the painful burn.

"Hey! The hell are you doing? Don't touch that!"

Swiftly, Zoro strode toward you, carefully taking your hand to inspect the damage.

"Jeez, what the hell were you thinking? You trying to hurt yourself?" he grumbled, brows cinched as he took a better look. "What the—? Why the hell is the blister (f/c)?"

It rested on the back of your hand, far too soft and colorful to be a burn scab.

'Maybe that's just how she scars?'

Thoughtlessly, he grabbed it, attempting to pull it off quickly, but apparently it was really stuck on there.

"ᝰ.ᐟ" you yowled, clutching your hand and jumping back with a suspicious glare. "˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚.ᐟ"

"Uh..." Zoro paused, completely and utterly lost. "I didn't catch that?"

Confused, you raised a brow, sizing him up with the same look.

"٠࣪⭑꩜ ?"

"Well, look. At least let me cut that thing off. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't look good."

Slowly, he began to draw one of his swords, your eyes shooting wide at the sight.

""ᝰ.ᐟ"

Terrified, you tackled him to the stony ground, quickly crawling on top of his lap before weakly slamming your fists into his chest, forcing the swordsman to turn beet red.

"What the—?! Hey! Cut that out! I'm trying to help you!"

"𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

"C'mon, get the hell off me! You're naked! You keep movin' around, that thing's gonna fall off!

"☆.ᐟ"

Letting out a sharp groan, Zoro grabbed you by your wrists, pulling you off and placing you down on the ground, much to your struggle.

"Hey, easy, alright? I'm not gonna hurt you, so take a second to calm the hell down," he ordered, tone firm as he held your arms still. "I get it. You woke up half-naked with some random guy and your scared. And you don't seem to speak the same language."

Scanning over your face, he watched as your eyes began to turn glassy, lip jutting out in a slight tremble.

His chest slightly sank, a bit of guilt sinking in as he realized his harsh tone probably wasn't the best choice.

Taking in a deep inhale, he decided to try again, re-calibrating himself for a softer approach.

"Look, I'm sorry for being so rough. It's just... I didn't expect this whole thing when I found you washed up."

Somewhat perky, you sat up straight, carefully taking his calloused hand in a handshake.

" ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ 𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

You spoke eloquently, making a long, heartfelt speech about the importance of kindness, and how you would like to get to know the pretty, green man better in order to make him your friend.

But once again... Zoro caught none of it.

"I have no idea what you just said," he sighed, swiping a tired hand over his face. "Alright, maybe the sake's getting to me..."

Just then, a clacking-crawling sound began to echo within the cave, turning both your attention to the cave's entrance.

Where a vibrant blue crab ran in.

"What the—"

"࿓.ᐟ"

Overjoyed, you happily greeted the crustacean, scooping him up in your hands as he frantically rambled in your language.

"~ .° ｡𖦹˚.ᐟ"

"The crab can speak?!"

Quickly, it handed you a glass bottle, which was full of sparkling, swirling, purple liquid.

Suddenly understanding, you nodded, swiftly popping off the cork.

"Wait a second. You're not gonna drink that, are you?" Zoro asked, warily.

His suspicions were confirmed when you began to raise it to your lips.

"Hey! Stop it! You don't know what that is!"

But before he could lunge forward and smack it out your hands, you had already downed the entire thing, licking your lips and humming at the delightful taste.

"Mmm! Delicious, Sari! Thank you so much!" you grinned, smiling from ear to ear as you pulled the crab in to hug your cheek.

Zoro's jaw instantly fell slack, the man utterly floored by what he just witnessed.

'Yup... definitely the sake.'

"Y'know what... I'm gonna check on the fire," he caved, honestly done with this fever dream of a night.

"Hey, I can understand you now! How wonderful!" you gasped, pleasantly surprised. "Y'know, human language is complicated. You guys should really work on that."

"Human?" Zoro cocked a brow, now even more confused. "All right, woman, just who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing washed up on the beach?"

"Hey, mister, why's your shell on me?"

"My... shell?"

"This green thing. It's sticking to me and, um, very uncomfortable. I wanna take it off."

"Nuh-uh! If you're doing anything, you're keeping that thing on," Zoro quickly denied, flushed, as he ran a tired hand through his hair. "Jeez, you must've hit your head harder than I thought. Just lay down."

"But I have so many questions..."

"I do, too... but as far as I'm concerned, I've had all I can handle from you tonight. So just lay down."

"But I wanna hold this bright, moving thing!"

"Quit trying to touch that! Just go to sleep!"

"But—"

"Sleep."

Offset by his rudeness, you let out a harsh huff, cheeks puffing in an adorable look of frustration.

"Fine! But I am going to stare at you so angrily!"

With a sigh, Zoro flopped down to the ground on his back, staring blankly at the cave ceiling.

"As long as you stay quiet and keep your clothes on... I don't care what you do."

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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iceunhie · 1 year ago

Text

art of the fan!

premise: wherein jiaoqiu’s fan does half the work and reaps twice the effect.

warnings: gn!reader, 1.4k words, potential jiaoqiu ooc, written before his release. use of petnames and suffixes. please read the terminology guide below to understand their use in the plot, very ‘walk him like a dog’ core, though in this case fox would be more appropriate, haha.

a/n: guess who’s back with a oneshot (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) here is my humble offering to the jiaoqiu nation, i did my best

jiaoqiu—for some reason—has made it his life’s mission to perpetually get under your skin.

recently, he has employed shady methods, most particularly instilling almost unfair use of his fan in order to get away with things he normally can't, poking at the strings in your heart like how a stick hits a hornet’s nest.

“yi sheng, is there a purpose for this?” you exclaim, with the foxian man sighing in faux disappointment. the sarcastic way of addressing his title does make his face spasm—but unfortunately for you, today, it seems it does little to dampen his mischief.

you are in the humiliating position of being in the sly man’s lap; aggrieved that your current predicament warrants unfair treatment that borders on harassment (an exaggeration, jiaoqiu has never been improper to that extent).

not to mention, his fan is aimed at your chin, making you look up at him while he applies ointment to a rather nasty bruise around your lip, with the gall to hum as he does so.

“ah, ah. don't move.” he holds the feathered fan under your chin, eyes ever closed while a placid smile graces his face, retaining his signature cunning. jiaoqiu has lost his mind. you keep to yourself, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that had made an appearance since earlier—because why else would he do this? (and why in the name of aeons would you let him? something must be wrong with your brain today.) “if you do not let me do this, that unsightly bruise might fester, you know.”

“you’re too close.”

“well, you were too far.”

