#and my tag for a women's soccer player

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

--

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.” 

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

--

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ you're all caught up!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

--

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #geto suguru #gojo satoru angst #nanami kento #choso kamo #series #yaga masamichi #alternate universe #college #college au #soccer #sports au #fraternity #sorority #tw drinking #partying #anime #romance #smut #fluff #angst #jjk smut #long fic #jjk series #ongoing series

[flemingsfreckles]

Physio’s Daughter

Jessie Fleming x Physio!Reader

Preview: Reader is following in her mother’s footsteps in becoming a physiotherapist and gets the opportunity to spend the afternoon with the Canadian women’s soccer team.

Warnings: none

WC: 3.7k

A/N: this is going to be a few parts

You couldn’t believe you were attending ‘bring your kid to work day’ with your mom as a 22 year old but here you were, in the car on the way to her work.

“Are you sure I’m not too old to be coming with you?” You questioned your mom.

“It’ll be just like going to your clinical rotations. Plus you can put it on your resume, so it's really just helping you.” That’s how your mom had tried to convince you that you’d have fun coming to work with her. “Plus I talked with my boss, he said as of now we have an extra spot on the physio team to take someone to the Olympics, if you do well today, maybe it could be you.”

“Wouldn’t you want someone who's more qualified, not just a student?” You were in the process of obtaining your certification as a physiotherapist. You had finished your bachelor’s degree and were in the middle of your post graduate athletic therapy program.

“We have all the staff we need, they think bringing on someone young might be good. The players might like having someone closer to their age, not just all 40 and 50 year olds on their staff. Plus you’re plenty qualified, we have students in and out of the facility all the time.”

As a kid you always tagged along with your mom, you didn't have much of a choice, having a single mom who worked late hours in secondary schools meant your evenings were spent in her training room or on the sidelines of games. The older you got, the less you went with your mom, opting to stay home or spend time with friends instead of accompanying her at work. When you moved out to go to university you had chosen to follow in your Mom’s footsteps, intending to become a physiotherapist as well. At the same time you moved out, your Mom took on a new job, one that allowed her to travel more, a job with the Canada’s Women’s Soccer Team.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend the day with your mom, you were interested in seeing her work, it was more that you knew you'd be the oldest “kid” who was at her work, a lot of her other staff had either young children or kids that had moved away and were on with their own lives.

The ride to the training facility was short, you got out of the car, and walked into the front door. You followed your mom around the facility, having no idea where to go. She walked you down and around various hallways, saying hello to the other staff who passed with their small children. You just would give a polite hello and a wave before continuing down the hall.

It was a weird feeling, walking into a room of players you recognized from TV, players who were well known across the country and the world, and yet they greeted your Mom with a hello and questions about her weekend, as if they were friends.

“That is my daughter, she thinks she's too old to be here but she's studying to be a physio too so I figured I'd bring her here and get some free labor.” You hear your mom joking with the two players standing in front of her, she's pointing at you over her shoulder and the two players who you recognized to be Janine Beckie and Ashley Lawrence were looking over at you. You politely wave and move over in their direction.

“Hi.” Not knowing what to say to them, you just keep it short.

They both introduce themselves to you, you assume just being polite of them, it would be hard to not know who they were. One of the other physios comes in, taking Ashley to get taped, your mom taking Janine to work on her knee. Not sure what to do with yourself you just stand back, as if you were back to being a shy 6 year old in a new environment hiding behind your mom. You watch your mom work, she moves effortlessly, doing tasks in seconds that would take you minutes. You always admired your Mom at her work but you had a new appreciation now that you had begun school and realized how much work and time it took to learn everything.

Players come and go, getting various treatments, keeping the staff busy. You watch around, seeing the rest of the staff, how they work with the players, how they all seemed so relaxed and at ease.

“Hi Jessie, how are you, what do you need today?” Your mom looks past you toward the door where Jessie Fleming had walked in. Obviously you knew who she was, her olympic heroics from many years ago making her a Canadian household name. On top of her soccer talent that drew your attention as a kid, her appearance definitely didn't hurt. You had always found her pretty, a silly little school girl crush when you were younger watching her on TV as she played as a teenager, something that you had forgotten about over the years but her standing in front of you brought it all back up.

“Hi, I’m doing well. Can I just get my calf worked out? I’ve been having some tightness.” She looked at your mom, a polite smile across her face, she pointed at the empty table as she asked.

“Can you handle that?” You realize your mom is looking at you, asking you to help with Jessie as the rest of the staff is held up with other players. She’s asking you to help

“Um, yeah, sure.” You weren’t going to say no, plus you could handle a simple massage.

“Jessie, this is my daughter, she’s a physio student and plenty qualified to massage your calf, I promise.” You roll your eyes at your mom’s comment, feeling embarrassed that she has to explain that you’re able to help. You wash your hands and walk over to the table Jessie had sat down on.

“Hi, I’m Jessie.” She introduces herself, her hand extended for a handshake, you can't help but let out a small laugh at the fact that she of all people is introducing herself.

“I know who you are.” Your hand meets hers taking her handshake and you quickly introduce yourself to her. Her hand is soft but her handshake is firm, it only lasts a second before you pull back, pointing to her legs.

“Which calf?” You look at her. She points to her left before taking off her sock and she rolls over onto her stomach shifting up the table so that just her foot is hanging off the edge. You grab lotion and rub it into your hands before placing your hands slowly onto Jessie’s leg. You take a few passes of your hands over her leg before starting to dig into the muscle. It doesn't take you long to find the knot that is resting in her leg, focusing on it. You feel Jessie clench her muscle and slightly pull her leg away. You quickly lighten the pressure you were putting on her and you look at the direction of her face. You see a small grimace across her face.

“Are you good?” The last thing you want is to hurt the captain of the team, that probably wouldn't go over well with anyone.

“Yeah it's just sore. I’ve had some previous injury with it.” You knew that, you knew about most of the players' previous injuries, they were publicly announced anyway and you liked to keep up with your mom on what she was doing at work.

“Sorry.” Not sure if it's appropriate to apologize, you do it anyway.

“Oh don’t be, it’s never been a huge injury so I’m lucky. Unless you were saying sorry about the soreness, but then don’t worry, it’s sort of a good hurt I guess.” She stumbles a bit with their words, looking back at you over her shoulder. With her confirmation that the pain wasn’t bad, you return your pressure to her leg, working your fingers deep into her skin.

“Is she doing alright Jessie?” The voice of your Mom comes from behind you, you turn to see her walking up toward you, finished with the other athletes.

“She might be better than you.” Jessie laughs joking with your mom. “No but seriously she's doing great.”

“I taught her well then.” Your mom gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking away and moving to a desk to do some paperwork.

You finish up with Jessie’s calf, letting her know she should be good to go, the knot being worked out. She stands up with a smile and thanks you for the help. She uses your name when she thanks you which causes a small blush to come across your cheeks. You can't keep your eyes off of her as she walks out to head to the field. When she turns the corner and out of your sight you shake your head, trying to clear your mind as you feel the small childhood crush come crawling back up.

You clean up the table you had been working on, putting the lotion away and wiping down the table with sanitizer. Moving over to where your mom was working, she was completing reports for each of the players who had come in for treatment, she passed them to you to file once she’s completed with them. When the paperwork is done you follow her out to the pitch. You find yourself sitting on the bench, watching as the players work through drills, your mom occasionally going to chat with the coaching staff or other physios.

You couldn't help but watch Jessie, watching how effortlessly she made moving the ball look, how much power and control she had on the ball, it was fascinating. On a couple of occasions you found yourself admiring her physique a little too much, watching as her muscles twitch with every movement. You also started to notice she was favoring her weight on her right leg the longer practice went on.

“Mom.” You get your mom’s attention, not wanting to make the call yourself on if Jessie’s movements were unusual. “Does Fleming usually favor her right leg?”

“What?” She moves over closer to you, looking out to the field in the direction of Jessie. You both watch as Jessie takes another pass, moving upfield with the ball. “Oh, no she doesn't, I mean she prefers her right foot, but not like that.”

At the next water break you see your mom sitting in front of Jessie, hand on her calf, you watch as they talk about your mom maneuvering her leg. When the team moves back to the field, the players and coaches bring out their kids, letting them join in on games. Jessie stays sitting, now talking with your mom and the coach. She then stands up, your mom following her in your direction.

“Can you take her inside? I want to be overcautious and treat her for a calf strain, heat pack, use the TENS unit, then have her roll out, ice and tape.” Your mom throws a laundry list of tasks at you.

“Of course.” You stand up, grabbing your water and phone from next to you before heading in the direction of the physio room.

“Sorry you're getting stuck with me again.” You apologize to Jessie, trying to make small talk with the girl and also hoping she doesn’t feel like she’s getting stuck with just the student again.

“Oh, I don't mind. I wasn't really joking earlier when I said you did a better job than your mom.” She gives you a smile, you feel the flutter in your stomach. Her praise is nice, but it's the smile that she's giving you that makes your stomach flip, it’s gentle and friendly. “Don't take that the wrong way, your mom is excellent, just it was different, you were more thorough maybe, I’m not sure, it was just different.” Jessie rambles.

