#i always have one in my team when i play and i always name him cheetođ§Ą
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
can i rq where bllk boys lost a match and got angry to us. esp with sae and kaiser if u can đ
You would be angry too...
Kaiser x reader, Sae x reader
Kinda angst?

A/n: IM SOOO SORRY FOR LETTING THIS FERMENT IN MY INBOX đđđ, i sincerely hope you like it ^^, if its slightly ooc no it ain't hehe... ENJOY

Kaiser
His body was in overdrive from the past 90 minnutes of playing, sweat clinging to his forehead as he glared daggers into the scoring board. His team lost 3-2, mere one goal. The worst part, it was a stupid mistake of his teammate who decided to not pass to him (the audacity...).
As he came home you awaited his arrival, you prepared his favorite meal to cheer him up. You knew how he gets upset everytime something doesn't go according to his plan. While you were setting the table he silently entered you shared home, slamming the door behind him shut.
You spun around and walked up to him smiling brightly at your Mihya.
"Mihya! You did amazing"
Kaiser just scoffs turning his head away, brows furrowed.
You tried to reach for his hand but you knew better than to initiate physical contact in this state so you stop yourself quickly.
"C'mon i made your favorite"
"Not hungry" is all he practically hissed at you.
"But-"
"Will you shut up, I'm not in the mood for your stupidity [Name], stop bothering me!"
"fine" is all you managed to utter before his angry azure gaze. Looking down you walked away towards your shared room.
He scoffs and takes a seat on the couch, his usual routine for when his upset will have to wait with you being around. After a few moments you came out of the room bag slung over your shoulder.
"Well then i wont bother you Michael" you said as you went out of the house.
Kaiser smirked to himself, he knew you'd come back. Or will you....?
(Pls this is so ass but i did my best đ)
-ËËâââââ
Sae
The final whistle blew signaling end of 90+ minute match, that he and his team lost. While others expressed their anger by screaming amd seething, his anger was calm, silent deadly.
You were there in your vip seat watching the whole time. You felt bad but also extremely proud since Sae played extraordinarily, like always. Your plan was to cheer him up, by taking him for ice cream. You remembered when he told you about how he used to get ice cream with his brother when he was feeling down, and this was the perfect opportunity!
And everything went to ruins. It went something like this....
You walked up to changing rooms and only Sae was left. Coming up to him you wanted to embrace him.
"Sae you were great out there, I know you'll get them next time for sure!" As you were about to hug him he moved away. The only response you got from him was huff.
"Uhm i thought we could go for ice cream, if you'd like?"
No response, no he wasn't even looking at you anymore. He changed slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder.
"To car [Name], now." Was all he commanded.
The ride home was awkward, silent. Usually the silence between you was comfortable and pleasant, unlike this one.
"Why are you giving me silent treatment Sae? Its not fair that you're taking your anger out on me."
And again he just huffed not sparing you a second glance.
"Okay fine, i can do silent treatment too!" You declared crossing your arms over your chest looking out of window.
Safe to say he will be trying to get your attention for next few days, when his wrongly directed anger dissipates...
#venna's out!!!#venna is a dum dum#venna is crusty#venna scrolls đ#venna's requests chest đ§°#blue lock x reader#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock sae#bllk sae#blue lock kaiser#bllk kaiser#kaiser x you#michael kaiser x you#kaiser x reader#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi x reader#sae x you
88 notes
¡
View notes
Text
LESSON LEARNED âË⥠OLIVER AIKU


"I just wanna make sure, You understand perfectly, you're the kind of man who makes me sad, While she waits up, You chase down the newest thing and take for granted what you have." - "Girl at Home" by Taylor Swift Tags: womanizer! Oliver x maneater! Reader, reader puts Oliver in his place (It only turns him on more),suggestive since Oliver is shameless when it comes to women. TW for attempted cheating on Oliver's part!!
a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I'm writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums. I already did Bachira's (Fearless), Kaiser's (Lover), and Rin's (Midnights). This is one is off of Red.
I am one of five stans of "Girl at Home" in the world. Same thing with Bachira's fic for "Untouchable". It's rough out here... (ÂŹ_ÂŹ) anyways, enjoy as always!

At first you'd thought this was a joke, or some trick your brain was playing on you. After all, they're showing highlights from the latest soccer match on the TV of the bar right now. What're the odds that the captain from that team, Oliver Aiku, happened to slide into the barstool right next to you?
All you can manage is a few bleary blinks at him as his mouth curves into a smirk that is meant to be charming. Still, something about it sends shivers up your spine, and you can't decide if it's in a good way or not. His hair is slightly mussed and his two-toned eyes twinkle in invitation, but a small voice in the back of your head is sending warnings radiating through your nervous system.
It would be the perfect time to just get up and bolt, but you'd come here to get some air from your stifling apartment . . . and to pick up some guy to bring back to your apartment. Maybe this was the universe smacking you in the face with a chance. Who knows, he's an athlete. He might be a good lay.
You lean forward a bit, and tilt your head as you asses him. Some of your hair falls into your face as your eyes flit up and down his body.
"Can I help?" you ask softly, keeping the apprehension out of your voice. You'd done this dance before, and walked the fine line between welcoming and prison guard.
"Mmm," he hums, leaning into your space a bit, "I was hoping you could give me a lil' bit of company tonight?"
"What kinda company?" you take a sip of your drink.
"Whatever kind you like," he replies without missing a beat.
"I didn't know you'd be so open minded to a rejection," you laugh.
"You sound so sure of yourself," he notes, seemingly not affected by your demeanor in the slightest. Oh, he's one of these guys. They think no means yes and get lost means take me I'm yours.
Oliver just rolls his shoulder, as if stretching for a game and hails a bartender. "Old fashioned," it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, "and for the lady? You're really nursing that drink you got there."
You smirk and bat your lashes at him. "All the more reason to not order me one." You turn to the bartender and give him a soft smile. "I'm good thank you."
The bartender makes quick work of Oliver's drink, before he dips away to help other patrons. You run your finger along the rim of your glass as Oliver takes a sip of his drink.
"So you come here often?" He asks. He mocks being affronted when you snort at the cliche pick up line and says, "C'mon throw me a bone here. You're dryer than . . . than . . ."
"Big brain you got up in your head there," you muse, drowning the rest of your drink.
"Wow, figured me out that easy huh?"
"You're an open book, darling," your voice drips with derision.
"Pet names already?" Oliver leans even closer. From this vantage point, you can see the blend of hues in his eyes. You've never seen a human with heterochromia before. His eyes look like marbles. He smells like the whiskey from his drink, and pine. His shirt flexes along his shoulders and his back. An Apple watch glints on his wrist as he moves his hand closer to you along the bar counter top. "Take me home first, at least."
"To do what? I don't know if that's the kinda company I'm looking for tonight," you say innocently, but even as you do, your hand gravitates towards his as well. Your fingers come incredibly close to touching.
"But you're not looking for the other kind, that's for sure," you can feel his breath now, hot against his face. Your lips instinctively part ever so slight in anticipation of the kiss that's sure to come. His face is so close to yours now. "No one shows up in a dress like that, all dark and red and snug, and in heels like that just to chat."
"At least I put some effort into my appearance," your voice lilts flirtatiously. "You look like a hobo someone spruced up to go onto a reality dating show."
"If you don't like what I'm wearing, maybe you should take it off," he counters without missing a beat.
"In public?" you cover your mouth in mock shock. "Have some decorum, please."
The hand without the watch grips your hips and you gasp as he pushes himself flush against your body, crowding you against the bar counter. "Take me home with you."
The kiss should've been inevitable. His mouth was practically already touching yours, but even the smallest of milliseconds can make large differences.
His apple watch lights up and all you need to see is the contact name. Some other girl, with a white heart next to it. You eye it for a moment, before cupping a hand over his mouth and pushing him off.
"No."
"What?"
"No. You have a girl waiting for you already. Go to her and don't waste my time."
Oliver takes a step back, before his eyes move down to his watch. Seeing his girlfriend's name, he sighs. "Caught me did you?"
"And I'm glad," you huff and grab your bag. You take out a 20 and a five and leave it on the counter, hoping it's enough to cover your tab. You didn't drink that much, but still. You whirl around to Oliver, the tension now a completely different kind. "You must think I'm stupid or something. But I'm not. I know how boys like you work and I want no part in it."
You fist the collar of his shirt and pull him closer to you. You stare deep into his eyes. "Don't drive home, you drank. Message her first that you're going home now, and call a cab or walk."
"You don't even know her," he mutters.
"There're codes that exist in the world. This is one of them. Besides, I don't need to know her," you release him and walk out of the bar. "I was once her, and to know there are still men like you out there makes me sad."
You walk out into the ebbing nightlife and as Oliver watches you disappear from his sight and life forever, he can't help but groan as he feels his pants tighten. What a shame there's no one around to relieve it. Guess he'll have to go home after all.

a/n: Guys. Please. Don't cheat on your s/o. that's all. goodbye ŕ´Śŕľŕ´Śŕ´ż(Ëľ â˘Ě á´ - Ëľ )
#blue lock#bllk#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#oliver aiku#oliver aiku x reader#oliver aiku x you#aiku oliver#oliver x reader#aiku x reader
39 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Hear me out,
BvZ actor au like head cannons or a story of what they do on set or smth
Hope ur having a nice day!
Heheheheheheheheheeheheheh. I love this. So i decided my baby need to be a part of this.
Colt (actor)
⢠Originally hired as Hipswitchâs stunt double because of his athleticism, weapons skill, and comfort with prosthetics and wires.
⢠The director spotted Colt goofing off during a breakâdoing stupid impressions of Hipswitch with perfect comedic timingâand immediately gave him a few background lines⌠which spiraled into a whole-ass side character.
⢠Everyone on set calls him âthe feral babyâ or âCrash Dummy Colt.â
⢠Does his own stunts, but also weirdly maternal with the makeup crew and brings them snacks.
⢠Has a prank war with the guy who plays Fisher. Once hid 47 googly eyes in his trailer.
⢠His fans online are rabid. Thereâs fan cams of him just drinking juice.
Hipswitch (actor)
⢠Very serious about his craftâclassic theater kid turned sci-fi lead.
⢠Total method actor on set. Stays in character until wrap, but the moment the director says cut, he becomes the most polite, slightly shy guy with reading glasses and tea.
⢠Constantly apologizing for âbeing too intenseâ during fight scenes.
⢠LOVES Colt. Proud older sibling energy. Calls him âkidâ even though theyâre the same age.
⢠Once broke character mid-scene because Colt made a stupid face during a take.
Albus (actor)
⢠Real name is probably something soft and gentle like âTheoâ but he goes by âAlbusâ even off-screen to mess with people.
⢠Always messing with the prop team. Constantly steals the fake whiskey and replaces it with apple juice.
⢠Actually a trained dancer. He choreographs some of his own fight scenes and flirts with the camera crew.
⢠Has the most dramatic trailer decor. Candles, leather couch, and a picture of a cat named âKing Sebastian.â
⢠Surprisingly gentle with Colt behind the scenes. Theyâre tightâbrotherly but chaotic.
⢠Teases Hipswitch nonstop during interviews.
Faithful (actor)
⢠Super sweet and nerdy in real life. Wears cardigans and glasses, always bringing baked goods for the crew.
⢠Has a huge social media following because she posts behind-the-scenes content and cute selfies with the cast.
⢠She and Colt have adorable TikToks dancing together in costume.
⢠Very close to the actress who plays Keranoâthey treat each other like real family.
⢠Secretly plays D&D with the crew on weekends and always plays the tank.
Kamor (actor)
⢠Quiet but hilarious when he speaks. Known for deadpan humor and accidental one-liners.
⢠Always falling asleep in weird places on setâonce napped in a spaceship prop for 3 hours.
⢠Has a real-life crush on Hipswitchâs actor but doesnât know everyone else already knows.
⢠Loves working with Colt, and they bond over weird indie music and horror films.
⢠Gets super nervous before cons and hides behind Faithful during panels.
Mekshaâs actor
⢠Comes from a punk music background. Joined the cast late in season 2 and instantly became a fan favorite.
⢠Has tension with Colt onscreen and outrageous chemistry off-screen. Their improv scenes make the editors cry from laughter.
⢠Teases Colt mercilessly in interviewsâfans arenât sure if theyâre enemies or married.
(Oh and i thought it could be much cooler if Attila and Mahatma were separated people and they just switch during shooting. Why? Cause itâs hilarious for them so look so similar and mess with the whole crew)
Mahatma (actor)
⢠Total sweetheart in real lifeâlike, rescue-dogs-and-water-plants energy.
⢠Has a background in medical drama shows, so he takes the âspace doctorâ role way too seriously. He once corrected the actual on-set medic.
⢠Eats the weirdest food on set. The crew once caught him dipping pickles in chocolate pudding, and he just went, âItâs for brain chemistry.â
⢠Best friends with the actor who plays Attilaâopposite energy, same wavelength.
⢠Shares a trailer with Attila and decorates it with crystals, soft lights, and calming incense.
⢠Everyone on set goes to him for life advice. He gives you a hug, herbal tea, and a five-minute TED Talk on emotional resilience.
Attila (actor)
⢠Loud, sharp-tongued, and hilarious. Grew up doing stand-up and has no filter.
⢠Calls Mahatma âDoc Doc Gooseâ off-camera and roasts him constantly, but if anyone else does it, she gets feral.
⢠Has a punk background like Mekshaâs actorâlots of tattoos, always wearing combat boots.
⢠Total adrenaline junkie. Volunteers to do dangerous stunts even though Heâs not supposed to.
⢠Weirdly good with kids. Everyone was shocked when he got mobbed by a group of fans at a convention and patiently signed every autograph.
