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celestie0 · 2 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

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

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 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+, fem reader, 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. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i��m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore.

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head.

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.”

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time.

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.”

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.”

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater.

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.”

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern.

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd.

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle.

And then the kickoff starts.

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net.

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play.

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line.

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball.

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field.

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet.

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.”

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.”

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you.

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus.

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does.

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo.

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team.

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net.

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.

The referee chirps his whistle.

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!”

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

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morphids · 5 months ago

Text

break up with your boyfriend, ellie williams

pairing: bestfriend!ellie x afab, curly haired,bi!reader (college au)

chapter: one shot (8k words whoops my finger slipped got my asd diagnosis today lol ig that explains that) proofread but if there's errors idk what to tell u

warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+ so minors dni, subish!ellie, loserlesbian ellie, poc friendly!! drug mentions, marijuana usage, friends to lovers, angst?? ellie gets her coochie ate, so does reader, fingering, ✂️✂️, all that good stuff, they essentially worship each other, cheating (not by reader but sus behaviours n thoughts fs) (tw::: men bf’s a dickspawn imsorry) homophobia.

summary: you have a horrible boyfriend, ellie’s always hated him.

a/n: full word vomit im sorry if its ass but also i kinda lost my composure writing this 🤭🫣😵‍💫

AS ALWAYS FUCK DRUCKMANN AND ALL ZIONISTS, resources for Palestine and the daily click linked on my pinned post!

You were tired, drained. Hours had passed and you and your boyfriend were still at it. Angry words and misunderstood sentences all throughout the day had resulted in yet another fight between you.

"Dean, I've said it so many times, I can't go through it again,"

Dean, your boyfriend of a few months had a rocky track record, from keeping in close contact with his ex, to not telling interested girls that he's not single. The situation was always the same, you'd express your discomfort with something and he'd get angry, defensive. Then, eventually after so much arguing would get you to 'realise' that it's no big deal, that you shouldn't have reacted that way at all and in fact, you should apologise to him for making him feel like a cheater.

You had considered breaking up with him, so many times, in fact. Yet, you simply couldn't bring yourself to do it, still holding out with hope that things will improve.

"Baby, I swear nothing is going on, she's just my friend."

"Fine, okay." You ceased, feeling mentally drained by hours of conflict, "I have to go, need to meet Ellie, we have that test soon."

"You're leaving?" Dean said, clearly still agitated and pumping from the fight,

"Yes, Dean," you sighed, glancing in the mirror to double-check that your makeup hadn't been ruined from the previous crying, "I told you, this exam is really important," In other words, you have more things to be worrying about than your issues with him.

Gathering your books and piling them into your tote bag, you felt Dean's eyes on you, silently steaming as he saw you pick up your books.

"I'll see you later," Without looking back, you grabbed your keys from the side of the door and headed out.

He always had a problem with Ellie, which you couldn't understand, she was always supportive and kind to you. What reason would he have to dislike her?

You had been friends ever since that first physics class three years ago, you had sat in the row in front of her, over fifteen minutes into the lecture had passed until you felt a tap at your shoulder. Turning, you were greeted with green eyes and a smiling face adorned with light freckles.

"Hey, you got a spare pen?" She looked bashful, almost embarrassed that she hadn't been prepared even for the first class of the year. A half smile was placed on her lips. Amused, you gladly handed her a pen, pleased that you had an abundance of pens neglected at the bottom of your tote bag. You were always prepared, just not the most organised.

At the end of the lecture, she tried to hand you back the pen, but you refused and insisted she kept it, was she planning on asking someone for every class she had? That was just inefficient.

When you wouldn't accept the pen back, she ripped out a rough square from a page of her notebook, scribbling her number quickly so she could pay you back for the pen.

You had been friends ever since, there was something that just worked. She had been there long before Dean and you would be damned if he was to get in the way of your friendship.

You had reached Dina and Ellie's place, they both shared the accommodation whilst you lived in a one-bed en-suite in a dorm. Dean lived at his fraternity, which you always hated going to meaning you spent most of the time at your place instead.

Knocking, you only waited for a few seconds until the door swung open, revealing Ellie, clad in a white tank top and some grey sweatpants. The open door had caused a draught to haze through the air, the faint scent of smoke and music softly playing at a low volume.

"Hey, you." She spoke, smiling that usual smile that was seemingly tattooed on her lips. Ellie moved out of the doorway to let you in, closing the door behind you as you stepped into the familiar, comforting living room.

"Hey," your tone must have not been well received, as it prompted a,

"Well, what's gotten into you?"

"I've had the worst day, Dean-" you were interrupted by a slightly exaggerated groan, with an added,

"What has he done this time?"

"Ellie.." you sighed, dropping your tote from your shoulder and to the floor, kneeling down to pull out your books and pens.

"I'm serious," she threw her hands up, leaning against the edge of the desk where her work had been all set out already, "He's always up to some bullshit."

Ellie was confused, annoyed actually as you explained the situation to her. In her head, as a lesbian, the solution to these kinds of issues was so, so obvious to her; break up with him, he's not worth it. She had repeated this rhetoric to many of her men-loving friends, all of which refused to listen to her only to turn out heartbroken in the end, anyway.