“That's probably because I’m more nervous about messing up than they are.” You’re honest, you were doing everything to the exact standard, following the expectations you had been taught in class, yet to develop your own style.

“You’re nervous?” She seems surprised.

“I mean, wouldn’t you be, being brought into a professional sports team and being asked to help that team's captain while you're still a student? I mean I guess you’re usually level headed, penalty machine and all.” Thankfully you have half a brain to not throw in that the captain being attractive was definitely adding to your nerves.

“Oh believe me, I was nervous for those penalties but I’ve always thought nerves are good, they show you care. How much more school do you have?” She continues with the small talk.

“Just another semester. And then licensing tests, but just a semester of school.”

“That's exciting, do you know what you are going to do after that?” You make your way into the training room, holding the door open for Jessie to walk through.

“I don’t know, probably work at some secondary school to start, work my way up to bigger teams, I'll have to see what options I have. Go ahead and sit up on the table.” You point at the table at the end of the room as you move over to where the heat packs were stored. Jessie is sitting on the table, watching you when you turn around. You lift her foot, placing the heat pack on the table before placing her calf down on top of it.

“Is it still just sore or is it more sharp now?” Turning the conversation back to a more professional topic away from the small talk about yourself.

“Just sore, feels like a sore muscle.”

“You know, it's nice to actually meet you finally.” When you give her a confused look, she continues “I just mean your mom talks a lot about you.”

“Oh that's embarrassing.” You regret saying it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, you loved your mom, you know you shouldn’t be embarrassed about her talking about you.

“No, it's actually really sweet, I hope my parents talk about me even half as much as your mom talks about you. She’s so proud of you. You're her world.”

“Yeah, I know, it was always just the two of us. I know she misses me when I’m at school, I feel bad leaving her sometimes.” You look down, then realize youre probably giving way too much information to someone who likely doesn't care. “Sorry, I don't mean to talk about my personal stuff.”

“No problem, I don't mind, it's nice talking to you,” she quickly corrects her sentence “to someone closer to my age.”

You pull up a stool and sit with Jessie while she uses the heat pack. When the heat pack starts to cool off you slide over and start digging around for the TENS unit your mom recommended. When you’ve opened your third cabinet and had no luck finding it Jessie speaks up.

“They keep the TENS over there.” She points across the room to a different cabinet. You push up off the stool and move over to where she pointed, opening a drawer and finding it quickly.

“Sorry, I obviously don’t know where anything is, I didn't have time to really get acclimated this morning.” You feel embarrassed, already feeling inferior being the student but now being clueless and having to have Jessie tell you where everything is.

“That’s alright.” She reassures you. You move back and attach the pads onto her calf, turning the machine on low and handing her the controls and tell her to leave it on for 10 minutes. She messes with the controls of a second before setting down the remote and slightly leaning back, her arms propped behind her. Not knowing what to do with yourself you stand up and move over to the other tables where rolls of tape, bandaids, scissors, and various other tools used by the trainers are askew. You tidy up, finding where things belong through your own searching.

“So what do you do outside of school?” You had gotten used to the silence that Jessie’s voice breaks.

“Well school takes up most of my time, I wish I could travel more, I miss going to new places, seeing new things. But unfortunately school turns me into a pretty boring person.”

“Maybe you’ll get a travel experience this summer eh?” You turn at her, you’re assuming she’s implying going with your mom to Paris for the Olympics. “Your mom mentioned she wanted you to come with the team.”

“Yeah she said something about it to me, I mean I’d have to have her boss, Mark, pick me, I think there’s a few people they’re looking at for the trip. She thinks it’ll be a good experience for me for future jobs. I know it would look good on a resume and all but I also don’t want to get the opportunity just because my mom is here.”

“If it means anything you have my vote, the other people have been boring.” Jessie quickly says. “Sorry that’s not what I meant. I just meant, you’ve been the best one they’ve tried out. You care the most, at least it seems like you do. Plus you’re easy to talk to, the rest were too caught up on work, some of them stressed me out just being around them. And no one else was as observant. Your mom mentioned you were the one to see I was putting my weight off center, that’s why it’s important to have fresh eyes.”

“Yeah, I just happened to be watching, I get told I’m observant a lot.” You move your hands to take the TENS unit off of her gently peeling the pads from her skin. You move to grab her the foam ball across the room, tossing it in her direction. Jessie tried to catch it, it bounces off her hands, into her face and then onto the floor.

“Oh my god sorry, I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” You throw your hands in her direction apologizing. Moving quickly across the room you pick up the ball where it had rolled before gently placing it in her hand.

“Nope, that was my fault. There’s a reason I play a foot sport.” She laughs. Her laugh is beautiful, it fills the room momentarily. It makes you feel light inside.

Just as she moves to the floor to begin rolling out her calf, the training room door opens and in comes the loud crowd of her teammates. They move in all directions across the room, some moving to the ice bath, some moving to grab heat packs. Some move to take off tape, tossing it in the trash. It’s loud, conversations in every direction and you’re quickly swept away, your arm being pulled by your mom as she moves you over to where the ice cooler was. You’re instructed to make ice bags for the players who want them and help them wrap the ice wherever they want it. It’s an easy task but it takes you away from Jessie, no longer having the quiet privacy of the training room.

You wrap arms and legs and shoulders and backs and feet with ice. You can’t help but keep glancing at Jessie, she was still rolling her calf, chatting with her teammates as they walked by. On a couple instances you caught her looking back at you, she’d give a quick smile before looking away. You finish the last player requesting ice and when you look up Jessie is now sitting on the table with Mark, he’s taping her calf. A small part of you feels jealous, which is insanely stupid you tell yourself, she’s his player not yours, he’s the head trainer, you’re not even one, it should be him doing the work.

Only a few minutes later, Jessie hops off the table, giving you a wave and a shout of thanks before leaving the room. Only staff remained, the rest of the players on their way home for the day. You finish cleaning up, asking your Mom a couple of times where everything belongs, making sure nothing gets put away in the wrong place.

It feels like time has flown by in the eight hours that you have been at the training center, before you know it you’re headed out to the car with your mom, the same way you came in this morning.

“Mark wanted to extend the offer for you to spend the rest of the summer here, and for the Olympics. He’s going to give you a call tomorrow, but he gave me a heads up. It can probably count as some clinical work for school, he said he’ll just have to get the paperwork sorted. Something about high praises from a certain team captain.” Your mom nudges you with her shoulder. You look at her and you can tell she’s being suggestive with her wording.

“What?” Your cheeks begin to flush slightly. “You’re the one who kept sticking her with me.”

“I know, I also know you had a little crush when you were younger.” She teases. You just roll your eyes, not wanting to give yourself away.

“Oh my god mom that was years ago, she’s not my type.” It was true, your dating history was littered with blonde preppy girls with terrible personalities, quite literally the opposite of Jessie. Hoping that fact would help your argument that you didn’t still have a crush on Jessie and it seemed to as your mom dropped the topic.

“I know honey, I’m only kidding you. You can drive, I’m tired.” She places the keys in your hand. You don’t mind driving, you turn back looking at the facility, realizing you could be spending your summer everyday here didn’t sound like too bad of an idea.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming imagine #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt

[redbullgirly]

hi hi can i request a max verstappen x footballer smau but she plays for real madrid femenino and we know max is an fcb supporter (also for the sake of the smau, real madrid femenino can be just as good as barcelona femeni) and everyone going crazy when she just takes him to an award ceremony as her plus-one. no soft launch no hard launch and everyone including the grid and christian horner and madristas and everyone is shocked

MADRIDISTAS [MV1/33]

Max Verstappen x footballer!RealMadridFemenino!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N is one of the biggest rising stars in women's football, playing for Real Madrid Femenino. When she's nominated by Women's Football Awards for the Player of the Year, the last thing anybody would expect is her plus one to the ceremony being Formula One driver, Max Verstappen. Not only is he the World Champion himself, but most importantly, Max is a known FC Barcelona fan. Talk about making friends with the enemy...

Warnings: I have very limited knowledge of football, so everything in this story is based on my quick research. If you're a fan, please don't come for me! Though any advice would be much appreciated, because I have more football requests in my inbox XD.