⢠Teases Colt mercilessly but genuinely likes him. Once said, âYouâre like if caffeine were a person.â
(Now a little story)
INT. GRITTY ALIEN MARKETPLACE â TAKE 12
Scene premise: Colt is carrying a half-injured Karmor like a prince, smirking at Hipswitch, trying to provoke jealousy. Karmor is supposed to look dazed but charming and say, âGuess you missed your shot, Cowboy.â
⸝
Director (off-screen):
Action!
Colt (striding into frame, dramatically carrying Karmor):
Looks like someone else got to the lost lamb first.
Karmor (dazed, trying to deliver his line):
Guess you⌠missed your⌠shop? Wait, noâshot. SHOT.
Colt:
[Pretending to cry] MY MOM OWNS A SHOP, HOW DARE YOU.
Hipswitch (off-screen):
[Bursts out laughing] Missed your shopâwas it a bakery?!
Director:
Cut! Reset! Take 13!
⸝
TAKE 13
Colt:
Looks like someone else got to the lost lamb first.
Karmor (with dramatic flair):
Guess you missed your sheepâNO. Wait. Cowboy. SHOT. FUCK.
Colt (whispering):
Donât cry. Donât cry. Heâs trying. Youâre proud of him.
Hipswitch:
[Straight-up wheezing now] Sheep? Did you call me a sheep?
Attila (from behind the camera):
âGuess you missed your shepherd, dipshit.â Thatâs the next line, huh?
Mahatma:
[Calmly sipping tea] I think heâs just evolving the metaphor.
⸝
TAKE 17
Colt:
Looks like someone else got to the lost lamb first.
Karmor (genuine effort, soft voice):
Guess you missed your shot⌠Jace.
[SILENCE]
Colt (voice cracking instantly):
You said my government name. Why did you say my government name.
Hipswitch:
[Face buried in hands, giggling like a kid] He said it like it was romantic?!
Colt (melting into Karmorâs arms):
Iâm emotionally compromised. I canât do this anymore. This is bullying.
Karmor:
I didnât mean to! Youâre justâyour face did the soft thing and I panicked!
Attila (mocking):
âHe said Jace and I simply perished.â
Director:
Okay, letâs break. Someone get Colt a cookie and Kamor a damn cue card.
⸝
END SCENE.
#goodboyaudios#gba bvz#bastard vs zombies#goodboyaudios albus#fiction#good boy audios#goodboyaudios karmor#goodboyaudios hipswitch#goodboyaudios faithless#goodboyaudios manhatma#goodboyaudios colt#ACTOR AU
20 notes
¡
View notes
Text
⨠pokĂŠmon AU! đ´â¨ clora is mainly fairy & psychic (bc shes sweet but also smart) whereas seb trends towards fire/dark (even tho i only ended up giving him 1 dark pokemon...shhh) i originally gave him a houndour, bc dark + guard dog was such a perfect combo for him, but arcanine ALSO suits him and is way cuter so i had to go with that 𼚠and i had to fit in a raven and a snake pokemon somewhere bc...cmon𼰠BAHAHA
TYSM to the anon who inspired this!! it was so much fun
#also both of them have matching swellows that they dont use in their team...its my pokemon AU equivalent of their matching swallow patronus#& i didnt end up drawing this but when theyre older they also discover Unown in some ancient ruin/catacomb#and so it just kinda ends up following them/they keep it after they discover it#also anon... u said u had notes on ur phone for why sylveon is perfect for clora PLS SEND THOSE...or reply to this...im curious#god im so jealous of clora in that last pic of her being coddled by arcanine and charizard tho (and i guess by seb toođ)#oh to be snuggled by a bunch of pokemon...that should be MEEE!!!! im a cat person irl but god i love arcanine SO MUCH#i always have one in my team when i play and i always name him cheetođ§Ą#also i only gave seb a gengar bc i like him matching with clora and her having a clefairy BAHAHA..had to get my love of opposites in#gengar does suit him tho i mean just look at that face and that damn smile#same with togepi and corviknight...love the idea of the bird protecting the egg hehe. and ice type alolan vulpix with fire type arcanine#i also almost gave seb a ceruledge or amouredge bc they look like knights bahaha#i also originally gave clora an alcremie instead of lunatone bc i love alcremie...but the shiny lunatone is too perfect for her#a pale crescent moon with blue eyes like HELLO and its psychic..i had to...ravenclaw as hell#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x oc#hogwarts legacy sebastian#clora clemons#choccyart
789 notes
¡
View notes
Photo
Party (group) party (celebratory)! (Patreon)
#Doodles#Pokemon#Gyrados#Ninetales#Sableye#Ampharos#Banette#Politoed#Pikachu#The lot! Mostly my SoulSilver guys but a kind of general mishmash of nostalgia and aiming-fors#Even tho I played Yellow when I was quite a bit younger I never beat it or got particularly attached to my 'mon and ended up selling it#Mistake I know blame the folly of youth lol#So I really consider Soul Silver as my ''first'' game - though I beat X before SS pfft just can't make it simple eh!#But I got veryyy attached to my SSteam <3 It's fun to watch them grow in the photo album! Can see most of them as babies :D#I ended up with a Vulpix named Beauty since Ninetales is my favourite Pokemon <3 I knew she'd grow into a beauty! Thusly named#And a Magikarp that I thought would be ironically funny to name Beast because well - y'know lol#Did not even occur to me Once that they'd be Beauty and Beast haha - the reasoning is so strongly connected it just didn't register!#They're a fun duo :) Fire and Water Fish and Fox hehe <3 Cute lads!#Group of four was speculations about building a really ideal team for me - Mareep Line Obviously and Ninetales goes without saying#Sableye is another really obvious one lol I love Sableye so muuuuchhhh aghhh <3 <3#Banette wouldn't exactly fill in many gaps but I've always leaned more towards Ghost and Psychic types#The Politoed doodles were just for funsies tho lol I really can't decide on a Water type I like that I haven't already exhausted!#They're silly little frog guys which I do enjoy haha#Probably not my personal pick but I like them :)#The aforementioned Yellow playthrough had me with a Pikachu I named Sparks which I then wrote fanfic about haha#Baby's first fanfic and fanart were both Pokemon! I have no idea where it'd be now as it was in a notebook but I remember the gist at least#Thought it'd be nice to bring him back to visit <3#And then some silly ones for myself lol what's a good trainer pose!#I think they're all silly lol but I do like the middle one :D#I'd love a Pokeball shirt like that! All the Pokemon things pls and thank you!
22 notes
¡
View notes
Text
i think my favorite part of my p4 playthrough is that i somehow never got pixie and had to go back to get her when trying to fuse black frost for the shadow mitsuo fight. i still don't know how that happened i was in the castle for so fucking long sfldkjskfjfdksfdkjfd-
#rambearling#persona 4#p4#i love my black frost by the way he's so fucking strong. he and izanagi are my mvps <3#mind charge + maragidyne/bufula (i wasn't able to get bufudyne on him for some reason) is so overpowered#i don't have ziodyne on izanagi though annoyingly enough-#probably should've figured out what persona gets ziodyne's skill card at chagall's :/ that's how i got zionga on him#eh there's always new game plus. won't be able to fuse izanagi-no-okami immediately anyway#even if i could i don't think i would cuz a level 91 persona would be waaaaay too overpowered-#can't you get magatsu-izanagi too. so many izanagis..............#irrelevant to the tags but i can't think of pixie without thinking of that one video where yu doesn't know his personas names#and calls high pixie lesbian-#dog by the foot is my favorite persona. and about eight snakes. the one i got from shuffle time. kill rush-kun#that's kinda how i refer to my personas in my head when playing a lot of the time sflkfdjsjfdksfdkjfds-#i honestly barely use the velvet room................ this is my first time actually playing persona okay-#in p5 my moms always spend like an hour in the velvet room looking at guides to figure out what personas to get-#and then there's me playing p4 and just looking at the list and fusing whatever personas look cool and don't need izanagi or black frost-#i mean i. kind of try to get good coverage? kind of#i don't think i have any wind skills on my team aside from izanagi having magaru-
5 notes
¡
View notes
Text
timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader
notes: marriedâ established rs, this feels so ooc i apologize, y/n used a couple times, actual streaming terms used(willing to explain them if needed!!), fluff, kuroo mention, lowercase intended!
â38 minute and 42 second compilation of kodzuken being whipped for his wife.â
this is the seventh part of the series created by this fan. the first part of the series was titled, â15 minute compilation of pro gamer kodzuken talking about his girlfriend.â the fourth part was the change from girlfriend to fiancĂŠe, and the sixth part was the change from fiancĂŠe to wife.
this youtube series has blown up everywhereâ to the point some people donât even know kenma as the CEO of Bouncing Ball Corporation or as a professional gamer/youtuber.
kuroo had been talking to his colleague about kenma once, when highschool was suddenly their topic of conversation. âever heard of kodzuken?â âyour best friend is the dude who doesnât shut up about his wife?!â kuroo couldnât even tease kenma about it anymoreâ kenma just was so shameless when it came to you! (and before he got famous all the yapping about you was always to kuroo. trust me, heâd recieve earfuls about you when you werenât even together yet.)
after every valorant or league tournament (ewwwww) whether it was a win or loss, once the mic was brought to him to ask about the game, heâd state simply, âIâd like to thank my wife. Good games.â god heâd be even more annoying when it came to a solo queue in valorant. his go-to insult for a snobby teenager would be, âyouâre bitchless AND jobless.â safe to say his ego inflates when they realize theyâre talking to THE kodzuken, and if they didnât know beforehand, theyâll know him soon enough when his motor of a mouth warms up to talk about his wife, forgetting to ever brief on the topic of having multiple jobs with high incomes.
oh but the comments on the series were always the best.
user @applepie: may this love attack me
user @kodzusss: y/n how do you find a man like this
user @makemestays: aura farming again
user @svteenm: i think i know more about y/n than i do about kenma at this point
user @moalways: heâs the standard i fear
user @emizszc: laying on the highway as we speak
user @sunaslefttoe: I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE!!!!
if you add up the time of all seven videos, the total time is pushing 5 hours⌠god he just canât shutup about you. all the little emoticons for his channel; raids, copium, NT, are just you and him. every sub challenge just surrounds you. just to name a few, there was
âxx subs for a cooking stream with my wifeâ
âxx subs and my wife will play a ranked valo gameâ
âxx subs for a just chatting stream with my wifeâ
even when he had to switch gears. as a CEO, his management team was sick and tired of him. today he had been invited for an interview. he knew the interview show was scuffed prior to coming, so he decided to just do what he was best at. âŚtalk about you of course!
âso, if it ever came down to choosing between your wife or your company, whatâd you choose?â
âmy wife.â he puts up his pointer finger before speaking again, âactually, she was one of my main motivations to start working on the ⌠blah blah ⌠and she really ⌠blah blahhh blah ⌠my career ⌠blahâ the interviewer felt a bead of sweat drop from her temple.
sigh kenma is so in love with his wife.
part two and three of my mini kenma series here!!
#kozume kenma#haikyuu#haikyuu kenma#haikyu x reader#haikyu fluff#haikyuu x reader#hq kenma#kenma x reader#kenma fluff#kodzuken#emizsc
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey
Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Tojiâs (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance
An: This has been heavy on my brain recently đââď¸ Also, I donât know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. itâs just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Chosoâs last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukunaâs last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukunaâs name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)
Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU
Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback⌠you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.
âIâm sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.â Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.
Satoru couldnât care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.
Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.
âIs this seat taken?â He asked with a bright smile. He hadnât interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didnât dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.
âItâs not.â You replied shortly. You werenât rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.
âWanna make a bet with me?â Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldnât pass him a second glance.
âNot really.â You replied, not looking up from your book.
âI bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.â Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.
âHmm. Doubtful. Heâs normally prompt.â You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. Heâs happy to have your attention â now he wants to keep it.
âIf he isnât here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, Iâll buy you as many books as you can carry.â Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.
You think for a moment⌠all the books you can carry?? âDeal.â You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it â thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
Heâs already won.
Satoru knows that youâll be wearing his jersey today, and youâll wear his colors for the rest of the season. Heâll make more bets⌠win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, heâll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.
Heâs already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.
When the group of girls sees you with âGOJOâ written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.
SUGURU
Suguru really didnât get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. Thatâs 30 days in one season that heâd have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.
Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldnât be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didnât subscribe to.
Well, he didnât think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.
Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.
Even though heâs not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.
âSorry man, sheâs already agreed to wear my jersey today, isnât that right angel?â He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.
Luckily for Suguru, you were into it â and not his teammate. âYeah, sorry. I almost forgot.â You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.
So no, Suguru doesnât get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name âGETOâ written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.
NANAMI
Nanami doesnât need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.
Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldnât? He was the leading star of the baseball team⌠whoâs ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.
Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).
They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.
He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.
Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didnât act above anyone else. He didnât flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.
He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.
You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you werenât bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldnât risk the heartache.
It wasnât until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. âWill you be at the game tonight?â He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasnât awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.
You hadnât even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that youâre not invisible in Kentoâs life.
âYeah, I think Iâll show upâŚâ You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.
âIâll look forward to seeing you.â He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. âHopefully wearing this..?â
Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. âThat- are you sure? Me?â
âYes, Iâm sure.â He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. âYou should put it on now. Thatâs the tradition, right?â
You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.
âIt looks good on you. Iâll see you tonight.â Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.
You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with âNANAMIâ printed across your back.
CHOSO
âHey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?â Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.
He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who werenât on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didnât understand it. He figured heâd ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.
âBecause I make him.â Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Chosoâs raven hair was down, messy from sweat.
Choso furrowed his eyebrows. âWhy would you do that-? I thought you liked him.â
Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didnât understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didnât understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.
âI do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.â Yuji explained, but he went on, âPeople give their jerseys to someone they like. Itâs like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.â
Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.
Thatâs how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.
When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and itâd mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.
Instead, âI want my intentions known.â He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.