“i am sitting on your lap, yi sheng. how close do you want us to be?” you roll your eyes, earning jiaoqiu a poke at your face, followed by his hand squishing at the fat on your cheeks. “hey, lwet goh of me…”

“still with the formalities... surely now you can address me by my name, can you?” jiaoqiu coaxes, like saying it might wash away all the fatigue in the world, because every inch of his being, from the tips of his ears to the veins in his heart and the wisps of his soul, his yearning and pining echoes and resounds in the cavity of his chest that holds only you, you, you.

what, jiaoqiu wonders, would it take for him to be the sole beholder of your brilliance? his hands holding yours, gripping faithfully and unfalteringly, your fates bound by knots; crimson in nature, entwined forevermore? his eyes soften because of course they do—for you mold him into a being devoted to commemorating your existence into his flesh, your voice settling in the marrow of his bones.

you falter, your heartbeat loud. jiaoqiu notices. of course he does. “yi sheng—”

“jiaoqiu.”

“yi—”

“qiu-er.”

“....” he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—thump, thump—and it has never occurred to him to praise his foxian senses until now. his smile widens, a fang poking out with the white of his teeth. “i'm waiting, baobei.” your face glows with warmth, and jiaoqiu fights the urge to swallow you up whole right then and there.

(he resists it often when it comes to you.)

“you’re so stubborn!” you say after much deliberation, rejection flat and heavy. jiaoqiu deflates, just a bit, and petulantly rubs ointment on the other bruises littering your face. (his ears show his displeasure, drooping down, comically flat against his head.)

“hmph. and you’re too stingy.”

“all the more reason not to, then!”

still not enough, huh? jiaoqiu wonders if he'll ever get you to crack; if you'll ever mirror the expression of his adoration—swishing tail and perked up ears aside. still, his touch is gentle, like the embers of a fire hugging you for warmth, a blazing sensation in which all the greed in the world falls short compared to his need to touch you, to perceive you. “will i ever hear my name on your lips? you seem to have no issue addressing others so casually.”

“and who exactly are these others?” you raise a brow at him. jiaoqiu shrugs, nonchalant. as though it didn't bother him (he's seething).

you note that he speaks with contempt, bitterness filtering his soft-spoken words. his tail wags rapidly. pfft, so… so childish! (and a little cute, but you don't say it for obvious reasons.)

“well, for starters, the madam general, the dozing general, yunli, the herbalists near the red fox theater, the stair sweepers....”

“wait, wait, that's too many! and the stair sweepers, really?!”

“i’ll avoid answering further questions.”

“you look like you've swallowed vinegar, laoshi.” you croon, biting where you can at the weakened fox you've made, defiantly lowering your chin still held captive by jiaoqiu’s fan. “besides, i merely do it to cut all at one stroke. after all, it is you, yi sheng—” you relish in jiaoqiu’s expression when you get eerily close, noses almost touching, “that insisted i ought to call you by that title, did you not? who knew you were so easy to displease.”

his face constricts, and his hands lower, one hand gripping firm at your waist, and jiaoqiu reels away from you, hiding his face behind his fan as his cheeks tint themselves scarlet. his pride would not allow him to refute, and you knew that very well. “that...”

because you know him. know his ticks, his tells—jiaoqiu does not know if that is love. but his willingness to drop his guard, to let you slip by his foxy exterior—to allow you to burrow and fuse yourself into the tapestry of his being, that of which the fibers of his soul accept and wholeheartedly make room for you; constricting his breath, perceiving you. (he doesn't know if you're in love with him yet, but he is. maybe he always will be.)

your lips quirk up instead, the apples of your cheeks forming while smile lines grace your features, that of which he cannot look away from, cannot close his eyes from; for what use is closing one’s eyes when his sight was granted to him to behold you?

jiaoqiu’s saving grace is that you were kinder for your own good. if he could keep that kindness to himself, then….

“as expected, it's so weird when you're silent,” you laugh, and jiaoqiu’s stare rushes to behold you, the echo of your joy forming his heart anew. “jiaoqiu. there, you petulant fox. happy now?”

and the way he looks at you—his pupils expanding, eyes wide, jiaoqiu loves. the entire universe could crumble and turn to ashes this instant, and he would not look away.

“...i’m not.” you look at him with playful scorn. really, after all this trouble, your eyes seem to say. he chuckles dryly, forcing himself to laugh, because jiaoqiu wants to keep this euphoria and let it sink into his ears, his lungs and his brain. he wants to bottle the sound of your voice forming his name and setting his body ablaze like golden starlight in a place no one can hear but him.

“not what?” facing you, holding you, he can't even begin to breathe. jiaoqiu thinks this might be love, sprouting from his eyes and filling the corners of his veins, circulating fully, wholly, and utterly.

“i’m not happy at all.” he speaks your name like the growing embers of a wildfire, burning his throat and letting jiaoqiu dare to perceive you. “it’s lacking. it will always be lacking.”

and because you were you, you know exactly where to fan the flames. “ever the cunning one, aren't you, qiu-er?”

jiaoqiu thinks it's time you had enough of your fun. again, he's never had reason to praise his senses—but when he hears the deafening beats that increase as he looks at you even more—he thinks that maybe being a foxian is a decision fate was wise in undertaking.

he dips his head low, and before you can question why his fan covered your faces, a soft sensation floods your senses, warming you to the core when you feel the plush of his lips on yours. you feel his smile against your mouth, and the teasing bite down your lower lip makes your eyes turn to saucers.

this sly fox…!

pulling away, jiaoqiu hides his face behind his fan again, almost gloating when he takes in your aghast expression. “well, it's not so lacking anymore, i suppose.”

you glare. “that ointment of yours is useless now that you've kissed it away, you know.”

jiaoqiu brings the hand by your side to his lips, kissing your knuckles, devoting himself to every atom that comprises you, every cell that unravels and ties itself to create you; and he’ll adore you, chasing and basking in the warm daylight you bestow him.

“i can always kiss it better, anyway.” he ruffles your hair, the smile in his eyes mischievous and utterly unfair, because it's sincere, and blinding ....and jiaoqiu is already uncaring of the rapid wag of his tail. “didn’t you say it yourself? i am cunning, after all.”

BONUS: how to tame a foxian in one go!

“baobei, you certainly know how to leave someone breathless.”

“don’t follow me.”

“you’re not denying it though.”

“qiu’er, you’ll be demoted back to yi sheng.”

“huh?! thats cruel! wait, i said i’m sorry—!”

— terminology guide.

