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kamospeach · 3 days ago

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plot: gym crushes are no fun if they don't look your way

content warning: it's toji... so, also gym themed ish, tiny bit of angst

dean's (aka peachy) yap: i always dread writing about toji, but he's so hawt😔. sorry for the constant angst it helps the smut be better

if working out were easy, you wouldn't lose any weight. at least that's what you told yourself. it'd been months, maybe even years, since you stepped foot in a gym. but you told yourself today you would learn how to work out for real, for real.

i mean, the positive self-talk was going well on the treadmill. but once you got on the stair master, all that went to ashes and dust. your calves were burning, and your thighs were trembling. there were a lot of hot buff men around (irrelevant but still important to point out), and they were lifting weights like it was nothing. you couldn't lie that they were making you just a tad insecure.

you got off the stairmaster, leaving that for another day, and heading over to the weights. setting down your stuff, you pulled out your phone, looking at the video of the girl lifting. you watched her formation and how she did it, finding it to be pretty easy.

you sigh, changing the weights on the rack, even that was heavy for you. ‘it wouldn’t be as embarrassing if it weren't the school’s gym,’ you thought to yourself, preparing to squat.

“okay, so she...” you mumbled, starting the squat as your thighs began to shake. “fuck!” you exclaimed before the weight was taken off your shoulders. you let out a breath of relief, standing up straight. when you whipped around, a man stood above you.

you immediately noticed him, i mean, who wouldn’t? toji is the star hockey player of the university, who was known for flirting with any girl who crossed his path. now that you've thought about it, this would become cliche very fast. you could guess what he was about to say, ‘wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, pretty girl’ or something along those lines.

“y’shouldn’t lift if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, looking down at you. you scoffed at the audacity of this man! who says you don’t know what you’re doing? what if you just slipped up a little there?

“who's to say i don’t know what im doing?” you said sassily, watching a smirk spread across his scarred lips. you didn’t know if he was smirking because he was about to rip you to shreds or because he was trying to flirt with you too.

“you clearly didn’t know what you were doing, doll, if you did, you would've had yer feet further apart. may i?” he asked, and you were confused about what he was asking, but you agreed. he lightly tapped your thigh, signaling you to spread them further. “also, keep your feet pointed straight. you were asking for your knees to go out.”

“well, i watched a video and just followed the instructions!” you told him, and he laughed at you. yes. laughed at you thinking that watching a simple video would give you the magic ability to squat correctly.

“that’s cute… what video did you watch?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you showed him the video. it was so clear that he was trying not to laugh by how his breathing changed. you looked up at him to see his hand over his mouth, and now it was blatantly obvious he wanted to laugh at you. “you tried to learn how to squat by watching some girl’s day in the life video.”

“i mean her knees didn’t give out!” you exclaimed, and this time he full-on laughed at you. there was no way you were serious… oh, you were.

“yeah, because it’s fake,” he patted your shoulder, and you frowned up at the freakishly buff man. and fake, what did he mean by fake? how do you ‘fake’ that?

“what? how do you even fake that?” you frowned up, not believing what he was saying. but the way he effortlessly lifted the weight off your shoulders, you trusted his instruction.

“whatever. let’s start with a regular squat to make sure you won’t almost kill yourself again.” so that’s what you did, you did a squat without the bar, and toji nodded. it was embarrassing, he just stood there with his hand on his chin. “just put your feet a little more than shoulder width. you still have them too close. also, make sure you're not too stiff or too loose…” after that, you zoned out.

you’re pretty sure you heard him saying you were doing well. at least you did get a good workout in, but your legs were sore. you were walking funny the whole next day. your friends swore up and down you met with a sneaky link or something.

nope! just got grilled by toji, that’s all.

“you’re positive you didn’t go see that man?” your friend asked with a squinted eye and you were seriously confused. “ya knowww the one guy from the party?”

“girl ony? hell no, i gave up on that a long time ago.” you waved her off as you walked into the cafeteria. everyone was gathered around looking at something. and of course, your nosey friends just had to go over there and see.

“y/n! look, it was who i was telling you about.” you took your sweet time walking over to where she stood, not interested in whatever they were talking about. “it’s toji, remember i was telling you about how he helped me change my tire.”

at the mention of his name, you perked up. you pulled your head out of your phone, getting interested in what the conversation was actually about. you didn’t like toji or anything. he just so happened to be conveniently attractive and just followed you on instagram yesterday.

“seems like he helps any woman in need,” you mumbled to yourself as your friend showed you the video. it was a live video of a hockey game, which you assumed toji was playing in. 5 seconds into the video, someone pushed toji. “he’s pissed.” you laughed seeing his red face and lifeless looking eyes.

he pushed the guy back, and they got to fighting. it would've been a quick fight had it not been hockey, so now toji and the man fought for a full 15 seconds before the ref tried to break it up. but the ref got roped in, and toji started fighting everyone. two refs, four players from the opposing team, and two extra officials. it took practically the whole team to pull him off the first guy.

you had to admit that seeing him fight made you want to go to the gym. in hopes that you’d see him and be able to tease him about his anger. so you made it a point to stalk his instagram to see when he was back (totally not creepy).

the day he posted about being back in town, you went to the gym. did the treadmill and even did the stair master without almost dying. but you did scan the gym, noticing toji’s tall stature the moment you walked in.

once it was time to lift, you shyly walked to the weights. today, you decided to do hip thrust, which is not embarrassing since you haven't done this before either. but boy oh boy, didn’t you get lucky because the person you were waiting for approached you today.

“back at it again, hopefully not with another video,” he laughed, and you shook your head proudly, standing up. “no? what did you watch today?” he asked with a smirk, looking down at you.

“well, i watched a video, but it was a personal trainer. and it’s always easier if someone shows me in person,” you bat your lashes, looking up at the strong man who has his arms crossed. he gave you a look that you couldn’t read, but it looked like he wanted to laugh.

“you askin’ me t’show you how to do it, doll?” he asked, and you nodded with a full-on smile, he sighed. “so what are you doing?”

“hip thrust,” you tell him, and he hummed with a nod. he helped you fix the bar and move everything around. you didn’t even have to lift a finger. the big, strong man did all the heavy lifting until it was time for him to demonstrate for you. he placed the bar on his lap, showing you how to do the hip thrust. “do this often?” you asked, enjoying the view of his strong body thrusting into the air.

“yeah, often,” he snorted, getting from under the bar, nodding at it. “your turn,” he says, and you mirror his actions, starting the hip thrust. toji was shamelessly staring at you, not caring who saw his growing tent. but when you finished your rep, he quickly adjusted himself as you turned around.