Author's Note: Hi Anon, thanks for the request! I have to say it was quite challenging for me at the start, because I don't know many things about football, but at the end it turned out fun and good. Hope you like what I did with this social media au! :)

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yourusername And it's a wrap!🥈⚽️ Thank you to the whole team for another amazing year, we fought hard and we will continue to fight for the Champions League title next year as 2023/24 runners-up. Hala Madrid!✨🇪🇸

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user1 Love the way you play!

realmadridfem Hala Madrid!💪🏆

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yourusername 💯

user2 💥💥💥

user3 Vamosssss

user4 GO GIRLLL🤩🤩🤩🤩

user5 you really deserved to win the finale, the referee was totally biased agains you!!!

user6 Yeah, even as a FC Barcelona fan I didn't think it was fair🙈

martagarcialopez19 amazing Y/N! 🫶

yourusername Thank youuu!💖

user7 wait does y/n know some people from motosport???

user8 No I think it's just girls supporting girls in sports dominated by men tbh ☺️

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user7 oh yeah that makes sense

user9 Buen trabajo que equipo tan bueno con todas y en lo personal muy guapa [Good job, what a great team with everyone and personally very pretty.]

marisabel_rguez The dream team 🙌

liked by the author

yourusername Yessss

user10 HALA MADRID 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

user11 literally the prettiest soccer player I ever saw😻

user12 you mean FOOTBALL?!😂🧐

user11 sry i'm american so i'm used to saying soccer

user12 well that's WRONG girly😂

user13 Princess

messages between Y/N and Max

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yourusername Short stop back home in Monaco before flying to London for Women's Football Awards and my nomination for Player of the Year 🤞🌷

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user1 so pretty

maitetxuu_10 The nails Y/N 🤩

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yourusername Not better than yours though 😚

user2 i don't watch football but maybe i should start bc of you

user3 Wow you're such a cutie 😍❤️

charlottesiine great work out together!

yourusername Agreed! We should definetly hit the gym together more often 😂

user4 omg wait how do they know each other?? didn't expect y/n y/l/n to be friends with ex-wags??

user5 Idk but they both live in Monaco so it's easy to know basically everyone who's your age there xdd

yourusername True user5, they don't tell you how small the country actually is 😭

user6 SHE IS MY ROLE MODEL EVERYBODY

user7 👏👏👏👏🔥🔥

lucybrozne Seems like the Monaco sun suits you 😁☀️

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yourusername Oh thanks Lucy! 🫶

lucybrozne 🫶

user8 i love that despite fcb beating madrid they're still friends outside of the field🥺

user9 WOW you should be a model

user10 So sad your talents aren’t being fully appreciated in Madrid.

user11 oh c'mmon she probably wouldn't play for them if she felt unappreciated 🙄

user12 but tbh I think she should be the captain.... like she's literally the best player of them all BY FAR

user13 Nah I don't like her. Hope she'll never be a captain🤮

user12 then go away? lol

user13 damnn the 3rd picture did some unholy things to me 😩

user14 right?! I don't think I'm straight anymore🫣

user15 I have no idea who she is but let me tell you she's gorgeous

user16 ✨✨✨👑🎀🌹

twitter

messages between Max and Christian Horner & Max and Carlos Sainz

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tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername Turning him into Madridista duh.

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maxverstappen1 Y/N I love you... but that's never happening ❤️

yourusername Liar! You complained for a week straight about how that referee in the finals wasn't fair and we should have won agains Barcelona! 😘

carlossainz55 hahaaa mate she got you😂

maxverstappen1 😒

user1 OMGGG we converted him on our side!!!

user2 A sad day to be a FC Barcelona supporter and F1 fan😓

user3 A happy day for Madridistas!😍

user4 damn I may have to start watching football

martagarcialopez19 you're glowing! also thanks god now I don't have to keep the secret anymore xd

yourusername Love ya! 🫶

user5 The IT WAG

user6 can we take a moment to appreciate how cute maxie looks here?🥹

realmadridfem You go girl! Convert new fans!🤩💪

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user7 I'm still shocked by this whole thing 😹

user8 you're not the only one lol

user9 the second picture????

user10 Max is so lucky man🥵

marisabel_rquez ¡La pareja poderosa!😍 [The power couple!😍]

liked by the author

user11 this post murdered me and dragged me all over slaycity with how much it served 🤭

user12 exactly! her and max are so hot and pretty

user13 🤍😍💯🥳 Hala Madrid!!!

maxverstappen1 posted on instagram

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tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1 My girl ❤️⚽️

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THE END

Author's Note: Thank you for reading the whole thing! I'll appreciate likes, reblogs, follows and comments, or any other way of support. Let me know what you think about this pairing and please tell me if there are any football errors, because I have another request about footballer!reader waiting for me. Have a great day! :)

#f1 x reader #fanfiction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #fanfic #x reader #formula one #couple #f1 imagine #reading #max verstappen x reader #mv1 #mv33 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv1 fic #max verstappen #writing #social media au #social media #social media fic #smau #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 fluff #football #womens football #aesthetic

[ladyveronikawrites]

DOMINATE THE GAME

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

CW: 18+ MNDI, Coach/athlete au, coach athlete sexual relationship [all parties regardless of being fiction are of legal age of consent]

The National Women’s Soccer League Anti-Harassment Policy: This policy prohibits the use of coercion, force, intimidation, or Power Imbalance to pursue sexual contact or an intimate relationship of any sort.

The story includes: oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, mentions of contraceptives. If I missed anything please let me know💜

This is real person fiction; Fiction based on real people in fictitious situations.

A/N: Huge shout out to @nerdraging4point0 for helping me with this fic, holding my hand every step of the way as I venture into new waters. Coach Davis caused a bit of a frenzy in my server and well here we are. Also, check out her coach au, Underdog 🥎

word count: 2.5k

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It’s your third lap around the track and you see him talking with your coach on the sidelines. Coach Davis is back for his third week of observation. Whatever that means. He hasn’t said a single word to you or the other players. You barely remember his voice since he only whispers from the sidelines at your coach and has only addressed the team to introduce himself on the first day. Not even a “congratulations” when we won our last game last week. 

Nothing.

You huff as you pass the pair slowing your pace just enough to roll your eyes at Coach Davis in his stupid sunglasses, boring varsity hoodie-from a rival college no less, and his fucking lame ass dad baseball cap. 

“You’re going to regret that.” Suddenly the air expels from your lungs, leaving you wheezing and coughing. Easing your pace to a steady jog, you gather your breath as you close the distance between you and your best friend Kate. 

“You ok? I saw you having a fit over there after you passed Coach Davis.” This time you fake a coughing fit to cover up the burning in your cheeks and the strange feeling in your stomach as his name rolls around in your brain like a terrible game of racquetball.

“Yeah, fine,” you say between forced coughs before ending your charade by clearing your throat and then spitting into the grass field beside you. 

“Yeah, ok whatever you say,” your best friend rolls her eyes as you grin back at her. Just then, Coach Chris blows his whistle and you and Kate pick up the pace,  joining the team at the benches.  Folding your arms to match him, you narrow your eyes at the to-be-assistant coach. 

“Coach Davis will be leading practice today as I have a club meeting right now. He will take good care of you, I have faith in him.  Remember we have an away game Saturday morning, be at the field at 7 am for warm up before we commute.” 

“Yes Coach,” we all respond in unison. Coach Chris nods at you knowingly, the captain of the team, before sauntering off the track. 

“We are going to do things a little differently today,” his voice is low and soft as he scans over the team but you can feel his intense gaze land on yours through his tinted sunglasses. He speaks straight into your soul “You all have great potential, I want to see it. I want to feel it!” 

Your heart jumps into your throat as you wait for what comes next. Coach Davis drags the whistle from around his neck to press against his plump lips. Instantly, your mouth goes dry, and something strange stirs in your belly as you stare just a moment longer. You don’t hear the tinging of the whistle, lost in thought about what his lips would feel like pressed against yours. 

Transfixed, you don’t recognize the flurry of bodies surrounding you until you hear your name being screamed into your ear. “Hello!? Don’t make me repeat myself!” Coach Davis towers over you glaring, “Get out onto the field, now!” You bow your head slightly, balling your hands into fists as you swallow down the humiliation. Your stomach bubbles with rage and your shoulders tense. You've been playing soccer since you were 6 and this prick dares to tell you how to play. 

“Yes, Coach,” you say through gritted teeth, jogging to Kate but she isn't in her usual spot. Fucking Bastard. He has us set up for the ‘Drill from Hell’ as we call it. We never do it with Coach Chris because it just doesn't work for our team. 

“I see some concerned eyes and whispers. If you don't like the way I coach you can get the FUCK OFF MY FIELD!” 

My Field. Your knuckles turn white as you grind your teeth.  No one breathes. No one moves a muscle. The only sound is the high-pitched shrill of the whistle.

We run this drill three more times before Jessie faints, abruptly ending the practice. “She'll be fine. Sydney get her water and a protein bar.” Coach nonchalantly before stalking off the field.

What the fuck. 

When you make your way to check on Jessie, she's alert and drinking water. “How are  you?” You ask, looking between her and Sydney. Syd looks rattled and Jessie has some color back into her face.  

“Yeah, I'll be ok. There was a party last night-” 

“Alright, I get it,” you raise your hand cutting her off before giving Syd a sympathetic smile.  When Jessie gets this way,  Coach Chris just lets her sit out of practice. But this practice was far from normal.  You follow Jess and Syd into the locker room to find it deserted. Figures Kate would bail. 

Sighing, you open your locker to check your phone.  You get a poor excuse from Kate as to why she abandoned you and as you sling your bag over your shoulder your phone chimes. Your jaw drops to the floor. It's Coach Davis, but in a tight white tank top and his short hair slicked back.  He's covered in tattoos. Mother fuck.