· [ 事半功倍 / half the work, twice the effect ] — (an idiom) the right approach leads to the desired/better results; jiaoqiu wanted reader to call him by his name affectionately, and the right ‘approach’ refers to making use of both the fan and the opportunity to kiss reader (which he got and more with minimal effort)

· [ 一刀切 / to cut all at one stroke ] — (idiom) one solution or ‘one size fits all’, reference to how reader doesn't want to refer to jiaoqiu as his name nor do they want to be mistaken to be in a relationship with him (playfully), so they refer to him as yi sheng ( 医生 ) so people don't get confused and see how jiaoqiu absolutely hates it (menace)

other: bao bei ‹ 宝贝 | baby/babe › , -er ‹ friendly and affectionate suffix often used in a teasing way › , yi sheng ‹ 医生 | doctor › laoshi ‹ 老师/老師 | teacher, used often in a certain part of china. used formally for instructors and teachers* ›

*as for why reader refers to jiaoqiu as laoshi aka teacher, jiaoqiu is a counselor (based on given canon information) and they use it to rile him up (since they use it sarcastically—because jiaoqiu was basically ordering them/instructing them to stay still while treating them ^^; hope this makes sense !

tidbit note: when reader says ‘consumed vinegar’ it is a funny way to show that he's jealous, because vinegar is sour (just like jiaoqiu's mood!)

note: hello! i apologize for being so late and so inconsistent with my posts, life has been busy lately with my job. as recompense, have a oneshot… lol. also, this fic wouldn't have happened without the lovely consultation of my friend and mootie @lowkeyren who helped me with making sure i was using the appropriate terms of affectionate address for reader and jiaoqiu, haha. can you tell i loved playing around with his character? even though he isn't out yet TT personally, i think i quite like the dynamic between reader and jiaoqiu; although this may be ooc in some point in time. he just gives off the vibe of a teasing smug bastard… who is a pathetic mess for his lover. or is it just me?? well, who knows…

@ ICEUNHIE: do not plagiarize, repost or steal my work.

#mhie's spirals #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #jiaoqiu honkai star rail #jiaoqiu hsr #goodmorning pls send help

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captain-huggy-bear · 4 months ago

Text

The Puck-cident

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, vomit, injury, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are the unfortunate soul that takes a puck to the face during one of Utah's games, Clayton sees the whole thing and demands to be let off the ice.

Notes: By popular demand I have finally gotten around to this fic ☺️This turned out to be like 5.5k so...enjoy?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Everyone always knows there's a risk involved with sitting in the audience at an ice hockey game. The announcers at every game never fail to remind people that pucks can travel at well over 80mph and can go into the audience. Always reminding people to keep their eyes on the puck. But, no one actually ever thinks it'll hit them. You've seen your fair share of pucks caught in the crowds, you've never seen someone get injured.

You've been to so many ice hockey games that maybe you've been lulled into a false sense of security, a sense that nothing bad could possible happen to you, not when you're sat in the stands to watch your boyfriend play. Not when you're wearing his jersey, Keller plastered across the back, number 9 bold and clear. Not when you feel so at home in that space, so secure. Turns out you're terribly wrong.

Normally Clayton's eyes wouldn't have followed the puck as it went out of bounds, normally he'd have sighed and moved to the new faceoff circle, caring very little for what fan had managed to catch it. Normally, he'd be more concerned with the fact that they were in a two goal deficit. But, something made him stop on the ice today, something made him follow the puck with his eyes to its end destination. Eyes widening in horror as the scene started to play in slow motion while he was utterly helpless on the ice, stood there with his grip slacking on his stick.

Clayton never imagined that it would be dangerous for you to come to one of his games because fans getting hit by pucks? Getting genuinely hurt? That seemed like such a fluke incident and you'd never been hurt before, not in all the years you'd been coming to his games. Even before you were with him you'd gone to ice hockey games, not once had you had an issue. But, it sinks in, the reality of it, that it does happen and can happen to you. That it's happening to you right now and he can't do anything to stop it.

The piece of vulcanised rubber that had flown off the stick of the opposing team flies over the glass into the stands and he watches like some sort car crash, a sick slow motion view as the puck finds you, like your name was written on it. It's hard to tell from this distance how hurt you are, or where you were hit, but he can see the crowd writhing around you, the panicked yells telling him enough.

Enough that Clayton's skating towards the bench as fast as he can, shrugging off teammates and referees who try to insist he stays, who keep asking him what's wrong and where he's going. His coach tries the same, stepping in his path, confused as to where Clay's off to in the middle of a game as the captain of the team.

"Keller, what do you think you're doing?"

"Respectfully, Bear, my girlfriend just got hit by a puck going nearly 90mph. I'm going to see if she's alright." His tone is short, clipped, trying to be respectful of his coach, a man he does respect and admire. But he's made up his mind and nothing and no one is going to stop him from going to you right now. He'd sooner quit hockey entirely than play a whole game unsure if you're alright after being injured.

"Keller, the game..."

"Fuck the game, you've got enough players. I need to see her, coach." Maybe it's the wild look in his eyes, the way panic stands out stark and clear. Maybe it's the tense set of his shoulders or the fact that his stick creaks so hard under his grip that it sounds like it may crack. Whatever it is, he isn't yelled at like he expects, no one tells him to go back out on the ice.

Instead Tourigny steps aside letting him past as Clayton storms down the tunnel, passing his stick off to someone. He's barely aware of the fact he takes off his skates, shoving them in someone's arms before he's running out towards the entrance to the stands in just his socks, the only thought on his mind being you and whether you were okay right now.

It's hard to describe what goes through your head when you see the puck coming straight for you, a blind sort of panic that has you freezing in your seat, not that you had anywhere to go to avoid it, not at the speed it had come at you. You're in such shock that you don't really feel much after the initial impact, head buzzing and dazed, neck hurting from the snap of your head backwards, ears ringing as people around you start fussing over you. Someone has you up out of your seat, your arm around their shoulders helping you out of the stands. The feeling of wetness glides down your temple and you raise a hand to your face that comes away red, noticing almost numbly that you're bleeding, blood running down the side of your face, upset because it starts to drip on Clay's jersey, the white one he'd lent you. The fabric being stained, ruined.

"Keller has left the ice, rather abruptly, we're unsure if it's related to the fan in the crowd who's taken a puck to the head or not." Someone has the game station on, clearly enjoying having the commentators speak during the game, the crowd is so loud as you're all but hauled up the stairs to the exit of the stands. You have just enough awareness to wonder if Clayton had seen you get hit or whether he'd been hurt on the ice himself or wasn't feeling well.

You feel like you're going to be sick as you're helped into the main entrance of the arena, lights blinding you, head pounding, the numbness starting to fade in favour of such blistering, aching pain in your head that you can't help but start crying. You feel pathetic, scared, panicked and in pain. You just want Clayton but he should be playing a game right now and the realisation that you couldn't have him with you only makes you cry harder.