“wasn’t too bad,” you say, legs a little shaky, and toji hummed.

“do that often?” he asked, repeating your early statement, and you nod with a smirk. “never going to do arms?”

“i did em yesterday, you just weren’t here to teach me,” you say, leading into your teasing. “too busy fighting on ice or whatever…” you said, giving him a small glance as you went back to doing your second rep.

“so you watched my game?” he asked, and you scoffed.

“no, i was…hah... forced to see you… fight the whole damn stadium,” you said out of breath from the workout you were doing.

“if he wouldn’t have talked so much shit i wouldn’t have had to beat his ass,” he explained sounding like he was getting mad all over again. all you did was laugh as you finished the set. toji decided to use the equipment next to you. but it got hard to focus with a sweaty ripped toji doing deadlifts next to you.

as time went on, you and toji ended up working out together. having casual conversations about hockey and your everyday hobbies. he actually wasn’t a bad person, and he was funny, crude, but funny. even the dirty jokes landed, which surprised you since you weren’t a big fan of them.

he made working out fun, he even showed you his workout playlist. you immediately told him his music taste was horrible, and he was offended. you showed him yours, and he told you it was horrible. it didn’t hurt your feelings, considering toji didn’t know any of the people or songs in yours.

“you’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?” toji asked, leaning against the roof of your car as you started it up.

“yeah, i’ll be back, why?”

“wanna see ya? is that a problem?” he asked you with a smirk, and you laughed at that statement. him? want to see you?

“yeah sure, toji, see you tomorrow,” you said as he watched you drive off. but all good things come to an end, like your weird friendship/physical trainer/ flirtationship you had. because when you went into the gym, there was toji teaching another girl how to lift. why were you a little jealous? your chest kind of burned a little bit, like you just got cheated or something.

but you went ahead and did your workout, not bothering to watch the two of them work out. you kept your headphones on, going about your routine. you worked out your arms, which was an exercise toji wasn’t there to teach you. so you did what you had to, not worried about hearing toji laugh with that girl and grab her waist to teach her just like he did you.

“oh, y/n, you’re here!” he said, and you hummed, taking one side of the headphones off, continuing your workout. he came over to where you were, not ashamed that the other girl was watching the two of you. “sorry, i couldn’t help you today, doll.”

“it’s no problem, you had more important business to attend to,” you said, putting your headphones back on, finishing your workout. toji was a little dense, he thought you were saying it in a nice way and not a you just pissed me off way.

“i promise to help you tomorrow,” he says with a smile, going over to help the girl.

“sure,” was all you could say to the small turn of events that unfolded before you today.

to be continued...

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taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites @soldmysoulto @k-a-m232 @ac27dj @buttershea07 @charminstasia @satorupied @ane5e @miksolosss @gurllss @vamppirez

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perfectlyvalid49 · 2 days ago

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It’s summer and that means the kids are going to camp! Last week the kids were at gymnastics camp at the place they take lessons. This week they’re at kosher culinary camp at the local Chabad.

The difference could not be more stark.

Last week, I drove up outside the front doors for pick up and drop off, shouted their first names through the window of my car, and either received a thumbs up at drop off, or had the kids walk out unaccompanied at pick up.

This week, I had to walk them inside (adults have to present ID to be allowed in the building) and check them in with two separate sets of adults. I had to present ID again (separately from getting into the building) to be allowed to pick them up. If someone who is not their legal guardian is going to pick them up, paperwork needs to be filled out in advance.

Last week, the only people outside the building were a couple of teenagers in orange vests to make sure the littlest of kids got inside the building ok.

This week, the only people outside the building were security guards with walkie talkies on one hip and very obvious pistols on the other.

My kids are signed up for three different Jewish camps this summer. All three of them have sent emails outlining the security measures in place to protect the children. No details, because the more people that know the details, the easier it is for someone with ill intent to discover and subvert them, but I know that there will be armed security personnel at all three camps and they will be coming with on field trips. I know that staff at all three camps have been conducting safety drills in the weeks leading up to camp, and I know that all three camps are partnered with local and federal law enforcement to stay up to date on any threats or recommended security changes.

I have never received information like this from any non-Jewish camp. I have received information like this from every Jewish camp.

This is what Jews are talking about when we say that antisemitism impacts the way we live our lives even when we are not being directly targeted by antisemitism. Summer camps shouldn’t have to hire armed guards to keep kids safe. Going to camp at the JCC should not put you at greater risk for violence than going to camp at the YMCA. Requesting that non-Jews help us live in a world where that’s true is not a ridiculous thing to ask.

And before anyone tries to say “Oh just because you feel like you’re not safe that doesn’t mean you’re actually not safe,” I’d like to point out two things. The first is that the Chabad my kids were at today has received multiple bomb threats in the last couple of years. We feel like we’re not safe because people have made it clear that they would like to attack us. We are, in fact, actually not safe.

And the second is that even if we were actually safe, and all the people out there who were saying that (((Zionist))) institutions should be attacked were just running their mouths and were not going to act on it (disproven by recent (and not recent) violent attacks, but we’ll accept the premise for the sake of argument), isn’t it pretty messed up that antisemitic actions have made Jews feel like this is necessary? Like, if one person in a couple was constantly so verbally threatening to their partner that the partner was 1) fearful for their safety and 2) felt it necessary to reach out to law enforcement, we would rightfully call that abuse. Why can we easily recognize that behavior as being immoral in that scenario, but find it acceptable in the local/national/fucking global treatment of Jews?

#antisemitism #jumblr #this post brought to you in part by the frum woman with a gun on her hip this morning #at first I thought she was a mom dropping off her kids and I started to walk over to say hi #I was like 'Yay it's Jew camp!'#and then I realized she was security #and I was like 'oh right it's Jew camp...'#I just want to live in a world where neither a person's religion nor their ethnicity require additional security measures

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ryomenslvr · 2 days ago

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rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo

synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.

a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)

content warnings: emotional conflict, jealousy and possessiveness, and verbal tension

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It was after another charged performance, the kind that left your bones vibrating long after the final chord, the kind that made the silence after feel too sharp, too sudden. Though it didn’t involve Sukuna or Satoru today.

The venue was quiet now. Most of the crew had cleared out. A few flight cases creaked across the concrete in the distance, and one of the stage lights above still flickered every few seconds like it didn’t know the show was over.

