#sport au

[ahresprite]

for the sport/cheat au im doing with @duckiemimi :DD

[amethystarachnid]

MATCHMAKING

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, a little spicy

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ AU: Steve plays rugby and reader is coach's daughter, they're in college

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve Rogers, the new boy who just transferred from Brooklyn and the new captain of the Rugby team your father coaches. The attraction between you and Steve is undeniable, his teammates can't help but notice it and decide to pull a little stunt during a fame of 'truth or dare'.

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ TW(s): heated kisses and a little mention of reader and Steve getting freaky but it skips to the morning after with just a few jokes about that night

ᯓ★ Request: not requested but I really wanted to write for Steve <3

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the college’s rugby field. It was early fall, the crispness of the air mixing with the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The clatter of cleats on the hard ground echoed across the open space, and the sound of a coach’s whistle cut sharply through the air.

Y/N stood at the sidelines, clipboard in hand, watching her father—Coach L/N—run through drills with the team. As the coach's daughter, she'd spent more time on this field than she cared to count, but it wasn’t bad. She liked the sport, even if she wasn’t on the team. The players respected her, knowing she had as much knowledge of the game as her father did, and she'd always been a presence during practice.

Her father’s voice boomed, calling out instructions to the squad as they shifted from one drill to the next, sweat pouring down their faces. Everyone was focused, pushing hard—it was that time of the year where everyone needed to prove themselves for a spot on the starting lineup.

"Alright, guys, that’s enough! Gather round!"

The team jogged over, panting as they crowded around the coach. Y/N tucked her clipboard under her arm, her eyes flicking over the group when she noticed someone she didn’t recognize. He was standing slightly off to the side, leaning down to retie his cleats, but something about him stood out.

Broad shoulders, tousled blond hair peeking out from under his helmet, and sharp blue eyes that flicked up toward her for a brief moment before looking away. He had an easy confidence about him, though he hadn’t been on the field as long as the others—definitely new.

“That’s the transfer from Brooklyn,” her dad said beside her, noticing her staring. “Steve Rogers.”

Y/N nodded, the name vaguely familiar. She’d heard rumors around campus about a hotshot rugby player who had transferred in last minute. Apparently, he was a big deal at his old school, but this was the first time she’d actually seen him in person.

“Steve, over here!" Her dad called him over, and Steve straightened up, jogged the few feet separating them, his eyes locking with Y/N’s as he approached. Up close, he was taller than she’d realized, and his expression held a mixture of politeness and curiosity as he glanced between her and the coach.

“Steve, this is Y/N,” Coach L/N introduced, nodding toward her. “My daughter. She helps out with the team sometimes. Keeps us all in line.” There was a teasing tone in her father’s voice, but the pride was clear.

Steve offered a small smile, one that lit up his eyes. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was deeper than she expected, a soft Brooklyn accent coloring his words.

Y/N smiled back, a little flustered by the intensity of his gaze. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard you’re pretty good on the field.”

Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I try.”

“Well, if my dad lets you on the team, I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.”

Her dad rolled his eyes, already turning back toward the rest of the players. “Alright, enough chit-chat. Steve, get back with the boys! We’ll see what you’ve got.”

Steve gave a quick nod and jogged back to the team, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder at Y/N. There was something unspoken in his glance—maybe curiosity, maybe intrigue—and she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of nerves in her stomach.

It wasn’t often that someone new caught her attention on the rugby field, but there was something different about Steve Rogers. Something she couldn’t quite place.

As the practice continued, Y/N found her eyes drawn to him every now and then. His form was impeccable, his movements sharp and controlled. He was strong, that was obvious, but there was a gracefulness to how he played, almost effortless.

Her father had been watching Steve, too, nodding his approval every now and then. By the time practice ended, it was clear Steve was going to be a valuable addition to the team.

The players started heading off to the locker rooms, but Steve lingered a moment, catching Y/N’s eye once more as she gathered up her things.