<Kate: God, he's hot 

I can't do this right now.  You slam the locker shut and collapse against it. Groaning, you screw your eyes shut tight and pinch the bridge of your nose in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. You hope you never see Coach Davis again. Who died and made him God, like the fuck. Has he even coached a day in his life? 

You push off the locker and say goodbye to Jessie and Syndey before heading out the door. Somehow you find yourself at Coach Chris' office just a few doors away from the locker room. Your hand hovers over the doorknob as your brain battles between running away and giving Coach Davis a mouthful, you are the captain of the team after all, and Coach Chris has supported you since day one. 

“Coach I need to-” Your hasty demand dies instantly and your feet turn into cement when you spot Coach Davis doing push-ups in front of Coach Chris’ desk. 

“99, 100!” Coach Davis grunts as he jumps up from the ground when he turns to face you, all of your pent-up tenacity and wit plummets to your stomach. “I knew you’d come,” Coach Davis smirks as he wipes himself off with a towel. His glistening muscles flex with every minute movement. How could something so simple be so arousing?

“I- uh,” your brain short circuits as you track his flexing back muscles when he turns to throw the used towel into the corner of the room. He leans back against the coach’s desk and crosses his legs at the ankles, folding his arms around his chest.

“Spit it out already,” he barks. You try to swallow down the words you know will get you in trouble, but the lump in your throat gets in the way. His annoyed gaze spikes your anxiety. It’s all too much- his deep voice and damp hair sticking to the side of his face…. 

Wait, is that a scar from a dermal piercing? Fuck me. 

The words tumble from your parted lips before you can shove them away and bury the thoughts of a pierced and tatted Coach Davis. 

“Fuck me-” Before the last syllable echoes through the silent room, your eyes go wide and your hands instantly cover your mouth as you begin to retreat. Your eyes go wide when your back hits the wall with a thud. Your shoulders tense and breathing shallows as you wait for your harsh discipline. His features stay neutral except for a small curl of his pouty lip. Did he just smile?

“I’msosorrycoach-” you stammer out an apology when he pushes himself from the desk. Your heartbeat skyrockets as he takes a step closer to you. “I should go.”

Your cheeks flame red as you turn to leave. Your hand is just about to make contact with the doorknob when you find yourself being harshly spun around. Slamming to a solid chest, all of the air expels from your lungs, leaving you stunned and breathless. He doesn’t give you time to adjust your stance before pushing you against the wall, leaning over to lock the door and close the blinds before caging you in his toned tattooed arms. 

“Come on now, where’s the fight?” Your blood boils as a smug smirk spreads across his face. “You are the captain of the team? Aren’t you?” He sneers, flashing his canines right in your face. 

I want to wipe that smug smile off of his face, your thoughts turn dark. You know he is your superior and you’d lose your scholarship in an instant if someone found out. But there’s something about this moment, it’s exhilarating and you think he wants it too.

Coach Davis leans in to inhale your scent before stepping back. You force your expression neutral as he casually cracks his neck before clearing his throat. “Let’s try this again,” he huffs. “You are the captain of the team? Aren’t you?” He all but screams in your face.

“Yes, Coach.” Your usual confidence springs back into your voice as you stare intensely back at him. If he wants to play, then game fucking on. 

“Then lead!” His voice booms loud in your ears as he closes the distance. You suck in a breath as he leans down at nips at your earlobe.

“Lead. Me.” He bites out through clenched teeth. 

Lead me. He wants me to do what?! 

Then it hits you like a freight train; him- his pheromones mixed with a bite of bergamot that is softened by vanilla. When you take another breath to calm your mind, your system is bombarded by him. The ache between your thighs is answer enough. 

“Don’t make me-”

“Kiss me!” Before you have a chance to take it back and ruminate on the consequences of your actions, large hands clasp around your face in a vice grip as full lips crash into yours. At first, your body tenses to his touch, but when he moans into your open mouth, you melt like putty in his hands. It’s all tongue and teeth as you both fight for air, fight for dominance- and this time you aren’t giving up so easily. You shove him in the chest breaking your heated kiss and you laugh at his shocked expression. 

“Fiesty little on-”

“Pants off. Now,” you demand. 

In an instant, his pants and boxers are pooling at his ankles, his hard cock springing to life. Goddamn, he’s covered in tattoos. Your pussy flutters around nothing as you bite down on your lip hard, tasting copper. 

“I wanna hear you,” you say cooly as you sink onto your knees. You spit on your hands before wrapping them around the base of his shaft, jerking him a few times. Peering up at him through your thick lashes you add, “I wanna feel you come undone.” 

Coach Davis groans as you take him in your mouth. You dig your nails into his thick thigh muscles earning a hiss and a curse as you take him deeper until you gag. Wrapping your hands around the rest of him, you hollow your cheeks sucking him harder. Bobbing your head up and down, he curses your name. You know he’s close so you double your efforts. Suddenly, pain shoots through your scalp as fingers grip your hair pulling you off him. 

“As much…” Coach Davis pants. “I want you to keep going, I-” Coach Davis grips the back of your neck pulling you up to him. He latches his lips to yours, all-consuming. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you snake your hands under his shirt, using your fingernails to claw at his back. 

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips. Coach Davis leans back to drag his hands over the desk knocking papers and folders to the ground before gripping you by the hips and hoisting you onto the edge of the desk. You squeal when your feet lift from the ground but it instantly melts into a moan when he spreads your legs apart and slides your panties to the slide before shoving a slender finger inside your slick walls.

“That all you got Coach?!… oh fuck!” he sinks another finger in without warning. He finger fucks you until your legs start to tremble and then he pulls out. 

“I’m on the pill!” you blurt out as you watch him line up his red angry cock against your entrance. “I’m clean too, I just got tested last week.” You don’t know why you tell him this as your heart pounds in your chest. Maybe it’s to help calm your nerves or to urge him on. His eyes turn dark at your confession.

“Good. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a shove of his thick member. 

The little support your propped-up elbows give out almost instantly as he drills into rough and relentless. You lay back and shut your eyes, giving into the sensations as the coil in your core winds up tighter. A loud groan rumbles from your throat and suddenly a hand clamps over your lips. 

“Only quiet girls get to come, got it?” Your breathing becomes labored but you manage to move your head slightly in understanding.

Coach Davis grips your hips tighter, skin slapping, bringing you closer to the edge when he hits the spongy sweet spot. Instantly, your fingernails find purchase on his tattoos forearms. 

“Oh my god, you’re close, aren’t you…God you feel so good… come on, let go and co-”

All of a sudden the doorknob giggles. “Fuck,” Coach Davis curses under his breath as he pulls out of you. “Under the desk, quick.” You dive under the desk just as his footsteps cross the room.

“Coach Cerulli,” there’s a rasp in Coach Davis’ voice when he answers the door. 

“I was ju-” There’s a pause when Coach Chris clears his throat. “Never mind, I’ll…uh come back later.” 

“What do yo-” is the last thing you hear before the door shuts, leaving you alone in Coach Chris’ office. 

A few heartbeats pass and you muster the courage to leave. You stroll from Coach Chris's office, looking both ways down the hall to ensure you aren't caught. Walking down the hall with a stupid grin on your face you stop in your tracks when a pair of angry voices carries to your ears, echoing off the walls of the empty hall. 

“I’m not stupid, Davis, your ruffled clothes, the papers on the floor… for fucks sake.” Coach Chris's voice is stern and loud. “You need to end this now before it gets out of control.” You hear the shuffling of feet and incoherent grumbles.

“What did you say?” Coach Davis asks.

Chris sighs, “There was this player on a softball team I coached..” his voice trembles a little bit. You cover your mouth turning on your heel quickly to head down the opposite hall.

Back at your off-campus apartment, you scroll through your texts to find that Kate will be out late despite an early game tomorrow. Relief floods your system as you plop down on your bed, knowing you won’t be faced with an unwanted interrogation. You are about to put your phone on dnd for the night when a text from an unknown number pops up. Your stomach tightens, he got the note you left in the mess of papers on the floor… but what if it’s not Coach Davis?

<Since I got you nice and warmed up, ready for practice?

Coach Davis?>

<Of course, my good girl

How can I be sure?>

<Would Coach Cerulli send you this?

Your mouth drops to the floor at the picture, the size of him. Arousal heats your core as the memory of him and your unfinished business.

Fuck it.