It turned into full on sobs when your dizzy, double vision locks on to Clay who's running in just a pair of socks towards you, frantic, helmet being tossed behind him to someone. There's two of him, your vision going in and out but you're so happy to see him that it doesn't matter. So happy that he's here that you can almost ignore the pain, the nausea, and the blood.

He's got you in his arms before you can even comprehend reaching for him, whoever had helped you this far taking a step back to let him take over. He's petrified, you look horrific, blood coating the side of your face and neck, red clotting around your temple. Your eyes unfocused, the white of his jersey bloodstained, tears streaming down your face and he knows someone's calling the first aid team, but it doesn't reassure him when you look like that.

Clay's hands cup the sides your face, your blood is sticky against his palm and he knows he shouldn't be, knows its not anyone's real fault, but he's irrationally angry. Angry at the other team for sending the puck off into the stands, angry at you for always insisting you sit like a normal fan rather than in the box for family and friends, angry at himself for not insisting, angry at Tourigny for trying to stop him from coming to find you, angry that he wasn't with you when it happened. Angry because the alternative is fear and he's not sure he's ready to feel that right now, not sure he can, needing to keep it together for you because you're still crying, clutching onto him like he's the only thing that can bring you comfort right now. He can't help the way he grips you back tightly, trying to reassure himself that you're okay, even as blood keeps flowing from the split skin of your temple.

"You're going to be okay, baby, I've got you...It's okay." It's not, fuck, it's not, but he's trying to stay calm for you, a blank mask on his face rather than blind panic as he watches a stretcher be wheeled towards you. Runs his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you and himself at the same time, he knows his hands are shaking so fucking badly and he hopes you don't notice, hope you feel reassured by him, feel like he's steady, stable.

"We need her on the stretcher, Keller, so we can have a look at her." Clay's attention goes to the first aiders behind you, the stretcher pulled close enough that all you have to do is step back and jump up.

"It hurts, Clay..." You're sniffling into his shoulder, blood getting on the jersey he's wearing, not that he cares. The equipment team are used to getting blood out of things. Two bloody jerseys is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"I know, baby, oh, I know...I'm just going to give you a little boost up, okay? We're going to get you sat up here, okay?" He talks you through each step as his hands find your waist, helping you jump up onto the stretcher. The movement makes you dizzy, nausea filling you to the point where you know you're going to be sick, desperately trying to keep it in, being unable to. You can't help it when you're sick...all over Clay, head leaning forward between your legs as you vomit over his legs, whimpering as you do so.

"I'm sorry...I've got blood on your jersey and now..." You're crying harder now, embarrassment and shame added to the whole issue because you've just vomited over your boyfriend's expensive hockey gear after bleeding over 2 different jerseys. But, Clay doesn't flinch, hands stroking your hair as you lean forward to quell the dizziness. Is it gross? Oh, totally, does he actually care? Not really. It's testament to how much he loves you that the grossness doesn't matter, he'd let you vomit on him a million times so long as he can look after you in the process.

"It's okay, baby, I need you to lay back, okay? They're going to check on your head..." His hands are gentle on your shoulders, pushing you back while helping you swing your legs straight on the stretcher. Clay's fingers brush back your hair as he looks down at your hazy gaze, "I need to go change real quick and I'll be right back, sweet girl."

When he goes to step back you're grabbing his hand with the precision of a star goalie, even with the double vision and haziness you manage to find his hand. The grip you have on him is so tight, scared for him to leave you, scared you'll be alone like this. Even as you know he's covered in blood and vomit and needs to change, deserves to change.

He's right back to stroking your cheek, backs of his fingers gentle on your skin like he's afraid you might break, "I'll be right back, you're not going anywhere without me."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He tells the medical staff not to go anywhere with you without him. The fear of coming back to find you gone roiling in his stomach, not really wanting to leave you alone but knowing he can't stand here covered in sick. He's so quick, running down the corridors to the locker room to limit how long he's gone. The speed with which he takes off the vomit soaked clothes and sweat stained uniform is probably record breaking and despite the smell of sick he doesn't even contemplate a shower, just throws on some old sweats and a t-shirt, shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers before bolting back to where he left you. He can take a shower later, once he knows you're okay, once you're both back home.

You're lying back on the stretcher with one of the first aiders, Clay thinks his name is John, leaning over you, shining a torch in your eyes to check for a concussion when Clay returns. He can tell already that you have one between the dizziness, vomiting and the way you seem to wince at any and all light. It doesn't take a genius to realise the puck to the face has rocked your brain a little too hard.

The middle age first aid looks up at Clayton as he finishes checking you over, Clay coming up on your other side to grab your hand again. The way you look at him, so trusting, so happy to just have him back makes his heart skip a little even as it breaks at how tired and in pain you look.

"She has a concussion and needs stitches, we're not allowed to do them here as she's a member of the public, she needs to go to hospital. It might also be a good idea to get an x-ray, make sure she's not got a fracture or anything like that." John turns to Clayton, pocketing the flashlight. It's not what he wants to hear, Clay would rather hear that you're perfectly fine, but it's obvious you're not. Still panic closes his throat at the thought that you might have something even more seriously like a fracture or worse.

"Does she need an ambulance or can I drive her?" Either way Clayton's coming with you, whether in the back of an ambulance or in the driver's seat of his car. He'll deal with the aftermath of leaving the game later, but right now? You're his priority and he's not leaving you.

"Probably quicker for you to take her yourself, Keller. I can help you wheel her to your car?"

"Thanks, that'd be great, John."

"No problem."

Clay has your hand in his, walking alongside the stretcher as John wheels it down to the parking lot. You're dazed and slightly giddy, laughing at each bump despite the pain and that's more concerning to Clay than the crying. A cloth has been put to your head, held there by your free hand, knuckles tight like you're working off instinct just to keep it there. He's not sure you'd be able to release it with how tight your grip is. He knows head wounds bleed a lot, but that doesn't make seeing the cloth already red with blood, any easier or less worrying.

Clayton's decided he has a new appreciation for how you feel whenever he gets injured on the ice. It's...God, it might be one of the worst things he's ever had to go through.

He's proven right, that you can't seem to let that cloth go when he helps you down from the stretcher and to his car, your hand doesn't move, cloth pressed to stem the flow of blood even when you stumble. He has you in the passenger seat and buckled in as quickly as possible and maybe he breaks a few traffic laws on the way to the hospital, but anyone would. The way you're barely there next to him, so dazed that he's worried the concussion might be something more has him pressing a little harder on the accelerator.