You crouched backstage, coiling cables with slow, distracted hands. Each loop felt like muscle memory. Your body was here, but your head was somewhere else entirely, still caught between the echo of Satoru’s words.

They were pulling at you in different directions and somewhere between his music and glances, you’d lost track of what you actually wanted.

You didn’t hear the footsteps until they were close.

“Didn’t expect to see you still here.”

You looked up.

Suguru stood near the edge of the shadows, hands buried in his jacket pockets, the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. But his eyes were serious, dark and thoughtful in the way only his could be.

You were surprised to see him of all people, his band hadn’t performed tonight. You let out a sigh of a relief. It was nice seeing someone other than Gojo and Sukuna.

You straightened slowly. “I’m always the last one out.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “You always look like you’re trying to pack your thoughts into those cables.”

You huffed a breath through your nose, almost a laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only if someone’s paying attention.” He stopped a few feet from you, gaze flicking between your hands and your face. “You okay?”

You hesitated. “Just tired.”

He tilted his head, unconvinced. “When Satoru’s tired he usually starts rambling about how great you are.”

You glanced at him sharply. He raised his brows, like it wasn’t news to him.

You just couldn’t get a break from Satoru, even when he wasn’t here. It honestly almost made you laugh.

“You know,” he said casually, snapping you out of your thoughts, “he used to talk about Sukuna’s band all the time. Admired the hell out of them. Said they were the only ones that ever made him feel like he had something to prove.”

There was a pause. The weight of what Suguru wasn’t saying pressed into your chest.

Great, now you couldn’t even get away from Sukuna. Always caught between him and Satoru. But what Suguru was saying still made you think. You remembered those days.

“But now?” he continued, a bit quieter. “He won’t say his name without spitting it. Something changed. Somewhere along the way, the admiration curdled.”

“Into jealousy?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

As long as you’d known Satoru, he never told you why he suddenly began to dislike Sukuna, and you never bothered to ask. But now you wondered, why didn’t you?

Suguru gave a small shrug, the kind that carried more truth than a direct answer. “You’re closer to Sukuna than anyone Gojo trusts wants to admit. And I think that’s screwing with him more than he lets on.”

You looked down at the coiled cables in your hands, suddenly aware of how tight you were holding them. “It’s not like that with Sukuna. I don’t even know what it is..”

“That’s kind of the problem,” Suguru said. “You’re in his orbit. And Sukuna never lets people that close.”

You blinked. “So… what? You think I’m a threat?” Suddenly you regretted not cozying up to Suguru before this conversation.

“I think Gojo does.”

You looked up. His expression had shifted, less guarded now, almost sympathetic.

“He’s been different lately,” Suguru went on, a little softer. “More careful. Less showy when you’re around. Which is saying something.”

You swallowed. “Because of me?”

“Because he’s trying not to screw it up,” Suguru said. “And believe me, that’s not something Satoru usually thinks about.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your thoughts were already too tangled, and this only made them worse.

Suguru watched you quietly. “He cares about you. Maybe more than he realizes. And I think it’s driving him a little insane that Sukuna sees it too.”

You stared at him. “Sukuna doesn’t—”

“Maybe not in the way Gojo does. But he treats you differently. That’s enough.” His voice dipped then, almost unreadable. “I don’t like him, if that wasn’t obvious. But I’ve never seen him give anyone that kind of space without expecting something in return.”

Your chest felt tight. Like too many wires crossing at once.

“You don’t have to pick sides,” he added, more gently now. “But you should probably figure out what it is you actually want before they try to decide for you.”

You nodded slowly, even though you didn’t fully understand.

He offered a ghost of a smile. “Don’t run yourself ragged trying to split your frequency between two stations.”

You laughed, soft, real this time, even if your stomach still felt knotted from the conversation. “That metaphor’s terrible.”

Suguru grinned, and gave your shoulder a light pat. “Maybe. But it will stick.”

Then he stepped back, fading toward the hallway that led to the exit. Before he disappeared, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Whatever choice you make, make sure it’s yours. Not theirs.”

And with that, he was gone.

The cables in your hands slipped loose. And for the first time since the set ended, you were truly alone with a hundred different answers buzzing in your head, and none of them sounding like your own voice.

The days that followed your conversation with Suguru blurred into something quiet and unfamiliar.

No more coffee breaks with Gojo.

No late-night green room banter.

No hanging around the soundboard after a show, hoping one of them would linger.

You needed space, whatever that meant. A place where the noise in your head could settle, where you could remember who you were before all this started pulling at your seams. The attention, the rivalry, the eyes that saw you too clearly. It was all too loud.

So you slipped away.

You answered messages late. Politely, distantly. You showed up on time, worked cleanly, professionally, and left before anyone else could catch you in a hallway or at the edge of the stage. And still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your silence said more than you meant for it to.

Gojo caught on quickly, of course he did. He always noticed when your rhythm shifted, even slightly. The messages started coming in quickly:

“Did I do something?”

“You mad at me?”

You hesitated, then forced yourself to be honest, at least a little.

“I just need some space. From everything. Just for a while.”

He didn’t reply after that.

Not a word.

Not even a joke to soften the silence.

Time passed and then it was four days before the next rehearsal, you told yourself you’d arrive early, just to recalibrate.

The venue doors groaned open under your hand. The lights were dim, most of the house still dark, the stage half-lit with a faint orange spill from a single rig overhead. You carried your bag against your side, hoodie drawn up over your head, shoes soft on the worn floor.

It felt different being here without the crowd, not in a bad way. If anything, it was calming. Almost comforting.

And then you heard it, low, deliberate notes winding out from the monitors. Not a song. Just fragments. Warm-ups. Someone tuning with care.

You froze halfway down the aisle, looking up.

Sukuna was already there.

He sat on a stool near the center mic, guitar in his lap, fingers moving with fluid ease. Not showy. Not performing. Just… playing. Like it was for him alone.

His hair was a mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed and driven straight here. Honestly, it wasn’t a bad sight.

But you pushed the thought aside, replacing it with the urge to slip out before he noticed you. But it was too late, he looked up just as you started to turn away.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said.

There was no bite to it. No anger. Just fact.

You stood still. The words hit harder than they should’ve.

“I’m not—” you started, then stopped. Swallowed. “I just needed space.”

He set the guitar down, the echo of the last note trailing into silence. “From me?”

You couldn’t shake the way his words etched themselves into your skin, sharp, unfiltered, almost enough to make you flinch. He wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was the worst part, he’d said out loud what you hadn’t even said yourself.

“From everything,” you clarified. “From… this.” You gestured vaguely at the air around you, at the stage, at the place where things used to feel simple.