Yuji facepalmed around the corner.
You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that youâre very good at filling in the blanks. âYou want me to wear your jersey, Cho?â You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.
His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. âAnd uh.. I want to court you.â He finally added all in one breath.
To Chosoâs delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing âKAMOâ on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.
TOJI
It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Tojiâs spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.
When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.
Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldnât even look him in the eye after that whole experience.
He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.
He couldnât just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, heâd owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldnât trust to keep it in his dorm because he didnât put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.
âWear my jersey.â His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.
âNo, it probably stinks.â You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.
âNah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.â He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.
âEven worse.â You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.
âDo you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?â
You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. âWhy do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?â
âMaybe theyâll think youâre my girl and piss off for a while. I donât know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, Iâm going to burn it.â Tojiâs voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
âAnd you donât mind them thinking that?â You inquire, raising your eyebrow.
âDoll, you know Iâve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-â
âEughhh, give it.â You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. âThere. Happy?â
Toji didnât expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didnât actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey â the way it swallowed you whole. He figured heâd still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of âZENINâ across your back.
SUKUNA
Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.
So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.
There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with âSUKUNAâ written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.
Oh, heâs also like a dragon in the sense that heâs absolutely devastating out on the field.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#fanfic#drabble#jjk suggestive#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk suguru#suguru x reader#satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#jjk choso#choso x reader#jjk toji#toji x reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna x reader#jjk men#jjk men x reader#jjk drabbles
5K notes
¡
View notes
Text
juno | l.hc
âone of me is cute, but two thoughâŚ?â
đżnow playing: juno by sabrina carpenter



⯠summary: Kids were never really something you thought about. But then you saw your sexy as fuck boyfriend playing uncle and now you can't stop thinking about giving him a baby of his own. What can you say...your hormones are high.
⯠pairings: haechan x fem!reader
⯠genre: smut, established relationship
⯠words: 2.7k
⯠tags: 18+ minors dni!, unprotected sex (don't do this!), swearing, breeding and pregnancy kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, begging, praise, creampie, slight angst not really idk, fluff, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just the reader getting baby fever from seeing hyuck with kids (very real el oh el.)
an: i know this is like my third haechan post in a week, but i literally donât care. sue me x

You didnât want kids. Well, thatâs not true. You were indifferent to kids.Â
That was until you saw your boyfriend with them. You didnât think you could be more attracted to him, but then he had to go and check off the "great with kids" box. Maybe itâs just his playful side, but Lee Donghyuck is just so good with them.
And being forced to attend his nieceâs first birthday party made you realise it. Honestly, youâd never given much thought to the idea of kidsâcute yes, ready to give up endless nights of sleep, no.Â
But the minute after you walked through his childhood family home and were done greeting his parents and siblings, a swarm of kids ran at him, hugging his legs and stomach. And he just melted into them, so gentle and excited. It was cute and made you smile.Â
From then it was him letting his oldest niece cover his tanned cheeks in blush and stickers, to tossing a ball with his nephew after he announced he made the basketball teamâand donât even get started on him poking the chubby cheeks of his youngest niece, her soft giggles filling the backyard of the party.Â
It was like he was in his elementâsoft, loving, and completely at ease. And even though his nieces and nephews had other uncles and aunts, theyâd always say Uncle Hyuck was their favouriteâeven if they werenât supposed to.
You watch him from the patio door in the kitchen, overhearing him tell his dad heâs âtoo young to be having the adult conversations,â which was really code for âlet me play with the kids.âÂ
Running around, telling jokes, creating games. It had your stomach turning andâwere your heart strings being pulled? Seeing this absolute perfect man, so caring and playful, living just to make those little ones laugh and smile, had you seriously considering the sleepless nights that might come with having some of your own.
Wait.Â
âHeâs good with them, huh?â
You jolt, turning to see Hyuckâs sister standing behind you.
âUh... yeah, I guess so,â you shrug. She steps beside you, and the two of you stand there, watching your boyfriend bounce his niece in his arms, soothing her gently.
She giggles, and you glance over at Hyuckâs sister again. âWhat?â
âNothing,â she shrugs. âJust... youâre looking at him like youâre ready to add to the Lee family name.â
You gasp. âI am not!â
She gives you a knowing look, and you bite your lip, eyes shifting back to Hyuck. This time, heâs handing his niece a sippy cup, tapping her nose. Your chest tightens.
âOkay... I suppose he is good with them.â
Hyuckâs sister nods, humming in agreement. âHe always has been. With every younger sibling, every cousinâeven when I had my first daughter, Hyuck was the most excited.â
Heâs sitting on the grass now, all his nieces and nephews swarming him, tickling him. Heâs being extra dramatic, letting the younger ones tug at his hair just to make them laugh. You stare, warmth and wholesomeness filling you.
âHeâd make a great dad, Y/N.â
The statement is completely sobering.
âUh,â you stammer, running a hand through your hair. âI donât know. We havenât really talked about it.â
Thatâs not entirely true. You had spoken about itâonce. Youâd told him it wasnât something you had planned for but werenât necessarily opposed to, and the conversation had never come up again.
Hyuckâs sister blinks at you, clearly confused. âThatâs crazy. Hyuckâs always said he wants to be a dad.â
Clearly.Â
Thereâs no denying that. Itâs so obviousâevery second heâs cupping up the kids, tickling them, teasing them. He looks so profoundly happy, so perfect. And it suddenly clicks for you.
This could be yours. Forever. He wants it. And now... youâre starting to think you want it, too. Him, this, forever. His kids. Your kids.
âY/N! Y/N!â one of the younger kids calls, waving you over from across the backyard. âCan you play with us? We need more people to play the monsters. Uncle Hyuckie canât do it on his own.â
And just like that, youâre being pulled away from the baby fever conversation and coaxed into joining themânot that it took much convincing. Your thoughts were starting to scare you a little. Youâd never seriously thought about kidsâuntil now.
Because youâd never seen Hyuck look more attractive than when he was playing dad.

âI canât believe sheâs one already,â Hyuck beams from where heâs stretched out on your bed. Heâs been talking about the party nonstop since you got home. âDid you see the little bows in her hair? So fucking cute.â
You glance at him through the vanity mirror where youâre sitting, watching the way his face lights up, animated and so full of joy. Thereâs a warmth in your eyes, your lips curved into a soft smile as you take him in. He notices, raising an eyebrow.
âWhatâs that look for?âÂ
You stand and walk over to him, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. His eyebrows knit together, more confused now.
âY/N, whatâs going on?â
You smile, sidestepping his question with one of your own. âDid you have fun today?â
âYessâŚ?â he replies, but thereâs a trace of suspicion in his voice.
âYour familyâs really nice.â
âOh, are they now?â He squints playfully. âI saw you talking to my sister. I hope she wasnât embarrassing meâshe loves doing that.â
You shake your head with a giggle. âShe wasnât.â
âOkayâŚâ he draws out. âThen what was she saying?âÂ
âThat youâd be a good dad. That you want to be a dad.âÂ
Hyuckâs eyes widen and you mentally add this moment to the short list of times your boyfriend has been rendered completely speechlessâstill countable on one hand.
He coughs, his cheeks turning pink. âS-She said that?â
You nod, biting your lip to keep from laughing.
âAndâŚwhat did you say back?â
You spread his legs out on the bed so you can slide between them, sitting there and looking up at him as he waits, eager for your response. Heâs so cute like thisâadorable, evenâclearly dying to hear what you thought.
âI didnât respond,â you admit honestly.
You catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he covers it with a laughâthough itâs not genuine. You can tell heâs trying to brush it off, trying to pretend that heâd be okay with the possibility that you might not want that kind of future with him.
âShe shouldnât have said that,â he mumbles, embarrassed. âI used to talk about it a lot as a kid. I donât really think like that now. I canât, you know⌠because of my job.â
âSo you donât want kids because of your job?â You ask. The tone in your voice takes him by surprise because now youâre the one sounding hurt.Â
âBaby... is this a trick question?â He laughs nervously.
You shake your head, crossing your arms across your chest. âNo Hyuck. But I want you to answer it truthfully.âÂ
He shrugs, looking unsure. âI donât know. I havenât really thought about it.â
âYouâre lying.â
He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. âBaby, I donât know what you want me to sayââ
âThe truth,â you insist.Â
He pauses, his gaze softening. âI love you, Y/N. You said kids werenât really part of your plan, and thatâs okay,â he begins, his voice steady but sincere. âAnd yeah, maybe I always kind of thought kids would be in mine, but then I met you. And you became my plan.â
You grab a hold of his hand and squeeze. It draws a genuine smile from him before he speaks again.Â
âI know weâve never talked about it since. But Iâm fine with anythingâas long as itâs with you.â
You smile, his comment pulling at your heartstrings because you feel the exact same way.Â
âThose kids absolutely adore you, Hyuck,â you say and he gives a half smile.Â
âWell, I am their favourite Uncle.âÂ
You trail a soft finger up and down the naked skin of his arm. His eyes follow your touch and that furrowed expression is on his face again.Â
âY/N whatâs going on with you? Youâre confusing meââ
âYou knowââ you cut him off. âI think youâd be a great dad.âÂ
He stares at you, properly taking you in. Heâs never seen this side of you before, and youâve never given him a compliment quite like that before. The thought of you being into the idea of him as a dad⌠well, he didnât expect it to turn him on this much. Maybe itâs the way your fingers brush his arm? Yeah no, itâs not.
âToday made me realise something,â you say, shifting to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck now. He raises a curious brow, waiting. âYou look so hot with kids. The thought of you being a dad is so fucking hot, Hyuck.â
Hyuck smiles at the confession, and his hands move to grip your ass as he ground your hips forward on himself. You let out a small gasp of surprise as you feel him.Â
âPlease donât joke like that, Y/N,â he whines, eyes squeezing shut. âBecause Iâve been thinking about you being the mother of my kids since the day I met you.â
You giggle, biting your lip to stifle the soft moans escaping you as he grinds you slowly against his growing bulge.
âWell, why donât you do something about it then,â you tease breathlessly, feeling the hardness of him through his sweatpants.
Hyuckâs mouth parts, caught somewhere between awe and shock, but before he can question how serious you are, your lips capture his, and your tongue is slipping inside his mouth to deepen the kiss.
The groan you both share is synchronised, and itâs all the encouragement he needs to flip you over, hovering above you with a renewed sense of urgency to make promise of your teasing.Â
His fingers hook into your panties, sliding them off as you shift upward against your pillows, tossing your nightgown aside. Hyuck strips out of his own clothes, desperate to press his bare skin against yours, his need overwhelming any sense of patience.
He kisses you back roughly, passionately. Fuelled by your impossible hotness and readiness to be fuckedâfucked by him. Your tongue dips deeper and deeper into his mouth, never satisfied, craving more of him. You cling to him, your hands and legs moving over his skin, desperate to feel every inch. Your hips roll up, slickness coating his shaft, causing a rippling gasp to leave his mouth.Â
Hyuck pulls back with dark eyes. Youâhis girlânaked and desperate under him, begging him to do something about his baby feverâyour baby fever. Itâs the hottest shit heâs ever seen. His new favourite thing. His obsession. He loves seeing you like this, he decidesâso willing, so desperate for him, for his cock. Needing him to bring you the pleasure only he can give. And heâll make sure you remember that once you're carrying his child.
The image floods his mindâyour stomach growing, swelling with his baby, the glow in your smile as you hold his child. A family, all with him. Only him. Because you want his kids.
The last thought pushes him over the edge, and with a low growl, he bites down on your neck, lips and teeth claiming your skin. He wants you marked by himâlike alwaysâbut this time itâs different. Itâs possessive. Primal. Feral. His saliva wet on your neck, dark bruises blooming over your breasts, his fingers burning prints into your hips, and his seed buried deep inside your soaking wet cunt.
His cock jumps when you roll your hips again, your whimpers causing him to groan and eyes roll back. You sound so desperate. Desperate to make him your forever.Â
âHyuckââ you sob as his teeth graze your nipple, sending it hardening under his touch. âPlease, I need to feel you.â
His eyes sparkle with lust as he drapes your legs over his waist and leans down, capturing your mouth in a long, needy kiss. He aligns himself with your slick pussy, your fingers clawing at his back as he slowly eases into you. He fills you completely, lifting your hips to bury himself deeper.
âSo fucking pretty like this,â he mumbles, pulling away to admire the way you take his thick cock. âTaking me so well, always so good for me, arenât you, baby?â
You moan as his cock hits every spot inside youâso deep, so hard, so good. Each thrust drags along your walls in a way that feels divine.
âCanât wait until youâre mine, so full of me,â he whispers, kissing your neck. You whimper, your walls clenching at his words, urging him to quicken his pace. âDo you want that, baby? Want my cum inside this pretty pussy?â
âYesâfuck yesâplease.â
âSay it for me,â he requests softly, a gentle yet desperate edge in his voice. âPlease tell me.â
âI want to be yours; make me yours,â you breathe out.
Hyuck's gaze drops to your lips, entranced by the words spilling from them. He thrusts harder, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer. Your cunt swallows his cock whole, turning his thrusts sloppy, and he groans.
Youâre practically sobbing with how fast heâs driving into you, so close to seeing stars.
âYouâre so good at taking me,â he praises, his breath ragged. âGonna make me fill you.â
You squeeze around him, and the thought of cumming inside you sends a shiver through his thighs, making his breathing stutter.
âYes! Fuck, please keep going,â You pant.Â
âWant you so full of me that itâs dripping down your leg. And then Iâll push it back in when I fuck you again.â
Your breaths grow louder and quicker, matching his as you both teeter on the edge. He kisses you deeply, your mouths suffocating each other as you grip his soft brown hair. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you tight.