"I wasn't exactly being rational either," you tried to explain, not that you were making excuses for him, but you felt a certain need to defend your relationship with Ellie. She was always so judgemental of the people you dated. You knew deep down that it was her way of looking out for you, she had consistently been the one to bring you comfort during your relationship breakdowns. And there had been a few of them.

"Don't do that, that's exactly what he wants," She spoke sympathetically, her words very soft considering that, mentally she was currently fighting Dean, and winning.

What was wrong with these guys? Ellie thought, you had dated some specimens before, but this new fraternity bro, Dean? She couldn't stand him.

Seemingly fuelled by his returned distaste towards her, but she knew the real reason why.

He was a pig. Flirting with any girl that'd give him attention, Ellie had caught him at parties with drunk girls hanging off his arms, inches away from their faces, centimetres away from cheating. Only for him to charm his way out of it when you confronted him. It pained her to see you go through this, especially when there were so many options out there. Like her, for example.

To be frank, Ellie's asking for that pen three years ago hadn't been entirely innocent. Whilst, it wasn't a lie per se, as she did, in fact, not have a pen on her first day, making her feel like the worst student on the planet.

She had taken notice of you when you first walked into that physics class. Eyeliner, framing the outer corners of your eyes and tight curly hair that lay perfectly around your face caught her attention. You were so beautiful, she knew she had to talk to you.

As you two had gotten to know each other over those first few months, her little crush had evolved from simple attraction to a full-blown, 'would rip the sun out of the sky if it meant seeing you smile', feelings situation. Whilst her initial intention had been to try and flirt a little bit, over time (really didn't take that long) Ellie realised that you were something special. The bond and groove you had as platonic friends was too great to risk ruining it all. So she decided, her feelings shouldn't be the thing to damage it. Ellie being Ellie, didn't know how to deal with said feelings, so she had made a pact with herself to never act on them, never expect anything other than platonic behaviour on your part, and never, ever let you find out. So whilst you dated, so did she.

"Anyways, can we talk about, literally anything else now? Like our exam that we have in a few days, perhaps?" You hummed, kicking your shoes off and sprawling on her couch, reaching down into your bag for something you had saved for this exact moment.

"Right, 'cos studying is the reason why you're laying dead on my couch right now." Ellie chuckled, joining you and holding your legs up to settle her body on the couch as well, before placing your legs on top of her lap.

"What are you even looking for?"

"Just wait, you'll see." You responded, still rooting through the bag, god where is it?

"Well, not if you can't find it in that damn bag, how do you even find anything in those?"

"Shut up," you chuckled, feeling better already. That's something you loved about Ellie, no matter what would happen to you, a few minutes with her and you'd feel like you had taken uppers.

"Ah, finally," you breathed out, fishing out a single joint that had become embarrassingly bent in the trauma that is, being an object lost inside the bottom of a tote bag.

Ellie laughed when her eyes caught sight of the bent joint, rubbing her eyes as they started to tear from the entertainment.

"You didn't have to go through that much effort to pull out that monster, plus you know I always have enough here, we don't need to smoke yours."

"It may look unfortunate, but this is the best shit in town right now." You tried to sell, "Got it from Xav,"

"Xav? How did you manage that?"

"One of Dean's frat brothers put in a huge order with him and sold me some, thought I'd save it so we could smoke it together."

"You truly know the way to my heart," Ellie gushed, before leaning over your legs, to grab the closest ashtray and a lighter, passing it to you, roller's rights, after all.

"This doesn't look like studying, though," Ellie spoke, eyes falling to your lips as they wrapped over the end of the joint, sparking and taking a drag. She excused her thoughts.

"I just want some peace before I have to focus on work, you know?" You said, exhaling out the smoke.

Ellie sighed, knowing Dean was truly taking a toll on you, she watched as your face fell, obviously being reminded of the previous events. She wishes there was more she could do, how many times could she say leave him, before it sounded too obvious? Too pushy? Too out of line?

"Fuck him, don't worry about that for now. You're with me, this is a Dean-free zone." Ellie cheered, taking the lit joint as you passed it to her.

You felt her fingers trail random lines and shapes on your leg as she smoked, probably not even aware she was doing it. It was comfortable and set off a wave of sleepiness to hit you.

Ellie passed you the joint back,

"You going to that party tonight?" She asked,

"I don't know, I think Dean wants to go but I was planning on sitting this one out,"

"Why don't you come? Dina and Jesse will also be there, so you don't have to spend the whole party with him,"

"Fine, only because I haven't seen Dina and Jesse for a while,"

"I can live with that," she chuckled.

Deciding you were no longer comfy in that position, you lifted your legs up off Ellie, before manoeuvring your body so that you were sat side by side. Passing the joint back to her, you rested your head on her shoulder. What you didn't notice was Ellie's visible tensing the second you laid your head on her.

It wasn't like it was unusual behaviour from you, yet she reacted like this every time.

"What do you think of it?"

"Fuck yeah, it's good," she swallowed, head turning to glance over at you resting your head comfortably on her shoulder, "You falling asleep down there?"