Sukuna’s gaze didn’t shift. “Then why does it feel personal?”

Was it that obvious you were distancing yourself?

“I don’t know,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “That’s kind of the problem.”

A beat of silence passed.

“That’s fair,” he said, setting the guitar on his thigh. “You don’t really know me.”

You looked at him, surprised at the admission. “No, I don’t.”

You expected him to get cold. Dismissive. But he didn’t. If anything, his posture softened, shoulders loosening, voice quieter.

“I notice you,” he said. “But I guess I never gave you much to notice back.”

You crossed your arms. “You show up. You leave tea. You tell me when I get a filter right. But I don’t know what you do when the music stops.”

He tilted his head, watching you for a long moment. Then, he did something you didn’t expect. He he gestured to the stage next to him.

You hesitated again.

“You’re not going to psychoanalyze me through chords, are you?” you asked.

“Not unless you ask nicely,” he said, that rare, subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Still wary, you walked over and stood beside him, leaving just enough space to keep your heart rate reasonable.

“Here,” he said, shifting the guitar in his lap and offering it, neck-first.

You blinked. “What?”

“Play something.”

“I don’t—”

“Then learn.” His eyes flicked to yours.

You narrowed your eyes but took the guitar anyway, awkwardly trying to balance it. Your fingers hovered over the frets, unsure.

“Left hand here,” he said, reaching over. His palm brushed your fingers, guiding them into place. “You want to mute the first string with the edge of your index.”

You tried. It buzzed terribly.

He leaned in, his breath warm near your temple. “Relax your grip.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered.

“I’m not the one choking the neck like it insulted your family.”

You laughed, the tension cracking just slightly.

He looked down at you. “Better.”

There was a beat, a silence not empty, but full of something you hadn’t yet named. You were hyper-aware of how close he was. How different it felt from Satoru’s nearness. With him, you felt known. With Sukuna, you felt seen, and that was somehow scarier.

You looked down at the guitar, trying to ground yourself. “This is stupid. I came here to be alone.”

Sukuna didn’t move away.

“But you stayed,” he said.

You sighed, not responding as your fingers fumbled over the strings again, the chord too muted to ring cleanly.

Sukuna moved behind you, too close, but not in a way that made you flinch. His presence felt heavy, grounding, like gravity was working a little harder with him this near. You hadn’t set the guitar down like you meant to. Instead, it was still cradled in your arms, the weight of it pinned between your arms and the heat of him behind you.

“You’re locking your wrist,” he murmured, voice low, close to your ear. “Let me help.”

You stiffened, but didn’t stop him. His hands came forward, slow, deliberate. He guided your wrist, repositioned your fingers, hovered over your hands without touching at first, just enough for the air to shift. Then, carefully, he pressed his palm against the back of your hand, grounding it.

“There,” he said, his breath ghosting the side of your jaw. “Try again.”

You strummed.

The chord rang out clear.

“You did it,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

You felt your chest tighten and your heart beat faster. The sound still vibrated between your fingers. You looked down, your hands under his, your legs nearly flush together. He hadn’t moved back. Neither had you.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore,” you whispered. “With you. With myself.”

His voice softened. “Then stop pretending you have to figure it all out at once.”

You glanced at him, your face angled over your shoulder. His expression was unreadable, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack, like he was trying not to want something too badly.

But he never moved out from behind you.

“You don’t get it,” you said.

“Then explain it.”

You hesitated.

His hand was still lightly touching yours.

“Then what about me?” he asked, quieter now. The question barely reached the air.

You turned your head toward him more again. “You’re unpredictable. You’re difficult. You don’t let anyone in and then you show up with tea and compliments like I should know what that means.”

Sukuna’s mouth parted slightly, but you didn’t let him speak yet.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you said, voice rising. “And I don’t know if I’m just a sound tech to you or if I’m—”

You froze.

Because in that moment, right as the words tangled in your throat, you caught movement from the corner of your eye.

Satoru.

He was standing in the wings, just past the curtain. His face was unreadable, shoulders squared, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.

Your breath caught.

“Satoru,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Sukuna turned too, but Gojo didn’t look at him.

His eyes were only on you.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then:

“So… this is what space looks like?”

His voice wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t angry. It was something worse, quiet and calm and so heartbreakingly careful.

You separated yourself from Sukuna quickly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“I was just—he was just showing me something on the guitar—”

“Right,” Gojo cut in, walking forward slowly. “A lesson. Middle of the stage. Lights low. Classic.”

Sukuna shifted beside you, jaw flexing. “You done?” He looked annoyed, eyes dark as they stared at Gojo.

Gojo didn’t look at him at first. Just knelt beside his pedalboard, his voice dropping.

“I didn’t realize rehearsal started early,” he murmured. “Guess I’ve been early a lot lately.”

He plugged in his guitar, still not looking at either of you. His fingers moved with precision, too tight, too fast, like they didn’t know how to slow down anymore.

“I used to think you’d always tell me if something changed,” he said suddenly, his tone sharper now. “But maybe that was just me getting ahead of the script.”

“Satoru—” you started again.

But Sukuna stepped forward, his voice low but clear.

“Maybe if you weren’t always busy performing, you’d see what’s happening off-stage.”

Gojo stilled.

Then he laughed, quiet and cold.

God could this moment get anymore awkward? You wished Sukuna could see that defending you wouldn’t help any.

“That’s rich. Coming from you, of all people.” Satoru scoffed.

“Yeah?” Sukuna said, taking another step. “At least I don’t need a spotlight to matter.”

Gojo looked up at him then, fully. His expression was all teeth.

“Right. You just lurk in the dark, pretending it makes you deeper.”

“Better than faking charm and calling it love.”

The words hit hard enough to make your breath catch.

Satoru stood slowly, every inch of his posture shifting into something colder, tighter.

“Funny,” he said. “You act like you see through everyone, but you couldn’t even play clean until she was behind your board.”

Sukuna’s hands curled at his sides. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“I understand enough,” Gojo said, turning his gaze back to you now. The temperature of the room dropped with it. “I understand that I was honest. From day one. I showed up. I waited. I didn’t try to be something I’m not.”

He slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, tone quieter but laced with something sharp. “But maybe that was the wrong move. Maybe pretending to care less would’ve gotten me closer.”

“No one asked you to pretend to be anything,” you said, your voice small but trying to hold.

Gojo looked at you for a long moment, eyes too bright, too tired.

Then, finally,

“I’ll be outside.”