“You staying around for next practice?” he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe,” she replied, her own smile growing. “Depends if you’re worth watching.”

Steve laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving myself then.”

With a small wave, he headed off, leaving Y/N standing on the sidelines, a smile still playing on her lips.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of practices, games, and long afternoons spent on the rugby field. Steve quickly became a star on the team, just as everyone expected. His natural athleticism and leadership on the field made him a perfect fit. The team had gelled around him fast, and the coach was thrilled with his performance—though that didn’t stop Y/N’s father from pushing him even harder than the others.

And then there were the moments off the field.

Every practice, Steve seemed to find some excuse to talk to Y/N. At first, it was casual—small talk after practice, a few jokes shared while gathering equipment, or a friendly wave when their eyes met across the field. But soon, it started to feel like more than just passing conversations. He’d linger after everyone else had gone, catching her before she left or inviting her to walk with him toward the parking lot.

Y/N didn’t mind. In fact, she looked forward to their chats. There was something about Steve—despite his rugged appearance and commanding presence on the field—that felt so down-to-earth and real. He made her laugh in ways she hadn’t in a while, and his Brooklyn charm was hard to resist.

But her dad wasn’t oblivious.

Coach L/N had noticed the subtle changes, the way Steve’s eyes would drift toward Y/N during practice or how his smile always seemed a little wider when she was around. At first, he ignored it, chalking it up to a friendly dynamic. But after a few more practices, he started getting a little… protective.

It started small. Her father would call Steve out for minor things on the field—things he probably wouldn’t have mentioned otherwise.

"Rogers, stay focused," Coach barked during one practice when Steve glanced over at Y/N after scoring a try. Steve's brows furrowed in confusion, but he nodded and went back to the drill.

Then, there were the glares. Every time Steve was nearby, talking to Y/N or even laughing with her, her dad’s eyes would narrow ever so slightly. At first, Y/N thought she was imagining it, but even Steve had started noticing.

“Does your dad hate me, or is it just my imagination?” Steve asked one evening as they walked toward the locker room. His voice was light, but there was a hint of seriousness beneath the joke.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s just… protective, especially when it comes to me. He probably thinks you’re too much of a distraction.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Am I?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. “Maybe a little.”

They paused near the entrance to the locker room, the evening sun casting a warm, golden light around them. The sounds of the team inside were distant now, muffled by the thick walls of the building. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Steve's blue eyes flickered over her face, lingering on her lips before meeting her gaze again. "Well, I don’t mind a little distraction."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, the teasing in his voice making her breath hitch. He leaned slightly closer, just enough to make the space between them feel smaller, more charged.

Y/N swallowed, feeling the tension crackling in the air. She had felt it for weeks now—the growing connection between them, the unspoken attraction that simmered just beneath the surface. But this moment was different. It felt like they were standing on the edge of something more.

Just then, the door to the locker room swung open, and her father stepped out, eyes immediately landing on the two of them.

"Steve, you still here?" Her dad’s voice was sharp, his expression unreadable. But Y/N didn’t miss the brief glare he shot Steve’s way before turning his attention to her.

"Y/N, we’re heading home in a few minutes. You coming?"

Steve took a small step back, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Coach. I was just, uh… heading in."

Her father nodded, but there was something in his gaze that made Y/N’s stomach twist with awkwardness. As Steve turned to go, her dad’s eyes flicked back to her, brow furrowing.

"You two seem to be getting pretty friendly."

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head at her father. "Dad, it’s nothing. We’re just talking. Besides, you’re always pushing the team to bond, right? Steve’s no different."

Her father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know… but Steve’s new. You don’t know him like the others."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, sensing the real issue. "Is that what this is about? Or is this just you being protective because he’s… you know, him?"

Coach L/N gave her a look, the protective dad look. “Look, Y/N, I’m just saying… don’t get too close. He’s focused on the game, and I don’t want things getting complicated.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, though this time with less humor. "I’m not a kid, Dad. I can handle myself."

