#Penalty Corner Conversion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holyblonded · 4 months ago

Text

champs | stargirl

pairings: barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you put everything on the line to win

warnings: injuries

notes: this is slightly rushed!

The media believed you liked winning because of your rather out of the ordinary celebrations or as she told the team to call it, her "celly's". Like when you scored the goal against Chelsea last year during the UWCL, you took a Carla's camera and ran around the pitch with it leaving you with a yellow card. That same game she copied Sam Kerr's backflip celebration after scoring a hattrick, although Sam Kerr laughed it off.

Your most iconic was the previous year's Champions League when you threw yourself over the barrier to celebrate with fans resulting with a penalty and a fine that got you grounded by Alexia right after the game. Safe to say fan's were quite excited for what you had in store for the final game against Lyon.

But the real reason you enjoyed winning was your York Peppermint Patties. After every game you won, you rewarded yourself with the sugary delight, often sharing with her teammates.

Leading to here. You panted as you crept around the midfield, sweat ran down her temple as the Lyon midfielder— freshly subbed in and clearly around your age— shadowed your every step.

Smirking through your heavy breaths, you crouched down so you could be heard. "Nervous?"

The midfielder didn't respond, keeping her gaze fixed on the war near the goal. You tilted your head, her smirk growing. "Need it in French? Êtes-vous nerveux?"

The girl finally glanced tour way, her eyes sharp but unsure. However, as soon as your piercing gaze locked onto hers, the girl flinched, quickly redirecting her attention back to the play.

You chuckled low and cocky, placing your hands on your hip. "Don't worry, pretty. The game will be over soon and then you can be crying in my arms."

Your taunt hung in the air as Ingrid intercepted a pass on the edge of the midfield, she expertly threaded the ball forward to Estelle.

The roar of the crowd swelled as your boots met the ball. Your first touch was smooth, sending it rolling just ahead as you broke into a sprint. The Lyon midfielder was hot on your heels, desperate to make up for her lapse, but your speed and determination were unmatched.

Wendie Renard, towering and commanding, closed in from the left, her long strides devouring the distance. Your chest tightened—this was no ordinary defender. Renard was a wall, a fortress standing between her and glory.

You feinted right, dragging the ball with you, and Renard shifted instinctively. At the last second, you cut left, your movement sharp and decisive. Renard lunged, her foot stretching toward the ball, but you had already slipped past, the faintest brush of contact grazing your jersey.

The goal loomed closer, the keeper poised and ready. You raised your head, scanning for an angle. A Lyon defender made a desperate slide from behind, and this time, she was too close.

You unleashed a shot just as the defender's cleats caught her ankle. The ball soared, curving impossibly fast and high. The keeper dove, her gloves brushing air, as the ball slammed into the top corner of the net.

The crowd erupted, but you crumpled to the ground, clutching your side as searing pain radiated through your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your vision blurring as the world around you spun.

The referee's whistle shrieked as teammates and medics rushed toward you. You gritted your teeth, trying to push yourself up, but the pain was too much.

"Holy shit. Can you hear me?" The pretty midfielder asked as you let out a cry of pain. "Stay with me the medics are on the way."

The Lyon defender smugly walked away only to be met with Irene and Marta arguing with her. Even Renard began to scold her. You laid out on the ground, hands covering your face as Lucy and Alexia slide by your side, making the Lyon midfielder leave. Pina and Patri off to the side having a heated conversation with the ref.

"Star! Star! Can you hear me?" The voice of Lucy Bronze asked the sixteen year old.

"No puc respirar (I can't breathe)," You groaned in Catalan moving your hands from your face to forehead to look at your teammates. Your attempt to sit up was unsuccessful as both Lucy and Alexia kept you down.

"What? No medics! I am fine! Please Lucy," You begged the Englishwoman who could only sigh. Your eyes snapped over to Alexia. "Ale?"

"No, Estrelleta. You took a bad fall and you need a concussion test. Tinc el peu avall (my foot is down.)"

Lucy and Alexia helped you to your feet, allowing the medics to take over and take you off the field. Claps went around the stadium as you were taken to the back and the Lyon defender was given a red card and kicked out of the game.

"Jonatan please. I'm all cleared. My ribs are wrapped, I am fine. Please let me back in," You begged. You could feel tears start to form in the back of your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Jonatan shook his head. "No, Estrella. I can't risk you getting hurt, again you know that."

"I don't care about that. Please let me play. I want to win. I need to win. Por favor. Por favor. Let me play," Your desperately pleaded. You were sure the waterworks would start soon the more you begged.

Jonatan let out a string of cusses under his breath before taking a glance at your pleading eyes. "Go warm up."

Your face lit up, ripping the bib off and warming up. After the substitution, you were applauded as you jogged your way back onto the pitch. You were quickly approached by a skeptical Alexia, "Why are you here? You need to be resting."

"I'm all cleared, don't worry," You told the woman who had stepped into a maternal figure in your life.

"If I hear you wince or believe you are in an ounce of pain, you ware going to sit out. ¿Comprende? (understand)" Alexia threatened before the ref whistled, signifying the start of the game.

In the 78th minute, Patri intercepted a Lyon pass in the midfield and quickly tapped the ball to Alexia. The Barcelona captain turned with grace, her eyes scanning the pitch before spotting your sprinting down the left flank.

"Estrelleta! Hacer la carrera (make the run)!" Alexia shouted as she threaded a precise through ball into space.

You accelerated, your speed and agility allowing you to reach the ball just before it rolled out near the sideline. You glanced up, seeing Aitana darting into the box, pulling defenders with her. Using the distraction, Estelle cut inside, weaving past one Lyon player before lofting a high cross toward the far post.

The ball hung in the air as defenders scrambled to reposition. You didn't stop, charging into the box yourself. Wendie Renard tracked back, her towering frame ready to challenge, but you was quicker, timing your movement to perfection.

As the ball dipped toward the penalty area, you leaped, twisting your body mid-air. Your head connected with the ball cleanly, sending it rocketing toward the top corner. The Lyon keeper stretched desperately, but the header was unstoppable, flying just out of her reach and slamming into the back of the net.

For a moment, the stadium seemed to hold its breath, and then the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. You landed hard, clutching your ribs briefly as the adrenaline surged through your body. You staggered to your feet and ran toward the sideline, arms outstretched as you grounded yourself, ready to launch into the crowds, only to be stopped by the arms of Keira Walsh with your teammates flooding around you in celebration.

"Star! That's what I'm talking about! Amazing work, Kiddo!" Lucy shouted, clapping you on the back and kissing your forehead.

Even Alexia, despite her earlier skepticism, pulled you into a quick hug. "Well done, Estrelleta. But take it easy, okay?"

Your smirked through the lingering ache. "Easy is boring."

Minutes later, Barcelona regained possession near the midfield, and you found yourself on the ball. You glanced up, scanning the pitch, before spotting Aitana making a darting run toward the box.

With a deft touch, your flicked the ball past the defender and took off, your strides long and determined. A Lyon midfielder closed in, but you held your ground, your ribs screaming in protest as you pushed forward.

At the edge of the box, you caught Aitana's eye and played a perfectly weighted pass through the defense. The ball sliced the air, bypassing two defenders, and landed precisely at Aitana's feet.

Without breaking stride, Aitana struck the ball low and hard. It zipped past the Lyon keeper and into the bottom corner of the net.

Another eruption of cheers filled the stadium as Aitana turned and pointed directly at you before running over to sweep you into her embrace.

"That pass was magic," Aitana said, her grin wide.

"What can I say? Just doing my job," You replied, wincing slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

Alexia jogged over, her stern gaze softening. "You're on fire today, Estrelleta. But remember what I said."

You nodded, your determination undimmed. "We're not done yet."

The game wore on, but your contributions had tipped the balance. Barcelona held their lead, inching closer to victory with every passing second. The final whistle blew, indicating Barcelona's victory.

Before you knew it, you were swept off your feet by Frido who kissed your forehead in celebration before placing you down. You watched in awe both your teammates and fans across the stadium celebrate the win. You laid on the pitch breathing a sigh of relief, simply soaking it in.

"C'mon stjerne (star)," Ingrid called out, offering her hand to help you up. She wrapped an arm around the young one's shoulder as she lead you to the stage. "It's award time."

You were forced to the front by the veterans of the team, cheering when Alexia lifted the trophy in victory. Everything felt so surreal, especially after being the Best Young Player of the League.

But, the one thing you enjoyed after a game was routine. After signing and meeting fans, you made your way towards where Alexia stood with Eli and Alba at the barriers.

"Oh! Nena meva! Ho has fet molt bé avui, estic molt orgullós de tu! (Oh! My little girl! You did so well today, I am so proud of you!)" Eli exclaimed as she pulled you to the barrier and laid a kiss on your cheek then forehead. She settled her hands on your cheeks as you smiled brightly.

"Realment?" You couldn't help but smile and Eli continued to pepper your face in kisses.

"Realment." She confirmed before Alba snatched you into her embrace.

"És millor mirar que Ale a aquesta edat (You are better to watch than Ale at this age)," Alba teased which lead to her getting pinched by the midfielder.

"Nena, I forgot," Eli's hand came out from her pocket showing a square, silver package with blue writing. "Here, you won."

You beam as Eli places the silver-wrapped York Peppermint Patty into your hand, her warm smile matching your own. The cool foil feels almost sacred in your grasp, the culmination of every ounce of effort you poured into the match.

"You didn't forget," you murmur, touched, turning the small candy over in your fingers. It's just a treat, but to you, it's so much more—a tradition, a reward, a sign of love.

Eli chuckles and presses another kiss to your temple. "How could I forget? You're my little champion. You deserve it."

Alba leans over, eyeing the patty. "Think I can have a bite?"

"Not a chance," you reply immediately, clutching it protectively to your chest.

Alexia finally steps over, crossing her arms with a mixture of pride and exasperation written across her face. "Of course, the only thing you sprint faster for than a trophy is chocolate," she teases, shaking her head.

You unwrap the foil carefully, the rich minty scent already making your mouth water. Taking a triumphant bite, you close your eyes, savoring the cool, sweet flavor that always tastes better after a win.

"Worth every bruise," you say, grinning as the chocolate melts in your mouth.

Eli pats your cheek affectionately. "Don't forget to share with your teammates."

Your grin widens mischievously. "What teammates?" you joke, stuffing the rest of the patty into your mouth before anyone can protest.

Alba laughs, shaking her head as Alexia sighs.

"Estrelleta, you're impossible."

You shrug, feeling the last bit of tension from the game melt away. "I'm not impossible. I'm a winner."

Alexia ruffles your hair, and Eli wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you all stand together, watching the confetti rain down around the team. The trophy gleams under the stadium lights, but in this moment, it's the warmth of your family-your real family- that makes the victory perfect.

#woso community #woso x reader #woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso fanfics #woso #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #lucy bronze x teen!reader #lucy bronze x reader #⋆｡˚ stargirl

473 notes · View notes

headdinthewall · 1 month ago

Text

MATCH CELEBRATIONS ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : in which george forgets to celebrate his goal during the match, so he makes up for it afterwards a/n : my brain is just full of creative ideas atm so… also can you tell george is my favourite? but i was rewatching the charity match and got this idea // italics is stephen doing the commentary content : established relationship ,, sexual innuendos ,, mentions of injury ,, a severe lack of knowledge on how football works xx

─────── THE ENERGY THROUGHOUT Wembley Stadium was electric and buzzing. The match had gone incredibly smoothly so far, with a new record of 16 goals being scored, making the overall score be 8-8 with only eight minutes to go. Your fingers were crossed on your lap, knees bouncing nervously as your boyfriend was subbed back on.

You were sat between Sabina and Arthur, both of them talking to you and making casual conversation. You and Sabina murmured over what the hell was going on during the match and the newest make up releases that were actually worth buying, while you listened to Arthur just complain about the constant off-side passes — whatever that meant.

You continuously checked your phone, a nervous habit you picked up when George wasn’t around. It made no sense — of course — because it’s not like he could text you right now anyway, he was literally on the pitch.

“Oh! It’s a corner! It’s a corner!” Arthur exclaimed, hand gripping your arm ridiculously tight, causing your bracelets to dig into your arms.

“Arthur!” You hissed, pushing him off like an annoyed older sibling.

“Sorry.” He laughed, staring at the huddle of players in front of the goal.

Tobi was stepping back, preparing to boot the ball towards them.

Just as he did, Angry Ginge completely missed his defence kick, the ball flying straight past him and into the foot of—

George.

All of a sudden, the stadium burst into screams and yells of support and excitement, everyone raising from their seats as your boyfriend’s foot knocked the ball into the back of the goal (and himself in the process as he stumbled into the net).

“Oh my God!” You screeched, standing and jumping whilst clapping, “Yes George! Oh my God, yes!”

Arthur and Isaac were just as excited as you, arms around each other’s shoulders and jumping in joy. Arthur pulled you into it and you laughed at their boisterous celebration.

George looked incredibly confused as he ran towards Tobi, gesturing between the two of them and trying to figure out who was actually to be credited, but when the rest of the Sidemen team joined in on clapping his back, he relished in the feeling.

He found you in the crowd and waved, resulting in him getting an air kiss back.

“And there goes George and his mrs, subtle PDA, we love to see it. Blowing kisses at him, though I’m sure he’ll be getting more blowing of another kind for that goal.”

You cupped your mouth with both hands and whooped for him, screaming loudly.

The cheering died down as the game continued to progress but you still couldn’t get over the adrenaline rush of the love of your life scoring a goal right in front of your eyes.

The grin never left your face, even after Theo Baker scored a last minute equaliser, making the score 9-9.

“Does that mean penalties?” You looked over at Arthur and Isaac, and they nodded.

You refrained as much as you could from biting your nails, considering you’d just had them done a couple days ago.

The crowd was in utter shock as Sketch saved Simons goal, as he was known for being a great penalty shooter.

As the game came to an end, with Speed getting the winning shot for the Youtube Allstars, a lot of people began filing out of the stadium, ready to leave and go home, yoy however, could not, as you had to wait for George.

From your spot, you could vaguely see Munya and Els doing interviews on the pitch, grabbing different players and putting a microphone in their face.

“Clarkey! Clarkey!” Munya called out, grabbing George’s shoulder and turning him to the camera. “Your goal virginity is gone!”

“Yes.” George laughed.

“How does that feel?”

“Well, it’s one of them ticked off the least, hopefully that means the second one tonight!” He joked, smirking, “No, um, honestly I had absolutely no idea that it was my goal, hence the complete lack of celebration and just, sort of, pointing at Tobi, um, but no, insane.”

“With more time, how would you have celebrated?” Munya asked.

“I—“ George laughed with a scoff, “I don’t think time was the problem, I think it’s just that I’m a pure idiot— uhm, but I do have a celebration now … where is she?” He hummed, eyes scanning the crowd and then pointing at you. “Isn’t she beautiful.”

He beckoned you down, waving his hand at you.

“Me?” You mouthed, pointing at yourself.

“Yeah! Come down!” He shouted, even though you probably couldn’t hear him.

“Is this a camera moment?” Munya questioned, confused as to what was going on.

“I mean, it’s going to be caught on the fifty thousand phones that are here, so might as well get it in good quality.” George shrugged with a laugh.

You made your way down the stairs and through the tunnel, when security stopped you.

“Sorry, love, players and interviewers only.”

“Oh, no, my boyfriend asked me to come down—“

“Tom, it’s good.” Simon came through, patting the security on the back, “She’s allowed through.

Tom nodded and let you past.

“Why does he want me?” You asked Simon, as he clearly had an idea as to what was going on.

“No idea.” He lied, gesturing for you to follow him.

You jogged up to George, ecstatic to be seeing him, and threw yourself at him, arms around his shoulders, “I’m so proud of you!”

He laughed, arms around your waist, and tapped your bottom to put you down.

“I’ve got something for you.” George stated, stepping back slightly.

Munya and the camera man cleared the scene, allowing him more space.

“What— Oh my God.”

The air was knocked from your lungs as you watched George, panting and flushed red from his exertion, as he got down on one knee.

His eyes were full of pure adoration and nothing short of unconditional, eternal love.

The air around you seemed thick, and despite the roar of the crowd and buzzing atmosphere around you, it didn’t seem real. You were grounded by his presence, and the scenes around you disappeared, as if it were just you two, alone, on a field of grass.

“Reader … you have been in my life for seven years now, and those seven years have been the most wonderful, exhilarating years of my life, and I genuinely couldn’t have done this whole Youtube, social media thing, without you.”

You burst into tears, unable to control yourself.

“Waking up next to you every morning is like witnessing the human embodiment of an angel, and there is no one else I could dream of doing that with. I don’t usually believe in ‘everything happens for a reason’, but I whole-heartedly believe that we met for this reason. Because you are my soulmate, through and through. You’ve been there for me through everything, from tough times like when my mum was sick and to the best days of my life, like asking you to be my girlfriend, and every day that’s followed since.”

Your sobs were uncontrollable as you nodded with his words, your hands on your cheeks.

“You’ve put up with me since day one, which shocks me, especially since I sweat like a pig when it’s only eight degrees outside, and even though we lost the game today, I know that I’ve already won in life, because I get to call you my girlfriend— and hopefully my wife.” He laughed, clearing his throat as he neared on crying himself.

“So … reader … will you marry me?”

The question lingered for a split second and you were entirely speechless, opting for a shaky nod instead of saying anything.

“Yeah?” He muttered.

“Yeah.” You croaked, holding your hand out.