The blood is enough in the emergency room for you to be fast tracked to a doctor and a bed, struggling to sit upright he makes the decision to get up on the bed with you. You rest between his legs, leaning back on him heavily, Clayton the only thing keep you sat upright as the doctor, Dr Pandya, pries the cloth from your hand and assesses the wound.

You shy back into him when the doctor wipes away at the large cut with antiseptic to clean away the blood, only for more to come spilling forth. Clay's arms wrapping tight around your waist, linking your hands with his to give you something to grip onto.

"You need stitches, it's not going to close on its own."

"Okay..." He can tell you're trying to be brave, breathing suddenly heavier, fingers tightening around his until his own start to go numb, but he doesn't complain. Just lets you lean on him, seek support from him.

You're brave throughout the 14 stitches it takes to close up the cut on your temple, more stitches than you've ever had to have in your life. But, you don't complain, don't ask to stop, don't hiss, just let it happen as you grip onto Clay with everything you have. The warmth of his back behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, pressing kisses to your neck, helps. Having him with you helps.

"All done. You have a concussion and need to rest for at least 2 days before you do anything. Avoid bright lights, loud areas. Keep those stitches dry for at least a day, so no washing your hair just yet unfortunately. If it starts to bruise, ice it."

The doctors turns to Clay this time, "If she starts to seem confused, keeps vomiting or just doesn't seem to be getting any better then bring her back in. But she should be tired for the next few days but start to feel better soon."

"Thank you," You're quiet but polite, not wanting to be rude when someone has taken the time to help you even if it is the doctor's job to do so.

"Thanks, Doc."

There's a quick sort of turn around in which Clay fills out the necessary paper work, financial details, insurance and the like before he's helping you up and out of emergency room.

All you want is to sleep, curl up in bed with Clayton and hide from the pounding in your head, the bright lights and loud sounds of the outside world only making it worse.

He's calmer on the drive home, no more traffic laws being broken even if he grips the steering wheel a little tight and keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, assessing. Some of the panic has eased, but not all. You're still hurt. Concussed, stitched up, definitely going to bruise and swell, and in need of rest. Rest he can't be there for the entire time because of his job. He might have gotten away with leaving the game tonight, but he knows he'll be expected at practice tomorrow, knows he'll be expected at the home game the day after and that means hours of time in which you're alone. He hates the idea of it, already running through a mental list of people he could call.

"I got blood on your jersey..." You're sniffling again when he pulls the car into the driveway, putting it in park. He turns in his seat, leaning an arm on the headrest to watch you. You're staring at the blood stains on the jersey you're wearing, tears dripping down your cheeks and it's...it's so silly and so sweet that some of that panic eases further.

"It's okay, baby, the equipment guys can get the blood out."

"Really?" You look at him so hopefully, so innocently happy. He hates that your reaction is like that because of your injury, at the same time finding it amusing, a small smile reaching his lips for the first time since he saw you take a puck to the face.

"Yeah, baby, they're great at that..."

"Oh..."

There's a beat of silence where you just blink at him, sighing out each breath like even that's too tiring right now. There's blood crusted around your stitches that he knows you're going to get annoyed with while you can't get water near them, bruising starting to pop up around that side of your face, swelling beginning to show and make you look a little lopsided.

"Let's get you inside and into some comfy clothes, yeah? You tired?"

"Really tired..." You blink all slow at him, eyelids feeling supremely heavy and he knows you're going to be out like a light the moment he gets you into the bed. That's reassuring in a way, that you'll find it easy to rest, at least tonight, before the aches fully settle in.

He's tries to be quick getting round to your side of the car but he's starting to feel just as tired. A combination of playing half a game of pro-hockey, the anxiety, panic and worry over your wellbeing, being thrown up on, going all the way to hospital and back, all working to make Clayton feel like dropping where he stands. But, like always you're his priority.

His hands reach for yours, tugging gently to pull you from the car, "Okay, out you get, baby." You go willingly, letting him guide you from the car and through the house. Letting your brain shut off because he's got you. You trust him to guide you around obstacles, through doorways, a level of trust that Clayton can't help but feel honoured by as you let him sit you on the edge of your shared bed.

You blink up at him all slow and sleepy, shoulders slumping and he's certain if you laid down you'd be out in seconds.

"Arms up, baby." You don't question him, don't hesitate, arms straight in the air with the sort of sluggishness that tells him even doing that feels hard right now.

Clay's careful of your hair and your stitches as he pulls the bloodstained jersey over your head, throwing it in a corner to take back to the rink to salvage. You leave your hands up as he helps you out of your undershirt and replaces it with one of your favourite big comfy t-shirts. You don't drop your arms until he tells you to, the sort of obedience you fall into around him because he takes care of you so well that you trust him more than you trust yourself.

"Wanna shower..."

"You can't get your stitches wet yet, sweet girl, tomorrow night I'll help you shower, but not tonight, okay?"

"Okay..." He knows you hate it, your routine is like clockwork. Every evening you shower, washing the dirt and grime of the day away, and breaking that is upsetting to you. But, you trust him. You listen without protest and let him lay you back so he can wriggle your jeans down over your hips and off your ankles, socks coming with.

"Up for me, baby." You reach for him from the first word, arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his chains as he lifts you to your feet, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as he pulls the covers back.

He settles you in against your pillow, swinging your legs up and pulling the covers up to your waist as you cling to him. Your fingers don't detach from his chains, holding tight to him so that he can't pull away, hovering over you.

He's so handsome, maybe it's the concussion talking, but he's always so handsome. Your free hand reaches for his cheek, tracing the skin beneath his eyes and he can't help but smile at you, at the soft way you're gazing up at him. Still dazed, but oh so loving.

"You okay, baby?" He huffs a laugh down at you, teeth peeking out and you love that smile, god it makes him so pretty. So, so pretty. Even prettier when one of his hands cups your cheek like that, long finger stroking the skin gently where your cheek lifts from grinning up at him all dozy.

"Mmm, you're really pretty."

"I think that's your concussion talking, sweet girl." His fingers graze the swollen skin by your stitches lightly, not hard enough to hurt or sting, but a reminder to himself that you've got 14 stitches right now. That right now you're brain is a little scrambled.

"Nuh uh...you're always pretty...I got really lucky." You might be concussed but you know it's true. Clayton's so handsome you spend half your time wondering how you managed to bag him because he could have any woman he wanted and instead he chose you. This handsome, beautiful, kind, caring man, a pro-athlete, and he chose you. Normal, little old you.

"Wrong way around, I'm the lucky one. You took a puck to the face for me, that's pretty hardcore, baby." The blood around your stitches is dry and flaky, proof that today wasn't just a dream or imaginary. Proof that his girlfriend had taken a puck to the face, survived and only vomited once, pretty hardcore.