"No..." you mumbled, your voice visibly getting quieter as you were getting sleepier. You were just so tired. Constant arguing with Dean, working or studying. You needed a break, plus Ellie had a habit of being super comfortable to nap on.

"You sure?"

"No..."

"It's alright, have a nap, we’ll study later."

Ellie chuckled, she continued smoking the joint to its ends, relaxed by the sound of your breathing as you fell asleep. She took the opportunity to observe you for a minute, you looked peaceful, a hell of a lot more peaceful than you were when you first entered. She wished that you could always be that content, at peace. Ellie wanted you to be happy, whether with her or not, she just didn't want you so stressed and drained by yet another unhealthy relationship.

It was then she took time to think, how messy the situation had truly become.

—

After your nap, you and Ellie actually did finally study, spending a few hours going over the course material and sharing notes. With a few distractions here and there, but successful nonetheless.

You were back at home, Dean seemingly long gone back to his own place, as you got yourself dressed for this party. Texting Ellie that you were ready, you awaited her knock on your door, as your place was a bit closer to the party you decided you'd make your way there together and you'd crash back at your house later.

Once she arrived, you two made your way to the party, it was in the next block of student accommodation, so it was only a quick walk.

Before long, you had reached the party, greeted by its loudness with thumping music and loud chatter.

"It's fucking packed," you complained, already nervous. The bass of the loud music echoing in your chest, exacerbating the anxiety you felt.

"It will be okay, let's go find Dina and Jesse,"

It took a few glances to land on them but they had been settled in a corner with two other girls. One with short black hair and the other with long, blonde hair.

Making your way towards them, Dina spotted you and Ellie and eagerly waved you guys over to their spot.

"Bitch! Where have you been?" Dina questioned, and truly it had been an unreasonable amount of time since you'd seen her, which is weird considering how often you were at her and Ellie's place.

"Don't get me started," you sighed, whilst smiling at her and wrapping your arms around her.

"Well, it's good to see you, we missed you!" Gesturing towards herself and Jesse, who took his cue to also greet you.

Dina introduced you to her friends who were also sitting with them, the one with black hair was introduced as Cat, and the blonde was called Abby.

They were nice but you weren't too sure about the dark-haired one, she seemed a bit standoffish to you, only, but welcoming and friendly to everyone else in your group, and especially to Ellie. You noted it and placed the thought at the back of your head for dissection later.

In the ten minutes you had been there, Dean had spotted you and walked over. Causing an eye roll to come from Ellie,

"Hey, you're here!" He was drunk, words slurred and eyes heavily lidded. How much had he already had to drink?

Wrapping his arms around your waist, and nuzzling his face into your neck, the scent of alcohol lingered on him and you found that you didn't want him to be that close to you.

Your eyes met Ellie's briefly before she quickly looked away and took a long sip from her cup, which had been filled up with some vodka and whiskey mixed with some chaser by Dina. She turned her head away from you and began talking to Cat, faces a lot closer than most people.

You tore your eyes away from their interaction, turning to face Dean.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Dean shrugged, too incapacitated to care too much before making his way back to some of his frat brothers. Yuck.

You were making your way to the bathroom, hoping to find the right door, but you weren't successful the first time, the second or the third. You were starting to wonder how many goddamn rooms were in this place until you finally reached it, and it was of course labelled with a stupid little diy frat sticker that said 'bathroom' featuring other, more immature graffiti. Apt, you thought.

The light was on but the door was slightly ajar, thinking nothing of it you walked in believing it to be empty. The room was also, of course, occupied. You mentally laughed at your own bad luck as you saw Abby sneaking a cigarette out the window. Her body perched up on the windowsill as she breathed the smoke out the open gap.

"Shit- oh it's just you," she chuckled, holding her hand on her heart indicating that you had slightly frightened her, clearly from her doing something she isn't supposed to be doing.

"Sorry, thought it was empty," you said, turning your body towards the door in an effort to leave her to it,

"You don't have to leave I'm just smoking this before any of my team sees me,"

That brought a smile to reach your lips,

"Why are you sneaking cigarettes like a 16 year old?"

"Athletes aren't really meant to smoke, but shit happens. I just don't want to hear it from coach." She mumbled taking her final drag, throwing the butt out the window.

"I'll take it to my grave," You promised, making a little zip motion on your lips.

"All yours," she smiled, making her way out of the bathroom.

"I won't take long, we can head down to the group together,"

So you did, exiting the bathroom, Abby smiling at you,

"Let's go?"

"Sure,"

You had travelled down the stairs, engaging in random, friendly small talk until you had reached everyone. Abby sat back down next to Dina and Jesse, who were ranting amongst themselves, whilst Cat and Ellie had been left to their own devices. Now, you and Ellie had been friends for a while, you kinda knew what she looked like when she was flirting with girls. And this was definitely that.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Dean respawning in your face again,

"Wanna explain that?"

That completely broke you out of your little trance, explain what?

"What?"

"Why were you in the bathroom with her?"

"She was-" you remembered your promise to her, "We were just chatting, nothing weird happened, if that's what you're thinking."