He grinned and slipped the ring on. Once it was secure, he shot to his feet, lifting you off the ground. Your arms locked around his neck and your legs around his waist as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“To Mr and Mrs Clarkey!” Munya exclaimed into the microphone and everyone erupted into cheers.

“I love you so much!” You sobbed, pulling away from his neck and placing your hands on his cheeks, “Of course I’ll marry you, oh my God!”

He laughed at your reaction, giving you a chaste kiss, keeping it appropriate and sensible for the cameras and children in the crowd or watching.

yourusername

liked by arthurtv georgeclarkeey chloeburrows and 439k more

after five years on knowing you and four years of dating you … i can legally call you mine (soon)💓

tagged : georgeclarkeey

georgeclarkeey aren’t you sweet x

↳ yourusername and you’re performative, proposing in front of everyone like that x

georgeclarkeey loving you forever x

↳ yourusername loving you forever and always x

chloeburrows awww, the cutest! so happy for you two💞

arthurtv ‘we might have lost the game but i’ve won life’ 🥶🥶🥶 (congrats you guys❤️)

↳ georgeclarkeey cheers, was waiting for your approval (thanks mate❤️)

chrismd10 proposal was almost as cold as my free kick mate

↳ stephen_tries give it a rest, it was one of 18 goals

behzingagram best proposal oat🙌🏼❤️

sidemen ❤️❤️❤️

↳ georgeclarkeey thanks for letting me do that guys

livvydimartino beautiful girl🥹 so happy for you xx

↳ yourusername thank you ml💓

bambinobecky he can’t take my munchkin from me. tell him i’m coming for him

↳ yourusername nothing can split us apart becky x

↳ georgeclarkeey i can read her comments🤓🤓

arthurnfhill george please film fifty more platform roulettes before a baby clarkey is on the way

↳ yourusername don’t plan on getting preggy for a while yet finchy x

↳ faithlouisak neither did i babe x

user1 everyone’s getting married and having babies now!! this is so cute it’s so nice seeing everyone make their own families!

user2 the fact that she immediately burst into tears🥹

↳ user3 she’s so real for that honestly

user4 clarkey for the best proposal of all social media couples!!!

user5 they’re so in love it makes me feel sick (with jealousy)

#ukyt #george clarke #george clarke fanfic #george clarke fics #george clarkey #george clarkey x reader #sidemen #chris dixon #arthurtv

290 notes · View notes

mydearestbeloved · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was supposed to be a peaceful—boring—day. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, feeling the tension in your muscles ease as you walked back from the raid you had been sent on as support by the Hunter's Association. Healing a few injuries here, casting some support spells there—typical stuff. A cozy evening of spoiling your children at your Gardens awaited, and maybe you’d even treat yourself to some well-deserved rest.

You let your guard down for just a moment, something you rarely did outside your domain. And perhaps, you shouldn’t have.

The first thing that went wrong was the collision. You hadn’t even sensed anyone nearby, which should have been impossible. Your senses were too sharp, finely tuned from years of surviving the system’s trials.

The second thing that went wrong was that you stumbled backward from the impact—an almost absurd realization, given your strength and agility.

You could’ve been able to catch yourself immediately, but before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

The third—and most unsettling—thing was the face that came into view as you were pulled flush against the person. Your eyes shot up, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Stormy grey eyes stared down at you, too close, too familiar.

There, standing before you with an unreadable expression, was Sung Jinwoo.

Your mind went blank for a split second before you quickly masked your surprise with a polite smile—a customer service smile, the one you used to deal with awkward situations. What the hell was this situation? A K-drama plot twist? You fought the urge to groan. There was no way he would recognize you. You had worked hard to stay anonymous, to keep your involvement in his life strictly hidden. This was just an unfortunate run-in, surely—

And just as you were about to step away, you felt it—the familiar tug in the back of your mind.

Damnit, you cursed internally, your blood running cold.

"'Trial Player,' huh?” Jinwoo’s voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a dangerous curiosity in his tone. The strange glint in his once stormy eyes, now glowing in a sharp blue, set your nerves on edge. “Interesting title.”

Of course, the system wasn’t done. It never was.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name).

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty... quite costly.]

[To not disrupt the predestined events of this world too much, things that should be kept a secret by the Trial Player include:

- True origin

- Prior knowledge of this world.]

[Reminder to watch your words, Trial Player.]

You swallowed hard, mind racing. You were treading on dangerous ground. The glint in Jinwoo’s eyes wasn’t the detached curiosity of someone stumbling upon a stranger; it was the look of a predator that had cornered his prey.

“It’s… complicated,” you managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time as you mentally sorted through your options.

“I have time.” His voice was as calm as ever, but the weight behind those words made it clear—he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to let you go, until you explained yourself. And of course, he had. You knew his schedule better than anyone else—You hold back wince; you sounded like a stalker just now.

His eyes never left yours, and the weight of his stare was almost suffocating.

Your eyes darted around the street. Too open. Too public. If you were going to spill even a fraction of the truth, you needed privacy. “...Follow me,” you said, steeling your nerves. There was no escaping this encounter now, but at the very least, you could control where the conversation would take place.

Jinwoo’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, as if he’d already won. He let you go, didn’t ask questions, didn’t press you further—just nodded, as if he had expected nothing less than your cooperation. He fell into step beside you, his presence both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

---

You sat across from Sung Jinwoo in a small, secluded café, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your cup. It was peaceful here, or at least it was supposed to be. The gentle hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee—under any other circumstance, this would be the perfect place to relax.

But the man sitting in front of you wasn’t just any ordinary guy. He was Sung Jinwoo, and not the E-rank, sweetly awkward and adorable version of him you once quietly helped. No, this was the Jinwoo who had been through hell and back, the one who had grown stronger, and the one who was currently giving you the most piercing stare you had ever been given in your whole life.

You weren’t afraid of him, but you weren’t naïve enough to think this would be an easy conversation, either.

God, why couldn’t it be the E-rank him? At least that Jinwoo wouldn’t be giving you this much of a hard time.

[Choose your words carefully, Trial Player.]

You clenched your jaw at the system's ever-helpful reminder.

Jinwoo was watching you intently, sipping his coffee as he waited for your answer. His questions were understandable—he was the protagonist of this world, after all—but each answer felt like walking a tightrope, balancing half-truths and white lies. Years of surviving in this world had changed you, turned you into someone far more cautious and guarded than the girl who had first been dropped into the dungeon all those years ago. But you hadn’t expected to have to use those skills on him of all people.

“Look,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “There are things I can’t tell you—things I’m not allowed to tell you.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, though he pushed further on that matter, for now.

“This ‘Trial Player’ business. What does that mean?”

You bit your lip, carefully considering your next words. You had to walk a fine line here. “I had a role to play before you became the system’s player. A trial run of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, you were meant to take my place?”

“No.” Your response was immediate, a bit too sharp, perhaps, but you needed him to understand that. “I was never meant to take your place. I was… a beta tester for the system. Nothing more.”

Jinwoo’s gaze bore into you, as if weighing the truth of your words. The silence stretched, tense and heavy, until he finally spoke again. “And now?”

“I... don’t know.” The only truth you let slip.

“I suppose you’ve been watching me for a while now,”

Your heart skipped a beat. So, he did know?

As if knowing what you wanted, Jinwoo then mentioned the system. Apparently, his system had become unnecessarily chatty—and vague—about you after his awakening. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Just because the system hadn’t forbidden you from helping Jinwoo in small ways didn’t mean it would keep your actions secret forever.

“Paying the hospital bills,” he continued, his eyes locked onto yours. “Items arriving at my door when I needed them. Heals when there was nobody around.”

Your customer-service smile faltered, a tiny fraction at the edges of your lips. He had figured it out. There was no point in denying it. “...Yes.”

You were out of your depth now, there was no turning back.

"So," Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, "how long have you been helping me?"

Your fingers twitched. "For a while now," you answered, purposefully vague. Not a lie.

"Years, then."

You nodded, biting back the urge to say more. He didn't need the specifics.

"And why?" His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something behind it—curiosity, maybe, but also wariness.

You had expected that question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer. Why had you helped him? The official answer was because he was the protagonist of this world. But deep down, it was more than that. You admired him—his strength, his perseverance, and the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint. Somewhere along the way, admiration had blurred into something deeper, something more personal.

"I just... wanted to help," you said softly, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hands. “The system... didn’t give me much of a choice from the moment it chose me as the trial player. And perhaps it had turned a blind eye; helping you—it felt right." Another half-truth, but still rooted in reality.

Jinwoo studied you for a long moment, his gaze intense. You could almost feel the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out whether you were a threat or an ally. He didn’t press further, which was almost worse. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words and unanswered questions. You wished you could explain everything, tell him the truth without the system suffocating you in response, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for half-truths and hoped they would be enough.

Then, out of nowhere, the conversation took a turn.

“Let’s keep it that way then,” Jinwoo’s voice was casual, almost too casual, “you’re joining my party.”

Your mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what?”

“I said,” he repeated, leaning forward slightly, “you’re joining my party.” There was something in his tone that left no room for argument, but it didn’t make any sense. Jinwoo had always been the lone wolf. Solo raids were his thing. He didn’t need healers anymore—not with his own incredible healing factor.

“No—”

“I’m not asking.” And you berated yourself once again for being weak to his eyes, especially the current glowing ones. That beautiful, beautiful blue hue.

“Why? I mean, you don’t need me.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching onto the strange phrasing, and you suddenly felt the invisible tightness around your throat. Watch your words, Trial Player, the system’s voice echoed in your mind, a third reminder today that made your blood pressure spike every damn time.

The system wasn’t just blocking you from outright saying it; it was suffocating you, a warning wrapped in discomfort. You cursed yourself internally.

Jinwoo answer interrupted your thoughts, “Let’s just say… I’m curious. About you.”

Oh. Oh. What did you expect? This wasn’t about your healing abilities. He was suspicious of you. He knew something was off, and now he was keeping you close—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and all that.

But you weren’t his enemy, were you?

You opened your mouth to argue further, but just as you were about to speak, the system chimed in again.

You let out and internal scream. Seriously?

"...I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?" You said, your cheeks were starting to hurt from forcing a smile throughout this conversation as you selected the only option on the screen.

Jinwoo smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No, you don’t."

---

After discussing the details for your future joint raids, you watched Jinwoo’s back as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread. You were trapped. Whatever game the system and Jinwoo were playing, you were caught in the middle. And now you were officially part of his party.

You sighed, slumping back into your chair. It was supposed to be a peaceful day. You should’ve known better.

[So, how have you been? ~]

“Shut it.”

---

The partnership was, for lack of a better word, complicated.

Jinwoo noticed it was a word often associated to you.

The more time Jinwoo spent with you only made things murkier. You were a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how many pieces he tried to put together, he was always left with gaps. It was frustrating, but it also intrigued him in a way that nothing else had since he became the Player.

Jinwoo was suspicious—he couldn’t afford not to be. Jinwoo never imagined having someone like you beside him, much less allowing it. For the longest time, he had preferred working alone—solitude was safer, simpler. He didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in his way or betraying him. So, naturally, he had kept you under close observation, convinced that the cost of keeping you around would be more than just the unease gnawing at him.

From the start, Jinwoo had believed that taking you along would mean a decrease in his own growth. Experience was precious, and dividing it was a risk he was prepared to accept—but you had assured him that wouldn’t be necessary.

"I won’t take any exp from you,” you’d said with a quiet confidence that he hadn’t known how to trust. “I’ve got a feeling it doesn’t work like that for me anymore."

He’d been skeptical, of course. Experience was everything to a player, and he’d been prepared to lose some to keep you around. But as the weeks went by, he found your claim to be frustratingly true. No matter how many monsters you felled, it was only his system notifications that pinged, announcing increases in his experience points, his level bar that filled up, not yours, as though the system recognized you as an extension of him.

It was as if you just weren’t there.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or more suspicious. What kind of player didn’t gain EXP? It didn’t fit with the rules, and Jinwoo was nothing if not a careful observer of the patterns around him.

---

The material rewards, however, were a different story.

There was a strange way you treated the remains of the fallen monsters. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to it; after all, every hunter had their quirks. But you would always linger after the fights, almost reverently inspecting the bodies, picking through the materials they left behind. When he finally asked you about it, you had given him that infuriatingly cryptic smile.

“Do you mind if I take whatever you don’t need?” you had politely asked one day, the first time out of the many in future raids to come. “I promise it won’t go to waste.”

“What do you even need them for?” he had asked, watching you examine the remains of a C-rank goblin with almost childlike fascination.

“Hmm…” You’d glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the material in your hand. “Think of it as... research.”

He’d agreed, more out of curiosity than generosity. And every time he did, he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. It was an expression so genuine and bright that Jinwoo found himself taken aback. What exactly you were doing with those materials, he had no idea, but you seemed genuinely grateful, almost... happy. And Jinwoo found it oddly endearing every single time.

The guarded woman he fought beside every day for the past few weeks by now—the one who always hid herself behind walls of practiced calm—suddenly looked more humane. A person delighted over something so simple.

“Thank you, Jinwoo.” you said softly as you packed away pieces of monster hides, bones, and crystals with precision. The way you spoke his name felt different than when others said it. Like it was laced with something unspoken, something almost... familiar.

For a moment, he’d thought he might be able to catch a sliver of truth from you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, your guard returned, and you slipped back into your composed, impenetrable self.

---

Yet, for every discovery he made about you, new questions took root. The way you spoke to the air when he couldn’t see your system window was one of the strangest things he’d observed. It wasn’t like how he interacted with his own system—a cold, mechanical guide that answered in emotionless text.

He had come to terms with it, which made it more puzzling when you, on the other hand, seemed to have a strangely conversational relationship with yours. It was as though you were talking to a real person rather than an AI. And there were times he swore he heard you bantering with it. The fact that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t know what it was telling you without you telling him, left him on edge.

While you could see the familiar blue screens of his own system at all times, yours sometimes seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. He didn’t have enough information to even confirm you had the same kind of system he did.

One evening after a raid, after you had muttered something to the empty air beside you, Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. The two of you were taking a break in the clearing of a forest-like dungeon, waiting for the mana in the air to settle. His shadows patrolled the perimeter, leaving the two of you in relative isolation.

“You’re… talking to it, aren’t you?” Jinwoo asked, as you finished your quiet exchange with your invisible companion. “The system, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh.” You paused mid-motion, halfway through tucking away the latest monster core you’d collected, s if you hadn’t just spoken aloud to someone—or something—that only you could see. You glanced at him, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes before you looked back at the core in your hands.

“It’s not quite the same as your system,” you said finally, your voice almost too soft to hear over the rustling leaves. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship.” You paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Yours is… a guide, yes? Cold, instructive?”

He nodded, and you seemed to weigh your response.

“Mine is… let’s call it more opinionated.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. “You mean to tell me that your system has a personality?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Something like that.”

He muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You know more about my system than I do, and yet I can’t even see yours most of the time. Feels like a rigged game.”

“You mean the same way my kills count towards yours instead?”

Fair point.

“You could say I know it pretty well. And… it knows me.” Your tone was careful, and he realized he’d learned something more about you in that one sentence than in all the raids you’d fought together.

It was almost as if you wanted to be honest—desperately so—but something stopped you every time you got close to revealing too much. It seemed less like a power play and more like you were protecting something—maybe even protecting him. But that didn’t make sense.

Still, Jinwoo could see glimpses of genuine loyalty in your actions. The more he witnessed this, the more he felt torn, unable to decide if you were an ally bound by strange circumstances or a threat with motives he couldn’t yet see.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [013/10/2024] -

The later parts of this chapter (where it switches to Jinwoo's p.o.v.) are originally part of the next chapter, but I substitue them with a new fight scene.

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo #only i level up #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfiction #fanfic #solo leveling fanfic

440 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 4 months ago

Text

WHAT'S UP, DANGER?

ᯓ★PAIRING: williams driver! hansol x aerodynamics engineer! reader | ᯓ★WC: 4.1K ᯓ★GENRE: pure fluff ᯓ★RECOMMENDED LISTENING: what’s up danger, blackway & black caviar → the song williams revealed their 2025 car to! ᯓ★A/N: purely self-indulgent, based on a conversation i had with @ylangelegy about williams!hansol. // williams looks so strong this year and it’s all because alex albon worked for YEARS to help design this car // side note: i literally pulled out all my old meche and aerodynamics notes to write this. its most definitely inaccurate. oh well

read the rest of the pedal to the metal universe here!

ᯓ★SUMMARY: There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

60 DAYS UNTIL PRE-SEASON TESTING

There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

You barely had time to settle in before a figure appeared at your side. His presence is immediate—Hansol, the team’s lead driver, standing in the doorway like he owns the place.

“Chwe, leave the engineers alone,” a voice calls out from the back. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s your boss, his tone dripping with exasperation. But Hansol doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his quiet focus. He stands still, arms folded, and waits.

“Got ideas,” he says, like that’s enough. His voice, typically cool and calculated on the track, now carries an edge of something more… urgent.

Your fingers hover over the crumpled napkin he slides across your desk, its surface marked with grease stains and ink smudges. The edges are folded in on themselves, like it’s been stuffed in a pocket a little too long.

You glance up at him. “Do you have an engineering degree?”

“No,” he says, flat. “But I drive the damn car.”

You lean back in your chair, eyeing him carefully. “That doesn’t mean you know how to fix it.”

His eyes narrow, the slightest shift in his posture. “It does mean I know when something’s wrong.”

It’s a challenge.

You pull the napkin toward you, smoothing out the folds, your fingers tracing the lines. The sketch is rough—an almost-doodle—but there’s something in it, a fragment of an idea that, for some reason, makes sense.