"Didn't mean to..."

"I know...it worried me though, just glad you're okay."

His fingers caress your skin as silence over takes the two of you, just gazing at each other as each of you feel the other under your fingers. To feel the way you graze the tip of his nose, how you tug a little on his chains to bring him just an inch closer. It's grounding to have you in his hands like that, to feel your warmth, to know you're going to be fine even if he'd been scared today. The whole thing has just solidified in his mind how much he loves you, how much he'd be willing to do for you, to give up for you. That you're it for him whether you realise that or not.

You take a shuddering breath, eyes shifting away from his like you're embarrassed by what you're going to say next even as your fingers tighten around his chains and keep him close. His blue eyes fixed on you, attention unwavering and loyal.

"I was...I was scared I'd be alone...just wanted you..." Your head isn't quite as fuzzy as earlier, but you can remember it clearly. Feeling the panic at the thought that you wanted Clay but he wouldn't be there...then the joy at seeing him, the relief as he ran out in full gear except skates, socks only on his feet.

"You thought I wouldn't be there?"

"You had a game...a-and I didn't know if you'd seen it happen...thought you'd still be playing." It's like you're ashamed for thinking he wouldn't be there, and while he hates that you did, he understands why. There was no guarantee he'd have even know you were hurt, it was just by some fluke of luck, by sheer chance that he'd actually watched the puck fly into the crowd for once. Even then, in some arenas would he have even been able to tell it was you?

"They'd have had to chain me to Schmaltz to keep me on the ice, baby. Always going to be there for you, no matter what. You first. Hockey second." He means it. Hockey has been his life since he could put on a pair of skates, and he'd worked hard for it, always having to do 10 times what the bigger guys did and do it 10 times better. But, you? You're it for him you'll be it for him when he retires from hockey, when he can no longer play and that? That's worth more than a game, even a game he loves. It's practically a proposal in itself, a promise to you because he never wants you to think he'd pick the game over you, especially not when you're hurt.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smile you give him is blinding, so full of love that he wants to bottle it, memorise it to keep for those bad days. For the days when they've lost a game, for the times when he needs a reminder to keep pushing, to keep going.

"Come to bed?" You try to tug him again by his chains but he unfurls your fingers gentle, one by one, smoothing over your knuckles in reassurance.

"I've got to shower, baby, but I don't want to leave you alone..." The idea of taking his eyes off you, of not being able to see that you're okay for even a minute makes him feel sick.

"You smell like vomit..." You wrinkle up your nose, scrunching your face like you've only just realise that he smells. Your hands pushing on his shoulders a little, moving him away rather than closer and he can't say he blames you. Even he's over the smell now.

"That's your fault, baby."

"'m sorry..." You mumble, warmth flooding your face at the memory of throwing up on him, his hockey gear taking the brunt of it rather than the floor.

"It's okay, I'll go shower, but you'll okay if I leave you for a few minutes?"

You nod your head gently, carefully because nodding too much hurts right now. Clayton presses a quick kiss to your forehead, avoiding the swollen areas of your face before leaving you.

He's no nonsense about it all, washing with a precision and speed that would make the army consider recruiting him. He's thorough, however, skin scrubbed down until he smells like your vanilla body wash and not vomit.

Clay doesn't faff with clothes, just shoves a pair of boxers on and curls up next to you, you're already asleep, mouth open slightly, the tiniest hint of drool at the corners. Endearing. He wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you gently closer until he can curl around you like that might keep you safe from any further puck based incidents.

Clay doesn't sleep...not well at least. He spends half the night just watching you breathe, scared that if he closes his eyes something might happen. A total of 3 hours is all he gets, so when the doorbell rings shrill and loud at 7am all he can do is groan loudly and burrow his face into your shoulder.

The doorbell rings again and he's swearing under his breath because if it's a sales person or a cold caller he might actually commit a crime. All he wants is to stay curled up with you, maybe get some more sleep now you seem a little perkier, eyes blinking open and more coherent than they were yesterday.

"Clay...the door." It's your worry about ignoring it that has him groaning, stretching and shoulders popping as he stumbles out of bed.

"I know, baby...stay here."

He doesn't even bother putting on clothes, just walks to the door in his boxers. Your head might still be fuzzy but you can't help the way your eyes trail over his back, the way his arse looks in his boxes, the thick set of his thighs. You're almost certain he puts an extra little saunter in his step because you're watching.

He kind of hopes whoever has disturbed his rest with his injured girlfriend gets the shock of their life seeing him open the door in just his boxers. Unfortunately, it's just Kesselring, who has seen him in his boxers more times than he can count, completely unphased.

"What're you doing here, Kess?"

"Came to check on Mrs Keller and brought a gift," The taller man holds up a little gift bag and as much as Clayton wants to slam the door in his face he doesn't, just stepping aside to let Kess in.

He leads him to you, where you're wrapped up in all the bed blankets, making yourself a little cocoon and your face brightens at seeing one of your favourite members of his team. Kess is only your favourite because he lets you go round to see the cats whenever you want, whether he's there or not. Or that's what Clayton says to ease any of that ugly little jealous side he has that occasionally rears it's head. Even knowing that Kess treats you more like a sister than anything else.

"For you Mrs Keller," Kess hands you the gift bag even as you swat at him weakly. He'd been calling you that ever since Clayton announced you were dating...the alternative wasn't much better, referring to you as the team mom because Clayton was the team dad.

"Thank you, Michael," You pull out a wad of tissue paper, unfurling it to reveal the last thing Clayton ever wanted to see.

"You brought the thing that nearly killed my girlfriend into the house?" He's actually irrationally angry at the rubber. The black has been cleaned, not a speak of your blood on it and the edge has been covered in white stick tape. In black sharpie, 'the puck-cident March 2025' has been written in Kess' chicken scratch handwriting.

"Kells, it's a puck."

"It nearly killed my girlfriend. It's evil." He sneers at the inanimate object in your hands.

"Clay," you're laughing at him, giggling at the way he glares at a piece of rubber, "It's sweet...Michael, it's very sweet." You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him because it is thoughtful in a weird sort of hockey logic way. To bring you the puck that gave you 14 stitches, like it was some gaming winning puck you scored with.

"Well, figured you might want a souvenir from your puck-cident," Kess grins at both you, the pun so bad that Clayton and yourself are both groaning at him.

Clayton pointing to the door, this time with humour in voice, head shaking, "Out! That was so fucking bad, man!"

"I'm going, cap, Jesus! A guy can't do anything nice these days! What a pucking crime!"