He grabbed your wrist and walked with you to a quieter corner of the room,

"Why are you lying?"

"Dean, nothing happened we were chatting because she was in there when I walked in,"

"Do you know what she is?"

"I just met her today, Dean," You didn't want to deal with this right now, Ellie had said she was going to try and help you escape Dean tonight and instead she got annoyed by his presence and began flirting with Cat.

"What is with you and hanging out with all of those d-...", he trailed off,

"Those what, Dean?" You were beyond angry at this point, you didn't like what he was implying.

"You know, all those le-"

"Hey," your altercation was interrupted, "Everything cool?" Ellie was looking between you both, eyebrows furrowed as she looked you over, gauging the situation. She knew you could fight your own battles, but when a drunk man is getting too handsy on someone it's always good practice to remain vigilant.

"We're fine." He said, his words less slurred now, a bit more pissed off. Egged on by the fact that his very point had just interrupted him.

"Oh yeah?" She pressed, making sure to look at you when she asked, having watched the interaction since he dragged you away.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you added, trying to give her a grateful look with your eyes, whether she got the message or not wasn't confirmed. Ellie wasn't one to let things go, but then she asked you if you wanted to be left alone with him and when you simply said 'Yeah I can deal with this," there was nothing more she could do without being too out of line.

Sighing to herself, she dragged her feet back to the group, silently warring with herself over her actions, wondering if she put her nose in someone else's business or whether she didn't act enough. She had decided that was enough for the night, she'd try and focus on something else.

Whilst you were frustrated; you didn't want to explain the situation to her yet, at this point.

"Dean I don't like what you're trying to say, I don't want to be near you right now, we can talk about this at home."

"Sure, whatever." He walked off. You exhaled a sigh that had been festering in your chest for a while.

Wandering back to Dina, Jesse and Abby, noticing a considerable lack of Ellie and Cat. But at least you could clear your mind, Dina offered you another drink- which you gladly took.

You were in conversations with your friends, a good amount of minutes had passed and you finally caught sight of Ellie. You felt your heart twitch, your stomach churning at the sight.

Ellie was engaged in some heated make-out with that Cat, her hands tightly wrapped around the back of the girl's neck. The lights of the room bounced off her skin, illuminating them in deep reds and blues, as their lips moved against each other. It was hot, you couldn't lie. Perhaps the alcohol had hit you a lot more than you thought. You had seen Ellie in action, but not in action.

You felt yourself start to stare, lost in the sight of Ellie until you felt your breathing start to quicken and your legs fidgeting. You had to pull your eyes away, shaming yourself in your head for even looking that long, like a damned pervert.

Taking another sip of your drink, your thoughts trailed, you wondered what it would feel like to be in Cat's position, to feel Ellie's passionate grasp and soft lips against yours. You wondered if her kisses would feel loving and warm, not cold like you were used to.

You quickly dismissed your thoughts, blaming it on the alcohol, wondering what was spurring this on, all of a sudden.

You soon decided it was probably time to head home, the party had lived its course and you were in a worse mood than when you first got there. Mission failed, indeed.

Saying your goodbyes to Dina, Jesse and Abby you made your way through the dance floor to Ellie.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out," You interrupted a conversation occurring between Ellie and Cat.

"Oh, you sure?" She glanced between you and Cat, "Will you be okay getting home?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm gonna find Dean and we're gonna go,"

"Oh," her face soured, "You're really still going home with that guy?"

"Well..." you stilled, you didn't exactly want to, but you knew he wouldn't give up until he got to say his piece, regardless of where you were, "We have stuff to talk about, I guess." Your voice and tone sound beaten, tired.

"I see," She glanced you over, hesitant, as if she was about to say something but then changed her mind. You could almost see thoughts flying in her eyes.

"See you later," Cat smiled at you, though it didn't quite reach the corners of her eyes, no crease of skin. Everything seemed polite on the surface, but there were weird undertones in her voice, indifference. The vibe of that was definitely weird, right?

"Yeah,"

With that, you found Dean and left to go home.

—

Panting, you were panting. Heavy breaths mixed with sloppy touches in the darkness of red and blue lights.

You pulled away, glancing at Ellie, the corners of her plump lips curling into a smirk as she caressed your thighs. Fingers teasing near your entrance, you were completely ready for her touch, dripping, waiting.

"I can't wait to taste you, baby." she spoke, her words soft but with a hint of a growl that excited you, eager for what was about to come.

Then your eyes split open, and you were lay on your bed, hours had passed and you had been fast asleep. Sleep came easy, induced by the alcohol you had consumed, as you realised you had just been dreaming.

It took you a few seconds to stir and become conscious of what you had been dreaming about. Then the shame hit. What the fuck was that?

It didn't last long though, before you heard Dean's voice,

"That was hot,"

You slightly jumped at the surprise of his voice, not expecting him to have been awake and especially aware that you were having a dream of such nature, about your best friend of all people.

"You got me all hard, babe." You suddenly felt too overwhelmed, flashes of Ellie's lips and fingers cursed your mind as Dean's voice was mixed into your thoughts.