And with that, he stepped down off the stage and out of sight.

No dramatic slam of a door.

No guitar smashed or words thrown over his shoulder.

Just the echo of everything he didn’t say.

You stood frozen, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs.

Sukuna didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched the spot where Gojo had been, jaw still tight.

“I didn’t mean for him to hear that,” you whispered eventually.

Sukuna didn’t look at you. “I don’t think it’s what he heard that matters.”

You swallowed.

He turned to you now, his expression unreadable. “It’s what you haven’t said yet.”

The silence that followed wrapped around the two of you like smoke.

Not comforting.

Not clarifying.

Just confusing and thick with everything unspoken, and the weight of a choice you weren’t ready to make.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here,” he paused. “Do you wanna come back to my place?”

dividers by @/redroud1 <3

header art by @su2kuna on twitter <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @evilari111 @ssetsuka @not-aya @macchianikato @kitassecretgf @universal-s1ut @kitty-yaps @shinrjj @linaaeatsfamilies @justanothersunflowergirl @nana1344

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #art #jjk au #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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batsandbirdbrains · 1 day ago

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Another one inspired by this anon who asked abt fics where Dick turns out to be younger than everyone thinks and the recs that were given:

Can be pretty much any setting I suppose, sometime when Nightwing is supposed to be 21. His friends all threw a big party for him. Dick Grayson had a special gala hosted by Bruce Wayne and everything. He’s been drinking (well, he’d been drinking illegally for years now with his friends, but that’s beside the point). Fact of the matter is, Dick is supposed to be 21 and he’s done things that wouldn’t otherwise be legal for someone under 21. He had a whole phase where he needed a cigarette every time he had to deal with Batman (Camels, the best cigarettes, either Blue or Gold, because Dick has Good Taste). That phase may have started before he turned 21 because Roy gave him one after a particularly bad fight with Bruce and then couldn’t say no whenever Dick asked for another.

But really, he hadn’t actually been eight when Bruce took him in. His parents and the circus changed his age on paper all the time so he’d meet the minimum age requirement to perform with them. In Gotham, that minimum age was eight.

In reality, Dick was five. They said he was short because he was a gymnast. It wasn’t totally unbelievable.

But then he forgot to tell Bruce about it until it was several months after living with him and being Robin, and Dick was scared that if he told him the truth, that he’d lied about his age, that Bruce wouldn’t want him anymore.

So he never told anyone. And he was able to convince Bruce to let him be homeschooled the first year or two, and Alfred was a rigorous teacher. He was all caught up with his supposed age group by the time he started at Gotham Academy. Then, he overcompensated so much that by the time we was supposed to be 13, it was recommended he go into high school instead of 8th grade.

It was a lot. It was a stressful time. Dick was a ten year old freshman and also Robin on the side. Bruce really shouldn’t have given him such shit for not wanting to go to college, he was so burned out. But he couldn’t tell him why. It was exhausting. Besides, Dick gets plenty of college credits by doing the random online class here and there. Dick actually managed to get a degree, he just never told anyone. One day, he’s going to whip it out during an argument with Bruce just to prove a point and spite him. He has it all planned out.

But now, there’s some magic shenanigans going on, and everyone on the planet over the age of 20 is separated from those under 20.

And Nightwing is with everyone under 20.

No one says anything at first, Nightwing is the obvious leader of those on his side of things, and they coordinate with the JL on the other side via Captain Marvel going back and forth to relay messages.

But as soon as the threat is dealt with and everything is back to normal, Batman is standing with one of his hands gripping Nightwing’s arm so tight, there isn’t a doubt in Dick’s mind that it’s going to leave a bruise.

“Hey B,” Nightwing says, chuckling nervously. “Good to have you back.”

“Tell me why you were on the side with everyone under 20.”

“Well, you see, that’s a funny story-”

“I’m not laughing, Nightwing.”

Everyone else is very clearly eavesdropping, they’re all obviously just as curious. And Dick feels like he’s under a microscope. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, and he pushes all the panic down and sends his most charming smile to Bruce.

“Can we talk about this at home?” he asks, his voice strained. “Please?”

Batman squeezes his arm a little tighter, then loosens his grip. But he keeps hold of Nightwing’s arm, then drags him to the transport room to take him back to the Batcave without saying a word.

“Please don’t be mad,” Dick begs once they’re back at the Batcave. “It wasn’t - I didn’t do it in purpose! I just, it always changed, everything was happening so fast, and then you brought me home, and you were really nice to me and Alfie was really nice to me and I didn’t want to leave and I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore and-”

“Dick, Dick you need to breathe,” Bruce tells him, pushing the cowl down and guiding Dick to sit near the Batcomputer. He peels Dick’s mask off slowly, gently, then cups Dick’s cheek in his hand. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“You have to promise you won’t hate me,” Dick begs, and he’s so mad that he can feel tears starting to form in his eyes, that his vision is starting to blur a little bit.

“I could never hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

Dick’s voice is strangled, scared. And it breaks Bruce’s heart. Sure, they’ve had their disagreements. And sure, Bruce may have told him to stay with his friends for a while so Bruce could cool down between arguments. But he loves Dick. He’s always loved Dick.

“Please just tell me what’s going on,” Bruce begs. “Because you have no idea how scared I was when I realized you weren’t with us. I thought I’d lost you, that the spell must have made some people disappear entirely. Please, Dickie, just tell me.”

Dick looks at him for a moment, both of them quiet. But then Dick is closing his eyes and tears are falling down his cheeks and he lets out a muffled sob as he holds a fist over his mouth.

“It’s not how I wanted you to find out,” he whines, not opening his eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t know what to do!”

“You don’t have to know,” Bruce says gently. “Nothing in this family ever seems to go how we originally plan, does it?”

Bruce laughs a little, his smile feeling a little less forced when Dick lets out a wet huff of a laugh.

“They changed the documents all the time so I could perform,” Dick says quickly. “Different cities and countries have different rules, different age minimums. For insurance or something, I dunno. People changed their ages all the time in the circus, I thought it was normal.”

Bruce feels his stomach drop, but he moves to hold Dick’s hands and squeeze them tight.

“How old were you when you came to Gotham?”

“They told me I was eight in Gotham,” he says, but then he opens his eyes. “But they were good parents! It wasn’t anything bad, it was so we could perform together, so we could be a family!”

“I don’t think they were bad parents,” Bruce says quickly. “Not at all. But Dickie, I need to know how old you were, how old you are now. Please.”