âHyuckâIâm gonna cum.â
âSo fucking good, baby,â he moans in awe. âIâm going to fill you with my cum. I want you overflowing with my seedâfuck!â He grunts hoarsely, his body tightening with tension.
Your walls shatter around him, tightening and fluttering on his cock as you cum. Hyuck holds you close, so intimately, holding himself deep inside you as he feels the first spurts of his cum shooting from his cock.Â
He doesnât stop, his hips still moving gently, making sure you take everything, softening each thrust with tender kisses along your bare shoulders. You sigh dreamily, fingers threading through his hair, and he smiles, still half-hard inside you. Youâre exhausted, and the sight of your sleepy expression makes his heart twist. Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, and for a moment, you stay like thatâso close, so intimate.
But as the post-orgasm bliss begins to fade, a flicker of panic flashes in his eyes.
âFuckââ he mutters, pulling himself off of you quickly. Thereâs a gnawing feeling in his chest, a sudden guilt. âY/N, Iâm really sorry, I got caught up in the moment. Do you want me to run to the storeââ
âNo.â You shake your head and grab his arm, keeping him close. âI donât want you to. If thatâs okayâŚâ
His eyes darken with lust before a slow smile spreads across his face.
âY-yeah⌠thatâs more than okay with me,â he says, nodding eagerly.
âWho knows?â You shrug with a teasing grin. âI might not even get pregnant this time.â
His eyebrows shoot up. âThis time?â
You nod confidently. âYeah, this time. Because weâre going to keep doing this until I am pregnant, Hyuck.â
His grin widens as he climbs back into bed, pulling you into his arms.
âI never thought Iâd hear you say that, especially not when I woke up this morning,â he laughs, pressing soft kisses along your neck.
You giggle, leaning into his touch. âWhat can I say? Seeing you in dad mode made me so fucking horny.â
#nct smut#haechan smut#nct 127 smut#nct dream smut#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#haechan x reader#nct dream x reader#nct hard hours#kpop smut#kpop x reader#nct oneshot#nct scenarios
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
max verstappen being the perfect boyfriend: a compilation
summary: max verstappen canât help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it
folkie radio: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAXIEEE, it's been a minute since the last time i did a compilation blurb and this felt like the perfect occasion to bring them back, i hope you like this!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
Max Verstappen, three time world champion and the best driver of his generation is known for his incredible driving skills and relentless pursuit of victory on the track.
However, behind the wheel, Max has another passion that rivals his love for racing: his girlfriend.
In every interview, press conference, and social media post, Max can't help but gush about her, seamlessly sharing stories of their life together into conversations about lap times and race strategies.
Fans quickly began doing compilation videos about all the times he mentioned his girlfriend publicly, and those gathered millions of views across social media platforms.
The most popular one was called "Max Verstappen being the perfect boyfriend: a compilation," and it began with a video of Max arriving to the paddock for media day, Red Bull's social media team filming him while he answered some rapid fire questions.
"Waffles or Pancakes? You know I used to love pancakes but I think I've had too many because my girlfriend is obsessed with making them," he said as he signed some stuff, "So I would go for Waffles at the moment, but if my girlfriend is watching this I'd say I take her pancakes every day."
The next clip was from a post qualifying interview, and of course, Max earned the pole position, the interviewer had asked him what was expecting for the race the following day.
"To win of course, that's what I'm here for," he said with so hesitation, "But I'm also looking forward to it because my girlfriend will be here, it's the first race she attends this season and I can't wait to see her in the crowd while I take on the podium."
The video moved to show Max with his teammate Sergio Perez, they were playing a game of Green Flag or Red Flag, they were asked about people who film themselves at the gym and Max immediately waved the red flag.
"I actually don't go to the gym anymore," Max added, "I get annoyed by everyone else so I just exercise at home."
"So no topless selfies, not even at home," the interviewer said.
"I don't need to impress anyone, I've got my girlfriend, so," Max shrugged.
The next clip was taken from Max's own Youtube channel, he was showing some of his preparation routine for a race, that included some neck training, checking statistics, quick meetings with his team and engineers among other things.
And of course, his girlfriend made an appearance, standing in a corner watching everything unfold. He approached her, race suit on and helmet in hand, kissed her lips gently as she caressed his arm.
"Be safe out there okay?" her voice could be faintly heard.
"Always schatje, I love you."
In the next segment, Max had just earned his second world championship and was doing a casual interview for a sports channel.
"Do you have your girlfriend now call you 'Two time world champion Max Verstappen' or just Max,"
"Definitely not the first one," Max laughed, "She'd never do that, she says she likes to keep me humble."
"Your girlfriend has a pet name for you?" the guy asked again.
"We call each other a bit different but I prefer not to say that on camera," Max laughed again, "I don't want the internet to make fun of me for being cheesy."
The next clip was from Max's streamings, he was too immersed in a game that he didn't hear his girlfriend come into the room, noticing her presence when she leaned into him.
Out of habit of keeping their privacy, he covered the camera but forgot to turn his mic off.
"Schatje I'm streaming," he said, unaware that everyone could hear him.
"Oh I'm sorry, I was going to ask if you could feed the cats but I'll do it myself," his girlfriend spoke.
"No I'll do it, just let me get off the stream,"
"Baby, there's no need," she insisted.
"I was missing you anyways, just give me a minute."
His audience couldn't see anything but they clearly heard how Max kissed his girlfriend's lips, turning his attention back to the screen, he realized that he was broadcasting their conversation to everyone.
His viewers went wild in the chat, spamming heart emojis and comments about how sweet the couple was. Max ended the stream with a laugh, addressing his fans. "Alright, you heard the boss. I gotta go feed the cats. See you all next time."
On the same note, another clip from a video for RedBull with Checo was included, they had been asked to show the most recent picture in their phones.
"Oh it's from this morning, my girlfriend with the kids," Max said, showing the picture to the camera.
"The kids?" Checo asked with a laugh.
"The cats are our kids," Max shrugged, "Jimmy and Sassy Verstappen."
A particularly touching moment was from a press conference after a difficult race. Max had finished fifth, a rare position for him given his usual dominance. When asked how he dealt with setbacks, he gave a candid response.
"It can be tough, but my girlfriend always knows how to lift my spirits. She's my biggest supporter and always finds the right words to say. Just being with her makes everything better, no matter how bad the race went."
During a clip of Max giving a tour of the Red Bull factory, he stopped at a wall covered in race-winning memorabilia. Among the trophies and champagne bottles, there was a small, framed photograph.
"This is special to me," Max pointed it out, "It's from my first win with Red Bull. But look closer..."
The camera zoomed in to show a young woman in the background of the photo, cheering in the pit lane.
"That's my girlfriend," Max said softly. "She was there for my first win, and she's been there for every one since - even if she can't always be at the track. The team knew how much that meant to me, so they made sure she was in this photo when they framed it."
In the next segment, Max was asked about his favorite off-track activity.
"I love cooking," Max grinned, "Well, more like watching my girlfriend cook. She's amazing in the kitchen, and I'm just there to taste-test everything."
The compilation included a moment during a press conference, Max addressed a question about his girlfriend facing criticism online. The question arose after she received negative comments following a public appearance with him.
"Look, it's tough sometimes," Max began, his expression turning serious. "She didn't choose this life, but she supports me through everything. It's not fair for her to get hate just because of who she's dating. If you have a problem with me that's fine but don't go after my family or my girlfriend because that is just unacceptable."
The final clip that wrapped the video us was from the FIA Prize Giving ceremony, Max received his trophy for winning the 2023 championship.
In his acceptance speech, he thanked his team, his family, and, of course, his girlfriend.
"Winning races and championships is amazing, but having someone by your side who believes in you and supports you unconditionally is truly special. To my girlfriend, thank you for being my rock and my biggest cheerleader. I love you."
The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Max Verstappen, three time world champion and the perfect boyfriend.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfiction#formula 1#max verstappen#max verstappen smau#max verstappen fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#formula 1 x reader#max verstappen fluff#mv1 x reader#mv1 fanfiction#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen smut#f1 grid x reader#harrysfolklore#max verstappen fake instagram#max vertsappen fic#f1 smau
6K notes
¡
View notes
Text
A SURPRISE VISIT â ITOSHI RIN
๨ৠâ you decide to surprise your fiancĂŠ while he is doing a photoshoot for a brand he works with. the director and photographer never even knew rin could smile in such a way...
itoshi rin x reader. fluff, pro soccer player!rin, yâall are like mid-twenties here, established relationship, sunshine x grumpy vibes :>Â
word count. 1.3k

Itâs not often you are able to visit Rin while heâs working. Given the nature of his job, he spends most of his time traveling around for away games and matches outside of Japan.
Today, however, Rin is in town for a photoshoot with a local luxury brand and you decide that is the perfect opportunity. for you to surprise him. He spoils you plenty himself, bringing you souvenirs and cute trinkets from his travels. This is the least you can do to pamper him back.
You prepare him a quick and easy mealâa grilled mackerel rice bowl with a side of spinach saladâbut still packed with nutrients to help fuel his body for the long day ahead. Rin has complained about PR and photoshoot days to you plenty of times before. They were busy and tiring and he barely got any breaks. What better way to bring some light into his day than a little surprise?Â
Along with a warm, homemade lunch, you decide you want to stop by for some flowers as well. At a nearby florist, you order a bouquet of vibrant blue morning glories (the closest color you can get to his eyes, though nothing seems to be the perfect match) mixed in with classic white florets.Â
Pleased with your little bouquet and neatly wrapped lunch box, you bound along to the studio Rin was working in for the day.Â
Immediately upon entry, you find yourself greeted by the receptionist, cheerily asking how she can help you.Â
âIâm just here to visit my fiance,â you say with a smile. âHeâs here for a shootâ Itoshi Rin.â
She eyes you skeptically, her eyes briefly flitting to the phone on her desk. âCan I ask for your name, please?â
âOf course!â you agree hurriedly, pulling your ID out of your wallet as you stated your name. Itâs inconvenient at times, having a professional soccer player as a fiancĂŠ, but you understood why security had to be higher for him. âI promise, Iâm not lying! See.â
You flash her your diamond engagement ring and show her your lock screen photo of you and Rin making kissy faces at the camera.Â
âOh, no! I donât think youâre lying! Mr. Itoshiâs team always gives a list of who he might be expecting and, well, the list only has your name on it,â explains the receptionist, looking back and forth between your ID and her computer screen. âYou can head right in! His session is in the big room to the left.â
âThank you!â you chirp, gathering the bouquet back up in one arm as you hold his lunch in the other. You hope Rin will feel how much you love and value him.
You walk down the hall and hesitantly knock on the door, before deciding to push it open after not hearing a response.Â
As soon as you peek your head in, your eyes lock with Rinâs as he poses in a relaxed stance, one hand in his pocket as he looks away from the camera dramatically. Once he notices you, his serious expression changes into one of surprise as the corner of his lip quirks upward into the semblance of a smile.Â
âYes! Exactly like that!â the director cries in relief. âHold that smileâ This is the first one weâve seen from you all day!âÂ
As Rinâs attention is directed away from you, the sullen expression returns to his face.Â
âNo! Smile, I said,â said the director exasperatedly.Â
You wave your flowers around in the background, hoping to catch Rinâs attention as you shoot him a playful wink. Itâs similar to when parents are trying to get their baby to smile for the camera by playing peek-a-boo behind the lens.Â
Rinâs much too old to be treated like a baby, yet somehow, your method works.Â
His eyes soften as he lets out an amused snort. Itâs quiet and barely there, but it was enough to change the ambiance of the photoshoot. From the corner of your eye, you see the creative director nodding at the photographer fervently as the rapid clicks of the camera sound in succession.Â
Once satisfied with the amount of successful photos they captured, the director soon calls a quick break so the next scene can be shot. Rin wastes no time in heading over to you with a question in his gaze.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â he asks.
You grin, handing him the bouquet of flowers. âTo give you this!â you say simply. âI wanted to surprise you. I also brought you lunch. I know you donât have much time to eat, but I hope you can find time to sneak a few bites between shoots.âÂ
Rin takes the flowers and lunch box into his hands, eyes softening as he pulls you into a quick hug. âNow why did you go through all this on a random Thursday?âÂ
âDo I need a reason to see my handsome boyfriendâer, fiancĂŠâduring work?â you say with a playful pout. He proposed only recently, and calling him fiancĂŠ is still new to you. âDonât tell me youâre not happy to see meâŚâ
Rin rolls his eyes at your dramatics. âIâm always happy to see you, and you know it.â
âI do!â you agree happily, bringing another small smile onto his face. âNow, I donât want to keep you from your work for too long. I better get going.â
He frowns. âCanât you stay longer?â
Before you can reply, the creative director from earlier concurs, âYes, can you please? We need more pictures of Mr. Itoshi looking like heâs not miserable!â
Rin glares at him in annoyance. Partly for saying he looks miserable and partly for interrupting his conversation with you.
You laugh at the directorâs pleading. âI wish I could, but I do have some work of my own to finish up today.â
You arenât sure whose face looks more dejectedâthe directorâs or Rinâs?Â
âBut,â you start, trying to cheer them both up, âRin, you can look at the flowers I got you and smile when you think of me!âÂ
Rinâs cheeks color and a grunt of embarrassment escapes him as his eyes flit frantically to everyone overhearing the conversation.Â
You grin, not letting up. âAnd, if you eat the lunch I made you, your stomach and soul will be warmed for the rest of the shoot!âÂ
The director nods along like you came up with the most brilliant idea ever.Â
âOkay, now I really do have to go,â you say apologetically, placing a chaste kiss onto Rinâs lips. âIâll see you at home? Soon?