Her father exhaled sharply, clearly torn. “I know. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly, offering him a small smile to ease his concern.

Her father gave her a brief nod before heading off, leaving Y/N standing there, the echoes of the conversation lingering in her mind. She knew her dad meant well, but the connection with Steve… it wasn’t something she could easily dismiss.

The following days were a mixture of thrilling tension and underlying awkwardness. Steve, still as charming as ever, seemed to tread lightly whenever her father was nearby, though his lingering glances and soft smiles were still there. And Y/N found herself drawn to him more and more, the weight of her dad’s protective stance feeling like a storm cloud hanging over them.

After one particularly grueling practice, Steve found Y/N sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through her clipboard. He jogged over, a grin plastered across his face.

“Hey, you free after this? Thought we could grab a coffee.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing over at the field where her dad was talking to some of the players. She bit her lip, then met Steve’s gaze. “I’d like that… but my dad—”

Steve laughed softly, cutting her off. “Your dad will get over it.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You say that now, but wait till he glares at you again.”

He took a step closer, leaning down just enough so their faces were only inches apart. “I can handle a few glares,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest moment, she thought he might kiss her. But then he straightened up, offering her his hand to help her stand.

“Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here before your dad sends out a search party.”

Y/N smiled, her heart racing as she took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapping around hers.

The rugby team had won the big game, and the adrenaline still buzzed in Steve’s veins as he stepped into the frat house. The place was packed, music pulsing from the speakers, red solo cups in hand, and the air thick with excitement. The team was on a high, celebrating the victory with their usual wild energy, and the whole campus seemed to have turned out for the party.

Steve had been to a few parties since transferring, but this one felt different. Maybe it was because of the win, or maybe because his eyes kept drifting to one particular person in the room.

Y/N.

He spotted her as soon as he walked in. She was standing near the drinks table, laughing with a group of friends, and for the first time, Steve saw her out of the usual sweatpants and hoodie. She wore a fitted shirt that hugged her in all the right places, paired with jeans that accentuated her curves, and her hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the game, or maybe the way she lit up when she laughed, but seeing her like that made something in Steve’s chest tighten.

"Damn," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, you’re screwed, man." Sam, one of his teammates, appeared at his side, giving him a knowing grin. “You’ve got it bad for her.”

Steve shot him a look, trying to play it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Sam teased, patting Steve on the back before heading off into the crowd.

Steve sighed, shaking his head, but his gaze drifted back to Y/N. She caught his eye for a second, her lips curling into a smile as she waved him over. He hesitated for a moment, then made his way through the crowd toward her.

“Hey, captain!” she called, teasing him as he approached. “Good game.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, smiling as he grabbed a drink from the table. “You watched?”

“Of course. Couldn’t miss your debut as the campus hero.” She nudged him playfully, her eyes sparkling.

Before Steve could respond, the rest of the team joined them, a group of guys and girls from the rugby squad already half-drunk and buzzing from the win. Bucky, Steve’s best friend, grinned mischievously as he threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, we’re starting a game in the living room. You two are coming, right?”

“What game?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow, though she was already being pulled along with the rest of the group.

Bucky smirked. “Truth or Dare.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s so middle school.”

“Exactly. It’s gonna be fun,” Bucky said with a grin. “Besides, we’ve got some good dares lined up.”

Steve laughed softly, catching the gleam in Bucky’s eye. He had a bad feeling about where this was going, but when Y/N shrugged and said, “Why not? Let’s see what you’ve got,” he found himself agreeing too.

The group gathered in the living room, sprawled out on couches and the floor, the vibe easy and relaxed. Steve ended up sitting next to Y/N, their knees brushing slightly as they settled into the circle. Bucky sat across from them, a devilish grin on his face as he spun the empty beer bottle in the center of the circle.

“Alright, let’s kick this off,” Bucky announced. The bottle landed on Sam first, and the dares started out simple—chugging drinks, making prank calls, the usual college party antics. But it didn’t take long for things to shift.