Confusion and panic hit your senses, you didn't want to look at Dean's expecting face when your mind was still reeling with the faint remnants of being under Ellie's warm and comforting touch, even in the astral plane, your body still warm and wanting. But not for him. Disgust overwhelmed your veins, poisoning the air in your lungs as you realised you couldn't think of anything worse than him touching you. It was as if that dream had been a message, a sign that this wasn't what you wanted. Or deserved. A sudden unexpected epiphany.

You quickly shot up and ran to the bathroom, no words spoken between you as you closed the door. Ensuring space between you both.

You sighed and grabbed at the roots of your hair, thinking of how utterly fucked this is.

You thought back to Ellie, would she be disgusted at your thoughts? Would she feel weird and uncomfortable if she knew you had been thinking of her that way? Her best, and very platonic, friend. She definitely isn't interested, you thought, remembering the way she had grabbed Cat closer to her and embraced her in a kiss that could only enflame your very being. Jealous. You realised, that's what that feeling was. It seemed to occur a lot regarding Ellie, that feeling.

Dean's voice blared through the door, reverberating through the walls.

"It's about that blond bitch isn't it?" Your eyebrows pulled together, fucks sake.

"Dean, please." It was stupid o'clock in the morning, the last thing you wanted was yet another argument.

"I knew those fucking lesbians would fuck with your head, you've always been a stupid woman, following whoever gives you attention."

His words hurt, and doubly pissed you off. How dare he? Those were your friends he was talking about.

You opened the door, Dean all blotchy and red in the face, fuelled by the past months of his bullshit and borderline abuse, this was the final nail. He was not about to say disgusting things and expect no repercussions. Lifting your hand, you put your entire back into connecting your palm with his cheek, made real by the smacking sound of skin, loud as a gunshot in the dark hours of the night contrasting the silence of no other surrounding sound in the dorms.

"Fuck you, Dean. I'm over this, get out." You stared him right in the eye as he rubbed the throbbing skin of his cheek to alleviate some pain. You couldn't help but feel a hint of relief that it had actually hurt him, as horrid as that sounds. You weren't a violent person, by any means, yet the continuous accusations, the newly exposed homophobia, his vile behaviour - it had to be done. You were done letting him treat you like that.

"I don't need you anyway, can find ten other girls that'd give me what I want."

"Go do that, then." You huffed, wondering why you hadn't done this earlier.

"Already have, sweetheart." He smirked, eyes glinting as he finally lifted the shroud of lies he had been filling your head with. You always knew deep down, you just chose to ignore it. Worms in the brain feasting at any rational thought and your self-respect. You didn't find it in yourself to get angrier.

"Get out of my house, Dean." You finalised, arms crossed over your chest, you just hoped he'd go willingly.

"You're not worth it, anyway." He cements, body turning to put on his shoes, chuckling as his heavy presence finally leaves your door.

You let out a breath, relief, shame and anger seeping into the deepest part of your being.

You were glad he's gone, truly. You just wish you had killed it sooner. Ellie was right, he ain't shit.

You sat on the edge of your bed, suddenly finding that the dark, empty space in your room was doing you no favours.

Pulling out your phone, you drafted a text to Ellie,

3.47 a.m: you awake?

It was a long shot, you almost gave up on a response for tonight until you felt your phone buzz.

3.49 a.m: ..always

3.49 a.m: whats up?

Your lips tilted into a weak smile, before responding,

3.50 a.m: u should be sleeping rn!

3.50 a.m: umm so should u

3.51 a.m: whats wrong?

Sighing, you had to bite the bullet, already started it now.

3.52 a.m: he's an asshole, i broke up with him

A few minutes passed, and you wondered what was taking so long even though in the grand scheme of time it was only a few seconds, really. It was just anticipation, time felt dragged out awaiting her response. You didn't know that Ellie was laying on her bed feverishly typing, deleting and re-typing, overthinking how to respond. She wanted to say, 'I knew this' and how she was happy he was gone because he was a loser who didn't deserve you anyway. How she never liked him. Ellie didn't want to be insensitive, though, lest she hurt your feelings further.

3.57 a.m: how are you feeling?

3.58 a.m: im just glad he's gone tbh

3.58 a.m: had to be done

Ellie couldn't help the hint of a smile that fought its way onto her features, she typed her response. Picking at the dry skin around her thumb with her teeth as she sent her next message, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

3.59 a.m: he didn't deserve you anyway, you're too good for that.

You felt a warmth rush through you, stomach tightening as you read into her words. You wished that she meant it, that her feelings matched yours. Your mind thinks back to Cat, instantly murdering any hope in your heart.

You don't remember when your feelings for Ellie began to change, but looking back on it, you had felt so unsatisfied, seldom comfortable with your past lovers. Ellie was the only person who knew you, truly. Who had loved you and made you feel so safe, her comforting presence always soothing you, you felt like a person around Ellie. Whole. It had just taken some time for life to knock some sense into you to realise. It has always been Ellie.

4.01 a.m: want me to come to you or you wanna come here?