"Kess!"

#huggy bear writes #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

529 notes · View notes

writingxfootballl · 28 days ago

Text

butterflies cant stop me (from falling for you) (leah williamson x reader)

it seemed like everyone else knew before you did.

word count: 2834 ish

rating: S for slow burn

title- guess i'm in love by clinton kane

a/n: in honor of arsenal’s uwcl win… here’s an unedited draft! quite literally my word vomit on a page. enjoy.

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it started at arsenal academy, when you were just twelve years old.

you remember it like it was yesterday—sitting there in the changing room, pulling your socks up as the coach walked in.

your eyes flicked to the girl next to you-- leah williamson.

she was staring at her boots, her face set with the intensity of someone who was determined to do everything perfectly.

everything about her screamed focus, the exact opposite of you, who was often too busy thinking about which snack you'd have after training, or whether you'd make it home in time for the next episode of the big bang theory.

you'd always known leah.

she was the one you were supposed to outdo.

she had this quiet confidence, an aura of “i’m going to be the best player in this room” that rubbed you the wrong way.

maybe it was the fact that she seemed to have it all together, while you were still figuring out how to get your hair tie to stay in place.

throughout the years, you two had only grown further apart in terms of your relationship.

on the field, there was always that undercurrent of competition.

you were on different paths, constantly on different teams in the academy, always chasing after the same positions, the same praise.

even off the field, you’d never been friends. more like… frenemies.

it was kind of funny, actually.

how many years had passed? fifteen? more? and here you were, both still playing for arsenal, one of the most elite clubs in the world.

only now, you were teammates.

nothing else had changed, really. except that now, you were really starting to notice her.

it was a typical training session in the early season, the grass slick with dew under the sharp morning light.

you and leah had always been paired together in drills, a habit that seemed too natural for anyone to question. e

very pass, every tackle, every snarky comment between you two was as predictable as the wind.

leah, of course, was perfect—the perfect angle for her cross, the perfect pressure for her tackles.

you? you were good. good enough to not be totally overshadowed by her.

except that today? today you weren’t quite on your game.

you misjudged the flight of a ball, the touch too heavy, and it careened off the post with a bang.

“not again, seriously?”

you muttered under your breath, grimacing as the ball rolled out of bounds.

leah, naturally, didn’t miss a beat.

she jogged up beside you, eyes flicking to the ball, then back to you.

“you okay?”

“fine. just—need to concentrate,” you grumbled, wiping a hand over your face.

she was quiet for a moment, assessing, before speaking again.

“don’t be so hard on yourself. you’ll get it next time.”

you felt your stomach flip at the way she spoke to you—so casually, so unlike the competitive, distant leah you remembered.

you’d spent years believing she was a machine, emotionally detached from everything except football.

so this? this concern, this kindness? it threw you off.

“yeah, i guess,” you said, your voice unsure. “thanks.”

her lips quirked into the smallest of smiles.

“no problem.”

it wasn’t much. just a few words.

but it was enough. enough to stir something in you that you couldn’t explain.

and before you could dwell on it, she was already jogging to the other side of the pitch, moving fluidly as always, leaving you behind with your thoughts.

months passed, and things didn’t really change. well, not much.

you and leah were still teammates, still teammates with a long history of competitive tension.

every practice, every match, there was an unspoken challenge in the air—who could score more goals, who could make the better pass, who could tackle the hardest.

your competitive streak never quite went away, but now, there was something… softer.

it wasn’t that leah had changed.

it was that maybe you were starting to see her differently.

after training one evening, you found yourself walking toward the locker room when you noticed her walking behind you, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“hey,” she called out, her voice soft.

“hey,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder.

she fell into step beside you, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a challenge.

it felt natural, easy. no jabs, no snide comments, just quiet companionship.

“i’m, uh…” leah hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words.

“i’ve been thinking. about the next match.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“what about it?”

“i think we’ve got a good chance against chelsea this time,” she said, her gaze meeting yours.

“you’re in good form. your passes have been on point.”

you blinked, thrown off by the compliment.

“uh, thanks.”

leah gave you a look like you were an idiot.

“no, seriously. i’m not just saying it. you’ve been playing well.”

“are we sure this is leah williamson talking?” you teased, giving her a playful shove.

she rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips.

“shut up.”

but you noticed something.

the way her eyes softened when she looked at you. the way the space between you two felt different now.

and it wasn’t just you—other people were starting to notice too.

it was an off day when you found yourself having a quiet chat with viv and frida in the cafeteria.

you’d just finished a light session, your muscles still warm, and you were nursing a coffee, eyes darting between your teammates as they casually discussed tactics for the upcoming match.

“did you two finally figure it out?” viv asked out of nowhere, her eyes glinting with mischief.

you choked on your coffee.

“what?”

“don’t play dumb, we see the way you two look at each other,” frida added with a teasing grin.

“it’s cute, really. i’m just glad you two finally stopped fighting long enough to, you know… realize it.”

“i—what?” you stared at both of them, your face going pink.

“what are you talking about?”

viv raised an eyebrow.

“you know, it’s kind of obvious. the way you two have been, uh, acting around each other lately. you’re not exactly subtle.”

“i think we all knew before you two did,” frida chimed in, laughing.

your stomach dropped, but you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter.

the idea that your teammates had noticed something you hadn't even admitted to yourself was… well, humbling.

“i think you’re imagining things,” you mumbled, trying to play it cool, though you could feel the heat in your cheeks.

“oh, trust me,” viv said, her grin widening.

“we’re not imagining anything. we’ve been teammates too long to miss that.”

you groaned, face buried in your hands.

“i really need to get my life together.”

“i think you’ve got it together just fine,” frida said.

“now you just have to admit it.”

you shook your head, heart still hammering in your chest.

could it be true? had you really been that obvious?

the next morning, you found yourself on the pitch, your usual competitive drive in full swing.

you and leah were paired up in a drill, just the two of you passing and receiving, playing in the rhythm you’d developed over the years. but this time, it was different.

you noticed how her eyes lingered a little longer when they met yours.

how her passes felt sharper, more intentional than they usually did.

and when you did finally manage to steal the ball from her, she didn’t retaliate with a sarcastic comment or a quick retort. she simply nodded.

“nice one,” she said, her voice low and steady.

and that’s when it hit you.

you had been rivals for so long, fighting tooth and nail for everything—but somewhere along the way, that rivalry had morphed.

what had once been an endless battle had turned into something deeper. something more.

your heart thudded in your chest as the realization came crashing down on you.

this wasn’t rivalry anymore. this was… something else.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word out, the whistle blew.

the session was over.