Yes, Coach, I’m ready for practice.>

#bad omens #bad omens band #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x female reader #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens rpf #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens au #sports au #coach au #ladyveronikawrites

[thinkingaboutjaedyn]

red looks good on you [e.de almeida x reader]

prompt: you find it hot when elisa gets angry on the pitch

author notes: been missing writing for my babygirl elisa 🥳 she's injured right now, so this is me trying to get over the fact she isn't playing with psg right now. enjoy it!

word of the fic: "anger" chosen by the loml @moonystoes

there are mainly two types of players. some are more clean and try their best not to foul anyone. while others are more aggressive. finding joy in not only fouling, but tackling and even obviously yellow card offenses on the pitch. elisa was definitely the second. the french woman had no problem pushing, colliding hard into, or taking the legs right under from her opponent. it was a part of the fun of the game and a way for her to be over competitive.

you didn't mind seeing elisa act like this on the pitch. it's entertaining, that's why she has so many fans. you often tag along with the paris saint germain feminines team when you weren't in classes. living the wag life was fun and you have gotten close to almost all of the girls on the team expect for a certain blonde.

however, sometimes elisa went too far. she would get so angry, her play would get aggressive enough that it showed she obviously didn't care if a red card was put up by the ref directed at her. you knew in the back of your mind when you see elisa starting to push a player a little too much you should disapprove; knowing damn well that if some other player was doing that to elisa, you would not like it. at the same time, can you really be blamed for finding it attractive when her aggressiveness is ramped up.

it's not your fault you have double standards. blame the attractive woman you call your girlfriend.

it's around the 71st minute in the match against lyon. the game has been intense since the first minute with the two clubs being huge rivals in the french women league. players on either side were getting desperate to break the 2-2 deadlock that was going on. sakina has been working particularly hard, but she just keep losing the ball. you remind yourself to buy her some cookies after the match for her efforts.

all the psg players on the pitch are trying to absolute hardest to beat the other french soccer giant. your eyes are glued to elisa as she passes the ball to chawinga who almost gets the ball into the back of the net, but one of lyon's players come in at the last minute. kicking the ball and causing it to fly away from the net. you can tell that elisa is getting more frustrated as the minutes passed. lyon was letting up and she didn't plan to either. putting on the hardest defense she could manage. the expression on her face along with how tense she looked already told you everything you need to know; elisa was about to snap if something happened.

and something did. as elisa was running to stop a ball coming near the psg's goal, she collides with danielle. sending both her and the smaller woman to the ground. danielle is able to stand up quicker than elisa, already ready to shout.

"watch where you're going!" the dutch player shouts out after elisa stands and comes close. elisa looks down at danielle, just narrowing her eyes. the ref quickly comes over to defuse the situation, but the moment danielle pushes elisa, it all goes to hell.

elisa is quick to push her back, sending danielle to the ground. her lyon teammates rush over to defend their teammate. ellie helping danielle up and pulling away from the small crowd of players. it only takes two minutes for sakina to reach elisa from where she was on the pitch. holding onto her as the french player glares over at danielle.

the ref doesn't even lecture elisa before holding up a yellow card. pointing at danielle before pointing at elisa; neither of them were about to walk off scoot free. then the game is allowed to continue on.

it seemed like the situation was put behind everyone as the players put more attention towards trying to score in the last ten minutes of the game. however, you can tell from a far that elisa wasn't over it. this is confirmed when elisa takes selma's feet right from up under her after selma tried to foul eva. was elisa's action out of self defense of her teammate or just her trying to get out some annoyance? we'll never know.

when the ref comes over to hold up a yellow card then a red, elisa acts clueless. throwing her hands up as if she's confused on why the ref is going after her. the rest of the psg players run over to elisa's defense, but it's no use. she walks off of the pitch and into the tunnel so she could go straight to the locker room; ignoring the psg coach who was trying to offer her water.

you just sit back and sip on your drink, watching the rest of the match unfold.

lyon wins with a late goal in the 87th minute, making the score 3-2. the fans in the crowd were not happy and you couldn't agree anymore, but nonetheless lyon came out on top.

you wait for the fans in the stadium to clear out before making your way into the tunnel. not even having to go into the psg locker room as elisa is standing right next to the door. she's leaning against the wall, her usual taper fade is slightly wet. after being sent off, elisa must have showered to cool off her anger.

"i know what you're going to say," she says, leaning off of the wall to pull you close. nuzzling her face into your neck.

"what?"

"that i should control my anger and that i costed my team the game?" she mumbles into your neck. you chuckle before kissing the side of her head.

"i'm your girlfriend not a soccer critic, babes," you say. your words make elisa giggle. she pulls away slightly to look at you. a smug smile on her lips.

"so..?" she says. you roll your eyes at how quickly her emotions can flip; finding that smile on her lips annoying but very attractive.

"so?" you say back to her

"so.. what do you think about it?"

"i thought it was pretty hot," you pull her closer by the collar of her shirt. giggling once you two's noses bump against each other. "yeah?" she says. you don't reply, just pulling her into a kiss.

the kiss only lasts for so long when sakina pops her head out of the locker room. scrunching her nose once she sees what you two are doing.

"have some public decency," she says before rolling her eyes, "elisa come get your cleats off my bag."

elisa pouts at having to stop kissing you, but still what sakina says goes so she pulls away. dragging you along with her into the locker room after sakina.

© thinkingaboutjaedyn

#elisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almeida #woso x reader #woso fanfics

[itwasrealtome]

Love Is a Losing Game (Excerpt) | Katie McCabe

Here's an extract from this first one-shot. Feel free to comment and let me know if you're looking forward to the rest.

[If you’d like to be tagged in the upcoming posts, please let me know in the comments or in my dm. It’s free and I don’t bite :) Also there’s a Google Forms]

XXX

"Heartbreak for the Republic of Ireland as the Canadian team secures a hard-fought victory in this crucial Womens World Cup match. The Irish players gave it their all, but tonight, the Canadian side proved to be the stronger force on the field. A tough loss for the Girls in Green, but they can hold their heads high knowing they left everything out on the pitch."

Crossing paths with athletes was a daily routine for the man behind the wheel. Hardly a day went by without him driving around a vehicle full of soccer players. The aim was always to ensure that all passengers reached their destination safely, without accidents or anyone getting lost along the way.

But clearly, there was something about winning that made journeys more bearable. He had no idea whether it came from the singing, the dancing or the shouting. He was just aware of the emptiness that filled his bus with each defeat.

Now was no different as the commentators voices from the radio were far from filling the silence. The atmosphere was heavy, with players quietly reflecting on the tough loss to the Canadian team. Defeat weighed profoundly on their shoulders, and the mixture of exhaustion and disappointment filled the air, making the trip back to the hotel almost tangible.

From her spot at the front of the bus, Vera Pauw watched her team for a moment, her own face also marked by a mixture of deception and concern. She had no idea how this dream had slipped through their fingers. Theyd had a chance to make a difference, and although it had been done by securing their place in the competition in the first place, it left a bitter taste to leave so early. They deserved better. The whole team deserved better.

Bothered by the constant chatter of the radio hosts, Vera left her seat to join the driver. She patted his shoulder gently, a thin, polite smile stretching her lips. Deep down, she wondered if the man had lost his mind, if he was aware of the situation of the team he was driving. In an equally polite tone, she informed him of her request, nodding in the direction of the radio. There wasnt much she could do to save the evening anymore, but at least, she could spare her girls in green the cruel comments of the men at the microphones.

As she made her way back to her seat, the coach froze at the sight of her captain in such a sorry state. The athlete was carefully seated so that no one could see her weary, downcast face, partially hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt. Still, from where she stood, Vera could make out the marks of tears on the Gunners face. Katies eyes were red and puffy, almost obscuring the usually sparkling green of her irises. Whilst the rest of the team were feeling down, the Irish woman was simply shattered. The one thing she clung to most had just broken too.

XXX

Taglist:

@womenlovingwomen-imagines @hi-i-1 @angeliqueh5331 @libbyxoxo @emskisworld @sammi1642 @imjai02 @enjoytheentireworld @aqiia24 @amenosan @jatrovyknedl @electricboost @pumis-stuff @overtrred28

#katie mccabe x reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso one shot #katie mccabe

[muddyorbsblr]

the best view in Old Trafford

Drabbles Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Word Count: 484

Warning/s: This is crack. Just pure crack. Proceed with caution. Or y'know what…I don't even recommend proceeding 🤣✌️

Things to be aware of: First "person" POV

Cheers of the crowd fill the stadium, their noise setting my entire field of blades abuzz with barely dormant energy. This I had come to know as routine. Fans of the game and some of the pretty humans becoming as loud as they could with their support.

But this year there were new sounds. Squeals. Barely contained moans. Giggles. A mixture of some, maybe even all. The people never used to make sounds like this. Why now? Why this game? Why this day?

And then the players came in. I could feel everyone's energy being drawn to him. Mine was. Suddenly I wanted to scream, too. Eyes so beautifully blue that I would take that over the endless expanse of sky that constantly surrounded me. A smile brighter than the sun that sustained me.

Forget all those. I could live off of him forever. Or at least until the staff would whip out that machine again when I suddenly grew too tall. Until I forget the details and only hold the vaguest, blurriest memories that seeped into the very foundation that was me.

He would no doubt be just as pretty even as a blurred memory. But the details would be lost to me.

When the players returned in their dark blue clothes, I waited until I could feel that energy palpitating throughout my field again. When all the women new to this scene were absolutely buzzing with excitement. And anyone with olfactory senses as acute as mine could tell…they were buzzing with arousal as well.

And I was, too.

One of the organizers commented with mild astonishment on how my blades were so dewy despite the night's hour.