He nods. âSoon.âÂ
âAnd,â the director sings, âit might be even sooner than planned. Mr. Itoshi, if you cooperate well, we may be able to finish up within the next hour and a half.âÂ
Rinâs expression turns serious, a look of fierce determination forming on his features. âSo, I can be home in less than two hours?â
âYes. Maybe even sooner if we get into a good flow.âÂ
âWe will,â promises Rin as if he has no other option. âIâll be home soon.â
You giggle at his resoluteness. Nothing motivates him more than soccer and spending time with you.Â
âWork hard then!â you say. âIâll see you in a bit, baby.â
The tips of Rinâs ears turn red as he hisses, âIn public?âÂ
You have to stop yourself from snickering at his embarrassment. The two of you really need to work on your public displays of affection.Â
âWaitâ Thatâs it!â exclaimed the director. âThatâs the perfect flushed face! Someone bring a camera here, stat!â As the director rambles along, you wave goodbye to Rin, wiggling your fingers as you watch the look of misery return to Rinâs face, his eyes calling to you to help get him out of here.Â
âBreakâs over! Come along now, Mr. Itoshi.âÂ
You spare him one last thumbs up before leaving the studio with a laugh. Well, that visit certainly turned out to be more entertaining than you had imagined. You would have to visit Rin at work much more often.Â
#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock x you#rin x reader#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#bllk fluff#bllk x you#itoshi rin#blue lock#bllk#rin itoshi#rin x you#itoshi rin x you#ron itoshi x you#bllk fanfic#bllk drabbles
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Breaking Point
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader
Summary: Your rivalry with Max Verstappen is legendary, but behind your fierce performances a chronic condition is slowly wearing you down. When Max starts to uncover the truth he has to decide, win the title at all costs or protect the one person who may have come to mean more than it.
7.9k words / Masterlist
The crowd was deafening. Cheers, chants, and the rhythmic pounding of drums thundered through the air as you stepped onto the flatbed truck for the drivers' parade. Flags waved like wildfire, and fans pressed up against the barricades, screaming your name with faces painted in your colours. You gave them a wave, heart thudding not from nerves, not exactly.
The season wasnât just heating up⌠it was boiling over.
Roughly a third of the way through the calendar, the championship fight had already narrowed to two names. Yours and Max Verstappenâs. The sportâs fiercest rivalry in years was dominating headlines, youâd traded podiums and paintwork, elbows out at every corner, and now, as you glanced across the flatbed and spotted Max surrounded by cameras your stomach twisted.
This wasnât just about racing anymore.
The rivalry had been brewing for years and had in turn become infamous "the clash of titans," they called it. A new golden age of Formula 1. The media couldnât get enough of the drama: two elite drivers, one championship, and absolutely no love lost. But they didnât know the full story.
Because the truth was, your battle with Max wasnât only happening on the track.
You were hiding something. Something big. And if Max, or anyone, found out⌠you werenât sure youâd even make it to the final race, let alone walk away with the title.
You shifted your weight, careful not to wince. The pain had become familiar, a dull hum beneath your skin, a reminder with every breath that you were running out of time.
Max was only a few feet away now, stepping up onto the flatbed at the last second with his usual casual confidence. His race suit hung open at the neck, fireproofs damp with sweat already, and yet he looked unbothered, cool, collected, irritatingly calm.
As much as you sometimes hated to admit it, youâd always respected him.
âReady for another close one,â he said, flashing you that infuriatingly smug smile, âor are you finally going to give me a little room today?â
You raised an eyebrow, already steeling yourself for the mental game he always played before a race.
âRoom? I didnât realise this was bumper cars Verstappen. Keep pushing me like you did last week and Iâll send you into the gravel.â
Max chuckled, the sound surprisingly light. âWouldnât be the first time someoneâs tried. But we both know youâre going to be glued to my rear wing for half the race, just like usual.â
A twinge of frustration flared in your chest. Max knew how to get under your skin. His self-assuredness, his relentless confidence, it felt like he was mocking you, but that wasnât what really stung.
What hurt was that he was probably right. You were slipping. You could feel it, the sharpness in your driving dulled by something you couldnât control. The exhaustion was creeping in, and the physical pain was harder to ignore with each race. You knew you were hiding it well enough from the cameras, the media, even your team, but for how much longer?
âYeah, well,â you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, âdonât get too comfortable up front. You wonât see me coming.â
Max studied you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. There was something indecipherable in his expression, a flicker of curiosity or concern, but it was gone before you could pin it down. He shrugged and gave a nod.
âWeâll see.â
As he turned away, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Max didnât know. No one did. You still had time to figure things out, time to win this race, this championship, before everything came crashing down.
The race had been brutal.
Maxâs Red Bull stayed just barely ahead, the gap flickering between eight-tenths and half a second, a cruel reminder of how close you were, and how far. Every time you lunged, he countered. Every time you found grip, he found more, but as the final laps closed in, it wasnât the tires or the fuel or even Max that started to wear you down.
It was your own body.
The first flare of pain hit you under braking at Turn 6 a stabbing bolt in your ribs that nearly made you lift. You ground your teeth, forced your foot down harder, trying to drive through it. But it didnât go away. It spread. Fast. Each breath felt like knives slicing through your chest, stealing oxygen, focus, control.
Your hands clenched the wheel in a death grip, sweat slicking your gloves, vision starting to grey at the edges. You were spiraling.
Not now. Not here.
You clenched your jaw, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Youâd been fighting this for too long. Too many sleepless nights, too many doctorâs visits in secret. The diagnosis had been a shock, a harsh reminder of how even the strongest athletes could be brought down by something they couldnât control.
Chronic pain, theyâd said. Something to manage, not to fix. And no one could know, not your team, not the press, and certainly not your rivals. If they did, it would be seen as weakness.
Weakness wasnât an option.
âCome on, come on,â you muttered, the corners felt tighter, your vision slightly blurred at the edges, but you couldnât afford to back off. Not now.
Max was just ahead, his rear wing taunting you down the straight. You pushed harder. Too hard.
On the second-to-last lap, you misjudged the corner. A split-second of lost focus, and your tires hit the curb too hard, sending the car into a brief spin. By the time you regained control, Max was already crossing the finish line.
The race was over.
Max had won.
The car coasted to a stop, and all you could do was sit there, helmet still on, pulse thudding in your ears, pain radiating like a siren call through your ribcage.
Youâd lost. You slammed your fist into the steering wheel, the pain in your ribs now radiating with every breath. It wasnât just the defeat. It was the knowledge that you werenât at your best. That you might never be again.
As you climbed out of the car, you could feel the weight of disappointment settle over you like a cloud. The team surrounded you, offering words of comfort and encouragement, but none of it really sank in. Your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the fear that had been growing in the back of your mind for months.
Max approached, still wearing his helmet but with a glint of triumph in his eyes. He pulled it off, sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead, and gave you a nod.
âHell of a race,â he said.
You forced a smile. âYeah. You got me this time.â
âThis time?â He raised an eyebrow, his usual teasing tone creeping back. âIâve been getting you quite a bit lately.â
You laughed, but it came out more like a cough. âDonât get used to it.â
Maxâs gaze lingered on you, more intense now. His eyes flickered down to your waist, where youâd been subconsciously holding your side. You quickly dropped your hand, straightening up.
âYou alright?â he asked, his voice lower now, a little less casual.
âYeah, just⌠just tired,â you lied, trying to sound convincing. âLong race. Long seasonâ
Max didnât say anything for a moment, then he shrugged, a small smile returning to his face. âRight, well, rest up.â
But the way he looked at you, you knew he didnât entirely believe your answer.
The following weeks were grueling. Training sessions were harder than theyâd ever been, your body refusing to cooperate despite your best efforts. Every stretch, every weight rep, every sim session pushed you closer to the edge. What used to be routine now felt like punishment your body refusing to respond, refusing to bend without protest.
You spent more time in physiotherapy and doctor's offices than you did on the track, always in secret, always through back doors, under fake names on appointment logs, always careful to keep up the facade of strength. You couldnât afford questions. Couldnât afford whispers.
But the cracks were showing. And Max⌠Max was noticing.
At first, it was nothing, just the way he watched you more closely during press events, his eyes narrowing whenever you winced or shifted uncomfortably. The casual questions about your health, disguised as jokes. You tried to brush it off, deflecting with humor, but Max wasnât stupid. He was as sharp off the track as he was on it. He saw patterns. He felt when something was off. And now, you were off and he was tracking it like telemetry data.
âLose a fight with your seat insert?â heâd ask when you sat down a little too slowly.
You brushed it off every time. âJust sore from carrying the team,â youâd quip. But his eyes would flick to your side, or your hand when it rubbed a phantom ache across your ribs, and he didnât laugh like he used to.
One evening, after a particularly brutal qualifying session where youâd barely managed to secure P7, Max found you behind the hospitality motorhomes, still in your race suit, half hunched over with one hand braced on a railing, trying to catch your breath without drawing attention. You straightened when you heard his footsteps, but it was too late.
âYouâre not okay,â he said bluntly, his usual playful tone absent.
You blinked, surprised by his directness. âWhat are you talking about? Iâm fine.â
Max crossed his arms, his expression hardening. âNo, youâre not. Iâve seen you, the way youâve been moving, the way youâve been driving. Somethingâs off.â
âIâm just tired Max, itâs been a long day,â you sighed, trying your best to divert the conversation, but Max wasnât having it.
âCut the crap. This isnât tired. This is different. Youâre hurtingâ he said, his voice firm. âWhatâs going on with you?â
You hesitated. No one had pushed this far before, not even your team. The truth burned on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say it. Just once. To let someone else hold the weight of it, even for a second. But then you saw the season flash in your mind, what youâd risk, what youâd lose if it all came crashing down.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you lied, turning to walk away.
Max grabbed your arm, not hard, but enough to make you stop. âYou can trust me, you know,â he said quietly, his voice softer now. âIf somethingâs wrongâŚâ
His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you almost caved. Almost.
But then you remembered what was at stake. Your career. The championship. Everything.
You pulled your arm away. âIâm fine Max. Let it go.â
Max looked at you for a long time, his eyes searching yours. But eventually, he nodded, stepping back. âAlright. For now.â
You turned and walked away, but the pit in your stomach only grew, because Max was getting closer to the truth, and you werenât sure how much longer you could keep running from it.
The race in Monza was supposed to be your redemption. After a brilliant quali this was a chance to prove you still had what it took to win, to show Max and everyone else that you werenât done yet. That the whispers, the doubts, the endless speculation about your decline were nothing but noise, but it quickly became clear that your body had other plans.
The pain was worse than ever, radiating from deep within your chest and flaring through your ribs every time you hit a kerb or took a high-speed corner. You gritted your teeth and kept pushing, but by lap thirty your arms were trembling. Sweat clung to your skin beneath the race suit, and your hands shook as you tried to keep a steady grip on the wheel.
Max was behind you, closing in. Not just with raw pace but with that ruthless, unrelenting pressure he was known for. He was waiting for a mistake.
Your vision began to blur somewhere around lap forty. It took everything just to stay on the racing line, and then suddenly the rear snapped. The car spun. Your world whipped around in a blur of colours and screeching tires before the impact came, jarring your entire body and sending pain lancing through your ribs like a knife. The barrier caught you hard on the left side. The engine cut out and smoke billowed. Your hands were trembling as you ripped off your gloves and undid the harness.
As you sat in the wreckage of your car, the pain in your chest now unbearable, you couldnât help but feel the crushing weight of defeat. It wasnât just the end of the race. It was the end of the illusion. You werenât okay. And no amount of pride or stubbornness could mask it anymore.
You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. This wasnât the place to break down. Not here, not now.
By the time the medical car got you out, you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You waved off their questions, said you were fine, but you werenât even sure what fine meant anymore.
The walk back to the paddock felt longer than the entire race weekend. Your helmet dangled from one hand, your other pressed tightly against your ribs beneath the suit. But later as you walked back through the paddock Max was already there, he was leaning against a stack of crates just outside the Red Bull motorhome, arms crossed, cap pulled low, but when he spotted you, he straightened immediately. His expression shifted the moment your eyes met
You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, one hand reaching for your arm, the other hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasnât sure where it wouldnât hurt.
âCome with me,â he said under his breath, glancing around.
Before you could argue, he was already steering you gently but firmly into a quiet corner away from curious eyes.
âWhat the hell were you thinking?â he asked, voice sharp with worry. âYou shouldâve pulled into the pits. You could barely hold the car straight by the end.â
You opened your mouth, tried to say something, anything, but no excuse felt good enough. So you said the only thing you could.
âI didnât want to stop.â
Max ran a hand through his hair, pacing half a step away before turning back to you.
âYouâre done hiding this,â he said firmly, stepping closer. âWhatever it is, Iâm not letting you keep it to yourself anymore.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didnât come. Instead, you just stood there, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up to you.
Max looked at you for a long moment, then took another step closer. âYou can barely stand,â he muttered. âJesus, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in how you were driving, you never make mistakes like that.â
âIâm fine, this is none of you business Maxâ you tried, but the words were weak, barely more than a whisper. They sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
âNo. Youâre not,â he snapped, louder this time. âYouâre not fine. You couldâve been seriously hurt. Or worse, do you not get that? You put the car in the wall going 200 mph and then walked back here like nothing happened, like you didnât just scare the hell out of meââ His voice caught, and for a moment, it was like the weight of what he wasnât saying hung between you. âDo you even understand how close that was?â
âI didnât meanââ you started, but he cut you off with a frustrated breath.
âYou didnât mean to? Thatâs not good enough,â he said, voice sharp with emotion. âYou drove knowing you werenât okay. You risked your life because what? You didnât want anyone to know youâre hurt?â
He exhaled hard, stepping back like he needed to breathe or else he might say something he couldnât take back.
âI thought I was going to see you being pulled out of that car unconscious,â he said, his voice low now, broken at the edges.
You stared at him, your own throat tight, unsure what to say.
His expression softened, as his hand came up, hesitated, then landed gently on your shoulder. Warm. Steady. âCome on, letâs get out of here.â He watched your eyes flicker, like you were on the edge of bolting, and his voice dipped, almost pleading. âPlease.â
For the first time in a long time, you didnât argue.