“hey, you coming for lunch?” leah asked, her voice casual but her eyes still holding that softness.

you blinked, realizing that this was the first time she’d asked you anything like that. “yeah, sure. i’ll… i’ll catch up in a minute.”

she nodded, walking away, and you stood there for a moment, still processing.

you could feel the eyes of your teammates on you, especially viv, who gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up from the sidelines.

a few minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from leah at the team lunch, the usual banter between you both absent.

it felt like you were both navigating uncharted territory, but in a way that felt right.

finally, leah spoke, her voice quieter than usual.

“so,” she said, looking down at her plate.

“we’ve been playing together for a while now. but, uh, i don’t know. i think… i think i’m starting to get why you’re so good.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“i mean,” leah continued, glancing at you with a slight blush, “you’re different. and not just in the ‘i’m a better player than you’ way. you’re—” she stopped herself, looking for the right words.

“you’re someone i don’t mind sharing the pitch with anymore.”

your heart skipped.

and then, like the idiot you were, you smiled.

“you’re not as bad as i thought either,” you said with a wink, making her laugh.

and that, you realized, was the moment.

the moment you stopped pretending, stopped competing, and finally let your heart settle.

you’d both said it without saying it. the tension was there now, undeniable, but neither of you was ready to label it. you went back to your usual routine: training, lunches, joking around—but this time, there was an electric charge, something different in the air whenever you two were near each other.

and, somehow, the whole team had noticed.

you weren’t sure how everyone had figured it out before you had, but you were beginning to accept the fact that maybe your subtle little moments weren’t so subtle anymore.

but it didn’t matter. not really. you couldn’t stay blind forever.

it was a week after that lunch when things finally shifted into overdrive.

arsenal had been playing well, the team had been on a winning streak, and with the champions league looming in the distance, everyone was laser-focused on training.

but despite all the strategy and drills, you couldn’t focus.

every time you passed leah, you found yourself thinking about the way her hand had brushed yours in that small, accidental moment earlier that day.

or the way she’d smiled at you across the pitch, as though you were the only other person there.

you kept telling yourself to focus, to stop thinking about it.

she was your teammate. you were both just caught up in the competitive fire, right? it was nothing more than that.

but when the whistle blew for the end of the session that evening, and leah jogged over to you—hair tousled, face flushed from the exertion—you froze.

“hey,” she said, casually enough, but her eyes were warm. too warm.

“want to grab a drink? i—well, i mean, it’s been a good week, hasn’t it? thought i’d celebrate. with you.”

it was as if everything in the world paused.

you blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right.

leah williamson, your long-time teammate, your rival, was asking to hang out? outside of practice? no coaches, no teammates, no drills to distract you both?

it was then that your heart decided it wasn’t going to listen to your brain anymore.

“yeah, sure.”

the bar was quiet, a tucked-away place near the training ground.

you two sat at a small table in the corner, nursing drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

the conversation was easy, but there was an undercurrent to it now—a kind of tension neither of you had been willing to acknowledge.

you watched leah laugh, and it felt like every little piece of her was suddenly… yours to figure out.

all the little things you’d missed, like how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, or how she’d become more relaxed in her movements, in the way she interacted with you.

it was like something shifted in her as well, something that made her a little less guarded, a little more real.

and you? you were still pretending to be calm.

you had no idea what this was between you. but it didn’t matter, right?

you were just a little too close for comfort at this point, and it made your insides flutter in a way that felt way too dangerous.

“so,” leah said, breaking the silence between sips of her drink, “i was thinking—”

“uh-oh, you’re thinking?” you teased her, reaching for your glass to buy some time, a nervous habit.

she rolled her eyes, but her lips curled into that irresistible smile.

“you’re one to talk. you were thinking when you missed that cross last week, weren’t you?”

you groaned.

“i told you i was distracted.”

leah leaned forward slightly, and her expression softened.

“you’ve been distracted a lot lately.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, and you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest thump in your chest at how close her face was.

you swallowed, suddenly nervous. was she trying to tell you something?

“you know,” she continued, “i’ve always thought you were a little bit of a pain. always so competitive, always trying to outdo me. it was exhausting.”

you snorted.

“you weren’t exactly a walk in the park either.”

she laughed, but there was a tenderness to it now, the kind that made you finally realize something you’d been ignoring for far too long.

maybe this whole rivalry thing had been a facade. a defense mechanism, a way to hide what neither of you were brave enough to admit. but it was clear now—you both knew.

“thing is,” she said, her voice quieter now, “i never stopped being competitive. not really. not with anyone else.”

your heart was hammering now.

“so, what’s that mean for me?”

she smiled, that knowing, almost teasing smile you’d seen so many times.

“well, i did always like beating you.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“oh, you mean, you still like beating me?”

leah shrugged.

“sure. but it’s different now.”

it was like something clicked.

you’d spent years wanting to prove you were just as good as her, wanting to outshine her at everything. but now? it was different. she wasn’t just a teammate.

she wasn’t just a rival anymore. leah had become something more.

a little flutter in your chest, a sudden surge of warmth, and then, with no real planning, no grand gesture—you blurted out:

“wait, are we—do you—am i being an idiot, or is this…” you trailed off, unsure how to even finish the sentence.

your face flushed at your own lack of control, your own ridiculousness.

leah laughed, her eyes shining in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“you’re not an idiot, y/n,” she said gently, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“i think we’ve both known for a while now.”

for the first time in your life, you were speechless. and then it all came rushing to you.

all those small moments. the way she always had your back, the way you’d started to realize just how important she’d become to you.

leah leaned back in her seat, her gaze softer now.

“i guess everyone else knew before we did.”

you nodded, your heart racing.

“yeah, but we’re both idiots. i think we’ve been so busy being… whatever we were, we forgot to actually see it. to see us.”

and then, as if on cue, the inevitable happened.

leah shifted, leaned forward, and before you even had the chance to process what was happening, her lips were on yours.

it was slow, hesitant at first, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you’d react the way she hoped.

but you kissed her back almost immediately, your heart leaping out of your chest as your hands found their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer.

when you pulled away, you were both breathless.

“well,” leah said, laughing softly, her forehead resting against yours. “that was… long overdue.”

you nodded, your heart still racing in the best way. “we really are idiots, aren’t we?”

she grinned, her eyes sparkling.

“biggest ones.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“guess we’re not the only ones who knew this whole time.”

she looked at you, her smile widening.

“no, but we’re the ones who finally figured it out.”

and that, right there, felt like everything.

your past, your rivalry, your friendship, all melted into one perfect moment.

you didn’t need anyone else to tell you this time. you knew. you and leah? you were finally on the same team.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson

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