The bottle spun again, this time landing on Y/N.

“Truth or dare?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

Y/N hesitated, but the competitive side in her won out. “Dare.”

Bucky’s grin widened. “I dare you to sit on Steve’s lap for the rest of the round.”

The group burst out laughing, and Y/N’s cheeks flushed pink. She shot a mock glare at Bucky. “Seriously?”

“Rules are rules,” Bucky said with a shrug, though he was clearly enjoying every second.

Steve shifted slightly, trying to seem nonchalant even though his heart was suddenly racing. He caught Y/N’s eye, offering her a lopsided smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Y/N bit her lip, the playful glint in her eyes betraying her shyness. “It’s fine. Just a game, right?”

She stood up, stepping over to Steve and gingerly sitting on his lap. He felt the warmth of her body immediately, her weight settling against him as she tried to find a comfortable position. It was awkward, but also… nice. His hands instinctively went to her waist, barely resting there as the group continued to laugh and joke around them.

Y/N leaned back slightly, her back pressing against Steve’s chest. She turned her head, her lips close to his ear as she whispered, “This is so stupid.”

Steve chuckled softly, his breath catching at how close she was. “Yeah, but it’s kind of fun.”

They both fell into a quiet, comfortable silence as the game continued. But then, a few minutes later, the bottle spun again—this time landing on Steve.

“Truth or dare, Rogers?” one of the guys called out.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

Bucky exchanged a glance with Sam, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, we dare you to kiss Y/N. Right here. On the lips.”

The group erupted into laughter again, some of the guys cheering, and Y/N’s face turned crimson. She shot Bucky a glare, but he just shrugged innocently.

Y/N shifted in Steve’s lap, turning to face him slightly, her heart pounding. Steve’s face was red too, but there was a soft smile tugging at his lips. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as his hand gently cupped her cheek.

“You okay with this?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N’s stomach flipped, her nerves a mess, but there was something about the way Steve was looking at her that made her feel safe. She nodded slowly, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah.”

Without another word, Steve closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was brief—just long enough to send sparks racing through her body—but when he pulled back, Y/N felt like the whole world had shifted.

The group cheered again, and Y/N, flustered, buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself.

“Well, that was… something,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

Steve laughed too, his hand still resting on her waist. “Yeah. Something.”

For the rest of the game, it seemed like every dare had something to do with the two of them—holding hands, giving each other compliments, and, at one point, Y/N had to feed Steve a piece of pizza. It was clear the team had caught on to whatever was brewing between them, and they weren’t shy about pushing it.

By the time the game ended, the tension between Y/N and Steve was undeniable, and she wasn’t sure if it was the game or just the fact that they had been dancing around this for weeks.

As the night wound down and people started to leave, Steve caught Y/N’s hand, pulling her aside into a quieter corner of the house.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “I know the game was just for fun, but… I’ve been meaning to ask you if you wanted to go out sometime. Like, on a real date. If you’re interested.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her smile widening. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Steve grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Great. I’ll text you?”

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Sounds perfect.”

As they stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe the team’s little matchmaking game had worked out after all.

The week leading up to their date was a blur of nervous anticipation. Y/N found herself replaying the kiss they’d shared at the party more times than she cared to admit, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had done the same. Every time they crossed paths on campus or at practice, there was an undeniable tension between them—charged looks, teasing smiles, fleeting touches that left her heart racing.

The night of their date finally arrived, and Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she stood in front of her mirror. She’d chosen a casual but flattering outfit—something that said she wasn’t trying too hard but still made her feel confident. A soft, fitted sweater paired with jeans that hugged her curves just right. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair one last time before heading out.

Steve had offered to pick her up, and when she opened the door to her apartment, he was standing there with that easy smile that made her stomach flip. He looked good—too good, in fact. His jeans fit him perfectly, and the dark shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest and shoulders in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he gave her an appreciative once-over. “You look… amazing.”