That wasn't dew.

The dormant buzzing ramped up again when he walked back into the field. Number 6. Hiddleston.

I could hear them all talk about how they wished they were seated closer while he stretched those perfectly sculpted legs, lunging forward and bringing his hips closer and tantalizingly closer to the ground. To me.

If only these women knew that I hands down had the best view in the entire field.

And then, as if it couldn't get any better, he braced himself on his hands, putting this exquisite pressure on  me that would survive any memory loss I would suffer when they eventually mowed me down. When he lifted his feet off the ground, his face now so much closer to me.

All it would take is one slip as he dismounts from his position and I could even delude myself into considering it a kiss.

The slip in the dismount never came. But then a bead of sweat collected at the tip of his nose, falling and dropping onto one of my blades and rolling down into the soil that held me together. Seeping into my very foundation.

Yes. I wouldn't forget this man. I wouldn't forget him for a long time.

A/N: Lord have mercy I might have finally lost it 🤣🤣 I don't know what to tag this. I don't know who to tag in this, so to err on the side of caution, I'm just gonna tag the Soccer Aid taglist 🫡

@gruftiela @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @tbhiddlestan83 @thirsty-for-loki @tmlbdv @smolvenger @huntress-artemiss @lokischambermaid @holdmytesseract

#muddyorbs writes

[astranne]

FAKE DATE ME? !blue lock

mikage reo x gn!reader

notes // honestly, blame vera for this. i'm not a reo simp, rin thoughts only but here we are... with a reo work.... ugh. as always not edited because i'm lazy and i wrote it during lessons. this completely escalated so uh, have almost 1k of reo just being a simp

wc // 911 words

tagging // for all my reo simps <3 @stellumi , @lilikags , @keqism , @wanderersbell , @venexus

Listen- it was not his fault! He was desperate, the pressure of the public and his parents heavy on his shoulders, all while he only wanted to play football with Nagi. The only reason why his dreams weren't crushed, was because of Blue Lock, as insane this project was.

It saved his life, well, more like his life as a striker and opened so many possibilities. He wanted to play football, he wanted to be the best and he was. Part of the first Blue Lock Generation and survivor of the Neo-Egoist League, he really was one of the best.

And still his parents tried to persuade to take over business, to become the head of Mikage Corporation but he didn't want to! Why was that so hard to understand? He wanted to play football, he wanted to win the World Cup again, he wanted to play against the best because he was part of the best.

In the end, no matter how many times he argued with his parents, he always ended up in one of his many fancy suits, right besides his parents, hair slicked back and a polite, cold smile on his lips. The people around him, old men with too much money to spare and their wives at the age of their own, barely adult children tittered around him, hiding insults behind admiring words and compliments.

They mocked him for his choices, all while going purple because of their jealousy. Others showered him with compliments, trying to gain any kind of favor for their own, untalented sons, or trying to push their brain-dead daughters in his direction. All of this didn't interest him, not when he played in one of the best European clubs as a regular, not when he was the next head of a rich company, not matter how much he hated it.

But he got tired of it, women trying to hang on his arm, simply because he was famous and rich. Richer than most football players. Their interest was not in him, but his fame and money, of course it bothered him and of course he didn't want to do anything with them. He gently pried their arms off, dodging their sharp nails, ready to dig into his meat to leech off and feed their greed.

All this happening to him was the reason why he was here now.

Here, standing in front of you, blurting out his proposition and watching you blush, stammer words and fumble with your hands. That is until you fall silent and agree with a silent 'yes'. How could you not? You, who had a bleeding heart and saw how your friend suffered under the attention he got, the unwanted gazes and whispers following him, while all he wanted to do was playing soccer...

He didn't announce the 'relationship' right away, fearing you would be overrun by the press, his fans and other unwanted people. But coming to sense, he knew that if the paparazzi found out, it would be much worse.

And so he posted a picture on his social media accounts, your hand in his, with a cheesy caption.

Of course, his fans went crazy, trying to find out who your new darling love was, but Reo quickly made it known that he wanted to protect you from the vultures of being famous, just a tiny bit longer.

Instantly he was portrayed as the sweetheart boyfriend, oh so considerate of his partner's feelings, trying to keep his relationship as private as he could.

He hoped that this would be enough, enough to stop his noisy parents breathing down his neck, enough to stop the touchy women on galas, enough to stop everyone.

Mikage Reo was naive. Very naive and too hopeful. Not only did his fake date gather too much attention to just split off, oh no- he also gained feelings for them, like an idiot.

His heart was beating so fast, as if he was in the middle of an intense game, the tip of his ears constantly red, always when you were near him, laughing with him, smiling at him and be his, no matter how fake it was. He was desperate, trying to get closer, reasoning with himself that this has been just so no one would find out, trying to deny that he was in love, trying-

Why was he even trying? He knew he fell for you the second you agreed to help him out, completely selfish (or so he thought). He fell for you hard and fast, with no way backing out of this and he was in a relationship with you! It was almost perfect and so he started to pretend, pretend it was actually perfection and he could call you his official and true partner.

He was trying to hide it, to hide his affection, his crush, his love- and yet he clearly failed, when everyone around mentioned how good the two you were looking, finally stepping into the light of the public, together, two as one.

Whipped he was, some said. Others mentioned words such as 'being in love', 'completely besotted' or 'utterly infatued'.

It was true, how could he deny it? How could he still continue to pretend, while the whole world whispered about him being oh so in love?

He couldn't. And so he confessed, stumbling words and eyes on the floor, fearing your rejection.

But he had nothing to fear, you loved him as well.

ASTRANNE 2023

#blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock reo #bllk reo #reo x reader #reo x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x gn reader #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #🪐 galaxy milky way

[keicordelle]

Idolish7 sexuality headcanons because my head is full of cotton balls and anime boys today

Iori is quietly gay. Mostly closeted but not really trying to hide it, he just doesn't really want to talk about it. Secretly crushing on Riku, but has convinced himself it's just teenage infatuation. (A conviction that helps in no way whenever Riku does something cute or asks him for help)

Yamato is straight but open-minded. Get him drunk enough and he's ready to kiss whoever's at hand. Would be willing to swing the other way for the right person, but so far isn't really interested in anyone at all.

Mitsuki, my ace star! My boy has got no interest in sex whatsoever. He makes a great wingman though, always happy to tag along and talk up his friends. Iori comes to him for advice sometimes, and he always has the best responses to give him. Not aro tho, he wants to find someone(s) to settle down with someday who'll have just as much love to give him as he does them.

Tamaki : this boy is gay and doesn't even know what the closet is. Has never had any compunction about it, no worries, no revelation or coming out, he just is who he is. It's no big deal to him, and he's super perplexed as to why it matters to some.

Sogo spent the first 20 years of his so far in the closet that he's still not comfortable with himself. Only comes out as gay after he joins Idolish7 where he's surrounded by supportive friends. Is slowly starting to accept himself -- Tamaki is a hugely helpful influence with that.

Nagi is the most queer-friendly straight man in existence. An honorary queer. Very much a ladies man but frequently jokes(?) about how it's a shame that he deprives an entire half of the population of his charm. Very staunch trans ally and will hit on trans women just as readily as cis

Riku... I don't think even he knows what's going on inside his head. Had a gay awakening during puberty and straight up forgot about it. An oblivious gay, much to Iori's eternal despair. (Actually Iori's probably fine with it because it means Riku's less likely to notice his crush)

Gaku is bi but fem-leaning. But he's so head over heels for Tsumugi that it hardly even matters. He's Tsumugi-sexual now. Was never really into casual relationships anyway, and really rather hates that people think he's that type.

Tenn has known he's gay since he was very young and is really kind of resentful every time he's required to play up the sexy straight boy act. He's polite to the women he's paired up with of course, but he definitely bitches about it behind closed doors.

Ryu, aroace king. Please free him from the role of sexyman he just wants to go fishing and chill with his friends. He's running out of ways to politely turn people down. Gaku and Tenn come to his rescue whenever they're around, it's practically a routine now.

Momo came to terms with being gay some time ago now. Was a bit conflicted about it in high school, but being gay as an idol is a lot easier then being gay as a soccer player, especially with his partner up on stage with him.

Yuki is the most extremely pansexual man on the face of the planet. Attracted to anyone and everyone, but the attraction feels different from one gender to another. Has had way more casual relationships with women, but both people he's fallen in love with have been men. Maybe fem-leaning sexually and masc-leaning romantically. Or maybe it's just coincidence.

Haruka is a baby gay and still a little awkward about it. Still experimenting, and may or may not land on the gay label. Looks up to Minami for guidance and advice. Could stand to learn a thing or two from Tamaki, but whether or not he will...

Toma is a bisexual disaster. Everyone is pretty and he doesn't really know what to do about that. Thankfully he's got more important things to worry about so he just doesn't really think about it more than he has to.

Minami is cool, calm, collected, and fairly openly gay. Is perfectly content to take on the interest of their male fans. Knows what he wants and is entirely willing to go after it.

