Blake Griffin Imagines

Love by Submission {Slight Rated R}

Blake walked into his ESPN Magazine shoot, dressed down in a pair of gym shorts and a thin white t-shirt. He had a short break in his season where his manager had been able to squeeze the stupid photo shoot in—okay, it wasn't stupid really. It was the 15th anniversary of the sports' magazine, and he'd been one of the four young athletes chosen to grace one of the covers and be featured as one of the stars the magazine saw being a big name over the next fifteen years. It was an honor, but he'd much rather be at the gym working out or with his ex-girlfriend as she headed to a doctor's appointment to get the news of what they, well, she was having.

"Ah, Blake, there you are!"

"Yeah, Lorne, I'm here."

He greeted his short, big, and balding business manager with a hand shake and half hug. In one corner of the vast room there was a white backdrop set up with some light flash things and a stand for a camera. Then in another corner there was a thinner red one set up. And then there was the dozens of balloons everywhere.

"So where is this going?"

"You're going to do the white sets first. Ronda's going to be at the red drop."

"Ronda?"

The name sounded somewhat familiar in the world of sports. Despite the fact that basketball took up about ninety percent of his life, every once and a while he would sit back and watch Sportscenter and different sports programs on ESPN when he had a break to get caught up in the vast world of sports.

"Yeah, Ronda Rousey. She's a UFC champion."

Blake nodded, assuming he was supposed to know exactly what that was. He didn't, actually, but he was going to pretend that he knew. Lorne set off somewhere and he appeared to know where he was going, so Blake just followed him. Inside a seemingly random room, there were racks of clothes and some of his sneakers that Lorne must have taken from his house that morning.

Blake tried to be as nice as possible when the stylist came inside and started forcing him into clothes. The whole choosing outfits part was literally his least favorite part of photo shoots because it took the longest and it was a waste of time in his eyes. Could they not plan ahead?

He ended up in a pair of striped basketball socks, a pair of his white Jordans with black accents, cut off grey sweatpants-style shorts, another white t-shirt and red zip up sweatshirt. Blake walked out of his room at the same time the door across the hall opened and the girl who must have been Ronda walked out in a pair of legging capris, a sports bra, black net top and black sneakers.

This girl was a UFC champion?

She looked ripped, don't get him wrong. Her arms were pretty big and her thighs were thick with muscles. But her face was smooth, and she wasn't very tall. But then again, he really couldn't measure a woman's height in relation to his own, because he was nearly seven feet tall in sneakers. But Ronda only came up to about his pecs.

"Oh, are you Blake?" She smiled up at him, her eyes squinting just slightly.

Somewhere in the back of his psych, he was surprised by how...pretty she was. There weren't any other words coming to mind. And if she could be pretty in some workout gear and a messy bun with a little braid, Blake couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like in normal clothes.

"Blake Griffin," he told her politely. "I play for the Los Angeles Clippers."

"I've been to a few games," she told him. "I'm Ronda Rousey. I'm in the UFC. And I was at the Olympics. Weren't you supposed to go?"

"Ah, yeah, I was but I injured my knee in practices leading up to them and I had to stay back and get surgery. It sucked, but hopefully I'll be able to make it to Rio in 2016."