“…This is wrong,” you say, tapping a section.

Hansol’s mouth twitches—not quite a smirk, but close. “Prove it.”

And just like that, the war begins.

You don’t back down. You’ve barely settled into your desk, haven’t even finished setting up your workspace, but if this is how things are going to be, so be it. You’re not here to entertain half-baked theories from a driver who thinks seat time makes him an aerodynamicist.

Still, the sketch isn’t complete nonsense. That’s what annoys you the most. The concepts are crude, the numbers nonexistent, but the logic? It’s almost there.

Hansol watches as you grab a pen, flipping open your notebook. “This,” you say, underlining a section, “assumes we’re generating enough downforce at high speed to compensate for the drag penalty.” You tap the napkin. “We’re not.”

For a moment, his expression doesn’t change. But the slight twitch of his mouth, the faintest upward curve, almost imperceptible, is enough to tell you you’re not wrong.

“But what if we could?”

You blink, taken aback by the suggestion.

“Explain,” you murmur, leaning forward.

He steps closer, voice calm but his gaze steady, never leaving you. “I think the lack of load distribution on the floor is messing with stability in high-speed corners. The balance shifts mid-corner—if we get better floor efficiency, we wouldn’t have to compensate so much with the front wing.”

You stare at him. For a driver, he’s making too much sense.

“This is aerodynamics,” you say, finally.

He exhales, almost a sigh, like the answer was obvious all along. “It’s not just a drag issue. It’s an efficiency issue.”

It’s a simple observation. And yet, you know that if you’d said it first, it wouldn’t have sounded nearly as clear.

“Alright,” you say, more to yourself than him, already calculating the possibilities in your head. “I’ll look into it.”

His lips twitch again—there’s something almost amused in it. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone. The space around you seems to breathe again, the hum of the garage filling the silence. You can’t help but shake your head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at your lips.

37 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The simulation runs in loops, numbers flashing across the screen like the world’s most unforgiving clock.

You watch Hansol’s inputs on the virtual track, tracing the movements of the car, every corner, every adjustment, the feedback looping with a precision that almost makes you forget you’re still inside the factory. His movements are sharp, calculated, but something feels off. You can see it immediately—the way the car’s drifting in the corners, the faint shift of the rear end when he throttles too early. It’s all there, hidden beneath the data.

The feedback’s not right. The car’s too unstable in the high-speed sections, and his hands aren’t the problem. The numbers don’t lie: the aerodynamics are throwing everything off. He’s fighting the car, and it’s costing him time in places he can’t afford.

“God, you’re pushing too hard,” you mutter, eyes glued to the screen. You zoom in on the telemetry, tracing the spikes and dips in the graph. A flick of a button and the frame pauses. You scan it again. You can practically feel the instability—every oversteer, every correction. The car’s not talking to him the way it should.

You’re still caught up in the data when you hear him, a shadow falling across the room. His footsteps are silent against the concrete.

“Pushing too hard in Sector 2,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the screen. The telemetry data’s sharp, slicing through the silence. It tells you everything you need to know.

Hansol leans against the monitors, still in his race suit, his helmet dangling loosely from his hand. His eyes never leave you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, a quiet intensity that somehow fills every corner of the room. The corners of his mouth twitch, just barely, like he’s fighting a grin. “That’s the sector where I have to push.”

You let the data flicker again, deliberately slow, as if it might make him see the picture you’re painting in silence. Then you turn to face him. Arms crossed, you meet his eyes head-on, letting the pause stretch for just a beat too long. “Not if the car’s unstable.” You watch his reaction closely—does he get it? Does he feel it, too? “You’re losing time because you’re fighting it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. His eyes drop to the numbers, just for a moment, almost like he’s seeing the simulation for the first time, letting the feedback hit him in a way he hasn’t. It’s like he’s looking for that one elusive piece of the puzzle, the thing you both know is there, but neither of you can quite name yet.

Then he speaks, voice low. “So fix it.”

You exhale slowly, the weight of all the late nights, the endless back-and-forths, the simulations, the math, the wind tunnels. It’s been weeks of this. Not just him—you, too. But when he speaks like that, like it’s simple, like all the parts of this fragile, complicated machine are just waiting for someone to press the right button, you feel a flicker of frustration. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion of being so close and yet so far.

You spin around to face the whiteboard, your fingers digging into the edge. “We’re trying something new in the wind tunnels. If I’m right, it should stabilize corner entry.” The words come out quicker than you intended, like you’re trying to beat the clock, trying to force the car to understand what it should be doing.

His gaze shifts from you to the whiteboard, then back to your face, cool and unwavering. “If you’re wrong?”

You can almost hear the smile in his voice, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him yet. Instead, you tap the edge of the table, focusing on the data again, the swirl of numbers almost a distraction. “Then you owe me drinks.”

There’s a beat of silence, but you can feel him. You can feel the air shift with his grin, the quiet twitch of his lips. “I feel like that should be the other way around.”

“Too late.” Your tone is final, and you turn back to face him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s something in them, something that says this isn’t over. It’s never over between you two—not really.

His lips curl into a half-smirk, but it’s fleeting. Then, with one last glance at the screens, he pushes himself off the desk, straightening up in a way that somehow makes him seem taller, broader, even more imposing. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, he’s gone—his footsteps fading into the hum of the garage, leaving behind only the faint echo of his presence.

For a long moment, you’re left alone with the buzzing of your thoughts, the unrelenting tick of the clock, and the quiet hum of anticipation that still lingers in the air.

His challenge hangs there, like a dare.

Fix it.

23 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The hum of the factory feels too quiet now that the team’s gone home. The last of the lights flicker in the hallway outside your office, and even the sound of the ventilation seems muted, like the whole building’s winding down for the night. Except you’re still here, hunched over your desk, staring at a CAD model that’s starting to blur. The screens in front of you are all you can see—numbers, lines, angles, just another late-night grind that hasn’t gone right.

You’re on your third cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tickle at the back of your eyes, the pull of exhaustion you know will hit hard in a few hours. But there’s something—something that’s not clicking with the design. You can feel it, a faint tug in your gut like a thread you can’t quite pull.

The soft chime of the door makes you pause, just long enough to listen. Someone’s here.

You don’t need to look up.

“Thought you’d still be here.”

His voice slides through the air, casual but unmistakable, and you glance up for a fraction of a second, catching Hansol in the doorway. He’s holding a bag in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes are already on you, the same quiet intensity, but there’s something else there now—like a challenge you don’t quite understand.

You raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting some rest?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room with the same slow, deliberate stride that’s always made you notice him, even if you pretend you don’t. His gaze flickers over the CAD models still open on your screen, the complex curves of the car’s floor design stretched out in digital space.

“Can’t sleep.” He pauses for a beat, his lips twitching just slightly. “Couldn’t help noticing you’re about two seconds away from crashing your computer.”

Your fingers hover over the mouse, stilling for a moment as you absorb the comment. You want to shoot back something sharp, something about not needing anyone’s help, but instead, you just lean back in your chair, eyes still on the screen. “I’m fine.”

He steps closer, that bag of food still in his hand. You hear the crinkle of paper, and then a faint, familiar scent hits your senses—something warm, comforting, like… your favorite late-night food. A small frown pulls at your lips. How did he know?

You look up this time, meeting his gaze fully. He’s standing there, holding the bag out to you like it's the most casual thing in the world, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes you can’t place.

“You’re the only one in this building still awake,” he says, his voice low, like it’s a joke only he gets. “Figured you could use some actual food.”

Your stomach gives a small, almost imperceptible growl, and you curse yourself for it. He smirks, ever so slightly, like he’s enjoying it.

“I didn’t order—”

He cuts you off, tone almost teasing. “I know. I did.”

The bag smells of something rich, comforting, and you know exactly what it is before you even open it. You never told him you liked it. Never had to.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking the bag from him, fingers brushing briefly against his. It’s a simple moment, one you could pretend didn’t mean anything—but it does.

He stands there for a second, watching you as you dig through the bag. His eyes don’t leave you, not for a second. There’s something unspoken hanging in the air, like the weight of the last few weeks suddenly becomes tangible.

“Don’t eat too fast,” he says, his tone careful now, like he’s trying to sound casual, but it isn’t. It’s not casual. He’s not casual.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing in that way that says you’re trying to find the right words. “Why? Afraid I’ll choke?”

Hansol’s lips quirk up, just the smallest curve of a smile. “Not at all.” He shifts his weight, his gaze shifting just a fraction of a second before he looks at you again. “But if you crash, I’ll have to deal with your stubborn ass on the track tomorrow.”

The words hit you differently this time. You swallow a bite, the food almost tasteless for a moment as your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. So you eat instead, letting the quiet hang between you like a conversation that never happened, or one that’s already been said too many times. The tension lingers in the space, unspoken and real, like a race about to start without either of you quite ready for the gunshot.

Hansol doesn’t move. He stays by the door, arms crossed now, watching you like he’s waiting for something. Or maybe just watching because it’s easier than saying what’s in his head.

After a long silence, he shifts on his feet, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m going to head out,” he says, but the words don’t quite match the way his eyes linger a moment longer than they should. “You’ve got things covered here, right?”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world stops moving. The air crackles, like it’s charged with something neither of you can quite place.

“Yeah,” you say, voice steady, “I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything else. Just turns, walking out the door like he’s leaving, but in a way, you know he isn’t. Not really.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet settles in again, but it’s different now.

12 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

It’s late (again), hours stretching into an endless hum of calculations and adjustments. You’ve got the CAD program open on the screen in front of you, the numbers and simulations blending together into an intricate mess of numbers that don’t quite line up the way you need them to. You’re getting close, but every time you adjust something, it seems to get worse.

Hansol is perched on the corner of the big oak conference table, legs swinging idly as he watches you. You don’t know when he’s been here for so long, but you’re too caught up in the data to care. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the screen, and all you can focus on is the problem at hand.

You tap a few more keys and tweak the load distribution again. A faint furrow creases your brow. It’s not working. It’s not supposed to be this complicated.

“Have you considered adjusting the load distribution across the rear end in sector three?” His voice cuts through the silence, casual but pointed.

You blink, pausing mid-swipe. “What?”

“You’re carrying too much load through the rear tires. That’s why the car’s losing stability at entry.” He leans forward, resting his arms across his knees. “It’s not about the front oversteer. It’s about how the rear is reacting when you try to push through.”

You furrow your brow, trying to break it down in your head. You’ve been running numbers all night—all week—but this? This isn’t something you’ve even thought to look at. The rear distribution.

You swipe through the numbers, pulling up the load distribution graph again, zeroing in on sector three. Your finger taps against the screen, the familiar patterns of tire wear and load data flashing in front of you.

“Look,” Hansol continues, “in sector three, you’re bleeding too much load from the rear tires when you hit the apex. It’s causing them to slip earlier than expected, but the data just… doesn’t show it. The front’s fine, but the rear’s handling it all wrong.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. You adjust a few parameters on the screen, pulling the load distribution slider across. You’re silent for a long stretch, watching the numbers shift, recalculating, mentally reviewing every twist in the data.

And then, it clicks.

The back end of the car is too soft, under-loaded during that critical entry phase. No one’s noticed because they’ve all been looking at the front tires—trying to balance the downforce and stabilize the load there—but the rear is what’s tipping it over the edge.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard, adjusting the balance, redistributing the force, smoothing the curves, and—there. The graph sharpens into place. The load is spread evenly now, the numbers lining up in a way that feels… right. The data shifts, the simulation running smoother.

You let out a yelp, loud enough that Hansol nearly falls off the edge of the table. He scrambles for a second, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

Before you can even think, you’re off your chair and lunging toward him, throwing your arms around his neck in an unexpected, victorious hug. You barely even register it happening. The relief, the rush, the moment where everything finally clicks.

“I got it,” you gasp into his shoulder, your voice almost too loud in the quiet room. It’s raw excitement, an emotion you didn’t even know you were holding in until now.

Hansol’s hands come up to steady you, instinctively wrapping around your waist. He’s still a little stunned, but the hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “You’re crazy,” he mutters, though there’s something almost amused in his voice. He doesn’t pull back, not immediately, even as you start to realize how much closer you are to him than usual.

You pull away, breath still coming in quick bursts, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of the moment. Your face heats up, your gaze flickering away from his. “Sorry,” you mumble, feeling ridiculously self-conscious now. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

But Hansol doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers brush against the skin under your eyes, where your bangs have fallen messily, and with a gentleness that catches you off guard, he sweeps them back. His thumb skims across your face, cool and soft. His gaze is steady, but his smile? It’s that damn knowing smirk.

“Well done,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a certain weight to it. “Now get some rest.”

You blink, a little dazed from everything—because somehow, in the span of a few seconds, it feels like something’s shifted.

But before you can figure out what to say, he pulls back just enough to head for the door, voice lingering in the space between you both. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t screw this up.”

And it’s teasing. It’s definitely teasing. But there’s something else there, too. Something you can’t quite name.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO PRE-SEASON TESTING 2025 Track: Bahrain International Circuit

The heat wraps itself around everything, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You pay it no mind, too focused on the tablet in front of you and the way your pulse thunders in your throat.

The first lap comes in. Solid. Not great, but solid. The engineers around you murmur, their eyes glued to their own screens, fingers moving with purpose. The air smells like oil and exhaust, the sound of tires skimming over tarmac cutting through the stillness.

The second lap is better. A little faster, a little smoother. You feel the shift, the subtle change in the rhythm. He’s finding it. But it’s the fourth lap that makes your heart skip.

By then, you’re leaning forward so far that your fingers are starting to cramp on your tablet. You can hear every breath you take, every soft click of your nails as you tap through the data. The sector times pop up, a blur of numbers that doesn’t make sense until you read it again. Purple. Purple. Purple.

The screen feels alive in your hands. The tires are biting, the engine roaring to life with a speed you didn’t expect to see today. Hansol’s pushing. Not just the car, but the limits of everything.

A small part of you wants to look away. It feels too much like waiting for a train to derail. You don’t, though. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, each new sector time only adding to the rush building in your chest. The screen flashes again, and your fingers go cold despite the heat around you.

FASTEST SPEED TRAP

The corners of your mouth pull into a triumphant smile without you even realizing it.

Hansol’s lap finishes, and the moment hangs for a beat longer than it should, the sound of the car coasting back to the pit lane filling the silence like a distant drumbeat. You hear him before you see him. The way his engine still hums in the pit lane, the roar of the crowd inside his head, even though the only sound that remains is the distant squeal of tires.

The garage doors roll up as the car pulls in, and when Hansol climbs out, his helmet comes off with the same easy grace he’s always had. His face is flushed, sweat dripping down his neck, but there’s something different about the way he moves. More electric. More alive.

He strides over to you without hesitation, his eyes already locked on yours, a grin spreading across his face. It’s not the usual cocky smile he pulls when he’s already feeling himself. This one’s satisfied, a little wicked, but mostly: I told you so.

You straighten up, trying to hide the way your chest tightens at the sight of him—his fireproofs clinging to his skin, droplets of sweat rolling down his neck in that way that makes you wonder if you’ve ever seen him before. Or if you’d been too busy pretending not to notice him.

He stops in front of you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

Then he breaks the silence. “The napkin never lies.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “Shut up, Hansol.”

Your voice doesn’t match the words. It’s harder than you meant, quieter than you thought, but he just laughs, that low, breathless sound that cuts through the air with ease. It’s a laugh full of energy and sweat and something else you can’t quite place.

“I’ll let you make it up to me with drinks after,” he says, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling from the exertion, as if he hasn’t just shredded the track in a way you didn’t think was possible for him.

You squint at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re trying to figure out if he’s still teasing or if there’s something more hidden in his words. “Are you asking me out?” you ask, only half-joking.

For the first time today, he falters. Just the slightest hesitation. His eyes flicker away from you, then back again, like he’s unsure whether to give a response or not. He just shrugs, a small shrug, one that somehow feels like a challenge all on its own. “And if I am?”

A laugh nearly slips from your lips before you catch yourself. You could press him, make him answer, but instead, you gather your things in a motion that’s almost too casual to be believed.

“Took you long enough,” you reply, the words slipping out before you even process them.

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then, without warning, he leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re buying the first round,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost intimate.

You freeze, the words sinking in a little too deep. When you turn to meet his eyes, there’s that same challenge, but with a quiet intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

“Count on it,” you reply, barely above a whisper, as he walks out.

The moment hangs in the air long after he’s gone.