Torao : aggressively straight. Maybe a little homophobic about it. Definitely makes Haruka a little nervous. Minami just doesn't care. Will probably lighten up eventually, but things are a bit tense at first.

#idolish7 #i7 #i am not tagging all the characters thats way too much effort #im sorry torao fans i saw someone make a very compelling argument for him being kinda homophobic once and it really stuck with me #fair warning i am an anime watcher who only recently started getting into the rest of the media so all hcs are subject to change etc etc #maybe theres something later in the story that will drastically change my stance #or maybe ive forgotten something. also possible #my idolish7 fanfic writing phase draws closer and closer with ever passing day #~k

[docholligay]

Ep 9: The descent

Hello! This is about up to Episode 9 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 9 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the ninth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

Man, this is such an evocative part of the episode, and I almost feel unequal to the task of saying something about it. 

I love that there is no real blame to be had for this. Misty had the mushrooms, of course, but it was never her intention to drug everyone in camp. She was absolutely going to drug coach Ben, so I guess there’s that, but it wasn’t her fault, and nor is it the fault of the cook, who had no idea that they were those kind of mushrooms, only thinking that it would be a delightful addition to the stew. 

The reason for this is because the show doesn’t want us making this into an event with a wrong doer, it wants to use this to talk about the girls and the way the show is heading. 

There’s a definite quasi-Roman bent to the whole thing here with Travis. Travis, the boy who has seen them in every aspect here. Seen them in their nakedness, in who they are when they are separated from society, and I think it’s not for nothing that we shift from this sort of sexual sharing of Travis, this erotic consumption, the way he becomes community property, to a very literal calling him the stag Diana and the hunt thing going on, where they pursue him like hunting hounds. 

THIS is the whole reason it was so careful earlier to tell us that they were in fact still very much human because it needs us to know that this is coming out of something that already exists in the girls. Nothing has been lost here, just enhanced, and these girls are hungry and they are predators, and it is speaking to the wildness of women, that terrifying truth that so few people can live with. 

The whole of Lottie’s “Something’s coming” thing is of course the wildness and how it moves to control and own and kill through the girls, but also, I would argue that it can’t bring out something that’s not in them. It would be easy to say. “Oh this was all because of the evil whatever in the woods” but I think this was always inside of them. THey are soccer players, and they hunt in packs, and I think this spoke a lot to that level of power in the group, maybe that’s even why this whatever in the woods thing that I certainly hope the show has plans for took them in the first place. Violence isn’t a part of doing shrooms, really. What it did was allowed them to see themselves as part of this wilderness, this forest, that cries out for blood. 

Important social shift for this moment with Jackie being told she doens’t matter, the one-time leader of them, the domesticated one more than all of them, the one who cannot adapt to 

The wild and so will be slain by it. And of course it’s Lottie who says this, and of course it’s Lottie who calls for Travis’ death, because Lottie is going to be their leader now, their spiritual guide, a girl who lost her light in the darkness and does not understand that she herself is no lighthouse but a bonfire. 

But it was Shauna who was ready to make the cut. Shauna who was willing to kill, and maybe it’s always been her.

#Doc watches Yellowjackets #Yellowjackets S1 E9

[witches-unruly-heart]