It was late that night when you finally told him. You sat together in the shadows, tucked in a forgotten corner behind your hospitality unit, your back against the cool metal wall, your legs stretched out.
Max still hadnât left your side. Not after the crash. Not after the walk back. Not even after you tried to brush him off the fifth time with a tired excuse.
He just stayed.
And maybe thatâs why the words finally came.
Of all the people you could tell, Max Verstappen probably wasnât the smartest choice. He was your fiercest rival. The one person youâd spent the better part of your career trying to beat, trying to outdrive, outlast, outdo in every possible way. You had a whole history of near-misses and podium scuffles and tension thick enough to choke on. So why him?
You should tell your physio. Your team principal. Your family. Your press officer even. Anyone but Max.
But instead here you were, in a dark corner of Monza, unloading your deepest vulnerability to the one man whoâd spent the year trying to beat you.
And yet⌠something about it felt right.
Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not with pity, not even surprise, but understanding. Quiet and real and grounding. Like he got it, in some strange way. Like there was some unspoken language between you, forged through years of competition and split-second decisions and shared silence in the paddock long after the fans went home.
You hated how easy it felt with him.
And God, that scared you.
Because you didnât want to need anyone, especially not Max, with his impossible standards and his cutting sarcasm and the kind of intensity that could burn through stone. Youâd built entire walls around yourself to survive in this sport, and Max Verstappen was one of the only people who had ever seen behind them.
âWhy are you even here, Max?â you asked before you could stop yourself. âYou didnât have to stay.â
He turned to you, eyes meeting yours in the dark. âYeah,â he said simply, âI did.â
And damn it, there it was again, that thing. That something between you that neither of you ever named, never acknowledged, but always felt. It lingered in the way you pushed each other harder than anyone else. In the way he always found your eyes on the grid. In the way you could never quite root against him, no matter how badly you wanted to beat him.
âI have chronic pain,â you admitted, your voice small, barely audible over the distant hum of a generator. âIt started last year. Nothing major at first, twinges, tightness⌠easy to write off, but it got worse this season. Iâve been hiding it, trying to push through, but⌠itâs not working anymore.â
Max didnât speak. He turned slightly to face you, legs bent at the knees, arms resting loosely on them. He didnât rush you, he just listened quietly, his usual brashness gone, didnât interrupt, didnât ask questions, he just let you talk.
âIâve been hiding it from everyone. From my team. From you. Iâve been managing it or trying to, physio, meds. I thought I could push through, like always. Just grit my teeth and keep racing. I thought for a while maybe it was all in my headâ You let out a hollow laugh. âItâs not.â
Maxâs jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.
âI didnât want anyone to know. If the team found out, theyâd pull me. If the media knew, theyâd crucify me. And you⌠I didnât want you to think I was weak.â
Thatâs when he finally spoke.
Max frowned at that, shaking his head. âWeak? Youâve been racing like this all year and you think that makes you weak?â
You laughed bitterly. âI havenât won in months, Max. I can barely finish a race without screwing up. I put it in the wall today. Thatâs not strength. Thatâs pathetic.â
Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the night sky. âYouâre not weak,â he said after a long pause. âYou shouldnât have been in the car today. Hell, you shouldnât have been in the car for the last few races. Youâre stubborn as hell, but not weak.â
You let out a breath. Your whole body ached. Not just from the crash, but from months of pretending.
Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, glancing up like he was searching for the right words. âYouâre not weak,â he said again, softer this time. âYouâre just tired. And in pain. Thatâs not the same thing. Youâve been shouldering something most people wouldnât even start a race with. And you kept going. Alone. Thatâs not weakness. Thatâs something else entirelyâ
You looked away, jaw tight, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. It was one thing to admit it. It was another to have someone see it.
Max moved closer âYou shouldâve told me... or someone at least.â
âI didnât know how,â you whispered. âI didnât want to make it real. Saying it out loud makes it feel like it wins.â
He shook his head. âNo. Saying it out loud means youâre still fighting. And you donât have to do it alone anymore.â
You smiled, a small, grateful smile, but it didnât last long.
âSo whatâs the plan?â He asked.
You blinked. âThe⌠what?â
He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the way his eyes locked onto yours. âYou said itâs getting worse. You canât keep racing like this. So whatâs next?â
You looked down, chewing on the inside of your cheek. âI donât know. I havenât figured that part out yet.â
âThen letâs figure it out,â he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You shook your head. âMax, this isnât your problem.â
âYou think I waited for you after every race, checked in between flights, watched you limp through interviews because I was just being nice?â
You looked up, and he was right there, eyes blazing.
âI care about you, and you trusted me enough to tell me,â he said, softer now, like it hurt to say it too loud. âThat means this is my problem. Whether you like it or not.â
Your throat tightened. âItâs not that I donât want you here Max. Itâs just⌠Iâve been carrying this for so long, I donât know how to let someone else in.â
He gave a small, almost sad smile. âThen start with me.â
You hesitated. âEven if the plan means stepping back? Even if it means disappearing from the grid for a while?â
âNone of that matters,â he said. âWhat matters is that youâre okay. That youâre healing. That youâre not destroying yourself just to prove you belong, because you already do."
You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. He was right, of course. Youâd been fighting this battle on your own for too long, and it was killing you. But asking for help⌠it still felt like admitting defeat.
Max was quiet for a moment, then he looked at you, his expression serious. âYou need help. Real help. You canât do this alone anymore. Taking time for yourself doesnât make you weak either, please believe that.â
You let out a shaky laugh, blinking back tears. âYou make it sound easy.â
âItâs not,â he admitted. âBut Iâll be there, every step of the way. If you let me.â
âBut if I stop nowâŚâ you whispered, ââŚitâs over isnât it? I stop, and theyâll replace me. And even if I get better⌠what if I donât get the chance to come back?â
Max shook his head. âNo, itâs not. You take the time to get better, to figure out what you need to do. And when⌠when not if you come back⌠youâll be stronger.â
You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For all the years of rivalry, the banter, the competition, you hadnât expected this.
You let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. âYou really think Iâll get the chance?â
âI think youâre one of the best drivers on the grid,â he said, without hesitation. âAnd I think anyone whoâs seen you drive knows that. This isnât the end. Not if you donât let it be.â
You dropped your gaze to your hands, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you'd just given him. âYou know this changes things right? You knowing.â
âI know,â he said. âBut not in the way you think.â
You looked up at him again.
âIâm not gonna see you as anything less because of this,â he said firmly. âIf anything, I respect you even more⌠if thatâs possible. Even if I hate that you didnât tell anyone sooner.â
âYou could use this against me, you know,â you said quietly. âIf you tell anyoneâŚâ
Max met your gaze, his blue eyes steady. âI wonât.â
You raised an eyebrow. âYou wonât?â
Max shrugged. âIâm competitive, not cruel. If Iâm going to beat you, I want to beat you at your best.â
You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of deception, but there was none. He was being honest.
For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe you didnât have to fight this alone anymore.
âThank you,â you said finally.
He gave you a small nod, then reached over and nudged your knee with his own. You rolled your eyes, but you didnât stop smiling. Not this time.
The decision to step back wasnât easy.
It didnât happen in one dramatic moment. It was a slow, aching acceptance, drawn out over sleepless nights, quiet tears in hotel bathrooms, and the gnawing worry for the future that refused to be silenced. It took soul-searching. And honesty, the brutal kind. With yourself. With your team. And, surprisingly, with Max.
Somehow, over the course of the ordeal, Max had become your anchor. The rivalry that once defined your relationship had softened, twisted into something far more complicated. He listened without judgment, pushed when you needed it, and called you out when you tried to pretend you were still invincible.
âI think youâre brave enough to admit it,â heâd said one night, âand I think youâre strong enough to come back.â
That stuck with you.
So when the decision was finally made, it wasnât with fireworks or fanfare. Just a quiet nod to yourself, a shaky breath, and the understanding that sometimes stepping away took more courage than staying in the fight.
You announced it publicly just before the next race weekend, standing in front of a press room full of cameras and microphones that never seemed to miss a tremor in your voice. You told them a half truth, the version of it you were ready to share.
You needed time. Time to heal. Time to breathe. Time to come back stronger.
The media response was predictable. Headlines spun into chaos. Speculation ran rampant. Some questioned your drive. Others called you finished. They debated what was âreallyâ wrong, but through it all, Max stayed silent.
Not once did he give the press a quote. Not once did he betray what he knew. Even when reporters tried to bait him, digging for scraps of scandal or sympathy, he deflected effortlessly changing the subject, shutting it down with a single look.
Youâd never been more grateful.
As the weeks turned into months, you watched the races from the sidelines. At first, it felt like slow torture. Your body rested, yes, but your heart ached. Frustrated because every fiber of your being missed the track, the competition, the sheer thrill of racing. And yet, there was relief too, quiet and unfamiliar. You were no longer holding yourself together with adrenaline and fear. For the first time in ages you were breathing without pretending.
Max of course continued to dominate the championship. Beneath the cold stats and glowing headlines, there were moments that didnât make it into the press, moments that were just for you. Heâd call or text, checking in, making sure you were doing okay.
Heâd text after qualifying, sometimes just a one-liner:
Trackâs a mess. U wouldâve hated it.
A call between flights, memes sent at 2AM with no context, only to be followed by a simple you okay? And sometimes no words at all, just a photo of the garage, or the view from his balcony, or his cat curled up on a travel bag, like he was reminding you that life was still moving and you were still part of it.
He didnât ask invasive questions, he never pushed, but he always checked in. Subtly. Consistently. Like clockwork. Like he was making sure the world hadnât swallowed you whole while he was out there conquering it.
It was strange, at first, getting used to the version of Max who wasnât trying to out-qualify you or bait you in press conferences. This Max was⌠patient. Steady. A little sarcastic still, the texts always came with a dose of dry humour, but there was warmth beneath it, a quiet sort of care.
And you found yourself replying more than you expected, telling him small things. That your shoulder finally didnât ache when you lifted your arm. That you missed the smell of burning rubber. That youâd accidentally called your physio by your engineers name out of habit. That you'd tried your first ever Red Bull drink and hated it much to his chagrin.
The friendship that formed was easy in ways nothing else in your life was.
It didnât demand anything of you. There was no pressure to be strong or fast or okay. With Max you didnât have to pretend, he never told you what you should be feeling, he was just there in anyway he could be, again and again, until you started to wonder what life had even looked like before he was in it this way.
One evening, late after another one of his perfectly executed wins you picked up your phone and typed out a message. You hesitated before pressing send, unsure why you felt nervous. Maybe it was because lately your heart beat faster than it used to when you saw his name light up your screen. Maybe because this was all still new, this version of you, this version of him, this version of you and him.
Because youâd spent your whole career learning how to stand alone. How to keep everyone at armâs length. Rivals were rivals. Friends were rare. And Max⌠well Max had never fit neatly into either box.
Congrats on the win. Just donât get too used to it alright? Iâll be back soon.
You hovered over the send button for a second longer, wondering if heâd see through it. If heâd hear what you werenât saying.
I miss it.
I miss you.
I donât know what this is, but itâs starting to matter.
The reply came almost instantly.
Looking forward to it. But seriously take your time. Weâll settle this on the track when youâre ready.
There were no fireworks in the message. No confessions, no overreaching sentiment.
But it meant more than he probably knew.
You leaned back on the couch, phone still in your hand, the hum of the television playing highlights in the background. For the first time in months, you felt something like peace settle over you.
You didnât know when youâd be back. Or if youâd ever be exactly the same driver you were before, but you didnât feel alone anymore.
The new year and the new season came around quick, and finally after what felt like a lifetime of recovery, rehab, and soul-searching, you were ready to return to the grid.
It wasnât easy. It never would be.
The pain hadnât vanished. Some days were better than others, but you knew by now that it would always be there, lingering under the surface like a shadow. What had changed was how you dealt with it. Youâd learned to listen to your body, to recognise the difference between pushing your limits and hurting yourself.
Telling your team hadnât been easy either. There were long, uncomfortable meetings behind closed doors, doctorsâ reports and second opinions, legal clauses and moral dilemmas. Everyone had the same questions: Was it safe? Were you sure? Could you handle it if it went wrong again?
You didnât pretend it was foolproof. There were no guarantees in motorsport but there never has been. You looked them all in the eye and told the truth, you were ready, and more importantly you promised that if it ever got too much again, youâd say something. No more silence. No more hiding.
What surprised you most was that they said yes. That they took the risk on you. And somewhere in the mess of nerves and determination, that gave you a quiet sort of strength.
By the time race week rolled around, your nerves were frayed and your heart was racing before you even set foot in the paddock. But the second you did, something clicked. The smells, the sounds, the adrenaline in the air it all came rushing back.
And then there was Max.
He was one of the first people to spot you as you walked through the paddock gates, your jacket tied around your waist, race bag slung over your shoulder. He made a beeline towards you grinning like a kid.
âAbout time you showed up,â he said, his usual cocky tone back in full force.
You rolled your eyes. âMiss me that much Verstappen?â
He stopped in front of you, eyes glinting. âMaybe. Or maybe I just got bored winning without any real competition.â
âCareful,â you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, âyouâre starting to sound sentimental.â
He grinned. âDonât get used to it. Iâve got a reputation to uphold.â
But then, softer, barely audible beneath the bravado he added, âItâs good to see you back.â
You looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. But it did. It always did now.
The race that day was one of the hardest of your career. Every lap was a war between muscle memory and the cautious voice in your head. Every corner was a test of discipline, control, trust in your body. And when you crossed the finish line just behind Max you didnât care that it wasnât a win. You didnât care that your suit was soaked with sweat. Youâd made it. Youâd done it.
You were back.