4.01 a.m: it's so late you don't have to! i'll be ok promise

4.02 a.m: hah good one.. gimme ten mins

Ellie was not messing, not much time passed before she was knocking on the front door of your dorm.

"Hey," Her voice was soft, gentle, her eyes shining with such a tender glint. She's always had such pretty eyes, you thought.

"Hi,"

You moved a few steps to give her space to enter,

"How you doing?" She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tighter than you expected,

"Honestly, I'm okay," Ellie took a look at you, gauging your overall mood and believed it, you already looked lighter, less weight (*Dean) holding down your shoulders.

"Think I mentally checked out a long time ago," you added, sitting down on your bed and lifting your laptop screen to load a show, acting somewhat as a buffer amongst the silence.

"So what happened?"

You couldn't help the audible groan that escaped your lips, "He got pissy when he saw me leaving the bathroom with Abby and accused me of cheating,"

"Abby?" Ellie had taken off her coat and shoes, joining you on your spot on the bed.

"Yeah, she was smoking in the bathroom hiding from their coach, we walked down to the group together, it was only small talk. I was so confused, he started saying things about who I was hanging out with,".

"Meaning?"

"He's a fucking homophobic prick,"

"He said hanging out with 'all those lesbians was fucking with my head', said I follow whoever gives me attention," you sighed, "then I slapped him."

Ellie couldn’t help it, she felt a swell of pride that you slapped him, stood up for yourself. He deserved so much worse, she thought.

Ellie couldn't hide the smirk that reached her lips, as much as she tried to suppress it, it still came.

"That's my girl,"

You didn't expect your stomach to twist when those words left her mouth, opening something up deep inside.

"He finally admitted to cheating, and then it was over," You sighed.

"I'm proud of you," Ellie muttered, fidgeting with her nail-beds, failing to meet your eyes.

"You don't have to say that, I know how pathetic this is,"

Resting your head on the headboard, you brought your legs into a cross,

"Hey, I mean it, it must've been a lot," She paused, her hand coming to rest on your knee, rubbing her thumb over the skin absentmindedly, like it was second nature to her. Perhaps, it was.

You looked over at her, eyes trailing down her features, freckles and the green eyes that still weren't meeting yours, suddenly shy.

"You're amazing, you deserve to know that," she paused, eyes finally meeting your own, determined.

"So are you," Your voice lowered, trailing back to the pretty brunette from earlier.

“So what’s going on with you and that girl?” You shouldn’t have said anything, but it was out before you could stop it. Clearly, your brain kept thinking about it.

“It’s..” Ellie thought about what to say, it would sound extremely horrible to say Cat was mainly a distraction, unfair as she is a lovely person, but it’s true.

“Nothing more than what you saw,”

Vague, was that best response to that, Ellie thought.

“I saw quite a bit,”

“Honestly, she’s great, we get along and all but..’ She’s not you. “I don’t think it’ll go any further.”

“She seemed to really like you, why not?”

Ellie almost wanted to laugh, it was so painfully obvious to her, how could you not see it?

“I guess.. I want something different.”

Her eyes connected with yours, the contact between your eyes felt different now, charged. You caught yourself stealing a glance at her lips, which slightly parted as she spotted where your eyes had fallen.

“Like what?”

She had no response, it was either avoid the question, or firm it. Ellie didn’t know which was the right answer.

"Ellie.." You paused, words caught in your throat, as scenarios rushed through your head like a rolodex of different possible outcomes. Heart tugging at your brain to do something, anything.

"Yeah?" Her head leaned closer to yours, your breathing slowly becoming heavier, the room's environment growing thicker, harder to inhale. Her hand still on your knee, unmoving now, frozen in place.

You could almost make contact with her lips, if you moved just a tiny inch closer. Her hand trailed slightly further up your leg, just a little above your knee, almost as if to test the waters. You wondered if she felt like you did, if she could also feel her veins light up and her body inflamed. Were her lips just as eager to touch yours? Were her hands longing to feel you just as well?

Before you realised, it was out.

"Ellie, can I kiss you?"

A beat, and no response. You felt your heart start to panic, already thinking over how to pretend that had never happened. You almost regretted it, until her hand reached for the back of your neck, reducing the distance between your faces.

Lips meeting yours, shyly at first, hesitant. Ellie’s mind was whirling, feeling her heartbeat pump aggressively throughout her body, there was no way this was reality, she thought. No way that you were here in front of her, asking to kiss her, after all this time of her yearning, feeling like a useless lesbian who would never ever make a move on you.

She could almost feel herself kicking her feet in the air, as she decided to firm it. Scared if she waited any longer, the opportunity would cease to exist, pass her by and join one of those regrets she’d think about as an elder.

Your lips met hers back, eager to push for contact, eager to push closer. Your zeal spurring hers on, as her hands clasped the back of your neck, keeping you in place. Not like you wanted to be anywhere else.

This was it. This is what you should’ve been feeling in the past.

Ellie’s soft, plump lips melted over yours, taunting with a bite and pulling your bottom lip out before entering her tongue into your mouth.

Fuck. That was hot.

You felt yourself getting hotter, damper by the minute as the kiss continues, Ellie’s hand getting more comfortable and trailing down to your thighs.