296 notes · View notes

revolutionsingingintherainnn · 3 months ago

Note

okay so you know how the fia is very infuriating, especially with regards to cursing and all — and you know how a *certain* city is kind of infamous for cursing hehe. i'm imagining a girl from that city, coincidentally dating max, cursing the absolute socks off of an official because if her boyfriend can't curse, *she'll* do it.

lowkey karun chandhok saying that they can't hire people to translate all the languages to keep track of who's cursing or not, and also the song dilliwali girlfriend, inspired me hehe.

dilliwali girlfriend ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

୨ৎ mv x desi!reader જ⁀➴°⋆

୨ৎ fluff જ⁀➴°⋆

masterlist ☾☼

the air in the fia paddock was charged, not with electricity, but with tension thicker than singapore's humid air. max verstappen stood, jaw gritted, fists clenched, as some suited official prattled on about track limits. you, his girlfriend, stood next to him, a whirlwind of bright delhi energy amidst the sterile atmosphere. you'd been wonderfully quiet, which, for you, was an accomplishment equal to max driving a clean race with not one "b integration" (an achievement you were beginning to think impossible).

the official, a very self-important type with a lemon-faced expression as if he'd swallowed the whole thing whole, finally concluded his rant. max simply nodded stiffly, a muscle clenching in his cheek. he knew better than to take the bait. one misplaced word, one off-key bleep, and he'd be hit with another penalty. it was maddening.

as the official turned to depart, you, who'd been watching the exchange with mounting outrage, interposed yourself. you flashed a smile that didn't really reach your eyes. "excuse me," you cooed, your voice laden with saccharine sweetness, "can i ask you something?"

the official, obviously flattered to be addressed by anyone other than max's always-frazzled pr team, puffed up his chest. "of course, madam."

your smile disappeared. "you know," you started, your voice falling to a low, menacing purr, "we have a saying back home, in delhi. it goes something like this…"

and then, you let loose. a wave of profanity, each phrase more colourful and inventive than the last, streamed from your mouth. it was a symphony of insults, a work of art in invective, a show that would have left even the most experienced sailor blushing. you sprinkled your rant with local delhi slang, adding a few select bollywood references for good measure. it was a verbal attack, a linguistic pummeling of epic proportions.

the jaw of the official dropped. his pale face, already so from the singaporean heat, grew an alarming purple. he sputtered, attempting to get words out, but a string of incoherent gasps were all that managed to emerge.

max, to his credit, was able to maintain a straight face. a small twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away his amusement. he knew better than to laugh. he knew you. he knew delhi. he knew that this was your way of striking back, your way of telling him something he couldn't.

karun chandhok, who just so happened to be passing by, overheard the whole conversation. he grimaced, then laughed, shaking his head. "i warned them," he said to himself, "i warned them they wouldn't be able to recruit enough translators."

you, having completely disembowelled the bureaucrat with your tongue, drew a deep breath and smoothed your dress. you turned to max, the mischief dancing in your eyes. "all done," you said with saccharine sweetness. "now, where were we?"

max, still attempting to keep a stern face, slid his arm over your shoulders. "i believe," he said, "we were discussing strategy."

as you strode off, leaving the flabbergasted official in your wake, you whistled a small tune. it sounded ominously like "dilliwali girlfriend."

˗ˏˋ ꨄ ´ˎ˗

i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this! i have been taking a bit of a break recently! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @joannaln4

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 #max fluff #max imagine

167 notes · View notes

sweetvoidstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Game, Set, Match

Summary: What starts as a lighthearted Mario Kart tournament at your party takes an unexpected turn when Jungkook—undefeated champion and effortlessly cool—ends up losing a bet to you.

Masterlist

Wordcount: ~4400

The party hums with a comfortable warmth, the kind that settles deep in your bones after a few drinks and good company. Laughter spills from the kitchen, where Jin and Namjoon are locked in a debate about whether a burrito counts as a sandwich. The scent of popcorn and something vaguely sweet lingers in the air, mixing with the faint trace of someone’s expensive cologne. The apartment isn’t overly big, but it feels alive—people leaning against countertops, sprawled across the couch, legs tangled over armrests and coffee tables as they settle into easy conversations.

You're perched on the arm of the couch, cradling your drink, one knee tucked up as you talk with Hoseok. He’s always been one of the most animated people in any room, his laughter infectious, his gestures big and full of life.

It started with small talk—how Jin had somehow managed to destroy a blender last week.

"How does he melt a blender?" "We still don’t know."

But then, somewhere between one sip and the next, the conversation shifted to video games. In a moment of honesty (and possibly, slight tipsiness), you admitted something that had Hoseok howling with laughter.

"I'm serious, Hobi," you whine, lightly slapping his arm. "I am so bad at Mario Kart. Like, I think I might be the worst player to ever exist."

Hoseok howls with laughter, nearly spilling his drink. "No way, no way. I've seen some pretty terrible players. But—" He squints at you playfully. "You do have that kind of ‘press the wrong button at the worst moment’ energy."

You gasp, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. "Rude!"

"Wait!" He holds up a finger, grinning “Are we talking bad as in ‘occasionally forgets to drift’ bad, or bad as in ‘drives off the track every five seconds’ bad?"

You groan. "Hobi, I’m talking ‘Forget which character I’m playing as and drive into a wall for thirty seconds before realizing' bad. ‘Get stuck in a corner and not know how to reverse’ bad. ‘Use a mushroom boost at the exact worst possible moment and yeet myself into a pit’ bad."

Hoseok practically wheezes. "Oh my God. That’s painful."

"I know!"

Then, his eyes gleam with mischief. He cackles, nearly doubling over. "Okay, okay—wait. I have an idea."

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh no."

"No, hear me out!" He’s practically vibrating with excitement. "We should test this. Like, scientifically. We should hold a Worst Mario Kart Player Tournament and find out once and for all who the absolute worst player is."

You blink.

Then, slowly, you grin.

"Hobi, that’s… that’s actually brilliant."

And just like that, the idea takes hold, growing legs of its own. People overhear and chime in. Taehyung calls dibs on the controller with the drift issues, swearing he can feel when a game has bad karma. Jimin, already perched cross-legged on the floor, claims he’s “not that bad” but is fully prepared to throw Namjoon under the bus as the worst player. Jin—forever chaotic—claps his hands and announces that there will be penalties for the worst of the worst.

But as things move toward setting up a place and a time, your eyes drift across the room—toward him.

Jungkook.

He’s lounging near the coffee table, looking effortlessly relaxed as he sips from a beer bottle. His hoodie is slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his tattooed arm. He laughs at something Yoongi says, the sound low and warm, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn’t be watching him.

It also didn’t help that you had a crush on the guy.

But you are.

Yet somehow, he catches you looking.

And he smirks.

You quickly look away, heat creeping up your neck, and focus on the plan instead.

XXX

Tournament Night

Your living room is an absolute disaster zone.

Snack bags, soda cans, and beer bottles litter every surface. The coffee table is buried under a mountain of chips and candy. Your TV screen glows with the unmistakable, cheerful chaos of Mario Kart 8 Deluxe.

Around you, the contestants lounge in various states of confidence. An elite lineup of players who are proudly terrible.

People settle in—Jin is dramatically sipping a drink, already claiming that if he loses, it’s because "the game is rigged." Namjoon is nodding sagely, despite admitting that he hasn’t played in years. Taehyung is half-sprawled on the floor, watching the screen with lazy amusement. Jimin scrolls through his phone, casually leaning against Yoongi—who watches with mild amusement, nursing a drink.

You clear your throat, standing in front of the group. Controllers are handed out like weapons before a battle

"Okay," you announce, pointing at the assembled group. "Alright, listen up! This is the Worst Mario Kart Player Tournament. The goal? To figure out who is the absolute worst at this game. If you are even remotely good at Mario Kart, you are disqualified."

Jin, reclining dramatically on the couch, sighs. "Finally, a tournament made for me."

"I can’t tell if that’s sad or impressive," Namjoon says, shaking his head.

"Both," Yoongi mutters, already lying back with a controller in hand.

Taehyung raises a hand. "What if I occasionally get second place?"

"Out."

Jimin snickers. "What if I always lose, but it’s because I’m playing with one hand while texting?"

"Acceptable."

Yoongi lifts his head. "What if I’ve never played before?"

"Perfect," you declare, writing his name down.

You’ve gathered a solid lineup of contenders, each boasting about how terrible they are. Everything is set. You’re already hyped. Only Hoseok is missing, but then he walks in with a plus-one.

And it’s Jungkook.

Jungkook, who strolls in with his hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes scanning the room with mild amusement. Jungkook, whose name you have definitely heard whispered in hushed tones when it comes to Mario Kart.

Your stomach drops.

You narrow your eyes at Hoseok. "Hobi."

Hoseok grins, entirely unrepentant. "What?"

You give him a look before turning to Jungkook, who’s standing in the doorway, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie. He looks amused, glancing around at the setup before raising an eyebrow at you.

Jungkook chuckles, settling onto the couch. "So... what exactly am I walking into?"

You cross your arms. "A tournament for the worst players. Which means you—no offense—should not be here."

Jungkook tilts his head, feigning innocence. "Who says I’m good?"

"Oh, I know you’re good," you deadpan. "I’ve heard the stories. You're basically a Mario Kart god."

It wasn’t that you didn’t want Jungkook here. Jimin and Taehyung both could be decent players, but Jungkook was in a totally different league. It also didn’t help that you didn’t want to embarrass yourself more than necessary.

Hoseok chimes in, grinning. "C’mon, just let him play! It'll be fun!"

"Fun for who?" you mutter under your breath, already dreading the inevitable humiliation.

Jungkook shrugs, reaching for a controller. He’s settled on the floor near the coffee table, one arm resting on his knee as he watches the screen with an easy confidence that makes your stomach flip. He’s dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, but somehow still manages to look unfairly good. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, and every so often, he runs a hand through it absentmindedly. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, revealing the ink on his arm.

You are watching him – again.

Because Jungkook—competitive, effortlessly talented, devastatingly attractive Jungkook—is also insanely good at Mario Kart.

"I’ll go easy on you guys."

Spoiler alert:

He does not go easy.

XXX

The tournament begins.

And it is chaos. It’s a train wreck from the start.

Jin, who insisted on playing Peach, screams dramatically whenever his kart spins out and somehow manages to fall off the same track three times in a row. Namjoon keeps ramming into walls like he’s personally offended by them, while muttering something about "bad steering mechanics." Taehyung is laughing so hard he can’t even steer properly. Jimin and Hoseok are actively throwing the game just to see if they can out-lose each other.

And then there’s Yoongi.

Who, true to his word, has never played before.

At one point, his character is just driving straight into a wall. No reversing. No attempt to fix it. Just… endlessly pushing against a corner.

Yoongi, who genuinely has no idea what he’s doing, has somehow managed to drive backward for an entire lap without realizing. "Wait," he mutters, squinting at the screen. "Why am I still on lap two?"

"BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!" the entire room yells in unison.

Hoseok is practically in tears at this point. "I swear to God, I have never seen anything this bad in my life."

Meanwhile, Jungkook—your unexpected guest of honor—leans comfortably against the couch, his controller held loosely in his hands. He’s effortlessly weaving through every obstacle, drifting like a pro, dodging red shells like they’re beneath him. While everyone else is in absolute shambles, Jungkook is so far ahead that he might as well be playing a different game.

And the worst part? He isn’t even trying.

It’s a massacre.

The moment the race ends (Jungkook: 1st place. Everyone else: a mess), Jin slams his controller down. "This is so unfair," he groans. "He's not even breaking a sweat!"

Jungkook leans back, smirking. "What can I say? It’s muscle memory at this point."

"Can you, like, turn your skill level down?" Taehyung asks.

Jungkook pretends to consider it. "Hmm. I told you I’d go easy."

"You sandbagging liar," Jin accuses.

"You have cheat codes built into your brain," Jimin whines.

"Bro," Taehyung groans. "You lapped us. That’s not easy."

Jungkook just laughs, all doe-eyed innocence and zero regret.

The next match is even more chaotic. Jin is yelling about how Peach deserves better. Namjoon, deep in concentration, is still ramming into every possible wall. He mutters something about “unrealistic steering mechanics,” even as his kart gets stuck in a corner for the third time. Taehyung has somehow found a way to sabotage himself and still look like he's having the time of his life. Hoseok and Jimin are loudly conspiring against each other, and Yoongi? Well, Yoongi is once again stuck in a corner, looking like he’s contemplating life choices.

Then Jin, ever the dramatic one, slams his drink down. "Alright! Loser of this round has to chug a mystery drink of our choosing."

"Absolutely not," Namjoon says immediately, shaking his head.

Hoseok, already grinning, shakes his head. "Too late, it’s happening."

Jungkook perks up. "Oh let’s make a bet!"

The room groans in unison.

"No," Taehyung says firmly. "You’re too good. You’re banned from bets."

Jungkook blinks. "What? Why?"

"Because it’s not fair," Jimin argues. "You’d never have to do a punishment."

Jungkook crosses his arms, looking genuinely offended. "This is discrimination."

"You’ll live," you tease, nudging him playfully.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, feigning exasperation—but when he looks at you – bickering with his friends about penalties and bets, there’s something else in his gaze. A flicker of something mischievous, something playful. He wants to be part of the ridiculous fun, to be included in the messiness. He wants to lose just once, if only to be in on the joke. For the first time tonight, he doesn’t want to be the best.

Instead, he wants to be in the game with you.

The next round starts, and you are locked in a vicious battle with Jimin for seventh place.

"Move, Jimin!"

"You move!"

Seeing no other choice, you actually kick him.

"OW!" Jimin yelps, jerking sideways. His character immediately veers off course, tumbling into the abyss.

"Did you just—" Jungkook stares at you, scandalized. "Did you just physically assault him for an advantage?!"

You shrug. "It’s called strategy."

Jimin groans. "I’m pressing charges."

"Don’t be dramatic."

Jungkook lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re ruthless."

Your stomach flips.

As the night continues, Jungkook keeps trying to throw matches, but his muscle memory betrays him. Even when he goes easy, he’s still effortlessly clearing laps ahead of everyone else. It frustrates him in the most amusing way.

At one point, he leans toward you, voice lower, more conspiratorial. "What if I fake a loss?"

You snort, giving him a side glance. "You? Purposely losing? I highly doubt you’re capable of that."

Jungkook grins. "Think I need an incentive?"

You pause mid-button press, the weight of his words settling in. The way he’s looking at you—mischievous, daring, and maybe a little flirty—sends warmth curling through you.

"What kind of incentive?" you challenge.

Jungkook tilts his head. "The loser of the next match gets to make the Winner do anything they want."

Your breath hitches. "Anything?"

He smirks. "Anything."

The game starts, but your concentration is completely shot. It’s hard to focus when Jungkook is right next to you, radiating heat, his knee brushing against yours every so often. You’re painfully aware of every glance he sneaks your way, the amused curve of his lips when you miss a drift, the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his controller like he’s barely trying.

And the worst part? He isn’t trying.

You catch him purposefully slowing down at certain turns, missing item boxes he’d normally snipe with pinpoint accuracy. At one point, he even steers himself into a banana peel that was ridiculously easy to avoid.

"You’re not slick," you mumble, nudging him with your elbow as your kart zooms ahead of his.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, unbothered. "What? I’m playing fair."

"Bullshit," you scoff. "You just drove off the map."

"Maybe I just suck," he says with a casual shrug.

You give him an unimpressed look. "Jungkook, you literally lapped Jin and Namjoon earlier. You don’t suck."

Jungkook just grins, completely unrepentant. "Guess I’m having an off-game."

Around the room, the others are deep into their own races, the air filled with a chaotic blend of laughter, shouting, and the occasional smack of a pillow when someone gets hit with a shell. Jin, sitting cross-legged on the couch with an exaggerated pout, is dramatically lamenting his ongoing streak of failures.

"How am I this bad?" he wails as his character spins out yet again.

Namjoon, who has been quietly determined to not be the worst player, nods sympathetically. “It’s okay, hyung. I think I just accidentally threw a banana peel at myself, so you’re not alone.”

Jimin and Taehyung are locked in some sort of personal war, laughing hysterically every time they knock the other off the track. Yoongi, still somehow managing to drive backwards half the race, barely reacts when his character falls into the abyss again.

You steal a glance at Jungkook, pretending to adjust your grip on the controller. His eyes are fixed on the screen, but there’s an unmistakable smirk playing at his lips. He looks completely at ease, his long fingers moving fluidly over the buttons. His hoodie has slipped off one shoulder slightly, revealing a hint of collarbone, and—God, is it hotter in here, or is it just you?

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus on the race.

Jungkook is trying to lose, you remind yourself. He’s letting himself get hit by stray green shells, purposely bumping into walls like a rookie, and even gasping dramatically every time he falls behind. But somehow—somehow—he’s still hovering dangerously close to the front of the pack.

But then, something happens. Something neither of you expected.

You’re having a good round.

A really good round.

For once, you’re not bumping into every wall like you have a personal vendetta against them. You’re hitting drifts at the right time, picking up useful items, not launching yourself off cliffs every ten seconds. You might not be winning—but you’re actually playing well.

And Jungkook notices.

His hands tighten slightly around his controller. His eyes flicker between the game and you, and his grin falters.

Oh no.

He realizes, right then and there, that if he keeps intentionally losing, you might actually beat him.

And Jungkook Jeon does not lose.

Not even for a bet.

Suddenly, he stops messing around. His kart speeds up, taking turns with the precision he’s actually capable of. He starts landing trick jumps, expertly dodging obstacles. It’s not full power Jungkook, but he’s no longer handing you the win on a silver platter.

"Hey—!" You shoot him a look, realizing what he’s doing.

Jungkook just smirks. "Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?"

You grit your teeth, your competitive side kicking in. "Oh, it is so on."

The final lap approaches. It’s a tight race—somehow, you’re in fifth place, a personal record, while Jungkook is naturally in first place. The finish line is in sight.

Then—chaos.

A blue shell whizzes across the screen.

Jungkook barely has time to react before it slams into him, sending his kart flying into the air. The others erupt into cheers and laughter as his character crashes down, losing all momentum.

And then—your moment of glory.

You have a red shell.

With a wicked grin, you release it. Just as Jungkooks character is in third place – just before you.

The shell finds its target immediately—Jungkook, still recovering from the blue shell disaster. His kart spins out again, just meters from the finish line.

Your character zooms past him, securing third place.

Jungkook?

Fourth.

You slam your controller down, victorious. "YES!"

Jungkook blinks at the screen. Then slowly turns to you. "Did you just—"

You smirk. "Looks like you lost."

Hoseok, Jin, and the others lose it. Laughter echoes through the room as everyone reacts to the unexpected outcome.