As you climbed out of the car, your chest heaving, Max was already striding toward you. He didnât wait for the cameras to move. Didnât play it cool. He pulled off his helmet, a wide grin stretched across his face and pulled you into a crushing hug.
âNot bad for your first race back,â he said, cheeks flushed, eyes alive with adrenaline, âbut next time I expect you to give me a real challenge.â
You shot him a look, wiping the sweat from your brow. âOh, donât worry,â you said, breathless but smiling. âI will.â
The weeks following your return were a whirlwind, races, press conferences, back-to-back simulator sessions, long nights with your physio, and an endless stream of media narratives. They called it the comeback of the season, painted you as the fighter, the underdog, the miracle story. But you knew the truth.
It was hard. Every lap still demanded more from you than it ever had before. And the only constant, familiar and infuriating, was Max.
The rivalry between you had never been sharper. He didnât go easy on you. If anything, he pushed harder, drove aggressively when you were in his mirrors, blocked with precision that made you curse into your radio. But even through the heat of battle, there was something else brewing.
It was in the way he waited for you after races now. The way his calls came after rough weekends without needing an explanation. It was in the long glances across the paddock. The casual shoulder bumps that held just a little too long. The way you both kept pretending it was nothing, even when it clearly wasnât.
Max had always been your toughest competitor, but now⌠now, he was something more. He wasnât just the guy pushing you on the track. He was the one who had stood by you when things had fallen apart. He had seen you at your worst and hadnât walked away. He was the one who knew how bad your ribs hurt when the track leaned right. The one whoâd stayed the night when you cried after a brutal practice in Singapore. The one who never once told you to be stronger, he just reminded you that you already were.
A late evening, after a draining Friday practice session, you found yourself next to him on a concrete wall in the far end of the paddock, away from everyone you sat shoulder to shoulder. The track was silent now. The stars were barely visible, but the moon hung low and bright, casting long silver shadows over the empty circuit.
âYou ever think about how weird this is?â he asked.
You looked over at him, brow raised. âWhatâs weird?â
He gestured vaguely between the two of you. âThis. Us. Sitting here. Talking. Not trying to rip each otherâs heads off. You didnât even call me a smug bastard today. Iâm starting to worry.â
You chuckled, shaking your head. âYeah it is a little strange. Guess weâve come a long way.â
âSeriously though,â he said, his smile fading into something quieter, more sincere, âI never expected this.â
You tilted your head. âExpected what?â
âThis... us. Iâve always kept people at armâs length. Easier that way, you know? Just focus on racing. Keep everything else out.â
You swallowed, something catching in your throat. âWell, to be fair you were kind of an asshole when we first met.â
He let out a soft laugh, the sound light but a little sad. âI still am sometimes.â
He looked at you again, longer this time, the silence stretched on, not awkward, but heavy
âI think about it sometimes,â he murmured. âIf things were different. If we werenât in this job... or if we didnât have to pretend...â
âDo you?â you asked, barely above a whisper. âPretend?â
He hesitated for a heartbeat too long. âEvery day.â
The air between you crackled. Your hand was resting next to his on the wall, your pinkies brushing lightly, and neither of you moved away. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.
âMaxâŚâ you began, not sure if it was safe to say what had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for weeks.
âAnyway,â he said, standing and stretching, slowly as if reluctant to break the moment. âWeâve got a race tomorrow better get some sleep.â
And as he turned to leave, his hand brushed against yours, deliberately this time and he let it linger just long enough to send your pulse racing.
You watched him disappear down the paddock, your heart a tangle of adrenaline, but this time it didnât feel like an open ending. It felt like the beginning of something that had been slowly building, quietly, stubbornly, undeniably and now, finally, it was starting to take shape.
Your first win of the season felt like a dream. The chequered flag waved, the crowd roared, and for a moment, the entire world blurred into a rush of relief and triumph.
Youâd done it. Youâd won again.
You didnât even get your helmet off before Max was there, grinning like he hadnât just spent seventy laps trying to ruin your life.
âYou actually made me work for that one.â
You pulled off your helmet, shaking out your hair, heart still pounding from the final laps. âAdmit it you were sweating.â
âOh, I was sweating,â he said, stepping closer. âJust not only because of the race.â
Your brows lifted, a smirk tugging at your lips. âWow. Bold move, Verstappen you flirting with me now?â
He shrugged, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second too long. âBeen doing that for a while. Youâre just slow.â
You let out a breathy laugh, half exhausted and half completely wrecked by the way he was looking at you, like you were the finish line and heâd been chasing you all season.
Later you stood on the top step of the podium, champagne dripping down your fireproofs, heart pounding as the anthem played. And right next to you, among the flashes of cameras you caught Max looking at you. Not with envy. Not with rivalry.
With something else entirely.
Pride. Awe. Maybe even something dangerously close to love.
You thought that was it. The end of a perfect day, but long after the night fell silent there was a knock at your hotel door.
You opened it to find Max standing there. Freshly showered, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped over a Redline t-shirt, eyes impossibly blue in the hallway light.
He didnât say anything at first. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, gaze flickering from your face to your bare feet, then back up.
âYou gonna invite me in?â he asked eventually, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips.
You stepped aside, pulse quickening as he walked in.
The room was quiet. You were still in the oversized team tee you wore to bed, the one that fell to your thighs and smelled faintly of fuel and champagne.
âYou okay?â you asked, closing the door gently behind him.
He nodded. âYeah just... couldnât sleep.â
You tilted your head. âYou? The king of sleeping through debriefs?â
He gave you a look. âThat was one time.â
You smirked, walking over to the small kitchenette to grab a bottle of water, needing something to do with your hands. âSo whatâs really going on?â
Max didnât answer right away. He moved toward the window, looking out over the glittering city lights, his arms crossed over his chest. âIâve been trying to figure out what the hell to say to you for weeks,â he said finally.
You froze, the cap of the bottle halfway twisted. âYeah?â
He turned, and the look on his face was... different. Unarmored.
âYou winning today,â he said softly, âit made everything harder.â
You frowned. âHarder?â
âBecause I keep telling myself to keep this simple,â he went on, walking toward you now, slow and careful. âJust racing. Just rivalry. Just⌠whatever itâs always been between us.â
Your heart pounded louder with every word.
âBut itâs not that anymore,â he said, stopping just a few feet away from you. âHasnât been for a while.â
You swallowed hard. âSo what is it, then?â
He looked at you like he wanted to memorise every inch of your face. Like saying the next words out loud might break him open.
âI think Iâm in love with you,â he said, voice hoarse. âAnd it terrifies me.â
The air left your lungs. The words hit you like a gut punch not because they hurt, but because they were so impossibly vulnerable coming from him. For a second, you just stood there, blinking at him.
âMaxâŚâ
âI didnât come here expecting anything,â he said quickly, âI just⌠I needed to say it. Because watching you win today, watching you come back from everything and still be that fucking brilliant made me realise that if I donât say it now, I might never get the chance. When you won all I could think about was how much I wanted to be the first person you saw after you crossed that line.â
The room felt suddenly too small, the silence between you too loud.
You swallowed again. âMaxââ
âI know what youâre gonna say,â he interrupted, stepping closer. âThat itâs too complicated. That thereâs too much at stake. But you canât stand there and tell me you havenât felt it too. Donât do that to me.â
His voice cracked at the end, and it shattered something inside you.
Silence stretched, thick and fragile.
Of course you had felt it. You felt it in every late-night phone call. Every text that made your chest ache. Every glance across the garage. Every time his car sat just ahead of yours on the starting grid and you felt more pride than envy.
You stepped closer.
âI was afraid,â you admitted. âI didnât want to ruin what we already had. We worked so hard for this friendship, for trust, and wanting more felt greedy. Like it might cost me the one person who never looked away when things got ugly. You reminded me who I was when I forgot. And IâI didn't want to risk losing that. Losing you.â
He gave a breathless laugh, almost disbelieving. âYou think I could ever go back to before⌠to pretending?â
Your hand brushed against his.
He didnât pull away.
Neither did you.
âI feel it too, of course I do.â you whispered. âYou were there when everything fell apart. And you stayed.â
He reached for you then, not to kiss you, not yet, but to cradle your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently along your cheekbones.
âIâll keep staying,â he said. âAs long as youâll let me.â
And that was it.
You leaned into him, your hands gripping the front of his T-shirt, and kissed him like youâd been holding it back for far too long. It wasnât rushed. It wasnât desperate. It was deliberate. His hands found your waist, gentle at first, then firmer, like heâd been holding himself back for so long, unsure if he was allowed to want this. But now that the dam had broken, he wasnât going to pretend anymore. You kissed him like you meant it. Your lips moved with his like you already knew the rhythm, like your bodies had been waiting to catch up with what your hearts had already decided.
When you pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, he was smiling.
âSo,â he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, âdoes this mean I can stop pretending I only text you for tire strategy talk?â
You rolled your eyes, and kissed him again just to shut him up.
And just like that, the noise of the world faded, the lights outside blurred, and for the first time, your heart wasnât racing because of fear, or pressure, or pain.
It was because of him.
#max verstappen#formula 1#max verstappen x reader#f1 rpf#f1#f1 x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen masterlist#max verstappen x you#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#max verstappen fanfiction#max verstappen fic#max verstappen x y/n#f1 fanfiction#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#formula 1 x reader#forumla 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#max verstappen oneshot#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
exile



note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u
summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare
cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up
wc: 3.6k
p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!
Youâre not really sure where it went wrong.
When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one couldâve predicted heâd take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.
No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadnât seen the light of day. He didnât even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.
Because as youâre staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isnât inside the cylinder, itâs in JJâs next words.
Iâve always loved Spencer.
You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didnât know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office sheâd stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.
But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?
Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but sheâs interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.
The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.
You couldnât compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.
It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last timeânot to be dramaticâbittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he wonât remember, but one that youâll play on repeat for the rest of your life.
Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, âThank god youâre okay, are you hurt?â
You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.
âIâm fine, just a few scratches.â
He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, âOkay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.â you nod as he adds on, âIâm gonna go check on JJ, youâll be okay?â
No, no I wonât. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.
âIâm good. Go.â
He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencerâs warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJâs face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.
Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.
Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.
To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didnât need to worry so much as long as you were around.
To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.
Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.
You donât even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.
Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and sheâs already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. Youâre not really sure, itâs all water noise.
âAnderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,â
You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.
âYouâll be okay?â The second time youâve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.
No. âYeah.â
She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.
Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you, âI should go check on JJ.â
âWoman of the hour, it seems.â you chuckle under your breath.
Emily gives you that look, the conflicted âIâm sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.â look.
You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isnât that deep. For her, you think.
The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.
The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than youâd expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.
Rossiâs wedding.
The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped youâd feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.
You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time youâve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think youâre giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.
You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadnât anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems sheâs finally come to her senses.
You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once youâve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing itâs turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.
11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?
You heart the message and reply with a simple âYes.â, scrolling to the next messages.
10:09PM - JJ:Â Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ:Â Iâm sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ
You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an âItâs fine.â for the sake of having communicated your safety.
10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You couldâve told me, I would have taken you home.
Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering itâs been subjected to.
12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. Iâm home now.
A response dings through a minute later.
12:08AM - Spence: Iâll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, Iâll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding thatâs today seeing as itâs past midnight. You know what I mean.
A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how youâd miss this once he learns whatâs really happened.
12:10AM - You: Iâll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.
12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)
â
You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. Youâre wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencerâs favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.
âHey hot stuff, look at you!â Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, âYou look sooo pretty, doesnât she look so pretty?â she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.
âLike a dream.â Luke agrees.
âYeah,â Spencer clears his throat, âYou lookâŚbeautiful.â
Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses theÂ
atmosphere created and grabs Lukeâs forearm, âCome on, you owe me that dance now!â She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.
Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, âHow are you feeling?â
You know heâs asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how heâs about to become the loss of your life.
â âM fine,â you swirl your champagne glass, âYou?â
âBetter now.â
A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you donât let it travel further than that. Heâs just being nice.
âWell, Iâm just going to find the bathroom really quick.â
He holds a hand out for your glass, âHere, Iâll hold it.â
Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. Youâd feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation withâoh.
Theyâre too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that itâs the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you canât take it anymore. You couldnât stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.
Spencer feels sick. Heâs overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information heâs learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes heâs made the choice.Â
He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness youâd never heard from him. But youâve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, âWhat?â
He doesnât like that tone. âJJ told me what happened.â
You snort and donât meet his eyes, âOh, did she?â
His brows furrow, âYes, she did.â
âAnd?â
âAnd what?â
And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way heâs putting you through the ringer.
âWhat happens now, Spencer?â you exasperate, âIs this the part where you tell me we canât be friends anymore because she finally confessed?â
Confusion colors his face more, âWhy wouldnât we be friends?â
A halfway screamâgroan leaves your throat in frustration. âSpencer, come on.â
âHoney, I donât understandââ
âThat! See, you canât just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.â you exclaim with hands flailing.
âIâm really confusedââ
âBecause Iâm in love with you!â you cry, âNow do you see why?â
Time all but stills in the hallway youâve found yourselves in. You donât know how long youâve been up here. Itâs a little farther down from the stairways so thereâs no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up youâre getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks likeâŚwell, actually for once you canât decipher what heâs feeling.Â
He looks like heâs about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footstepsâJJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic youâd caught on to, before you realize heâs looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that itâs a powder room, because of course Rossiâs venue has a powder room.
Itâs a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an armâs length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldnât have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasnât even told you theyâre leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice.Â
You sniffle, âLook, it doesnât matter anymore, not that it ever did. Iâm sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJâŚI thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but Iâm not too sure now. ButâŚsheâs JJ and Iâm just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. Iâm making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know itâs not with me soââ
Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you donât feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.
âPlease donât make this harder than it is.â you whisper through soft sobs.