Y/N smiled, feeling her cheeks warm. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as he held out his hand. “Ready?”

They’d decided to keep things simple for their first date—dinner at a cozy little restaurant near campus followed by a walk around the city. But even as they sat across from each other at the restaurant, sharing stories and laughing over their plates of pasta, the undercurrent of tension between them was impossible to ignore.

Steve’s eyes lingered on her lips whenever she laughed, and every time his hand brushed against hers on the table, a spark shot through her. It was like the air between them was charged, thick with unspoken desire. And as the night went on, the playful flirting they’d started with grew heavier, more intense.

After dinner, they walked along the quiet streets, the cool night air swirling around them. Steve’s hand found its way to hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as they walked. The conversation flowed easily, but there was something electric in the silence between words, in the way their eyes met and held just a little too long.

They ended up near a park, the glow of streetlights casting soft shadows around them. The streets were nearly empty, the city quiet as they found a bench to sit on, just off the beaten path. Y/N settled beside Steve, their shoulders touching as they sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the distant city fading away.

Steve turned toward her, his thumb tracing light circles over the back of her hand as he looked at her with a soft, unreadable expression. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he admitted quietly, his voice low and rough in the cool night air.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yeah? What have you been thinking?”

Steve’s gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before flicking back up to her eyes. “About that kiss. About how I’ve been wanting to do it again.”

Her pulse quickened, the heat between them building as the words hung in the air. She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then why don’t you?”

Steve didn’t need any more encouragement. In one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck as his lips met hers. The kiss was different this time—deeper, more intense. There was no crowd around them, no game, no laughter from their friends. It was just the two of them, and the fire that had been simmering between them for weeks finally ignited.

Y/N’s hand slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt as she leaned into him, her body pressing against his. Steve responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that matched her own, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

The kiss deepened, growing more heated with each passing second. Steve’s hands roamed, one sliding up her back, the other resting firmly on her hip as he pulled her even closer. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps between kisses. Every touch, every brush of his lips against hers sent a surge of heat through her, and she found herself craving more.

Steve’s lips left hers for a moment, trailing down to her jaw, then her neck, where he pressed soft, teasing kisses that made her shiver. Y/N tilted her head back, giving him better access as her hands gripped his shoulders, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Steve…” she breathed, her voice barely audible as he kissed a sensitive spot just below her ear, sending a wave of heat pooling low in her stomach.

He pulled back slightly, his breathing just as ragged as hers, his blue eyes dark with desire as they met hers. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her lips curling into a breathless smile. “More than okay.”

Steve grinned, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her again, slower this time, but no less intense. The kiss was full of promises—of everything that could come later, of everything they both wanted but weren’t quite ready to rush into just yet.

Eventually, they pulled apart, both of them breathless and flushed. Steve rested his forehead against hers, his hands still holding her close as they sat in the quiet park, the tension between them simmering but not overwhelming.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you on the field,” Steve admitted with a soft chuckle, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N laughed, her fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you to do it since that stupid truth or dare game.”

Steve smiled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way… how about we head back to your place? Watch a movie or something?”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing at the suggestion. She knew exactly what he meant by “or something,” and the idea sent a thrill through her. But she also liked the way they were taking their time, savoring the slow build of tension, letting things unfold naturally.

“Yeah,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “I’d like that.”

With a final lingering kiss, they stood up, hands still intertwined as they made their way back toward campus, the night stretched out before them, full of possibilities.

The door to Y/N’s apartment clicked shut as she and Steve stepped inside, the quiet hum of the city outside fading away. The soft glow from a few scattered lamps lit up the cozy living room, but neither of them paid much attention to their surroundings. The air between them was thick with unspoken desire, the kind that had been building for weeks and was now ready to erupt.

Y/N barely had a chance to kick off her shoes before Steve’s hands were on her, pulling her close. His lips found hers again, just as hungry as they’d been in the park, but now with a deeper urgency. She responded in kind, her fingers tugging at his shirt, her body pressing against his as they stumbled toward her bedroom.