Thank you so much for the tag @dreamlover31 ❤️ I'll do it here even if you tagged both my accounts 😅

~~~

1. Were you named after anyone: I was named after two great great grandmas of mine. But my first name comes from a lot of women on that side of the family going longer back than that. So the name dies with me 🤣 I am not cursing my future daughter with that name.

2. When was the last time you cried: A week ago — was listening to music when «Wish you the best» by Lewis Capaldi came on — That song breaks me every fucking time!

3.  Do you have any kids: Not yet, but hopefully one day

4. What sports do you play/have you played: Currently don’t play. But I’ve been a gymnast, dancer and volleyball player. Also used to play football during free time at school. Not soccer like the Americans call it, but football!

5. Do you use sarcasm: ALL THE TIME! 🤣

6. What's the first thing you notice about people: Their smile. Really cliche I know. But it’s I think the first thing I notice. 

7. What's your eye color: I think it’s like greenish brown, with small hints of blue. I can never describe my eye color 😅

8. Scary movies or happy endings: I HATE scary movies! Can’t stand them! But I’m a sucker for happy endings 🥰

9. Any talents: I’m an ok writer, I think 😅 

10. Where you were born: I was born (and raised) in Norway 🥰🇳🇴

11. What are your hobbies: Writing, reading and listening to music, preferably with a delicious drink and something to eat.

12. Do you have any pets: I had a dog growing up. But currently pet less 🥲 

13. How tall are you: 5 feet 1 13/16 inches or 157cm for my metric system users 🤣

14. Favorite subject in high school: English and History 😍 Oh and my elective class of scenography and costume 😍

15. Dream job: Writer and/or actor 🥰 If I’m lucky — Please hire me Dick Wolf, I’ll play a dead woman or a victim just please hire me! 🥲

tagging @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @bullet-prooflove @storiesofsvu @beccabarba @butternuggets-blog @adowbaldwin @baldwin-montclair @chickensarentcheap @minim236 @birminghamshelbyboys and anyone else who wants to 😍

#karen speaks #tag game #get to know me

[lam-ila]

hi hi! here's a collection of all the tag games i've been tagged in during the month of Ramadan

i'm not gonna tag anyone to continue them but if you see any that you wanna do, consider yourself tagged

as always, thank you to everyone for tagging me!

—————

tagged by @pwhl-mybeloved here

shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs that play

Maan Meri Jaan by King feat. Nick Jonas

Why Won’t You Love Me by 5 Seconds of Summer

Rock N Roll McDonalds by Wesley Willis

Overcompensate by twenty one pilots

Heathens / Trees - Livestream Version by twenty one pilots

The 30th by Billie Eilish

Kill My Time by 5 Seconds of Summer

The End. by My Chemical Romance

I Didn’t Change My Number by Billie Eilish

Far Too Young to Die by Panic! at the Disco

—————

putting the rest under the cut bc i'm not gonna be mean and take up that much space on your dash

tagged by @frostysfrenzy here

last song: Implicit Demand for Proof by twenty one pilots

favourite colour: green!

last show/movie: Grey’s Anatomy and Station 19 (back to back which is why i included both)

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet

relationship status: single

last thing i googled: women’s baggy jeans (i need new jeans. mine are literally falling apart)

current obsession: unis to go to for masters degrees (i am no where near the time to apply for masters)

—————

tagged by @jackhues here, @donttelltheelff here, @lifeofpriya here, and @jimmystrudel here

last song i listened to: Implicit Demand for Proof by twenty one pilots

currently watching: lots of sports

currently obsessed with: f1 (thank you mel, kesh, and my cousin for kickstarting this obsession)

—————

tagged by @jimmystrudel here

player that got me into hockey: carey price (i miss him sm)

player you like because of their narrative: arber xhekaj. the dude goes undrafted, worked at costco but skipped his shifts to play hockey, signs with the habs (his favourite team) and is an immediate fan favourite, his brother gets drafted to the habs, he gets sent down to laval, comes back up to the habs and is doing absolutely amazing

goalie/forward/defensemen: i love me some goalies. idk if this is because price was my fist favourite player or because i'm a goalie for soccer (honestly it's probably both) but i absolutely love goalies

player i would let meet my parents: nazem kadri. i mean, he's muslim, my family and i are muslim, so it's an obvious answer

current favourite team: has been and will always be the habs. sens are second bc i used to live in ottawa, and canucks and red wings are sneaking their way up there

—————

tagged by @donttelltheelff here and @introvertedperson16 here

post five song you’ve been enjoying recently!

Overcompensate by twenty one pilots

Next Semester by twenty one pilots

Cottontail by Nep

Homesick by Noah Kahan

east side by Lyn Lapid

—————

tagged by @2manytabsopen here

this fun lil game

yea this is scarily accurate

#tag games!!

[valenunez24]

TAYLOR SWIFT WINS GRAMMY IN HER CATEGORY.

Taylor Swift made history this Sunday in Los Angeles by winning the fourth Grammy of her career for the album of the year with her "Midnights", at a gala that had women as winners. The 66th edition of the Grammy Awards was held at the Arena in Los Angeles on February 4, 2024.

Taylor Swift manages to make history at the 2024 Grammys by achieving her fourth award for the best album of the year.

In my opinion, it was a very good album, which was released on October 21, 2022. It had a great impact with the girls. His concerts on The Eras Tour were a success as well as his music, which is very good.

MBAPPÉ INFORMS PSG THAT HE WILL LEAVE IN JUNE AND ASSURES THEM THAT HE HAS NOT YET SIGNED WITH MADRID.

On Tuesday morning, Kylian Mbappé took another step in the liturgy of his departure from Paris Saint-Germain after seven seasons. He met with the president of the club, Nasser Al-Khelaifi, for about an hour in the new PSG sports city in Poissy and, according to sources familiar with the conversation, he confirmed what he had already told him in writing in a letter he sent in May last year: he leaves when the season is over. At the meeting, the specific economic conditions in which the exit is going to be articulated were left pending. It even took months to close the way in which Mbappé will somehow compensate PSG, despite the fact that his contract expires on June 30. When they close that aspect, they will make a joint communication.

I think Mbappé has given Paris Saint Germain a good career for several years. And it's time for him to make his fame and grow up as a professional soccer player in a team more than his level. Real Madrid and Paris Saint Germain are very well-cataloged teams, however Real Madrid statistically speaking, has more goals, goals per minute, shots on goal, and successful passes.

THROUGH YOUR GAZE, NEW MOVIE!

The love of Raquel and Ares in the literary trilogy of the Venezuelan author Adriana Godoy captured thousands of readers and has also repeated its success on the screen with the adaptations starring Clara Galle and Julio Peña. After its first two installments, the third film entitled Through Your Look reends the audience with the couple who has faced several tests of their relationship. These are facts you should know about the romance film that will be released on February 23, 2024.

I think it will be a good movie, since the first 2 movies were quite good and with an excellent plot. I believe that many people with a long-distance relationship will feel very identified with the movie. Since such a love is difficult to carry.

THE KEY SPRING/SUMMER 2024 TRENDS TO KNOW NOW.

The most talked-about collection at the spring/summer 2024 fashion shows was the one that wasn’t there. Phoebe Philo, yet to unveil the first fruits of her eponymous line, which had been originally slated to debut online in September some six years after she departed Céline, dominated the fashion news cycle throughout the month. As the spring/summer 2024 fashion trends piled up, designers waited nervously to see if their collections would be eclipsed by a spontaneous digital drop from a woman many revere as fashion’s messiah.

Statement gowns are out and discreet chic – buoyed up with wardrobe staples including trench coats, pencil skirts, trouser suits and good jeans – is in. At the fashion search engine Tagwalk, which scanned more than 11,000 images from the spring/summer 2024 shows in New York, London, Milan and Paris, looks that were tagged “minimalism” were up 46 per cent on the previous spring/summer 2023 season. Logo-tagged looks, meanwhile, were down 52 per cent, while ’90s-tagged looks were up 42 per cent – the latter was also the most searched tag. With the 25th anniversary of the untimely death of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy coming up next year, meanwhile, the Succession-fuelled “quiet luxury” trend is segueing into something that more closely resembles the understated ’90s-New-York elegance of the former Calvin Klein publicist.

In my opinion, this new fashion that is approaching is perfect, I think all women will look beautiful, highlighting their beautiful body. Creating more new styles with the passage of time and looking incredible.

#Spotify #fashion #kylian mbappe #trough your gaze

[lalazeewrites]

GET TO KNOW YOU

Thank you for the tag lovely @energievie & @suzy-queued & @gardenerian & @metalheadmickey & @celestialmickey 🥹💖✨

1. Are you named after anyone?

My mom named me Larisa after a half Latvian-half Ukrainian ballerina she went to school with who was "the kindest girl I've ever known".

2. When was the last time you cried?

About 15 minutes ago. My girl had a big, upset cry this morning before school and was so despondent, which of course had me crying with her. She's just frustrated because it's been 6 months that I can't walk (spinal surgery in 20 days and I'll be walking again by April) and it's been a really hard time for her, especially since I'm her only parent. (Today is also the 8yr anniversary of me falling into a surprise coma from kidney failure so today is an emotionally shaky day for me anyway.)

3. Do you have kids?

My love, my life, my everything! She's 9, in 4th grade, and just tested into 11th grade/high school junior level reading comprehension & 6th grade math. She's a star soccer player at her level in the Illinois Women's League of soccer, voted by her class to represent her grade in the School Leadership Committee. She's welcoming, kind, vivacious, silly, and totally self-expressed and free. She's cooler than anyone I've ever known!

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Always. Me and my kid speak in sarcasm to each other lol. She had to learn fast.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Their smile or lack of smile, how genuine in seems etc.

6. What’s your eye color?

Grey-blue with yellow-hazel around the pupil.

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

I collect horror movies! Talk horror movies to me day and night please!

8. Any special talents?

Hmmm. . .I usually remember the lyrics to most songs if I've heard the song three times. Does that count? I'm very good at remembering lyrics, I think probably from my musical theater days. OH. Remembering peoples' astrological signs LOL

9. Where were you born?

Northern Illinois!

10. What are your hobbies?

Reading, writing, music! I played in orchestra for much of my life, then was a musical theater major, singing, karaoke. Hiking, camping, fishing. Makeup artistry, uhhh I used to be a personal shopper so I'm very invested in fashion (not particularly wearing the trends, but I like fashion blogs & stuff). HORROR! All things horror and macabre!

11. Do you have any pets?

Two cats, Rogue and Zibah. My other two kitties recently passed away, Noel & Holly.

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

I played soccer from age 4-18. I was on my school team's soccer and volleyball team, but I stopped volleyball after I ripped my hamstring during a game.

13. How tall are you?

5'8 / 173cm

14. Favorite subject in school?

I actually removed my high school lunch period so I could take every single literature class my high school had to offer. I just would rather take a Lit class than eat LOL

15. Dream job?

Writer! I would love to be a writer.

Tagging: @lushslug @majjale @dragonflylady77 @stroodlenoodles @tierfal

#about me #tag game

[safestofhands]

"my friends made me do this"

famous last words

anyhow, that is literally why i now have this blog :) my friends got tired of me screaming about football. go figure ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i see how it is...

hi there! my name is avery. i'm asian american, i use they/them pronouns, and i'm a part-time student, full-time simp. i really, really, really like football.

(f1 blog: @oscar-fastri)

i've been watching and playing on and off since i was a toddler, but i really got into the sport last year during the world cup (hehehehehe)

fave teams: fc barcelona the lomls, fcb femení, atletico madrid (for the shits n’ giggles), uswnt

fave (ex-)players: sergio ramos, robert lewandowski, fernando torres, messi, frenkie de jong, gavi, pedri, aitana bonmatí, salma paralluelo, sam kerr, mary earps

dni if: homophobic, transphobic, racist, sexist, misogynistic, support problematic/criminal players, think women's football is "a waste of time", gatekeep new fans

byf: my humor is actually Broken™️, i have a lot of opinions, i call it football instead of soccer 90% of the time (except for my tags), i'm a minor (i respect boundaries so if you don't wish for me to interact feel free to block!)

#long-ass pinned post #football #soccer

[blackbird-brewster]

🌟

Thanks for the ask! Currently, I have a lot of thoughts about [False Flags and the Art of Misdirection] BUT I'm going to post those as an annotated version of that fic (so there's no spoilers here)

Instead, I'm going to use this ask to discuss one of my fave one-shots in [Temily: A Love Story]

[HEATED]

Summary: Garcia convinces Tara and Emily to let her throw them a 'bachelorette' party, even though they've already been married for nine months.

A queer party bus, copious amounts of tequila, and Rossi's AmEx Black Card -- what could possibly go wrong?

OKAY SO! I actually just re-read this entire series to do some tweaks/edits for continuity. Since I have written this series out of order, I gotta do that from time to time to make sure everything flows if someone reads the entire series as one story (which can be done!)

CAN I JUST SAY!?!?!?! 'HEATED' is the PEAK of BAU Girls' Night debauchery. Just QUEER CHAOS.

Let me set the scene: After five years together, Tara and Emily eloped at the courthouse because they got tired of work getting in the way of them having a wedding. The ceremony was so emotional and I love that for them. Now it's nine months later, it's Pride in DC and Garcia has gotten Rossi to foot the bill to throw Tara and Emily a belated bachelorette party. It's only JJ, PG, Tara and Emily....but Garcia rents The Big Gay Bus (party bus), which is driven by a leather daddy named Adonis and chaperoned by a hot drag king named Robin Heartz.

The tags for this fic are very telling: copious amounts of tequila, incredible levels of debauchery, extraordinary layers of queer joy, Queerminal Minds

SO MANY GREAT SCENES!! I honestly had a fucking blast writing this one because it fit within the canon of this series while toeing the line of crack!fic simply because of the sheer Gay Chaos.

THIS FIC HAS EVERYTHING

Penelope's secret dragsona: Sinelope da Freak

JJ making out with two soccer players at once (and some other people)

Tara's hidden talents in both pole dancing and voguing

Emily... well, Emily really didn't want to be here but she DOES have a good time by the ending.

JJ/Tara sexual tension

BRAD the rEaL fBi AgEnT (Remix)

Everyone is queer, I don't make the rules. They're all queer.

Here are some of my fave moments:

aka when Emily and Tara find out Pen is a drag celebrity

This is when Tara just casually does some advanced moves on the pole.

Basically this is the Queerminal Minds version of the knife vine. JJ is running around making out with any and everyone who takes notice of her.

Anyway, even if Tara/Emily isn't your ship, this is mostly just about the four BAU women having a wild night out!!

[Request a Fanfic 'Director's Cut']

#ultrarebelheart #reply post #tara lewis #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #cm fanfiction #criminal minds #my writing #temily #fanfic director's cut #queerminal minds