"NO WAY," Hoseok shouts, clutching his stomach.

Jin wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. "Justice. Finally, he’s been humbled!"

Jungkook, still staring at the results screen, exhales a small laugh. "Guess I did."

But the way he says it—the way his gaze flickers to you, something unreadable behind his eyes—sends a shiver up your spine.

XXX

The rest of the night is filled with more games, more snacks, and an absolutely absurd amount of trash talk.

Jin, determined to prove that his losses were nothing more than “horrific luck and sabotage,” insists on several rematches. Each one ends worse than the last, until finally, he throws down his controller and dramatically flops onto the couch. “I was not meant for this cruel world,” he laments. “How is it possible to hit every banana peel?”

Yoongi, who has been curled into the corner of the couch for at least the past hour, gives a slow blink. "Skill."

Namjoon is muttering something about gaming algorithms, staring at the results like they personally wronged him. “I swear, these things are designed to keep people like me from succeeding. It’s rigged.”

Jimin, having somehow secured the most snacks out of anyone, grins from his perch on the floor. “Hyung, you drove off the track five times. That wasn’t the game. That was you.”

Hoseok cackles, still high on the energy of the night, while Taehyung lounges on the floor, rolling an empty can between his hands. The apartment is a mess—a graveyard of snack wrappers and soda bottles, controllers scattered across the floor, a few blankets abandoned over the arm of the couch. The TV screen still displays the final results, your miraculous third-place finish frozen in time like a trophy.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook is still grinning.

But it’s not the usual, overconfident smirk you’re used to seeing from him—it’s something lighter, something unfiltered. He’s always been the effortlessly cool one, the too good at everything guy. But tonight?

Tonight, he’s comfortable.

There’s something different in the way he moves—loose-limbed and relaxed, at ease in a way you’re not used to seeing. His hair is a little messier, the hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder as he leans back, beer bottle still in hand. Maybe it’s the warmth of the night, or maybe it’s the fact that—for once—he wasn’t the absolute best at something. But it does something to you, watching him like this.

Something dangerous.

You shove that thought away as the night begins to wind down. One by one, people start saying their goodbyes. Yoongi is half-asleep already, Jin dramatically announcing that his defeat has physically aged him, and Namjoon mumbling something about how he needs to study the mechanics of drift timing. Jimin stretches with a yawn before grabbing his jacket, Taehyung trailing after him with a lazy wave.

Eventually, it’s just you and Jungkook.

And he lingers.

You don’t point it out, but you notice.

He helps gather empty cups and bowls without being asked, stacking them neatly on the counter as the TV screen dims to its new default screensaver—the results of the final game, your third-place finish frozen on display like some kind of cosmic joke.

Jungkook leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you with that signature smirk—except there’s something different about it tonight. Something more deliberate.

“You know,” he finally says, voice light, “I never claimed my win.”

You freeze mid-motion, fingers tightening around an empty soda can. Slowly, you turn to face him.

“…What?”

Jungkook tilts his head, feigning innocence. “The bet?” He shifts his weight, his smirk deepening. “Loser gets to make the winner do anything they want?”

You blink.

Your stomach flips.

“Pretty sure I placed fourth,” he adds, eyes glinting with something unreadable while looking from the screen saver back to you.

You scoff, though your heart is hammering. “You’re seriously calling that in?”

He pushes off the counter, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. The air changes—something warmer, heavier settling between you.

“Wouldn’t you?” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. He’s too close now, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of whatever cologne he’s wearing, something woodsy and warm. Your pulse thrums beneath your skin, and it’s almost irritating how effortlessly he affects you.

You try to sound unbothered. “Depends. What exactly are you asking for?”

Tilting his head slightly, “I could ask you to do something ridiculous. Like, I don’t know… make me a five-course meal.”

You let out a breathy laugh, pausing mid-motion as you gather some snack wrappers. “Pretty sure that’s more of a punishment for you.”

His smirk deepens. “Depends. Are you a terrible cook?”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll have you know I make excellent instant ramen.”

Jungkook chuckles. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s testing the space between you. “Alright,” he says, “then I’ll change my wish.”

You arch a brow. “Oh?”

He takes another step forward, closing the gap between you, his voice lower now, more careful. “Go on a date with me.”

You blink.

The air shifts.

“…What?”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers over your face, reading every flicker of confusion. His hands slide into the pockets of his hoodie, but he doesn’t retreat. If anything, he looks amused by your reaction.

“What’s confusing about that?” he muses.

You search his face, as if waiting for him to break into laughter, to reveal it as some kind of joke. “I just—” You huff out a breath, crossing your arms. “You could’ve asked for anything, Jungkook. And you want a date?”

His lips quirk. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You falter.

It’s not that you think you’re unworthy of Jungkook’s attention. But he’s… him. He’s effortlessly cool, universally liked, the kind of guy who doesn’t need to ask for attention—it just happens to him. You, on the other hand, spent the entire night proving that you were possibly the worst Mario Kart player alive.

“…I just didn’t think you’d be interested,” you admit.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, something fond playing at the edges of his expression. “Funny,” he murmurs, gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “I actually wanted to ask for a kiss.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is quieter now, softer. “But I didn’t want to come off too strong.”

You hesitate for only a second. Then, before you can think twice about it, you tilt your chin up, challenging.

“You should just try,” you say.

Jungkook doesn’t waste another moment.

He steps in, closing the space between you with a confidence that makes your stomach flip. His fingers skim your waist—not pulling, not forcing, just there, grounding, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean in just as he does, meeting him in the middle.

The first brush of his lips is slow, testing, but the moment you sigh against his mouth, Jungkook deepens it. His hand splays at your hip, his other fingers grazing along your jaw. It’s not hurried, not rushed—he savors it, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

You barely notice the way your fingers grip his hoodie until he makes a quiet sound against your lips—a small, pleased hum that sends warmth curling through your spine.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not by much. His forehead hovers close to yours, breath still mingling with your own. The smallest grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“So?” he murmurs. “Was that too strong?”

Your pulse is thundering, your knees still weak, but you somehow manage to smirk. “Eh. I’ve had better.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “Liar.”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. And then—because you can, because it feels right—you press another quick, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away.

“Help me clean,” you say, turning back toward the mess.

Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Then, just as you start moving, he exhales dramatically.

“For the date,” he says simply.

You pause, turning to look at him again.

His grin is soft but mischievous, his head tilted slightly like he’s challenging you to argue.

A slow warmth spreads through you, sinking deep, settling somewhere in your ribs.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

And then, laughing under his breath, Jungkook finally helps you clean—grinning the whole time.

#bts jungkook #jungkook #bts #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook x you #bts x reader #namjoon #jeon jeongguk #jeon #jjk #bts jin #taehyung #hoseok #jungkook x y/n

118 notes · View notes

madridfangirl · 10 months ago

Text

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fic)

Chapter 10

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. Mature Language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

...................................................................................

Jude was coming back from the international break today. England had qualified for the Euros, with matches to spare. And he had been the shining star of both the games. Scoring a goal and winning a penalty.

Ananya was so proud of him. But ten days apart felt like forever this time. They spoke everyday, sometimes twice a day, and exchanged messages throughout. It just wasn’t enough though, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with him.

Jude came straight to her apartment from the airport, lifted her by her waist & swung her around like a madman. Legs bumping into the furniture of the living room. She giggled away merrily, while trying to keep them from tumbling over.

‘Easy there, tiger.’

His eyes glinted with mischief.

‘Ooh do I finally get a nickname?’

‘Maybe. You like it?’

He nodded eagerly, & she kissed his nose.

‘Okay then. Dinner is ready, tiger.’

‘Are you on the menu? Coz I’d rather have you.’

‘Maybe for dessert.’

She winked as she untangled herself from his hold. While he stared after her, replaying what she had said & the way she said it. Something had been different about her lately & he was loving every bit of it.

‘Oh my god you are backkk.’

Roma emerged from her room and Jude pulled her into a bearhug too.

‘Gosh you rocked in both the games.’

‘I know right?’

He shrugged smugly and both the girls rolled their eyes at him.

‘So the modesty is only for the cameras, is it?’

Roma quipped, and Ananya chuckled from where she was setting the table.

‘Now don’t gang up on me, you two. It’s my day. Heck its my week.’

‘When is it not?’

The girls said together, looked at each other & burst out laughing. Jude pouted for a second, but joined in the banter later, sitting next to Ananya on the table. His palm never left her thigh throughout dinner.

She had cooked his favourite pasta. Exactly how he liked it. The way his mom made it.

He leaned over & kissed her cheek, earning a sweet smile. Jude loved it when she remembered the little things & spoiled him like that.

Conversation flowed easily between the three of them, as always. Jude spoke about the new tiny Italian town he discovered where they had their camp, and the girls made plan to visit there. Roma joked about the posters the Italian fangirls carried in the match, saying ‘Marry me Jude’ or ‘Be my boyfriend’. The cameraman had some fun with it, popping it on the screen a few times. Some of the players on the field had noticed it too, & it had become quite a joke in the post match pressers as well.

Jude smiled sheepishly, while looking at Ananya from the corner of his eye.

‘Yeah, some of them came to our hotel too.’

‘Excuse me?’

Ananya’s head whipped in his direction, while Roma wondered if she had opened a pandora’s box.

‘Honest, they did. Just wanted some photos & merch. Then we hung out for a bit.’

‘Define we.’

‘Me & them. And some other lads.’

‘This is not funny.’

‘Wanna see some photos?’

Ananya just stared at him, and he lost the will to carry on the charade.

‘Jeez I left, dove. I just clicked some pics and left. Though I think the girls weren’t too happy about that; lads told me later, honest.’

The smugness & cockiness was on full show. Coupled with a dashing smile.

‘Such a heartbreaker, aren’t you?’

‘Like you aren’t one.’

Roma mutterred from her seat, sipping her third glass of wine, only realising the slip up when she felt the full force of Ananya’s glare.

Jude looked between the two, trying to decipher their code language. Failing miserably.

‘What’s going on, girls?’

‘Just had too many of these, should stop now.’

‘Yes. Yes you should.’

Ananya said pointedly. Roma took her leave soon after. She was supposed to go to a house party though something about the moment felt odd. But Jude was too happy tonight, so he let it go.

He grabbed her waist from behind as Ananya was clearing the table.

‘How about my dessert now?’

His mouth started trailing down her neck & shoulder as he pushed her towards the bedroom.

‘There is choco-fudge brownie in the fridge, your fav.’

She really had gone all out for him today. His lips curved into a smile against the crook of her neck.

‘Can I eat it off you?’

Before she could even process his words, he sat on the edge of the bed & pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs.

His hot mouth was on hers in a flash, & she forgot her last lucid thought, losing herself in his frenzy.

His hungry, sloppy kisses left a wet trail all over her face, neck & exposed cleavage.

‘Oh I missed you. All of you.’

His hands moved under her butt, kneading them with force, making her yelp into his mouth.

‘Did you miss me? Miss this?’

She threw her head back as he bit along her jaw. Everything about their intimacy hit deeper today. Like their bodies knew they were at a pivotal juncture.

‘Yes. So much, Jude.’

It was true. She had missed his touch like hell, feeling empty & starved without it.

Her breathless response spurred him no end. His large, warm hand slid up her fitted top, cupping one of her breasts.

This was unchartered territory between them. Her eyes flew open instantly, & met his dark, hooded ones. He held her gaze, squeezed harder, making her mewl & tremble in his arms.

‘I thought about these babies every night. Touched myself thinking about doing this.’

His fingers circled the centre of her clothed boob, finding the nipple & rolling it with intent. In no mood to stop. The continued assault made her fall forward, clutching his shoulders.

Tonight was supposed to be the night where she told him she was ready for more. Ready to be fully his. The longing she felt while he was away made her see it even more clearly.

She had planned this to the T - his fav meal & dessert, his fav fitted top on her, his fav lip-colour on her, leaving her hair open the way he liked, keeping the apartment to themselves tonight. She had spent hours in the salon too, wanting to look pretty for him. She knew he noticed & appreciated these things, & cleaned up well himself for date-nights.

But she was fast losing control of the situation. He was taking over, with his hot & frenzied moves, dragging her along. Did he read her mind or her mood? Or was he in a mood of his own? She couldn’t tell. But his touch felt firmer tonight, his gaze more intense, filled with purpose. The spark between them more charged.

Her body was responding to him fully, but her conscience kept messing with her head. She had to tell him. Now. Before anything happened. He had the right to know.

But does it even matter? It’s inconsequential. Why bring it up now?

She tried to debate with her conscience but it was a losing battle. It won’t be inconsequential to him. And if the roles were reversed, she would most definitely want to know this. The start of something special between them could not be done with a heavy conscience.

‘Ju-de.’

Her voice was barely a whisper. He was too occupied with her curves to register that. She spoke louder.

‘Jude…wait.’

He looked up, his hands still continuing his ministrations.

‘Whyyy?’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Now?’

His pleading puppy eyes tried to sway her, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

Ananya gave him a few moments to compose himself. His hands came down to loosely wrap around her waist, and hers cupped his cheeks. Still in his lap, straddling him.

Jude searched her face, a sudden unsettling dread buildingin the pit of his stomach. He could tell something was coming, something unpleasant.

She decided to let it out quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

‘Remember our office party last Friday, the one where we all dressed up in ethnic wear?’

‘Yes.’

He already didn’t like the direction where it was going.

Ananya looked down, unable to meet his eyes for this, feeling a weird sense of guilt.

‘That night, Arjun proposed to me. I didn’t see it coming but you were right about this. About him. I-I thought you should know.’

Jude was still as a rock. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. She looked up to his face. It had gone cold. No expression. His eyes were shut - as if wanting to process this in some privacy.

Slowly, his arms dropped from around her, gripping the edge of the bed. Leaving her feeling empty.

She desperately wanted to pepper kisses all over his face, to make him look at her, to show him how none of it meant anything, but she wasn’t sure if any intimate touch would be welcome right now.

So she just stroked his face slowly with her fingers, waiting for him to open his eyes. He did open them, but looked behind her, almost through her.

‘How did it happen?’

His voice was cold, distant. Unfamiliar.

‘I..I don’t understand your question.’

‘When he PROPOSED to you, what did he do? What did he say?’

Her face contorted in discomfort, unable to understand why he wanted these images in his head.

‘We were dancing together and..’

‘You were dancing with him?’

His voice & tone were even but she knew his emotions were anything but that.

‘No. We were all dancing individually, but in a group. 5-6 of us. He was next to me, said he wanted to talk to me, we stepped aside and then he….then he….’

She looked at him pleadingly, to stop this torture, but he wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy right now. Defeated, she continued.

‘He said I was looking beautiful in that sari & that he….has had feelings for me…for a while. And if I’d like to go on a drive with him.’

‘A drive? Sure, that’s all he wanted that night.’

Jude scoffed mockingly. Unable to shake the image of that leech checking her out, wanting to whisk her away to put his hands on her.

Facing Jude seemed like such a difficult task suddenly for Ananya. Maybe coz his eyes were screaming bloody murder. And her own conscience kept making her feel like she had wronged him somehow. But she hadn’t. How was this her fault?

‘What did you say?’

Her whole body jerked at his question. He really needed to ask?

‘I-I obviously said no, Jude. Told him I’m not in the right headspace for a relationship, just wanna focus on my work.’

His accusing glare again bore a hole through her, as if this was the wrong response too. As if he expected her to say something else. But they had discussed this before. He knew this is what she was telling people.

She could tell how hard he was trying to keep a lid on his agitation, for her sake. How hard his hands were gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles going white. A volcano simmering inside him, ready to erupt any moment.

Wanting to comfort him, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing the side of his face. His hands didn’t move from the bed.

‘Why was I not told immediately?’

‘You were away, baby.’

‘We spoke twice everyday. This was 7 days ago. Why didn’t you tell me that night itself?

‘You were playing Italy next day.’

‘So?’

‘So how could I tell you something that would mess with your mind? When I knew how important that match was and how hard you were training for it? How could I be the reason to meddle with that? I know football comes first for you.’

‘Oh don’t you throw that in my face. Don’t use that against me. Football coming first doesn’t mean I should be kept in the dark about other important things.’

‘Kept in the dark? I am telling you the first time we are meeting in person after that. How is that keeping you in the dark?’

He wasn’t the only one agitated now. Her guilt had made way for a fair bit of irritation. Everything seemed to be blowing up in her face, despite her best efforts to make the right call for everyone.

‘Would you have told me if Roma hadn’t blurted it out?’

Jude had finally put two & two together on the heartbreaker comment. He understood that exchange now, and why Roma left so quickly after that.

‘Do you seriously believe I would have kept this from you?’

Her voice was small now, filled with hurt.

‘I don’t know. I never thought you of all people would ever hide something like this from me for so long, but you did. So now I don’t know anymore.’

He said honestly. Matter of factly. She was supposed to be different. Jude didn’t think there was an iota of deception in her. So how could she talk to him the whole week & pretend everything was ok?

It hit her like a truck. Because she could see it was coming from his heart. And she knew he didn’t use any filters in his closed circles.

She clutched his shirt tightly, trying to shake him. It didn’t make a dent.

‘Jude, please, look at me. It meant nothing. It means nothing. It’s done. I genuinely thought it was the best thing to do, I couldn’t bear it impacting your performance. That’s the only reason I delayed telling you. There is nothing more to it. Please, try to look at it from my POV.’

Jude laughed a dry little laugh, which sounded almost cruel to her.

‘Your POV? Ok, let’s do that. How would you have reacted if the situation was reversed? If I had kept something like that from you.’

She was stumped. Unable to come up with a response that could further her case.