You donât know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feetâbut it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelopeâs sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if youâd slip away further if he let go.
He stills in place, thinking heâs overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.
Thatâs when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.
This is wrong, like so wrong. Youâre practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time youâll ever get to kiss Spencer, youâre sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.
He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.
One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of thisâamongst everything elseâfor later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.
âI love you.â
Your face drops, âThatâs not funny.â
âIâm not being funny.â
Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece ofâthe whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to youâhis heart to be fully yours is not this one. Youâve never had luck like that.
âThen youâre lying to me, and thatâs worse.â your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.
âSweetheart, Iâm not lying. I love you.â He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isnât surprising to him, itâs the note of insecurity in your tone he isnât ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you.Â
Youâre a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. Heâs wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you heâd do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.
ââŚReally?â you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. âButâŚJJ.â
His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, âThere was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,â he starts, âBut, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. Iâm here now. She knows that.â
Youâre unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe itâs more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like youâd accepted your fate of always coming second place.
Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesnât even exist, itâs only ever been you.
He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what heâs looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival youâd both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like itâs been held and comforted for many days.
âThereâs more in my apartment.â
âMovie ticket stubs?â you ask bemused.
âCommemorations of you,â his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, âI probably have something for every time weâve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.â
Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.
âHey no, youâre not supposed to cry at that.â he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.
You shake your head, âI donât think Iâve ever been loved like this.â
His heart tightens, âNo? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.â
âNo choice?â you pout.
He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, âI guess you donât have to. Just because youâre not used to it doesnât mean Iâll stop. If youâre like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.â
You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. Itâs overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesnât expect you to believe him right away, youâve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You donât know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid angst#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x fanfiction
2K notes
¡
View notes
Note
Baby gojo and daddy gojo not wanting to share mama gojođâi-
ŕż ŕż đ°ď¸ ă 06:20 P.M ă
aww this is so cute of course this is the first i worked on after getting back from my weekend break <3 and actually i have this one similar ask too so i combined yours with theirs! here's some cute blinking gojo in phantom parade and okay now let us have some crack and make gojo suffer
a part of gojo's love entries
general masterlist
âbwah!â a nudge.
âmyah!â a shove.
and thenâ
âwaaa!â a⌠slap (?) on the cheek.
âhuh?â satoru winced, touching where the babyâs palm just connected with his face, blinking rapidly. so he wasnât imagining things. this really was happening in front of his eyes.
and it was the babyâhis baby.
your giggles filled the air in response.
âhey, you,â satoru took on a very stern look and an exaggerated frown, glaring at his own son. the baby merely babbled at him innocently, blinking his wide crystal blue eyes that mirrored his. âbad, bad minion. this is a very serious issue. you shouldnât do that, you hear?â
the serious issue being each time he tried to lean closer to steal a kiss from you, your son always found a way to repel him away with his tiny hands.
you snorted at his righteous tone. âheâs just protecting me. even your kid knows youâre a danger.â
a gasp left your husbandâs shiny lips, mockingly in disbelief. âme? a danger? i make your life a heaven on earth!â
âheavâpfftââ
âi give you love, food, my bodyââ he emphasized, pointing at himself for a dramatic effect, and you threw your head back, dissolving into a fit of laughter even more, ââheck, i even give you this naughty baby!â
âwhaâno! thatâs team effort!â
âstill! and now he is staging an uprising against me?â satoru cheekily eyed his child, who was now clutching the fabric of your blouse, tiny fingers playing with the shiny diamonds of your necklaceâa gift from satoru too, actually.
âlook at him go,â he grumbled, his eyes following each little movement his son made, then dramatically yelped when the boy pawed at your breasts. âhey! no touching! those are mine!â
âplease.â you almost choked on your laugh. your silly husband always had a way to make things sound funnier than they actually were, and that was what made you fall in love with him more each day, really. âthe milk is his!â
âhe can have the cowâs! and more importantly, itâs thanks to me that youâre so milkyââ
âsatoru! youâre so uncouth i canâtâ!â
âsee? youâre laughing so much! this proves enough that i make you happy every day!â
later that night, after you put your baby to sleep in his crib, satoru gently poked his cheek, his expression tender despite his pursed lips. âhe is out like a lightâŚâ
satoru might whine a lot, but ultimately, you couldnât miss the look of adoration and fondness that made him the father of your child. even without saying it out loud, you knew that he would willingly put everything aside and sacrifice anythingâfirst of all, himselfâif it was meant for his dearest, most precious treasure.
knowing he'd do the same for you only served to melt your heart even more. and you felt fullâso full, in fact, with warmth and love and anything that was soft.
you really do love him, donât you?
âlook at him, heâs like a shrimp,â your husband pointed out, still gazing at his baby in wonder as he kept poking and prodding at the chonky rolls of his little arms, and you thought, nothing could have been more precious than this.
âsatoru.â
âyeah?â he turned instantly at the sound of his name, but before he could react furtherâ
you stood on your tiptoes and planted a swift smooch on his cheek, putting the overflowing love you held for him in it. âmwah!â
ââŚ?!â
for the next three seconds, satoru malfunctioned. the brush of your sweet lips on his cheek was so innocent that he was rendered speechless. heat steadily gathered on his face, turning him pink despite himself.
âyouâŚâ he groaned, collecting himself, a dopey smile was quickly plastered on his face to cover up his setback as you burst into hearty laughter. ânow youâve started itâŚâ and then he latched on you with a glint of a joker, launching a full-blown tickle attack.
âaâah! why?! satoru! ahahahaha!â
. . .
safe to say, your wheezes effectively awoke your son from his slumber, and as a bit of payback, you left satoru in the dust to deal with the crying baby, both of them whimpering in unison since he had absolutely no clue how to comfort the little one.
#đđđŁđ đđđĄđđđđ #gojo satoru x reader#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#jjk x you#gojo x reader#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo x you#gojo#gojo fluff#gojo satoru imagines#jjk fluff#gojo satoru fluff#dad!gojo#satoru gojo fluff#jjk gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jutusu kaisen x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo
10K notes
¡
View notes
Text
SHEâS MINE | 00
CATCH ME, IâVE FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.
synopsis â thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.
genre â fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, chaotic fluff, smut
pairing â ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader
warnings â mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isnât related to anything that happens in this series
word count â 798
authorâs note â YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and iâve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!
prev. | next
SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed âdream lifeâ that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those rĂŠsumĂŠ worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.
He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the showâs host. At least he was sticking to the script⌠for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you.Â
Itâs not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right.Â
âI mean of course I have to thank my team,â Kenâs voice cut through your train of thought. âIt was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.â
Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldnât have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, heâd been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act upâŚ
âŚUntil he didnât. Nothing couldâve prepared you for what was about to happen next.Â
âNow I donât want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,â The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. âAny special someone back home?âÂ
Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. âCheeky question,â He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. âWhat if there was?âÂ
âWell, is there?â The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. âI mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know moreâŚâÂ
âYeah? And if I said yes, then what?â He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining.Â
The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didnât anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up.Â
âI mean only time will tell, yeah?â The host replied, leaning back in his seat. âCâmon Ken, itâs not nice to keep secrets.â
Ken mimicked the hostâs moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours.Â
He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.
âYeah, yeah I do.â He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. âAnd sheâs the best damn thing in my life right now.â
reyalvr Š 2024 ⌠do not repost, alter, or steal my work.
#â maxiâs works#ultraman#ultraman: rising#ken sato#kenji sato#ken sato x you#kenji sato x you#ultraman x reader#ken sato x reader#kenji sato x reader#ken sato fluff#kenji sato smut#kenji sato fluff#ken sato smut#fake dating#fake marriage#fluff#smut
5K notes
¡
View notes
Text
I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)
Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3
âJust one more game, babe, donât be a buzzkill. I donât want to end at a loss.â You didnât want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasnât much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didnât want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.Â
You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched â really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.Â
You also watched him play â and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.Â
So, like a good girlfriend would â you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college â you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.Â
â Iâll find something to eat, alright?Â
He didnât respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal â not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.Â
â Nah, stay here. I donât want my father to see you.Â
â AhâŚyour father is at home?Â
You never heard anyone else being at the house â big house, you must admit, and itâs embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didnât know what his fatherâs name was.Â
â Returned from his fucking deployment. Heâd ask too many questions about you.Â
â You didnât tell him about me?Â
Ah, now youâre hurt a little bit. You knew it wasnât anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.Â
â He never asked. Not like he cares too much, butâŚ
An apathetic dad, huh.Â
You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriendâs horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.Â
â If you donât want me to come and meet him, I can go home.Â
He doesnât answer because his queue is finally coming to another match â you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.Â
You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.Â
*** Now, the only thing KĂśnig wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away â and now he canât even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.Â
KĂśnig closes the door of the refrigerator â of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house â a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.Â
With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge â and then he almost stumbles across an angel.Â
Scheisse
Now, KĂśnig never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young â his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, butâŚ
The thing is â he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.Â
You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, Youâre dressed up for a cute coffee date, and KĂśnig has to double check if he isnât dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.Â
â Oh! Sorry. Itâs yours, isnât it?Â
You give him his cookies back â but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue â god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants arenât enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasnât seen a woman in three months and hasnât had sex in the past few years.Â
You lick the crumbs from your fingers â itâs such a deliberate action that he canât believe he actually sees it, and itâs not even something from porn he used to like.Â
â Ja. You can have it.Â
He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.Â
â Thank you, sir. IâmâŚwell, I assume if Paul didnât introduce me to youâŚIâm his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.Â
You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest â but he canât be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.Â
Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.Â
â Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.Â
You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile â too real. He canât handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so youâd stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.Â
He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.Â
â Ah. Um. WeâreâŚI guess weâre not at this stage yet.Â
â Knowing him, youâll never be, Schatz.Â
You look at him immediately â youâre offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar â and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.Â
â What do you mean by this, sir?Â
You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes â and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.Â
Now, KĂśnig never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys â and in the romantic field, itâs even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being â and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.Â
He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing â a good girl wonât be with his son if she isnât stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.Â
The thing is, KĂśnig is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone â he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until youâre crying under him. He canât do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, butâŚwell, quite frankly, his son doesnât deserve you.Â
KĂśnig is.Â
â I wonât sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a ScheiĂ ArschlochâŚfucking asshole, that is. Iâm surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.Â
You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paulâs dad is aâŚinteresting man.Â
Tall, broad, very muscular â even his baggy house clothes arenât really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because youâre a good girl, you donât look at your boyfriendâs dad like this.Â
KĂśnig has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman â your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your âdateâ while youâre lusting over his father.Â
Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.Â
â Paul isnât all that bad, sir.Â
âHe at least has a nice dick,â you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong â if he werenât sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from pornâŚnot really your thing.Â
You look at KĂśnig and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.Â
KĂśnig catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.Â
God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably wonât take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.Â
He can afford to retire and never worry about money again â but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?Â
You look like a good candidate.Â
â Iâm sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesnât deserve you, Schatz.Â
He is shitty at flirting, itâs not his forte â he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he canât flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isnât something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.Â
â IâŚnot sure we should be having this conversation here.Â
Youâre a good girl, and itâs infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldnât be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you arenât opposed to the idea. KĂśnig doesnât understand if he likes that youâre so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty â but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.Â
â You want to see the bedroom then?
Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs â it might look involuntary like he didnât exactly want for it to be placed here, but you arenât dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, youâre too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.Â
â Sir, this is veryâŚ
He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace â you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isnât a strong man in regard of morals, he doesnât see anything wrong with fucking his sonâs girlfriend â if the girl is up to it. And if she isnâtâŚwell, he better make sure she is.Â
â What is it, Schatz? Paul wonât hear us in his headphones.
You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape â his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and youâre horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you donât want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.Â
Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them â itâs probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.Â
â I donât want to break his heart.Â
â He doesnât have one.Â
Youâre lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again â a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much â you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, youâŚ
God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.Â
Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.Â
You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back â but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, KĂśnig just wants to kiss you all over. God, youâre adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.Â
â Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.Â
âLaterâ sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you canât help but compare him to his son â and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didnât cum.Â
You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions â you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like âdaddy, pleaseâÂ
KĂśnig is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.Â
â Daddy, ja? God, youâre dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.Â
He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked â he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and youâre so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.Â
He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge â make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.Â
He can be good for you â but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesnât know how to treat a lady right.Â
â So wet for meâŚsuch a filthy thing, I didnât know my son dated a whore.Â
â NâŚnot a whore, pleaseâŚ
He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him â you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.Â
â Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking youngâŚ
â WâŚwe really shouldnât⌠â Tshhh, donât think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. â Iâm notâŚ
â Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.
He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy â meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though youâre used to taking Paulâs size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.Â
It feels so wrong, you still arenât sure if you want him to touch you like this.Â
It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick â maybe because you havenât gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off â but nowâŚ
You arenât ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now â you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriendâs absent father, and you love every second of it.Â
Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, youâre adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm â itâs good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.Â
KĂśnig holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.Â
So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole â taking the worst traits of his father.Â
â Donât cry, Schatzen. Youâre okay, it felt good, didnât it?Â
â WâŚwe shouldnât have. Shit. Iâm sorry, it was a mâŚgod, I need to tell Paul.Â
â Iâll tell him.Â
â No! â I will tell my asshole of a son that youâre my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.Â
â I need to return to my dorm.Â
â And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of thisâŚbut we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?Â
He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once â you donât have the heart to say no. Never did. Youâre a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.Â
He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin â youâre so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you donât even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.Â
Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.Â
â WâŚwhat the fuck, dad?! KĂśnig laughs, kissing you once again â deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. Youâre stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.Â
â Sheâll make a good step mom, ja?Â
You donât even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.Â
#cod#konig x reader#yandere konig#konig#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#yandere cod#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere x reader
14K notes
¡
View notes