“I forgot, at first,” Dick explains. “When you took me in. I just forgot, I swear, I didn’t keep it a secret on purpose. But then my birthday was coming up and you thought I was turning nine and I remembered I wasn’t and I got so scared and I didn’t want you to get rid of me.”

“I would never get rid of you,” Bruce assures him. “And I’m not going to be mad, I promise.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, and he doesn’t say anything until his breathing has evened out, until he’s calmed down and not panicking.

Then he admits in a quiet voice, “I was turning six.”

“So you were five?” Bruce gasps. He’d been kneeling in front of Dick’s seat, and he falls back to sit on his feet, feeling like he had the wind knocked out of him. “Oh God, you were five.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head. Bruce feels like he’s just had ice dumped over his head.

“You’re eighteen right now?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah.”

“Jason is older than you?”

“Barely!” Dick huffs. “Only a few months! You can’t tell him, don’t tell him!”

Bruce smiles then, because leave it to the sibling rivalry to be what gets Dick to snap out of his panic.

“We have to tell them, chum,” he says gently. “You can’t keep it a secret anymore.”

“Why not!”

“Dick,” Bruce sighs. “Do you really want to keep it a secret now? Now that you’ve told me?”

Dick is quiet for a while, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from Bruce.

“And you’re not drinking again until you’re actually 21.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I think it’s plenty fair.”

“You’re being totally lame!” Dick whines. But whatever. Dick will just drink behind his back with his friends like he did before he turned fake-21.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #Dick’s cigarette preferences are based entirely on my own #I miss camel menthols. is it just California you can’t get them anymore or is it all of the US? oh well #not that I’m a big smoker or anything but I like to partake when I’m drunk every now and again. if someone has one lmao

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knightoflodis · 13 hours ago

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I know that this is probably meant to encompass all media with female characters getting hated on by the fans. But I have been so deep into Korean webcomics and webnovels this feels like a targeted callout to the comments sections of so many of the stories I have read. Like. There are people cheering for a female character that gets her life completely ripped apart solely because she was a bit jealous of the female lead and tried to get in the way but did little to no actual harm. It’s insane how too many of those stories treat female characters that are not the main character and how absolutely abhorred those characters are by the fans. And I feel so much sympathy for a lot of them. It’s also insane how quickly they attack female characters for being a bit mean or a bit flawed (like a character that was raised in a society where non-pure nobles are seen as lesser and she is prejudiced against a lady like that because of her upbringing and because she wants to protect her lord’s standing and she was so hated in the comments when her words and actions made perfect sense because of the world that she is in, plus it is obvious that she is going to grow and change).

OP I am grateful for your post. These female characters need more love. They need more love by fans and they need more love by their authors so that they don’t just get tossed into a trash heap.

I love you hated female characters. I love you female characters who are flawed. I love you female characters who mess up and try to do the right thing after. I love you female characters who get the undeserved vitriol from fans. I love you female characters who fans completely condemn because of one mistake they made. I love you female characters who fans completely condemn because of one mistake they made as a child. I love you female characters who people blame for ripping apart their ships instead of the larger forces that be. I love you female characters who get all the hate as the male characters who do worse in canon get absolutely none. I love you female characters who get hated on because they told a man “no.”

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truthscrapper · 1 day ago

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Devlog #2 📚 Research Trip

Already a month since the announcement?! Time passes by so fast. I hope everyone is staying cool in this dreadful weather.

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

This month, I took a trip to Paris, and reworked the memory gameplay a bit!

📚

So, as you perhaps can tell, TS’s backgrounds are collages of photographs. I’ve been using royalty free images from websites like Pexels, and it’s been going relatively well. Unless I was looking for pictures of Paris that weren’t taken by tourists, or looking for pics of stairs taken from the top of the stairs for some reason.

In light of that, I decided to go on a trip to Paris for a couple weeks to take reference pictures <3

Ok it might look like I only took pictures of food BUT IT’S RESEARCH OK IT’S RESEARCH OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Not an actual screenshot– this is how my illustration template is structured!)

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

The rest of the month was taken by rewrites and replays. Unlike with ISAT (my previous game) where I worked chronologically with minimal backtracking during development, I feel like for TS I keep going back to previous days to add things, change a scene, remove a bit of foreshadowing that was too obvious… It’s not a bad way of working, but it’s so different from what I’m used to that it stresses me out anyway!!!

(Old screenshot. The hardboiled eggs aren’t here anymore)

I also reworked the memory gameplay. The only way to impact the story in TS is not through choices, but with which memories Sosotte decides to remember day-to-day. I originally had some memories be dud memories, or memories that are just here as flavor, but playtesters seemed to keep them anyway… So now, I’m making sure all memories will give you a little something something!

This is how the memories for the prologue look now. Note the icons!

So, if you pick that “funny cloud” memory, you will gain the “sight” perk, which allows Sosotte to, uh, remember to use her eyes. Yippee!

In July, I will finally finish that goshdang script for Day 4, and get it implemented.

kthnxbye

DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

#truth scrapper #devlog #indie game #video game #visual novel #ts important notice

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solarstranger · 3 days ago

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Hello! Bakugo anon back!

Omg I've got SO many ideas. My brain is just always turning and cooking him like a rotisserie chicken

One that's had me giggling here recently is crush Bakugo. I love when he's yearning and pining for us, you know?

Just him finding out you've got the hots for a fictional character, hearing you refer to them as your husband lmao. Would he get jealous? (He wants to be your husband...)

- 🍡

nonie!!!! the rotisserie chicken imagery is a stroke of genius because honestly, same. 😭 i ended up writing a little something based on your ask, although i kind of made the fictional character come from a game with a certain storyline. anyway, he's still pining in this, so i hope you enjoy it!

c.w. pining bakugou. the bakusquad makes a comeback. secondhand embarrassment lmfao.

navigation. (you are here), part 2

bakugou stiffens.

sure, he doesn’t have the world’s best hearing—he has his loud ass quirk to thank for that—but surely you didn’t just refer to someone as your husband?

across the table from him, mina barks out a laugh, punching you by the arm, to which you react by sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck.

…almost like she was teasing you about a special someone.

shit.

before he knows it, the words are out of his mouth.

“what husband?”

at his sudden interruption, the booth falls silent, the chattering kaminari and sero beside him pausing to glance in his direction, just as you two and kirishima’s gazes drift towards him.

suddenly aware of the attention he just voluntarily drew to himself, bakugou flames.

still, he needed to know.

“you said something about a husband,” he clears his throat, staring at you and only you, although he can sense everyone else staring at him.