Steve lifted her effortlessly, his strong arms holding her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their kisses were heated, breathless, the sound of their soft moans filling the small space as they tumbled onto her bed. Clothes were shed with a kind of frantic need, leaving them bare to each other in the dim light.

It was a night full of passion—skin on skin, lips tracing each other’s bodies, whispered words that were quickly lost in the haze of desire. They moved together as if they had known each other far longer than a few weeks, their connection undeniable, their chemistry electric. Every touch, every kiss, was an exploration, a discovery of each other that left them breathless and wanting more.

By the time they finally fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms, the early morning light was already creeping through the curtains. It had been a night neither of them would forget.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of clattering from the kitchen. She stretched lazily in bed, her muscles deliciously sore from the night before. A slow smile spread across her face as she glanced down at herself—she was wearing Steve’s shirt, the fabric soft and slightly too big on her. It smelled like him, all clean soap and something uniquely Steve, and it sent a warm feeling coursing through her.

Curious, she slipped out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Steve. He was standing at the stove, his back to her, wearing nothing but his boxers, his broad shoulders and back on full display as he worked on what looked like breakfast. The sight was domestic and unexpectedly sweet, making her smile grow.

“Morning,” Y/N said, her voice still thick with sleep as she leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. “What’s all this?”

Steve turned, a spatula in hand, and grinned when he saw her. “Good morning, beautiful. I thought I’d make you breakfast. Figured it’s the least I could do after…” His eyes traveled over her, and a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Last night.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You’re pretty good in the kitchen for a rugby captain.”

“And outside of it too, if I remember last night correctly,” Steve teased, his tone low and full of mischief as he flipped a pancake.

She rolled her eyes, though her heart fluttered. “You’re terrible.”

“Just trying to impress the coach’s daughter,” he said with a wink, turning back to the stove.

Y/N laughed, settling herself on the kitchen stool, her legs swinging idly as she watched Steve work. The smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air, and everything felt so easy, so perfect in that moment. She hadn’t felt this comfortable around someone in a long time.

Just as Steve was plating the pancakes, there was a sudden loud noise at the front door—the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as the door swung open, and in walked her dad. Her dad, Coach of the rugby team, holding a newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, completely unaware of what he was about to walk into.

“Oh shit,” Y/N muttered under her breath, panic flooding her as she shot up from the stool.

Steve turned toward the door, his eyes widening as he froze, spatula still in hand.

There, standing in the doorway, was Y/N’s dad—mid-sentence as he walked in. “Hey, Y/N, I figured I’d stop by to—” His voice trailed off as he took in the scene in front of him: Y/N, sitting at the kitchen island wearing nothing but Steve’s shirt, and Steve—standing in front of the stove, in just his boxers, holding a spatula like a deer caught in headlights.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Y/N’s dad blinked, his eyes narrowing as he registered exactly what he was seeing. His gaze flicked from Y/N to Steve, his expression hardening as realization dawned. His grip on the coffee cup tightened, and Y/N could have sworn she saw his eye twitch.

“Dad,” Y/N started, her voice high-pitched, trying to keep things light, though her heart was racing. “What are you doing here?”

Her dad didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes locked onto Steve, who still hadn’t moved. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Y/N felt her stomach drop as her father’s mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Well, I didn’t expect to find this when I came over to check on you,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

Steve, finally snapping out of his frozen state, cleared his throat, carefully putting the spatula down. “Coach, uh… I can explain.”

Y/N’s dad raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But I don’t think I want to hear it.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole. She quickly stood up, stepping toward her dad in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “Dad, listen—”

“No, Y/N, I’m not mad at you,” her dad interrupted, though his eyes never left Steve. “But this… this is unexpected.”

Steve, ever the soldier, stepped forward, trying to keep his composure despite the fact that he was standing half-naked in front of his coach. “I swear, sir, it’s not what it looks like.”