You pulled apart for a second, taking the time to catch your breath as you looked into her eyes, usually green but now much darker, enhanced by enlarged pupils as she glazed her sights over you. An unreadable expression on her face,

“Are you okay?”

“You’re so hot, and amazing and I-I really want to keep going, I just- I don’t know, I don’t want this to be like a .. rebound thing. I really care about you but I just, don’t want to feel like that, you know?” She rambled on, her thoughts getting ahead of themselves as she was pondering if it happened, then if it was too late to return to what you had been, before things got all naked and messy.

You understood, of course you did. You had literally broken up with him just maybe two hours ago. But it didn’t matter, you had to say it. Let her know and reassure her that it was only her.

“Ellie.. you could never be a rebound to me,” You stammered a little before the next part, “You’re the one I’ve wanted this whole time. It’s always been you.” You pecked her lips, grabbing her face, looking into her eyes hoping she’d see the seriousness in yours.

“I’ve wanted you for a really long time,” she broke contact, “I just didn’t wanna fuck shit up,”

“I mean it, Ellie, I’ve never felt as certain about something as I do this,”

Her stature relaxed, you continued, “I love you, Ellie. I didn’t love anyone else,”

“I love you,” she answered, the corner of her lip tilting up, eyes brighter.

“I’ll just have to show you how much, if that’s okay with you.”

Her gaze turned curious, before nodding, watching as your hands danced down her sides and ever so slightly underneath the fabric of her shirt.

“You can do whatever you want with me, honestly,” she murmured. You caught her body tensing, almost shaky as you lifted her shirt. Warm hands covering the sides of her defined stomach, you squeezed a little, just enough to rile her up.

Which it did, Ellie’s eyebrows furrowed as she anticipated your next move. Losing control of her lungs, she was about to explode.

“This okay?” Your hand met the band of her sports bra, digging scarcely into her skin beneath it.

“Yeah,” she exhaled, stuck in place, watching, her cheeks becoming flushed, “Shit,”

You hands pressed over her breasts, tightening pressure around as she let out a content sigh. You dipped your head down to wrap your lips around her nipple, licking laps over the tip and softly blowing air over them when you decided you were done, chuckling to yourself at the goosebumps that now raised on her skin,

“Don’t tease,” She murmured, composure dwindling.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,”

You kissed down her stomach to her pelvis, feeling her restlessness grow as her body refused to stay still, itching for you to do more.

You leaned back up, placing either leg over her torso and looked her over, making sure she was okay as your hand moved lower down, seemingly in a mind of its own as it crept past the waistband, meeting her skin as you held eye contact.

Ellie folded, shutting her eyes as the waiting became too much, you tapped her leg with your free hand,

“Eyes on me,”

When she held your eye contact once again, you teased a finger past her folds, almost letting out a groan at how wet she was, at how easily you could feel her arousal.

“Fuck Els,” you sighed, struggling to contain yourself as your thoughts grew more indecent, slipping a finger in further as Ellie writhed underneath you, head hanging back.

“More fingers, please,” Her voice was strained, breathy as she closed her eyes, embarrassed to be feeling this undone already.

“Yeah?” The side of your mouth curled up, goaded by the sound of her voice. She nodded impishly, covering her eyes with her wrist, as her other hand reached to grip around your hip. A tight squeeze followed on your skin.

“I can do that, baby,” Following instructions, you slipped two more fingers into her, falling into a rhythm as you felt her clench around you. She glanced over your body, legs spread over her midsection as you leaned your arm back, hips gently grinding over hers- an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure building up.

Her hand grabbed at the hem of your shirt, pulling it slightly and groaning when the tight material pushed against your breasts, she always loved how you never wore bras, stiff nipples poking through the fabric.

“Fuck, clothes off, now,” she let out in soft grunts, as she broke your wrist from her to take off your shirt, rubbing her hands over your newly exposed skin “Always fucking wanted to see you like this,” She spoke, your fingers meeting her centre again, “So fucking pretty,”

“You feel so good, Ellie,” You gasped, your hips involuntarily grinding on top of her stomach, “So fucking good ‘n wet for me,”

“Fuck-“ Ellie’s voice cut off as she bit into the back of her hand, her own hips rolling your hand in deeper, hitting her walls more than before as she let out a mewl. “Feels so fuckin’ good, angel,” she whimpered, voice strained as she continued to ride into your hand.

It was the hottest noise you’d ever heard, and you wanted to keep drawing it out of her. To keep hearing her moan for you, and your actions only.

Suddenly, you had something you prove, both to her and to yourself. Flashes of Cat in your mind as you wanted her to forget other women existed.

You unwrapped yourself off her lap, removing your fingers, kissing her stomach as you pulled her pants and underwear down, grabbing her legs and holding them open, exposing her even further.

“Damn,” you said, glancing over her wet inner thighs as they glistened, all for you.

“Shut up,” she spoke, voice tight as a side smile swept over her features, as she grabbed the back of your head, pushing you closer to her pulsing core, throbbing and dripping waiting for you to make contact.