‘You would have been out of that door by now. I would have gotten zero benefit of the doubt. Guilty on sight.’

She looked down at her hands. Coz he was right. She would take taken this badly.

‘Because you are you - above any reproach. And I am me, the quintessential slut. Right?’

Ananya shook her head in pain, covering his mouth with her palm.

‘Don’t say that, baby. Please, I can’t.’

She reached out to caress his cheeks but he flinched. The rejection felt worse than a slap in the face.

‘I should leave.’

Jude muttered in a cold voice, almost to himself, as he lifted her out of his lap, placing her on the bed.

She felt numb. Shocked at the turn of events. Broken with the hurt in his voice.

Coming to life only when he tried to get up.

She clutched his elbow with both hands, placing her head on his shoulder.

‘Stay. Please. Don’t leave me like this.’

Jude sighed audibly, looking at her trembling form. Fighting every bone in his body that was yearning to hold her. Comfort her.

‘It’s for the best, Ananya.’

She clutched him tighter. Her own name never sounded so foul, so bitter to her. She had gotten so used to his terms of endearment.

‘I’ll do something, or say something I’ll regret. It’s best I leave right now.’

How did things come to this? What was this game god was playing with her? How did she hurt this precious man so much that he couldn’t bear being in her company? Couldn’t bear looking at her face without flinching? Why did it have to happen now, when she was ready to give her all to him?

No, she couldn’t let him go like this. She wouldn’t.

‘Say what you have to say. Don’t bottle it in. It’d be worse.’

‘You won’t be able to handle it, Ananya.’

The cold & mocking tone was back. There was only one way to get it all out of him now. Confrontation.

‘Don’t patronise me. I am a big girl.’

His head whipped in her direction.

‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me.’

She could see her provocation had had the desired effect. Jude jerked his arm away from her hold and paced around the room.

‘Oh you are quite something, aren’t you? You refuse to listen to reason. You refuse to admit you are wrong. And I am patronising? Jesus fucking Christ what a joke.’

His tone was cutting through her but she needed to get this out of him. Else they would fall into a bottomless pit of misunderstanding.

‘That fucker - I told you from day one. I told you he wanted you. But no, you didn’t listen. Coz you think you are smarter than me. Well in many things you are. But it some things I know better. Especially when it comes to men. I am one of those men. I know what guys want when they look at girls a certain way. But you were too stubborn to admit it. You made it a matter of your independence, like I was trying to dictate your life, to control you, by asking you to stay away from that leech. You took his calls in the middle of the night, let him bring coffee for you, calling it all harmless, when I told you repeatedly it wasn’t. YOU LET HIM THINK HE HAD A SHOT, ANANYA. When you knew, you knew I hated his guts.’

He lifted her by her upper arms, making her stand in front of him.

‘He didn’t just want to take you on a drive, he wanted to fuck your brains out. To rip that sari off of you. When it should have been me. Only me. To get to picture you like that. To get to do that to you. Just me.’

He pulled her closer for a rough kiss, pouring his frustration into her mouth. When she started moving her lips to his tune, he broke the kiss abruptly.

‘Makes me wonder if you want him as your side-squeeze.’

‘W-hat?’

She choked out, still reeling from his kiss.

‘Makes sense, doesn’t it? Why you always defend him. Why you took this week to maybe think about his proposal, before telling me. What is he, a safety net? If things don’t work out between us? Is that why you have been keeping me away, not letting me have you?’

She stared at him in disbelief. Debating whether or not to really slap him - anything to get him out of this madness spree he was on.

‘You are out of YOUR FUCKING MIND if you think like that.’

‘Oh really..’

‘SHUT UP. You idiot. Fine I fucked up by not telling you sooner. But if you, even for a moment, believe that I want anyone else but you, then you are an even bigger dimwit than I thought. And then you say you can tell these things. Can you not see how I look at you? How you make me feel? The effect you have on me, CAN YOU NOT SEE ANY OF IT?’

Jude was quiet now, this rant had been unexpected. She found herself unable to stop. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

‘I spent days trying to make today perfect. Your fav meal, your fav music, and all of this.’

She pointed to herself, head to toe. All the effort she had made to doll up for him.

‘And this.’

She grabbed a paper bag from her dresser and shoved it in his arms. He looked inside, finding an RM jersey. HIS jersey. HIS name. HIS number. Something he had always wanted to see on her. Something she had said he needed to earn.

‘Any distance between us was not coz of Arjun. Or my ex. It was me. It was us. Like I always told you. And tonight….I wanted to wear this for you. Just this.’

She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to. He got what she meant.

But Jude was unhinged tonight, letting out every thought unfiltered.

‘Pity sex? Guilty sex? That’s what I get? After waiting for ages, that’s what I get?’

’Sometimes I forget how immature you are.’

Jude grabbed her arms, locking them behind her back, caging her in his hold. Towering over her, leaning down to stare into her eyes.

‘And you are the queen of maturity, right? While I am a juvenile?’

‘When it comes to matters of emotional complexity, of adult relationships, YES.’

‘Who has more experience between us?’

‘SEX is not relationship experience.’

‘Dealing with women is experience.’

‘Dealing? Or stringing them along? Or toying with them? Or sleeping with them once & never calling them back? Or using them just for sex? I AM GLAD I don’t have that experience.’

‘Didn’t know you were making a documentary on my sex life. Is that all you do in your free time?’

‘I don’t get much free time. Given I have to deal with a child like you.’

‘And you’re so proper aren’t you? With all your rules, and do’s and don’ts for anyone to be with you.’

Ananya squirmed in his grip, wanting to break free, to smack his pretty face that was spewing garbage non-stop. Rules. He had the gall to talk about rules.

‘Let me go.’

Jude tightened his grip further. Sure to leave bruises.

‘Make me.’

‘If you hated the rules so much, who asked you to chase me, huh? I didn’t force you to wait. To give up all the amazing sex you were getting. Didn’t force you into this celibacy. I told you it would take time, I told you on Day 1. Then what fucking rules are you moaning about, huh? Don’t tell me you didn’t indulge in these 45 days. That you didn’t look elsewhere. That you weren’t tempted. Don’t fucking tell me that.’

“I WAS TEMPTED. But I didn’t act on it. Fuck I even stopped the Insta likes. AND I wouldn’t have been tempted at all if I HAD YOU.’

‘Sex. It’s just all about sex with you.’

‘Really? I haven’t touched you in 45 days and THATS WHAT YOU THROW IN MY FACE?’

‘And you aren’t used to that, are you? Jude Bellingham isn’t used to waiting for any girl, is he? Because he always gets what he wants, whenever he wants it. However many times he wants it. Because women just fall at his feet left, right & centre.’

‘When did you become so filthy, so nasty?’

‘Since I met you.’

Jude let her go abruptly, stepping away from her. She rubbed her wrists, trying to soothe the reddened area.

‘Maybe you were right. Maybe this is too complicated. Too hard.’

The haze lifted, and she felt her heart sink to her stomach.

‘Maybe.’

Jude had his back to her now. He rubbed his temple repeatedly, questioning his life choices. Maybe this relationship thing was not for him. Maybe Jobe was right, he wasn’t ready. He had tried with sincerity, but still fallen short. Or maybe they were just not right for each other.

She stayed still, waiting for his next move. Waiting for him to look at her again. He didn’t.

‘Umm…I should probably head back.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Jude picked up his phone from her desk, paused at the door of her bedroom, torn, but eventually walked out. She heard the main door slam on his way out.

That’s when the tears finally started. She fell on the bed face down, letting it all out.

In hindsight, not a single argument had been worth fighting over. It just escalated like mad, due to both their faults, and ballooned into a point of no return.

Was it that, a point of no return?

She buried her head in the pillow as reality slowly started to sink in.

But she didn’t have to stay there for long. The door flew open two mins later, and there he was.

Jude had tried to storm out but ended up just pacing around the living room. Unable to walk away. He had never been good at letting her go.

No words were needed. She ran to him ecstatically. And he caught her as she jumped into his arms. Pressing her against the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Their lips crashed together - nipping, sucking, kissing with abandon. A clash of teeth and tongues. He won eventually, invading her mouth at will. Both gasping apologies in between kisses.

Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging & pulling, as he continued to wreck her mouth, her face, her neck.

‘Lets not fight like this again.’

‘Done. And don’t ever walk out on me again.

‘Done.’

They went back to the frantic kissing, but she to break for air a few moments later.

‘Jude - I should have told you earlier about him. Should have listened to you. I am sorry.’

His face suddenly turned all serious, and she wondered if she had walked into a hole again.

‘Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’ll tell him you’re seeing someone, that you’re practically living with someone. That the person is famous, so you want to keep it low profile. And then, you will stay away. No conversation outside of work. No messages. No calls. No social get togethers. I don’t want him in a 5 mile radius of you outside of work. AND, if after this, he still doesn’t get the message, you’ll come straight to me & then I will deal with him my way. And you, dove, will stay out of it. I don’t wanna hear a peep from you then. Understood?’

The absolute authority in his voice left no room for disobeying. She nodded instantly, and was rewarded with a fierce kiss.

‘Now…go & get ready for me.’

‘Huh?’

She couldn't’ think straight, with his tongue still in her mouth.

‘I was promised you in my jersey. Just my jersey.’

She had completely forgotten all else after their fight, but he hadn’t. His eyes glinted suggestively, as he set her down on the ground & patted her ass, nudging her towards the washroom.

‘Don’t keep me waiting. I have plans for you tonight.’

...................................................................................

Phew! I posted ahead of time, yayyy!

This was meant to be angst plus smut but the angsty piece itself went on for 4.4k words. Too much fun :)

You can guess what's gonna happen next. That is the next chapter :)

As always, would love to hear your thoughts / comments / feedback. They keep me going :)

#jude bellingham #real madrid #bellingham #jude #jb5 #jb #jude bellingham smut #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #star crossed lovers #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #desi girl #jude bellingham angst #jude fic

160 notes · View notes

teyvat-academy-au · 3 months ago

Text

Nahida is scaaary

Humans! Think about how powerful would look the scene, where the trapped and shackled AFO sat opposite the small and "innocent" Nahida. There would be a vibe of conversation between Nahida and Dottore (only our dendro girl would have a stronger position in this case, but nevertheless!).

Perhaps if I had been cornered, I would have written this dialogue, but I doubt that my writing skill is that high. It's a good thing I don't have to do this.

It would be funny (and I don't care if it's in character or not right now) if, before closing the door, Nahida said something like, "Many people deserve a second chance. But how convenient that the death penalty has not been abolished for people like you."

#teyvat academy au #teyvat academy #lazy story smile #ta oneshot #genshin impact #bnha #mha #nahida #dottore #afo #all for one

49 notes · View notes

greynatomy · 2 years ago

Text

secrecy

lucy bronze x reader

thanks for the request!

———

Keira, Leah and Georgia have know Lucy Bronze for years. They would always be around each other whenever they had their international duties. They aren’t called the ‘three best friends and Lucy’ for nothing.

However, the three have been noticing some changes in their friend’s behavior. For the past two years, Lucy has become more secretive. She would also lie a lot more to them, something she hasn’t really done before.

They didn’t think much of it until the past couple of months. Lucy’s been canceling on plans more often than not. She would leave right after training ends, not even showering at the facilities. Most importantly, she would have some secret phone calls, making sure to be away from prying ears.

The three best friends wanted to do their own little investigation, wanting to figure out what was happening to their friend and what she was hiding. Yes, it’s a bit of an invasion of her privacy, but they knew Lucy wasn’t going to be telling them anytime soon.

The Lionesses had just finished up a training session, moving into the recovery room for an ice bath. The four friends were in the bath together when a ring of a phone interrupts their conversation. Lucy, knowing it was her phone, grabbed it, seeing the name on the screen and excuses herself to take the call.

Answering the video call, Lucy is met by a face so close to the screen.

“Hi, Paisley.”

“Mama!”

Lucy makes it to her room, a room she isn’t sharing with any of her teammates, getting comfortable at the chair in the corner of the room.

“Did you take Mommy’s phone again?”

“Yeah! Wanted to call Mama. Miss you.”

“I miss you too. Where’s Mommy, bubs?”

“She-um-she watching Potter. Again.”

“Mommy loves Harry Potter. Can you give the phone to Mommy? Mama wants to talk to her.”

“Kay!”

Paisley runs over to the living room where you’re sat, watching a movie.

“Mommy! Mama talk.”

“Mama?” The phone gets shoved into your face where you see the very attractive face of your wife. “Hey, sexy.”

“Hi, beautiful. How are you?”

“Doin’ okay. Pretty uneventful day. How was training?”

“Training is training. I’ve just got done with recovery and gotta take a shower.”

“Ooh, take me with you.” You say with a smirk.

“Down, girl. Keep those pants on.”

“It’s all the hormones talking and it’s all your fault.”

Meanwhile, in the recovery room, Leah, Georgia and Keira all look at each other with a knowing look.

“She never used to leave when taking calls before.”

“Yeah, that’s weird.”

The three quickly got showered and dressed, making their way to their friend’s room, Keira knocking on the door.

The door opened to a freshly showered Lucy.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to see where you went off to.” Georgia answers.

“Um, okay. Well, it’s nearly dinner, so I was just waiting until we can go.”

“Hmm, okay.”

Lucy is confused by the three’s behavior, but thinks nothing of it.

———

It was now the day of the Women’s Finalissima against Brazil. You were in the friends and family section with Paisley, sat on the seats.

In the twenty-third minute, Ella Toone gets a goal in from an assist by your wife. Paisley jumping up and down from her seat. That was the only goal until halftime.

The second half started, many substitutions and a couple of yellow cards being given out. In the three minute of added time, Brazil got a goal in, disappointing the England team and fans.

Eventually, the match went into penalties. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. England winning 4-2.

“Mama won, Mommy!”

“She did, baby!”

Once the England players got their medals and trophy, friends and family were allowed onto the pitch. It took a while to get down and see where Lucy was, but once Paisley did, she ran straight to her, running into her legs.

The three best friends and Lucy were all celebrating together, hugging and dancing when a force almost knocks Lucy off her feet.

“Paisley!” Lucy grabs her daughter, throws her up in the air and catches her, leaving her on her hip.

“Mama, you did it! You got a trophy!”

“I did! I’ve also got a medal, see.” She lifts the medal, Paisley inspects it.

“Wait!” The mother and daughter are broken from their bubble by Georgia. “Is this why you’ve been so secretive? You’ve got a kid?”

Before Lucy could answer, you finally made your way to her, giving her a kiss.

“Now, who’s this?” Keira asks.

The three best friends were now in shock, mouths wide open.

“Oh, well. Guys, meet my daughter my Paisley and my wife Y/N.”

“You have kept a whole family a secret.” Leah states, a bit hurt, same were the other two.

“Sorry ‘bout that. We’ve just loved our little bubble, especially since it’s gonna get bigger soon.” She places a hand on your stomach.

Leah, Georgia and Keira finally notice your bump, jaw dropping to the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you three. Lucy loves to talk about you guys and all the shenanigans you go through.” You get a couple mumbles for replies.

“Why don’t you guys come over to our place soon. Get to know the family?” Lucy suggested.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader

575 notes · View notes

wlwsoccerfics · 4 months ago

Text

New Football Star(ArsenalWomenXGorryReader)

Warnings: small injury, Asthma attack

Summary: with just 16 years old you are Arsenals youngest player and today you play against your mom's Club West Ham.

You were quite nervous before that Game against West Ham. But also excited. You played for Arsenal while your Mom was the Captain of West Ham. Which caused Harper, your little sister to Dress Up in a West Ham Jersey with your mom's Name and number, an Arsenal Cap & an Arsenal scarf with your face on it. Cause she wanted to support you both. You found it very cute. It made you remember the conversation you had with her about it a while ago.

"i like it better when you and Mommy Play for the Tillies!" Your little sister told you.

"really? Why is that?" You asked her, she was crawling into your lap.

"because you are on the same team." She explained. You smile a bit.

"you can always just chee for both Teams or Just mommy's. I won't be mad!" You let her know.

"Cheer for you both?" She asked again.

"yeah. I mean Steph, Kyra and Caitlin also play for Arsenal. So you can just cheer for them too!" You informed her.

"awesome!" She said in excitement.

"but West Ham is the better Team." Your Mom said teasingly as she walked into the livingroom where you sat with Harper. You chuckled softly.

"keep on dreaming, Mom!" You replied and grinned softly.

"loser has to buy Pizza!" Your Mom answered.

"Deal! I want mine with extra cheese!" You stated. Confident in your Team winning.

"i want Pizza too!" Your little sister said. It was a win for her no matter which one of you was gonna take home the Points.

Back to Game day.

You sat in the locker room getting ready. Caitlin sat next to you. You are really close to all the Arsenal girls that Play with you for the Matildas. Thanks to Kyra you also found a big sister in Alessia. Not that the rest of the Team wasn't really protective of you.

"you okay, Kid?" She asked.

"yeah i am. Just it's always extra Special to Play against my Mom!" You stated.

"ah so this Is about Mini. you got this. Whatever happens you two are always family." Catilin stated.

"Caitlin is right, y/n." Steph told you. Offering you an encouraging smile.

You ran your heart out on the field. Getting frustrated when the ball wouldn't go in and even more frustrated when things didn't go well for your Team. You soon were behind two Goals. In the 44th Minute Chloe thankfully managed to get the ball into the back of the Goal net. So you were back into the game now. But it still wasn't Arsenal worth it. You knew it. Everyone knew it.

After the First half you were back in the changing rooms, Steph sitting next to you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"we got this kiddo!" She said and tried to cheer you up. You lean against her for a moment. She was like an older sister to you.