Y/N’s dad gave him a flat look. “Really? Because it looks like my daughter is wearing your shirt, and you’re cooking breakfast in your underwear.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was at a loss, and Y/N could see how badly he was trying to keep things together. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Her dad let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “You know, Rogers, you’ve been a damn good player since you transferred, and I had high hopes for you this season.”

Steve swallowed nervously. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” her dad continued, his voice calm but firm. “Because after this little display, you’re benched for the next two games.”

“What?!” Y/N blurted out, her eyes wide as she stepped between them. “Dad, come on—he didn’t do anything wrong!”

Her dad didn’t budge. “He broke the number one rule. No dating the coach’s daughter.”

“Dad!” Y/N groaned, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “That’s not even a real rule!”

“It is now,” he said, giving Steve a hard look. “Two games, Rogers. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before…” He gestured vaguely to the two of them, his expression unimpressed. “…making pancakes in your underwear in my daughter’s apartment.”

Steve winced but nodded. “Understood, sir.”

Y/N couldn’t help but groan in frustration, burying her face in her hands. This was not how she had envisioned the morning going.

Her dad sighed, looking at Y/N with a softened expression. “I’ll talk to you later, kiddo. But next time, maybe give me a heads-up before I walk into something like this.”

Y/N could only nod, mortified beyond belief as her dad turned and walked out the door, leaving Steve and Y/N standing in stunned silence.

After a moment, Steve let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced over at Y/N. “Well… that was something.”

Y/N dropped her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that just happened.”

Steve gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I guess this means no more pancakes in my boxers?”

Y/N snorted, despite herself, stepping into his arms and resting her head against his chest. “Yeah… probably not the best idea.”

Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “On the bright side, we’ve got two weeks free to spend together.”

She looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re taking this pretty well, considering you just got benched.”

Steve grinned, his arms tightening around her. “Hey, for you? I’d sit out the whole season.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, leaning down to kiss her softly. “But I’m ridiculous about you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away, leaving them in the warm, quiet aftermath of what would undoubtedly be a story they’d laugh about for years to come.

my boy Steve deserves more recognition!! So don't forget to leave a like, a reblog and a follow if you want to read more of my works!

[flyingdidii]

Day 13 - Sports AU

[rascalcreations]

Green practicing!!! I have a few other sketches of this au stored but idk if I wanna post em yet lol

[thatmexisaurusrex]

"Come here often?" "You see me here every day."

A little doodle I made last night. Some tracing in there too, but I like it idk haha. It's just a little AU about them being Olympic-level swimmers who go to the same pool during the off-season. This is for the @sambuckylibrary's SamBucky Summer Bingo 2023 event! This is for the “Summer Sport” prompt for the Delacroix card. Enjoy! 🥰

[crypticvestige]

Some unintentional AU stuff for Starfish / Jiwoon x Yoichi.

🔖Mr.Asakawa went to a baseball game to support his friend Adam Francis, only to end up getting the attention of an enemy teammate with a legendary reputation who may have hit him with a ball. Despite Yoichi being fine, Jiwoon swears it should have hit, his eyes not easily deceived. With other’s being concerned for the ‘victim’ due to the player’s fearsome reputation, Jiwoon takes Yoichi to the infirmary to save face. In actuality, it leaves them alone for the star player to get to the bottom of why the other is perfectly fine. This would be the beginning of both of their curiosities as they come to realize how strange the other is.

💬Didn't draw the BGs- free-to-use photos.

[auideas]

Pool love

Well this is certainly the season for it -- pool love, coming right up!

(P.S. We're going to start including our favorite prompt within lists at the bottom, so make sure you read until the end!)