You licked a line up her heat, moaning to yourself at the taste of her. You grew light-headed, thinking you could die happily just between Ellie’s legs, becoming addicted to her moans as you ate her out, head in a daze as she squeezed her thighs tight around your head, almost cutting off your air supply- her moans growing more frequent, as she reached closer. Your free hand moving up to wrap itself around her breast, squeezing tighter around her nipple.

Deciding to have a little more fun, you slipped two fingers into her wetness as you continued to lap your tongue around her clit, pushing up into her as you sucked. Dragging her delicious sap on your tongue as it marred all over your face, cheeks glassy with her warm sleek.

Ellie had lost control over her vocal cords at this point, moans slipping out from between her sweet lips no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. Hell, you were moaning too, despite not even being touched yet, dripping all over yourself, ass up and needy as you rolled your hips over thin air as you continued to soak yourself into Ellie.

There could be no coming back from this, you thought, not now that you had been exposed to the delicacy that is Ellie Williams. You were holding on to her and not letting go.

You felt Ellie’s moans get shorter, cutting themselves off from its full power before the next one came, her hips moving more haphazardly up to meet your tongue, she was close.

You glanced at her, her eyes closed, brows pinched up and mouth agape, a slight sheen to her skin from sweat, she’s so attractive, you thought.

With your free hand, your fingers guided themselves onto your own folds, rolling over your own clit for some release, the lack of hand on her caused Ellie’s eyes to lull over at you, the sight of your arched back, wet cheeks from her slick, spread legs as you touched yourself all whilst still fucking her into oblivion.

The damned sight of you, just as undone as Ellie, without her even touching you, was enough to cause the coil in her abdomen to twist, before she came all over your face, breath slowing into heavy pants as her body twitched. You lapped her up her residue, finally removing your face from between her legs as she looked at you. Wordless.

“Wh-what the fuck..” Ellie’s weak voice trailed, before laughing and forcing a kiss on your lips, hands wrapped around your jaw as she tasted the remnants of herself on you.

There was no way you were about to give her the best orgasm of her life and expect her to not do anything back? Funny joke. Ellie was ravenous now.

She placed you underneath her, biting around your thighs before bending her head down, her tongue having been desperate for a taste since that first day she saw you. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” Your legs tightened around her as the air from her voice hit your centre, “Been dyin’ for a taste,” You looked at her, tip of your eyebrows raised up as you took in her words, how long had she wanted you back? Her words caused you to shudder, whimpering as she continued.

“Fuck,” You said, voice breaking as her tongue rippled over your pussy as your hips shook, slurping up the honey that had been left neglected. Long, slender fingers meeting your centre that had felt so, so desperate and needy for her to touch.

“G’na show what you’ve been missing,” She hummed, as her fingers picked up pace working harmoniously with her tongue as she fucked into you. Warm muscle rolling over your pulsing clit. Fingers rubbing over your velvet walls which sucked her further in, skin dragging out with her soaked fingers when they recoiled out, the image obscene. “What was waiting for you this whole time,”

“Els- shit, wanna feel you,”

“What you want, baby?” She gasped out, in between breaths as fingers toyed with your clit.

“Wanna feel you, y-your fucking pussy on mine-fuck,” you cut yourself off, embarrassed. The desire was simply too strong, you were dizzy just from the thought of it. Ellie seemed to share your enthusiasm, her heart skipping a beat, the thought kindling her veins with heat.

This was truly a gift from the heavens, she thought.

“Shit- yeah, okay.” Ellie exhaled out, as she got you into position, grabbing one of your smaller pillows to cushion underneath you as she placed her legs over yours, getting into place as she rubbed her clit over yours, hips lolling over your pelvis.

The sounds were debaucherous as they filled the room, hot and wet, as if the spirit of Dionysus, himself had possessed you. Invoking you with bacchanal, carnal desire as you could think of nothing else than the sublime vice that is Ellie Williams.

“Fuck, Els, I’m gonna come,”

Ellie groaned, rocking her hips over yours, her defined abs on show, breasts working with Earth’s gravity as they sprung up and down to match her movements, hair falling out of her half-bun, causing some strands to stick to her face, completely dishevelled. You looked at her, eyes attached to yours, lust ruling over them, then looked back down to where you were both intertwined. You trapped your bottom lip with your teeth at the sight before you.

Her sap mingling with yours, leaking out from her cunt as it folds over your own, Wrapping you with her warmth, pulsating around yours. Ellie’s body still trembling from before.

“Then come for me, baby,”

You were gone. With her words, you felt yourself spilling out against her, not being able to hold back the climax of your arousal spurting out from you, splashes reaching Ellie’s legs.

“Fuck, Ellie!” Your voice drawled out, as the wave ran through you,

“That’s it, angel, come all over me,” She smirked down at you, breath heavy as she watched your eyes glaze over, lips parted and chest heavy as you finally came down. A ardent glaze over her eyes.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” She gaped, eyes transfixed on your figure as her reeling mind came down from the high.

“Shit, neither did I,” you laughed, covering your mouth, suddenly shy. With your head still in the clouds, you weren’t feeling as overly self-aware.

“That was fucking hot, and I’m not done.”

—

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