"i am just frustrated. We are better then that! Let's Show them we are better then that, Girls!" You told everyone.

"i agree with y/n!" Leah stated. You offered her a soft smile.

"let's do this." Kyra replied.

The second half was much better. Your Team made it work. At some point it was 3-3. Thanks to a Goal from Katie and another Goal from Leah. Then your Team got awarded a penalty kick because a Handball happened. Mariona was the one shooting it put it into the back of the goal with so much confidence. You didn't focus on the fact that your Mom was on the field as well now. The score was 4-3 now.

Then during the nine minutes of extra time, a Corner kick for Arsenal was given, you stood in the opponents box. Katie taking the Corner. You got elbowed into the chest really hard and sucked in your breath. The Blow and the wrong breathing caused you to have an Asthma attack. You kneeled down onto the floor, wheezing. Holding your chest. Your Team was right by your side. So were your opponents. Your Mom kneeled down on the floor. Pulling you into her lap.

"sweet girl, breathe! In and out slowly." She told you. Trying to guide you through it while Kim waved over the medics who thankfully had one of your emergency inhalers with them. Which you quickly used and stayed in your mom's lap. Harper was sitting in the stands being really worried. She was sitting in your Mamas(Clara) lap. Your little Brother Koby was asleep.

The Game was on hold for almost 5 minutes, you got awarded another Penalty. And even though you weren't feeling 100% fine you still wanted to take the shoot yourself. The Player who elbowed you apologized to you. Cause she felt quite bad.

You stood there to take the penalty. Closing your eyes for a moment before kicking the ball into the right bottom Corner. Your team ran over to you. Hugging you. The finale score was 5-3. You won.

Meant your Mom had to buy pizza. After the Game you walked over to both of your moms and siblings.

"are you okay, sweets?" Your Mama wanted to know.

"a little out of breath still but i will live." You told her.

"you scared us." Your Mama admitted.

"i was worried." Your little sister let you know.

"i am sorry! Wasn't my intention." You replied.

You gave away your Jersey to a Fan after talking to your Family and did sign some autographs. Taking pictures as well. Before getting back to the changing rooms, taking things slow though. The day had been quite interesting and eventful and you were quite exhausted.

#woso x reader #woso request #woso fic #arsenal women x reader #katrina gorry x reader #steph catley x teen reader #leah williamson x reader #caitlinfoord x reader #kyra cooney crossxreader

124 notes · View notes

didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback · 2 months ago

Note

Let's be real, it will not go to penalties. Why? Because Barca will win by a few goal difference 🤣🤞🏻

now that's the attitude that the players need to have. you should never let things get down to penalties because that's where nerves and momentum swings can really change things. 😤

thanks anon! 🫶 yes, so after having watched leg 1 in person and leg 2 via broadcast, i have some general thoughts:

arsenal is weak defensively. i'm not convinced by williamson/catley and there are holes that can be exploited. if we can target them, and then have mariona drop back more to defend, that puts us in a good position.

by the same token, lyon put a complete disaster class defensively and gave arsenal gifts that they willingly took. we all know that cata is prone is funny business and has likewise given other teams gifts throughout the season. so we cannot do more lyon did and give arsenal the benefit of mistakes. no more dribbles, clear the ball and play it conservatively!

we have the best midfield in the world. therefore, our midfield is better than arsenal's midfield. we need to assert that dominance from the jump and control the match. if we can successfully control the midfield, then we win the match.

finishing, finishing, finishing. this was lyon's problem all along and arsenal's problem in the first leg. and this has been an issue for us all season too. now is the time to focus and not waste opportunities.

set piece conversion. stop with the short corners. if we have frido AND irene as targets that will split defenders and we can be successful there too.

finally, arsenal has been inconsistent and will be nervous to play their first final in a long time. we need to stay calm and cool and make sure that we do not lose our sights on the trophy!

som-hi! 💙❤️ sempre hi ha motius per creure en aquest equip 🙏

on paper, of course. but you can never underestimate any team in champions.

everyone assumed that barça would crush lyon in the final in 2022 and look what happened. so we cannot take any chances.

no mercy from the first minute until the last minute! 😤

#fcb femení #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #uefa women's champions league #futfem #woso

31 notes · View notes

onebourbon-oneshot-onetear · 2 years ago

Text

Dating Shoresy Headcannons

Writing this because it is CRIMINAL how little Shoresy/Letterkenny content there is on this website. I go feral for this man it isn't even funny. I mean, look at his smile...

Shoresy loves cuddling. He loves to be the big spoon AND the little spoon, depending on his mood.

He’s happy? He’s the big spoon all night long, pulling you so you’re tucked under his chin and his arms are wrapped around you.

He’s feeling kind of down? You better hold onto him. He will burrow himself in your side and wrap your own arms around him if he needs to. Bonus points if you stroke his hair without him having to ask. He’s so soft.

Very much into casual PDA. Despite his reputation, with you he isn’t as in your face with it. He likes the small gestures with you. He’s sitting? You get pulled into his lap. Standing next to him? His arm is around your waist. He’s leaving the room? Mandatory kiss on your cheek.

His family loves you. His adopted family is very important to him so he loves how well you get along with them. Even to the point where they give you a special nickname, just like everyone else. You go to every Shore reunion, make up dances with Kayla, and are even helping Carrie and Free plan their wedding.

You started calling him Waffles, and as sweet as that was, once you started doing it around the team he shut that down real fast.

Speaking of the team, they also love you. The boys are now officially your big brothers. If you need help with anything, there will be at least two of them there. Sometimes they’re helpful. Sometimes they're not. But at least they try in their own way. And if a guy looks at you the wrong way then Lord help him because he will have 8 grown men beating the hell out of him.

With that being said, if Shoresy catches a man being disrespectful to you, it is an immediate punch being thrown. No questions asked. And if the other team is chirping about you? Shoresy will be in the penalty box for the rest of the game, no questions asked (along with half the team).

You're their unofficial nurse, patching them up after scraps, games, and helping them with the occasional hangovers. Your nurse duties include homemade ice packs, the occasional wrapped ankle, and massages, but only for Shoresy.

As much as he talks a tough game he's such a softie. He has no problem being vulnerable with you. Talking about your future together, his stress about games, his doubts. He lays it all out for you and you are always there for him. It’s one of the things he fell for when he first met you.

You always babysit Big Sexy when Shoresy’s out of town. She even learned to say your name. Shoresy seemed a little betrayed, but when he saw how excited you were about it he was so amused.

You go to every one of his games. In the time you’ve known him, you don’t think you had ever missed a single one. He always said that you didn’t have to go to all of them, especially the away ones, but you know that he loved seeing you there, so you went every time. Your bum was always in a seat. Even on nights he was reffing the high school games, you were there. It always made him smile, seeing you cheer out of the corner of his eye. And if he scored a goal, he’d celebrate with his team and then give you the biggest smile.

Even Nat saw how much you meant to him. She had always known the serious hockey player, but she hadn’t seen him be serious over a significant other like this. If he wasn’t at practice, then he was with you. If there was a lull in conversation that he couldn’t fill with hockey or a smart ass comment, he was talking about you. It was nice to see that side of him.

You are constantly stealing his hats and his sweatshirts. They smell like him, a mix of his cologne, his mint dip, and the crisp air that always lingered from the rink. You often wore them to bed and to lounge around the house and he thought it was so sexy. He loved seeing his last name (and the 69) on your back. He would think it’s the sexiest thing you could wear, until he saw you trying on his hockey sweater. He knew he would never see a hotter sight than that.

You make sure to always have a can of dip in your car or in your apartment for him. You don’t condone it, warning him of the dangers of cancer and stuff like that, but you knew he liked to have it on hand. He definitely tried to dip less when he was around you.

He makes sure to tell you he loves you every day. Usually multiple times a day. He’ll even send you random texts throughout the day telling you he loves you.

He loves it when you lay in bed and trace his tattoos with your fingers. He gets the biggest shivers but it warms his heart so much.

Believe it or not at first he was so self conscious about his missing tooth. He always wore his denture so he didn’t scare you off, but the first time you saw him without it, you demanded he never wear it around you again. You loved his missing tooth. It was a part of him, and you thought it made his adorable smile all that much cuter.

His chirping skills have definitely rubbed off on you. Sometimes you even surprise yourself with the things that come out of your mouth, but he just laughs, pulls you into his chest, and gives you a small kiss on your temple. The man is so proud that you are just as much of a smart ass as he is. If someone is being super rude or annoying the two of you will tag team the put downs so it can be a full ten minutes of nothing but insults and sarcasm.

The man is a space heater. He can stand outside in the snow with absolutely no problem. Your fingers are cold, he’ll grab your hand and they’re thawed in minutes. When you have cold toes in bed, you’ll put them on his calves and in minutes they are warmed up. Even if he jumps at the sudden cold but he doesn’t really mind, as long as you are happy.

#shoresy #shoresy x reader #letterkenny #headcannon #jared keeso

465 notes · View notes

laura1633 · 7 months ago

Note

ngl Max Verstappen’s karma is screaming big dick energy. wdym he’s been telling people he didn’t care that much about the penalty because he’d get back p1 in the first corner and he DID and DID NOT LET GO of it ? wdym he’d had a not very friendly conversation with Ben Sulayem before the race started and he won it ? wdym he’s been having the 3rd (at most) fastest car since Miami and he’s been out scoring everyone ? oh my days, this man!!

We need a fic where his dick literally grows bigger every race until he can barely walk from lugging it around everywhere 😂

They keep trying to fuck him over but it only fuels him. I love a confident talented king 👑

I also love that he backs up his words with action.

#laura1633 asks #Max Verstappen

68 notes · View notes

thesuperiorrobin · 2 years ago

Text

𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞~

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: mentions of blood, slight cursing, might not be accurate to real ice hockey so I apologize in advance.Damian being a demon on the ice, I wrote Damian OOC, mostly likely, he’s just in love

Damian looks flawless in ice, I’m just going to put that out there. I know he would.

He gets a bit carried away, ramming people up against the walls. That’s what he’s known for when he’s on the ice so the other team tries to stay far away from him, but also try to take the puck from him. Never really works out.

Always get penalized for it too and put in penalty for 2-5 minutes. Is pissed off at that for no reason.

The MAIN reason why his team wins. (Most of the time)

Really loyal to his team. If the opposite side ‘accidentally’ hurts his teammates he’s the first one to skate over to them. Might throw the first punch but it depends 🤷‍♀️ (100% will throw the punch no matter what :))

He gets hurt a lot. Whether it’s him digging with other or simply ramming into thing to hard , theres bound to be blood, a lots of it sometimes. But he always comes back with bandages around the wounds or maybe stitches.

If he does get hurt he puts out a little signal that only you know telling you he’s okay.

His signal in telling you that he’s going to make a goalie and dedicate it to you is literally stopping right in front of you and placing his gloved fist on the clear barricade, giving you a grin.

Buys you the tickets to go to his game. You never miss one. That’s because he says your his lucky charm during the games. That’s why his team wins all the time.

First row right next to his team where he can keep an eye one you and hold small conversations before it’s his time to go back on the ice

Likes to show off.

A lot. Only does it to impress you

Gives you the puck he made a goalie and won with (is that allowed?)

The crowds get louder and louder as the seconds count down. You're anxious and you don't know why. Damian’s team and the opposing team are tied with points. You’ve noticed Damian’s actions get more violent as time goes on. The more violent he got the more penalties he got which is a time out on the benches. Which means the other team gets a chance at scoring a point without Damian roughly ramming them against the wall. You’re cheering him on as he glides against the ice, but soon find yourself taking a break from the yelling.

Your eyes follow his figure as he glides against the ice, hockey stick in hand as he moves the puck back and forth against the base of the stick. There’s another figure coming for him, one from the opposing team. You cringe, knowing what’s about to happen to the poor person.

Lucky it wasn’t another penalty, but you would hear the crowd gasp witnessing the sight for what seemed like the nth time in less than twenty minutes. But, every time he did get a penalty and put in the penalty box, or as you call it the time out box, you can’t help but laugh. Knowing that Damian was put out for being rough much like how a small toddler would be put in the corner for not listening at all. It was always such a funny sight. Damian rams into the person hard, knocking him down.

“OH!” Dick says from behind you “that’s gotta hurt!” You know he wasn’t talking to you but you hum and nod. Dick and the others know first hand how rough he can be, having been practicing with him last time it didn’t end will with. “I think he gave him a concussion” Tim was also behind you sitting next to Dick, while Jason was no where to be seen.

‘Probably went to go shove his face with food’

Despite being on the other team you feel bad for them and the bruises they’ll be getting the following day. Not to mention the sore body’s they’ll have to work through. You’ve been sitting in the same spot for more than an hour with each game period being at least twenty minutes long, with fifteen minute breaks. Maybe they were shorter but you really couldn’t tell.

Damian misses his shot by a few inches away from the goalie, not being able to stop in time he slams himself up against the wall, the people behind it cover their mouths out of shock and you slap your forehead, shaking your head as you watch him brush it off and continue to play. However, his coach calls him out to replace him with another teammate. He compiles but has a sour look on his face, once he reaches the dry ground he throws his stick. Clearly angry and frustrated all you could do is watch for a while as he takes off his helmet, hair slightly damp from the sweat—giving him helmet hair, all messy and pointing in different directions. It makes you laugh a little. But your sudden mood changes quickly as he sits down head in his hands—running over his sweaty black locks. You don’t think twice as you tap on the screen that keeps his and your row apart.

Damian has good hearing with a small sound so it wasn’t hard to hear you tapping away. He turns to your directions, giving you a small nod. You frown and tilt your head down a little and he rolls his eyes knowing what you're implying and gives you a forced smile. You give him a thumbs up as he scoffs, he watches carefully as you pull out your phone and type away. His eyes never leave you until you place your phone, screen side up against the clear glass divider. Green eyes squinting as he reads away:

‘don’t worry. You got the next goal. I know it!’

That sentence alone makes his heart swell. Damian takes off his right gloves and pats his chest—right where his heart would be two times. A way of saying he appreciate the small gesture.

You take your phone off the glass and erase the previous sentence replacing it with a new one—placing it back on the glass: ‘Have a plan for when you get back on the ice? He quickly reads and nods his head. At least he has a plan, you thought and place your phone back in your pocket. Hands shaking for the cold and lack of warmth you had for them considering the fact that you had forgotten your mittens at home. You focus your attention back on the game. The opposite team ahead by one point— but Damian’s team can do good without him for a while.

He’s out for about half of the game until his coach decides to replace him with another one of his teammates. He taps on the glass to get your attention and once he has it, he Winks at you before making his way back on the ice.

“So are they losing or what?” A familiar voice says beside you and you turn your head, Jason takes his seat next to you with two cups in his hand. “Where the hell have you been?”

“The line for hot chocolate got long” he hands you one “I got you one too, know you stressing over the Demon playing Disney on ice right now” the warm drink warms up your hands a little.

“Thanks. That’s nice of you Jason” You ignore the comment and he hums before he takes a sip of his one drink, eyes scanning the ice before he yells out with the audience. Someone from the Damian team made a shot and they’re tied with the other team.

You go back to cheering him on, the warm drink soothing your throat from all the yelling earlier. It’s later forgotten as you place the half empty cup on the ground right beside your foot— watching the minutes pass by quickly like seconds.

Your heart skips a beat, and not in a good way when the other team shoots their shot but thankfully they fail. With time becoming shorter and shorter it was only a matter of time before Damian took matters into his own hands and his teammates are quick to learn to stay out of it when the time was cutting short and they were off by a point or two, or in this case tied, They had faith in him and so did you.

The seat is now cold from your absence, you’re up on your feet cheering and screaming right along with his brothers who seem to be cheering louder than you. Your eyes glued to Damian as you try to keep up with his figure. He has the puck, sliding it back and forth against the curve of his stick once more.

You don’t have time to think—especially when his helmet makes a horrible sound right up against the clear barrier as one of the players from the opposite team slams into him harshly. Right in front of you as you flinch back. Cheering can be heard from the opposite side of the ice rink which is where the other team supporters were.

Your side falls silent, few gasps and murmurs could be heard. Damian’s back up on his feet, his gloved fist pressed up against the clear barrier. His eyes locked on yours with a glint of mischief and something else. One of those grins grace his lips, one that makes you smile as he waved at you before he leaves.

He’s much faster this time and it makes you think if he was slacking off all this time—or maybe it was the adrenaline that runs high in his veins with these last few minutes. He was going to make a goal, dedicating it to you. Your body feels warm and your heart skips.

“ Ohh~ I know that look” Jason teases from beside you, Dick and Tim are leaning down giving you cheeky grins.

You roll your eyes trying to hide the smile that tries to form itself on your lips “I don’t know what you mean.” You play stupid as you glance back at the game.

fifty seconds left of the last game, everyone seemed to be cheering and calling out those who were on the ice. Damian pays no mind to his teammates as they let him do what he needs to do. You cheer for him, calling out his name. Despite there being hundreds of others yelling out at the same time his mind blocks them out, every single one of them but you. they get louder the minute he gets ahold of the puck swiftly, quickly making his way to the goalie.

His main priority was to get the puck around the goaltender and into the net. He was doing this all for you and you knew that. Those fifty seconds go by quickly, as if you’ve blinked and when you open your eyes ten seconds we’re now left. Everyone counted down, even you. It felt like time went slower once it hit that five second mark, you’ve quiet yourself down and the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You watch Damian has he left up his stick and takes a hit.