“uh, yeah,” you answer, eyeing the rest unsurely. “mina was asking me about it.”

a beat.

“i thought you were single,” bakugou finds himself croaking—voice cracking embarrassingly midway—despite himself. at his statement, your eyes widen in surprise, but before you can open your mouth to say something, mina’s already leaning in, partially obscuring his view of you.

“why?” mina smirks, the same way that always indicates trouble, “does hearing her talk about a husband bother you?”

“mina,” you chastise the acid hero, elbowing her this time, just as bakugou shoots her a warning look, one that she immediately catches, and the pink-haired girl nods, miming the act of zipping her lips closed, a gesture you thankfully don’t see—gaze downcast in what looks like embarrassment.

“i am,” you clarify, struggling to meet his eyes—evidently flustered. “i was just—uh—referring to a game i’m playing.”

“…where you have a husband,” bakugou finishes skeptically, brows furrowed in confusion.

somehow, that doesn’t make him feel any better.

“yeah,” you squawk, much to his chagrin. “it’s part of the storyline,” you explain.

to that, bakugou only nods stiffly—not knowing what else to say—and the conversation shifts to something else.

the minute he gets home, though, the topic’s back in an instant in the form of a gajillion text messages from a whopping four different people—namely: mina, kirishima, kaminari, and sero—all varied, but united by the same central message.

and it’s how the ash-blonde should change his hero name to ‘captain obvious’.

a/n. i'm currently playing story of seasons: pioneers of olive town so the whole thing about having a fictional husband can't be any truer lmfaoooo. i got married to ralph yesterday, in fact. definitely adds to the delusions but hey, as long as we're having fun?

#thank you nonie!!!!!! i love pining bkg too. definitely up there next to katsuki on all fours #wait what???#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #re: bakugou katsuki #eeya.docx #enquiry with eeya #🍡 anon

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charles-leclerizz · 2 days ago

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driver diaries : collection #3 when you're shy

models : CL16, CS55, MV1, LN4, OP81

VIP guest's in the front row : [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], [@dallaavv, @nichmeddar, @sisinever] IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

availability : pre-dating with all drivers

designer's comments : she's backkk. missed this series I cannot lie to you all <333. this was requested ! so so sorry I took eons and eons to reply, hopefully it was worth it, if it wasn't (ok stone cold bitch) feel free to request again <33.

Charles Leclerc 16 thinks he did something wrong

You’ve always been a little shy around Charles. It’s not that you don’t like him - God, if anything, that’s the problem. He’s too much. Too pretty, too charming, too aware of how his smile lands like a punch to the chest.

So, you tend to shrink back a bit when he talks to you. Glance down instead of meeting his eyes. Keep your hands in your lap and your words short, because you're scared that if you say too much, it'll be obvious how badly you're trying not to fall for him.

Charles notices. Of course he notices.

But he doesn’t read it for what it is. He sees the way you flinch slightly when he sits beside you at the team event, the way you freeze up when he compliments your earrings, the way you laugh politely but never quite look at him. And after a few days of it, the light behind his smile starts to dim.

He starts keeping a little distance. Stops seeking you out with the same warmth. Doesn’t sit next to you anymore. When you speak now - quietly, nervously - he just nods, gives you a polite smile, and turns away.

You don’t understand what changed. You start thinking maybe he just never liked you in the first place.

The breaking point comes one afternoon at the track. You catch him alone in the hospitality tent, scrolling through something on his phone. He barely looks up when you sit beside him.

“Hey,” you say, softly.

“Hi,” he replies, not cold, but… not the usual Charles.

You hesitate. “Did I do something wrong?”

That makes him pause.

He sets his phone down and looks at you, expression unreadable. “No. Not at all.”

You twist your fingers together in your lap. “You’ve been… distant. I thought maybe-”

“I thought you were uncomfortable around me,” he interrupts, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “You never really talk to me. You always look away. I didn’t want to make things worse by pushing.”

Your eyes widen. “Charles, no. I’m not uncomfortable.”

His brows pull together. “Then… what is it?”

You swallow. “I just- I get nervous. Around you. You’re... you.” You gesture weakly, blushing. “And I’m not good at this kind of thing. I didn’t want to come off weird.”

He blinks. “You’re nervous because of me?”

You nod.

And then he laughs - not unkindly, just like something’s clicked. Like relief is flooding through him.

“Mon dieu,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his curls. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t!” you say quickly. “I… like you. That’s the problem.”

He grins then - the real one, the one that lights up his whole face. And it knocks the breath out of you.

“You should’ve told me,” he says, voice warm again. “I wouldn’t have pulled away.”

You’re still a little pink as he reaches out and takes your hand.

“I’ll be patient,” he says, threading his fingers through yours. “But you’ll have to look me in the eye eventually.”

You do. And this time, you don’t look away.

Carlos Sainz 55 he thinks he makes you uncomfortable

Carlos is observant - but not always when it matters. And with you, he just can't figure it out.

You’ve been around the paddock for weeks now - part of the extended PR team, quiet and composed, never in the way. Always polite. Always smiling. Always… distant.

At first, Carlos thought you were just shy. But then came the way you step back when he gets too close. The way your voice goes faint when he greets you. The way your eyes drop the second he compliments you or calls you guapa under his breath.

And suddenly, it stops feeling like shyness and starts feeling like discomfort.

So he backs off. Stops lingering near your workstation. Cuts the jokes shorter. No more smirking comments, no more casual touches. It’s like he’s folded himself in - tighter, quieter - and now you miss it more than you thought possible.

You don’t understand why it hurts. You weren’t trying to act cold. You were just… shy. Intimidated, maybe. And yeah, he’s gorgeous - of course he is. But it’s not just that. It’s how warm he is. How bright. How hard he makes your heart thump just by looking at you.

So the silence feels sharp now. And you're the one who's confused.

It all comes to a head when you’re cleaning up the Ferrari media lounge after a promo shoot. Carlos walks in to grab something, sees you, and does a half-turn like he’s about to leave again.

You panic and blurt out, “Did I do something wrong?”

Carlos stops halfway through the door and turns. He looks at you - really looks at you. “No,” he says, slower now, more careful. “I just… thought I did.”

Your brows furrow.

He sighs, crossing his arms. “You seemed uncomfortable. Around me. I didn’t want to push.”

Your heart sinks. “Carlos- I wasn’t uncomfortable. I’m just-” You pause and shrug. “Shy. Especially around people I… like.”

He blinks. “Like?”