Pointing and loud gasp could be seen and heard, half of the ice rink goes quiet—as if the loudness would mess up his plan. Right as the Puck glides under the goaltender and into the net the timer makes a sound—indicating that the game is now over and Damian scores a point, officially breaking the tie. Relief washes over you, hands thrown in the air as a yell of excitement leaves you as Damian’s brothers cheer alongside you. The other side slouches, defeated as your side basically rubs it in their fasts by how loud they were being, but you didn’t care.

A win is a win.

You can see Damian, as he is pulled into a group hug by the rest of his team, some patting his pack and some patting his helmet and shoving it gently as a gesture. The part you don’t notice is him escaping from the group and skating to the Net where he had thrown the puck before he picked it up, waving it in the air like some sort of trophy—however, in this context, it was. He shows it off with pride, making his way towards you.

With a loud yelp you’re picked up by the others, Jason, Dick, and Tim, as they lift you up until you're basically above the spectating glass. Your lover stands below on the other side with his arm stretched out high, he waits. With the help of the others, they hold on to you as you lean done and over the glass.

Your own arm stretches down as you grasp the puck in your hand. His gloves are now off and so is his helmet, his hair pointing in all directions much like earlier when he was away on a penalty, his warm hand grasping yours with the puck still in your hand

“I did that just for you, habibti!” Eyes glistening, you Can’t really tell if it’s from his sweat or his love for you.

“I know!” You laugh “I love you!”

“And I too, love you!” The crowd fills itself with loud cheers and small ‘awes’, watching the sight of the son that belonged to billionaire Bruce Wayne was a rare sight to see, considering how he would rather keep private about his relationship with you.

His warm lips connected to the coldness of your knuckles , making a mental note to bring an extra pair of gloves just for you in the future.

“If you lean down further you’re going to eat shit”

“shush I’m having a moment here”

“just saying”

Tried to make it as accurate as possible bc, again I know nothing about ice hockey. I had googled the rules and watched videos

And god knows how many references pictures I tried to find about hockey. Probably spend like an hour trying to find them just to draw Damian :|

I will be taking a short break from writing requests just bc school is starting in like a few days or so. So I can get my life together and actually have time to mentally prepare myself and fix my schedule seeing as I’ve been up most night until 6 am and waking up at 2pm.

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #damian x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian scenarios #hockey player!damian wayne

1K notes · View notes

my-husbandos-wifey · 7 months ago

Text

Kuroko X FEM Reader

PART 2

Synopsis: After being rejected you started being close with Karasuno's captain and Kuroko did something he shouldn't but he thinks he had the right to to cause he's your 'friend'.

___________

A month later, Kuroo started to move on from the rejection. You found yourself doing the same thing. You swear you're starting to forget those stupid feelings. But Kuroo wouldn't let you.

Balls were bouncing everywhere on the court. Teams against teams and you swear the rival of your team, Karasuno is improving. You can see the connection between the teams and how close your teammates are to them. Even Kenma who hardly talked to strangers is close to Hinata. But not Kuroo to their captain.

You stand near coach Nekomata as you watch them play volleyball. Then, Karasuno lost as usual. They did the penalty as your teammates proceeded to eat some watermelons as the day ended.

You and Kuroo were sitting on the gym’s door stairs, catching your breath after a long day of training camp. The noise from the courts around you filled the space, with players laughing, coaches shouting instructions, and the rhythmic thud of volleyballs hitting the floor.

As you both sipped water, your gaze drifted to the other side of the gym, where Karasuno’s captain, Daichi Sawamura, was giving instructions to his teammates. There was something about the way he commanded their attention, steady and grounded, that made you smile. “You know,” you began, nudging Kuroo with your elbow, “Daichi’s actually kinda… cute.”

Kuroo choked on his water, glancing at you with wide eyes. “Daichi? Karasuno’s captain?” His tone was laced with disbelief, and he looked at you as if you’d just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, Daichi! He’s got that whole high school sweetheart vibe, don’t you think? Like he’d probably walk his girlfriend home every day and help her with her books.” You sighed, almost dreamily. “Plus, he’s sooo… masculine. He has this serious, protective energy that is actually charming.”

Kuroo scoffed, crossing his arms. “Sweetheart? Masculine?” He scoffed again and rolled his eyes. “Please. The guy looks like he’s trying too hard. Probably acts all ‘captainly’ to hide how boring he actually is.” He waved his hand dismissing the idea. “Trust me, Y/N, you don’t know him like I do.”

You smirked, sensing his irritation. “Oh, come on, Kuroo. You’re just saying that because he’s your rival. Can’t admit that Karasuno’s got a good captain, can you?”

“It’s not about being a rival!” he said, almost too quickly, his voice was a bit louder than he intended. “It’s just—he’s…” He trailed off, frowning as he searched for words. When he couldn't find the right word he shutted his mouth.

You watched him curiously. Kuroo was rarely at a loss for words. “What, jealous?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Kuroo shot you a look, his expression of something else you couldn’t quite read. “Jealous? Of Daichi?” he snorted, glancing away. “Please, Y/N, I have better taste than that.”

Kenma, who’d been quietly scrolling on his phone nearby, glanced up, clearly having overheard the conversation. He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sounds like jealousy to me,"he murmured, before looking back at his screen.

Kuroo shot him a glare, his jaw tightening. "It’s not jealousy," he muttered under his breath, sounding more defensive than usual.

Kenma merely shrugged. "If you say so."

But you weren’t quite done. Something about Kuroo’s reaction intrigued you, so you pushed a little further. “You know, Kuroo,” you said thoughtfully, “Daichi’s not just a strong captain. He’s actually really kind, too. You can tell he cares about his team. It’s… sweet.”

Kuroo’s expression grew darker as you spoke, his eyes narrowing. “He’s not the only one who cares about his team, you know.” His tone was sharp, and he clenched his water bottle a bit tighter.

You blinked, surprised by his reaction, feeling your heart skip a beat. There was something strange in the way he was looking at you, something that made your stomach flip. Just as quickly, Kuroo turned away, clearing his throat as if to brush off whatever he’d been feeling.

For a moment, an awkward silence settled between you, and you felt the slightest pang of disappointment. After all, you’d been by his side just a month ago, helping him through his own rejection, nursing the ache in your heart while he vented about someone else. He’d never known your feelings ran deeper than friendship, that it was him you’d fallen for. And now here he was, stewing in frustration over something you couldn’t quite understand.

Kenma looked up again, casting Kuroo a knowing glance before glancing at you. “Funny how some people only realize what they feel when someone else notices it,” he murmured, just loud enough for both of you to hear.

Kuroo glared at him. “Kenma,” he warned, but Kenma merely shrugged, returning to his phone.

You felt your cheeks warm, unable to meet Kuroo’s eyes, but he cleared his throat, softening his expression as he turned back to you. “Look, Y/N,” he said, his voice a bit gentler. “Daichi… isn’t exactly the kind of guy you’d think he is. And, well… maybe you should look a little closer to home.” His words hung in the air, uncertain but hopeful.

"Yaku?" You didn't realize you called the guy.

"What? You like shorter guys?" Kuroo asked receiving a ball in his head as Yaku threw it towards him. "I'm not that short!" He protested.

You dismissed Kuroo as you left, leaving him to watch you walking away. Kenma only glanced at him and didn't say anything. He can't intervene in a canon event in you two.

*****

"Your team is already powerful then those two came." You pointed at Kageyama and Hinata. It's already 8 pm in the evening. Everyone was eating and some who are already finished are getting ready to sleep while you, on the other hand, are enjoying Karasuno's captain.

"I could say that. But those two are actually idiots. They almost couldn't come here because of failing their tests." He replied with a chuckle. "On the first day, they fought like a dog and a cat."

"Not surprised." You said watching Kageyama scolded Hinata about something.

“Ah, what a sight,” Kuroo drew as he approached, his smirk a little too sharp. “Karasuno’s captain is holding court. You sure know how to entertain, Sawamura.”

Daichi glanced up, his expression polite but wary. “Kuroo. What brings you over here?”

“Oh, just checking in on Y/N.” Kuroo’s eyes flicked to you, lingering. “Making sure she’s not falling for that ‘Captain Reliable’ routine of yours.”

The room began to quiet as nearby teammates picked up on the tension. Even Hinata and Kageyama paused mid-argument to watch the exchange.

“Kuroo,” you said firmly, trying to diffuse the situation. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” He raised a brow, his smirk unwavering. “Just looking out for a friend. Can’t have you getting bored, you know?” He turned to Daichi, his voice laced with mockery. “Don’t take it personally. Y/N just has a thing for personality, and I’m not sure ‘calm and steady’ really counts.”

The air in the room thickened. Daichi’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained measured. “If this is some kind of joke, Kuroo, it’s not funny.”

“I don’t joke about these things,” Kuroo shot back. “But hey, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe ‘Captain Charisma’ here really does have what it takes to keep Y/N interested.”

You stood up, “Kuroo, enough.”

But he ignored you, leaning in slightly toward Daichi. “I just think Y/N deserves someone who’s not so… average.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Even Bokuto, halfway through a rice ball, froze in disbelief. “Oh, this is gonna get good,” he muttered, earning a swat from Akaashi.

Daichi exhaled sharply, his calm veneer beginning to crack. “If you have something to say, Kuroo, say it plainly.”

“Kuroo,” you snapped, grabbing his arm. “That’s enough.”

Finally, his attention shifted fully to you, and you could see the storm in his eyes. “I’m just trying to help you, Y/N. You don’t---"

You didn't let Kuroo finish. "I'm sorry Daichi. I'll talk to you tomorrow." You gave him an apologetic smile and grabbed Kuroo by his arm, dragging him away from the cafeteria.

“Did Kuroo just…?” Hinata started.

“Yep,” Yamaguchi confirmed.

“And Y/N just—?”

“Yep.”

“Captain showdown, huh?” Bokuto grinned. “I gotta see how this ends.” Then he took a bite in his rice ball, watching the scene unfold.

On the other hand, you pulled Kuroo outside into the cool evening air, your steps quick and determined. Releasing his arm, you spun around to face him, anger and frustration are obvious in your face.

“What the hell was that, Kuroo?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Do you think humiliating me in front of everyone is some kind of joke?”

He scoffed, his hands shoved into his pockets, the smirk on his face slipping just slightly. “I wasn’t humiliating you. I was protecting you.”

You blinked, incredulous. “Protecting me? From Daichi? Are you serious right now? He’s one of the kindest, most decent people I’ve ever met!”

Kuroo shrugged, looking off to the side. “He’s too decent. Too safe. I’m just saying, you can do better.”

“Better?” You threw your hands up, laughing bitterly. “Oh, right, because you’re the authority on what’s best for me. And who gave you the authority huh? You don’t get to decide who I spend my time with, Kuroo. You’re just my friend.”

The words hit like a brick, and for a split second, you saw it, his smirk faltered, his confident mask cracking as your words sank in.

“Just… your friend?” he repeated, his voice quieter now.

“Exactly,” you said firmly, though your heart clenched as the hurt came. You didn't know how but it suddenly changed from frustration to something poking your heart through. “And friends don’t do what you just did. They don’t try to control who the other talks to, and they definitely don’t insult someone else to make themselves feel better.”

You have the right to say that. You didn't stop him from pursuing the girl he likes so why can't you talk to Daichi that's helping your forget about him? The worst part is, the stupid crush you feel for Kuroo doesn't vanish so easily. You can't say you like Daichi but he's a great company. And what Kuroo did in the cafeteria is out of line.

He frowned, his voice sharpening. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “You were being possessive and jealous, and it’s not fair to me or Daichi.”

Kuroo opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“And the worst part? You don’t even realize how ridiculous you’re being,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “You’re acting like some arrogant jerk instead of the friend I thought I knew. The one I thought cared about me.”

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, the weight of your words settling between you.

*****

Later that night, in Nekoma's quarters, the usual chatter was subdued, but the incident in the cafeteria still lingered in everyone’s minds. Hinata, sitting cross-legged near Kenma on one of the futons, couldn’t stop fidgeting. Meanwhile, Kenma was quietly immersed in his game, his golden eyes fixed on the screen as if it held all the answers to life’s mysteries.

“Tetsu was weird today,” Yaku said. He tossed his towel onto a chair and flopped onto his futon. “I mean, seriously, what was that? Picking a fight with Daichi in front of everyone? Over Y/N?”

“Right?” Lev chimed in, stretching his long limbs. “Kuroo’s usually the guy who’s, like, too cool to care about that kind of stuff. What’s with the sudden territorial vibes?”

Kai chuckled softly, leaning back against the wall. “It was definitely out of character. Did you notice how red his face got when Y/N dragged him out? I’ve never seen him so rattled.”

Kenma remained silent, his focus entirely on his game.

“Hey, Kenma,” Yaku said, turning toward him. “You know what’s up, don’t you? You’re Tetsu’s best friend.”

Kenma didn’t even flinch. “Nope.”

“That’s it? Just ‘nope’?” Yaku pressed.

Kenma shrugged, his thumbs moving rapidly on the controls. “If I knew, I’d say something.”

Hinata squinted at him, clearly not buying it. “Kenma, you’re totally lying. You always know what’s going on with Kuroo.”

Kenma sighed, finally pausing his game to glance at Hinata. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because it was so intense!” Hinata exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve never seen captains fight like that before. And Kuroo looked… weird. Like, really weird. Like he was mad but also sad and—”

“Possessive,” Lev interrupted, grinning.

Hinata nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Possessive! What’s up with that? Is he into Y/N or something?"

Kenma gave a long, deliberate blink before returning to his game. “I’m not answering that.”

“You do know something!” Hinata accused, pointing dramatically at him. Kenma sighed again, louder this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kenma!” Hinata whined, scooting closer. “Come on, tell me!”

Yaku smirked, watching the scene unfold. “Kenma’s like a vault, Hinata. You’re not getting anything out of him.”

“But I---”

“You’re wasting your energy,” Kai added, amused. “If Kenma doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. Trust me, we’ve all tried.”

Lev grinned mischievously. “What if we tickle him?”

Kenma shot him a glare so sharp that Lev immediately backed off, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Just a suggestion!”

Hinata, however, wasn’t ready to give up. He leaned in closer, his face just inches from Kenma’s. “I’ll figure it out, Kenma. I always do.”

Kenma didn’t even blink. “Good luck with that.”

The room erupted in laughter, Lev and Yaku doubling over while Kai shook his head, a small smile on his face. Hinata crossed his arms, pouting but determined.

Somewhere in the corner, Kenma allowed himself the faintest smirk, though his golden eyes never left his screen.

*****

Kuroko tried to approach Y/N apologize but she kept avoiding him so he tried to make up with Daichi first and apologize for his actions. Daichi was not the type to hold a grudge so apologizing was quick.

The final day of the joint training camp came with a sense of accomplishment and relief. To celebrate, the teams gathered outside for a barbecue. The aroma of grilled meat and vegetables filled the air, and laughter echoed as players joked and recounted their most embarrassing moments of the week.

Kuroo’s eyes constantly flickered to Y/N. She was helping with the food alongside other managers, her laughter bright and carefree as she chatted with Shimizu and Yachi. Every time Kuroo thought about walking up to her, she turned away, moving to another group or striking up a conversation with someone else.

“She’s avoiding me,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing at his plate with a fork.

Kenma, sitting beside him, didn’t look up from his phone. “Yep.”

“Thanks for the support.” Kuroo.

“You’re welcome.” Kenma.

Kuroo groaned, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. Usually, people gravitate toward him, not away from him.

“I just need to… approach her casually,” he said, as though trying to convince himself. “No big deal, right? Just a friendly chat.”

“Right,” Kenma replied flatly.

Kuroo stood, psyching himself up. He started walking toward Y/N, but as soon as she spotted him, she turned to Yachi and started an animated discussion about the desserts.

Kuroo stopped in his tracks. Okay, that was deliberate.

He tried again later, waiting until she was alone near the drinks table. Just as he reached out to tap her shoulder, Y/N spun around and greeted one of the Fukurodani managers who had just arrived.

“Oh, come on!” Kuroo hissed under his breath, retreating again.

Back at the table, Kenma looked up, amused. “That’s, what, strike three now?”

“Shut up,” Kuroo muttered, slumping into his chair.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Kuroo was desperate. He spotted Y/N sitting at a small table, finally not surrounded by anyone.

Now or never.

He approached, clearing his throat. “Hey, Y/N.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Oh, hey, Kuroo.”

The way she said his name felt like a dagger to the chest. No teasing, no warmth just polite indifference.

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh, how’s it going?”

“Busy. You know, manager things.” You replied not batting him at a glance.

“Right. Manager things.” He chuckled nervously, but Y/N didn’t join in. He sat down across from her, ignoring the warning bells in his head. “Look, I know I messed up. And I get why you’re mad at me. I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

“For… everything?” he tried, his grin faltering.

Y/N sighed, standing up. “Kuroo, I appreciate the apology, but maybe think about why I’m upset instead of just trying to smooth things over.” Before he could reply, she walked off to join the other managers.

Kenma, who had been watching from a distance, sauntered over and patted Kuroo on the shoulder. “Well, at least she didn’t dump water on your head this time.”

Kuroo glared at him. “Not. Helping.”

Kenma smirked. “You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

As the night wore on, Kuroo couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. He’d never felt so clumsy and uncertain before, and the realization stung: he cared far more about Y/N than he was ready to admit.

____________

A/N: Y'all I'm sorry I didn't post last week. I've been busy with some activities but here is part 2. Thank you!!

@chexrybloss0m

@multi-fandom-fanfic

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq imagines #hq x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #hq x you #hq x y/n

30 notes · View notes