You feel your cheeks go hot. “Yeah. Like.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, soft and a little sheepish. “You’re shy?”

You nod.

He crosses the space between you in two long steps. “And you like me?”

“I said that didn’t I?” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers as you watch him approach you.

He’s smiling now - soft and golden. “I thought you hated me.”

“You’re too nice to hate.” You glance up. “Too nice to handle sometimes, maybe.”

He touches your arm gently. “You should’ve told me.”

“I thought I was being obvious.”

Carlos smiles, eyes flicking down to your lips. “Next time, maybe say it with words.”

And then, when you don’t flinch away, he leans in - kisses you slow, patient, sure. Like he’s waited a long time to know where he stood.

Max Verstappen 1 he thinks you don't like him

Max isn’t good at mixed signals. He likes directness - clean lines, no guessing, no mess. He prefers it even. So when you start shrinking around him - going quiet, keeping your arms folded, never quite meeting his eyes - he files it under one thing: you don’t want him around.

Fine.

He doesn’t take it personally. At least, that’s what he tells himself. You’re shy, sure. Quiet. Polite. But there’s a tightness to it around him, and he’s not dumb. He can read a room - especially when he’s the one dimming the light in it.

So, he pulls back. Keeps things curt. Efficient. He still greets you when you pass by the garage, still nods if your eyes meet - but the warmth is gone. The teasing, the charm, the slow smiles he used to throw your way like skipping stones? All gone.

And it breaks your heart a little.

Because you do like him. So much it sometimes feels stupid. He’s just… a lot. Intense. Beautiful. And impossibly hard to act normal around. You don’t mean to be distant - you just don’t want to embarrass yourself by being obvious. But now? Now it’s like you’re strangers.

It gets to you one day. You’re both stuck in a driver’s lounge before a media block, alone, quiet. He’s scrolling on his phone, leaning against the far wall, not even sparing you a glance.

“Did I do something?” you ask, soft but sharp with worry.

He doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Then why are you being like this?”

His eyes flick to you, guarded. “I thought you were uncomfortable. Around me. So I backed off.”

Your mouth parts slightly. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

Max scoffs, just a little. “You flinch every time I speak.”

“I flinch because I like you.” You surprised yourself with that one.

The silence goes still. His eyes lift.

You swallow. “And you kind of… scare me. Not in a bad way. Just… you’re Max Verstappen. You don’t exactly make it easy to think straight.”

His brows crease. “So you’re shy.”

You nod.

A long pause. Then, a faint huff - amused, almost. He sets his phone down and walks toward you slowly.

“You should’ve said something.”

“I’m saying something now.”

He stops in front of you, hand reaching out to trace a light touch down your arm. “I won’t back off again,” he says, voice low.

And when he leans in, the kiss is softer than you'd imagined. And everything clicks into place.

Lando Norris 4 he makes you nervous

You’re shy - painfully so - and the worst part is, Lando notices. Of course he does. He’s the sun in every room he walks into, and you’re just a shadow in the corner, trying not to catch fire.

You laugh too softly at his jokes. You look away every time he leans in. You wave awkwardly, never quite speaking first. And the more he tries to get you to warm up, the more your nerves clamp down, making you feel like a walking malfunction.

Lando thinks it’s his fault.

The teasing stops. The goofy smirks fade. He gets quieter around you - still nice, still polite - but less… Lando. No more little nicknames. No more playfully asking if you’ve missed him. No more light bumps against your shoulder as he walks past.

You think he’s tired of you. He thinks you’re creeped out by him. It’s chaos. Silent, unspoken, and spiraling.

It all unravels in the worst possible place: McLaren HQ, the sim room. You’ve been helping run logistics, and he’s just finished a long session. He brushes past you without a word.

That’s the final straw. “Did I do something wrong?”

He freezes. Turns slowly. “What?”

“You’ve been... weird. Avoiding me.”

He blinks. “You avoid me. Every time I talk to you, you look like you want to bolt.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to bolt. I’m just... not good with this stuff. I get nervous.”

Lando stares at you. “I make you nervous?”

You nod, miserable. “You’re Lando Norris. You make a lot of people nervous.”

A beat of silence. Then- he laughs. Relief spreads across his face like sunshine. “I thought you thought I was creepy or annoying or something.”

You shake your head fast. “No! You’re just, hard to talk to because I like you, okay?”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “...Wait. What.”

You groan into your hands. “I’m going to jump out the window.”

“Don’t. I like you too.”

You blink.

“And I’m very into flustered,” he adds, stepping closer. “So, if you keep blushing like that, I’m going to kiss you.”

And he does - right there, with your heart in your throat and the sim computer humming behind you like a witness.

Oscar Piastri 81 he just ... gives you space

Oscar isn’t loud. He isn’t showy. He notices things in silence.

Like how your eyes never quite meet his. How your voice gets quieter when he walks into the room. How you always seem to smile at everyone but him.

He assumes he makes you uncomfortable. So he gives you space. A lot of it. He’s polite, respectful, kind - but distant. Detached. Careful not to make you feel boxed in.

What he doesn’t realise is that you feel boxed out.

You don’t mean to shrink away from him. You just… don’t know how to be normal around someone you’ve been quietly crushing on since the first time he looked up from his phone and asked if you wanted the last packet of crisps. That small. That stupid. That unforgettable.

And now he’s cold. Or not cold exactly - but quiet in a way that hurts. You miss the version of him who caught your eye across the garage with a flicker of a smile. The Oscar who made jokes under his breath and bumped your shoulder when he passed by.

You think maybe you broke something. And you don’t know how to fix it.

It comes out when you’re stuck helping pack gear after a long shoot. Just the two of you. Silence thick enough to cut.

You can’t stand it anymore.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, your voice thin.

Oscar glances at you, surprised. “No. Why?”

“You’ve been… different.”

He hesitates. “I thought you needed space.”

You frown. “Why?”

“You never really talk to me. You seem tense when I’m around. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your chest tightens. “Oscar, I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just... shy.”

His expression shifts slightly - not dramatic, but you see it. A flicker of oh.

“I thought I’d done something,” he admits. “So I backed off.”

“I was scared I was being obvious.”

“Obvious about what?”

You blush. “That I like you.”

He exhales, almost a laugh. Then steps closer.

“I like you too,” he says, and it’s so simple, so steady, that you almost miss it. “And for what it’s worth… I like the quiet. I just don’t like being a stranger in it.”

You meet his eyes. “You’re not.”

“Good.”

And when he kisses you, it’s gentle - like everything else he does. Like he’s promising you’ve been understood now.

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