Chronically shy Characters A and B had been playing games with all the neighborhood kids since they were toddlers, but weirdly enough, they'd never actually spoken directly. The only time they'd uttered a word to one another was during games of Marco Polo in which they recognized the other's voice, loved it and its flirtatious tone, but never acted on it -- after all, they had never seen one another and matched the voice in the crowd, so how could they know they felt the same way about one another? Later in life, they wind up on a blind date and start speaking to one another, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia...had they met before?

"We had one chance to win the gold medal for either one of our countries; we were supposed to be Olympic champions, but you threw it all away just because of our petty rivalry!? You stupid, selfish --" Character A is cut off as Character B slams them against the locker, pressing their forearm at Character A's throat, then crowding their space until they could see the droplets of chlorine mix with the tears coating Character A's lashes. Character B drank in the sight. "Choose your next words wisely, bargain bin protagonist," they shakily breathed out. "I'm not above putting you in your place." AU

"I took a job as a lifeguard for the local pool this summer and there's this incredibly cute person who always brings the kids they're babysitting. I guess they don't like swimming very much, but they always bring a new book every single time; I don't know if they're a speed reader or if they're just showing off, but trying to keep up with their current picks is impossible. I've been trying to visibly read the same book as them for WEEKS now while on my breaks, but they never even look in my direction..." AU

Pool cleaners Character A and B had been in the business for a while so they'd seen some shady things, but nothing they'd ever cleaned had come close to their newest client. The black water seemed endless, the smell was putrid, and they could see some sort of steam coming from the surface even though the ambient and water temperature were the same. Their eyes grew wider and wider as they emptied the water and found some...strange objects...at the bottom.

"I've never been able to open my eyes under water -- it just seems scary, unsanitary, and unnecessary. What could I possibly want to see in that urine-filled cesspool? My friend, Character B, found this hilarious and made it their mission to help me crush my phobia over summer break. Soon they realized that I didn't want to because I was worried about other people being in the pool when I was opening my eyes, so they break into the pool after hours, dragging me along to practice. After an hour of psyching myself up, we both dipped our heads under. It took a few seconds, but when I opened my eyes, I found Character B pressing their lips against mine. The water around me suddenly felt extra cold as my face flushed deep red. Oh no...it must be pink eye, I have a fever oh no it's too soon how could I let this happen oh geez I'm so screwed--" AU

After one thing leads to another, some swimsuit mishaps in the locker room force Character A to borrow the spare swimsuit of Character B and needless to say...they look ridiculously adorable in it.

Dungeon master Character A decides that the best thing they could do for the final session of their five year nautical campaign would be to rent out a local pool and host their four players for their most immersive session yet. This was supposed to be some summer fun, but the final battle becomes intense. Characters B and C, party rivals, have a falling out and hold a one on one battle to resolve their differences. As things take a turn, play fighting in the water turns malicious and real. Rhinslow, the barbarian, struggles to breathe as Kaisili, the elf, chokes them beneath the chlorinated ripples in the pool. Character D, their dwarf party member, screams in disbelief and shock when they see Rhinslow -- Character B, their crush -- stop moving. Kaisili -- Character C -- reasoned that their turn would not be over until the Dungeon Master, Character A, said it was over. They'd rolled a natural 20 on their initiative, after all; they deserved this win.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Freedom From Fear of Speaking Day & World Sports Journalist Day & World UFO Day

Person A is an intergalactic sports journalist, covering the biggest games across the universe, but they’ve been invited to co-host an Earth sports event and they’re completely lost. Person B is their co-host who specialized in Earth sports and trying to explain the game to them, while also teasing them for the entertainment of the viewers about how little Person A understands the game they’re watching and how frustrated Person A is getting.

[snooziangel]

i’m going to start a new au…. it is modern and kavehtham ^_^ and……… alhaitham is strangely popular for becoming a new leader on the sports team- or at least that’s what kaveh thinks

[ahresprite]

an au me and @duckiemimi have been working on :D

[multikore]

Random question about the sport au, What would Flowey be? I was thinking he could be Tennis since the friendliness pellets and such?

-Anon

I was wondering was well because like- he well- a p l a n t . Tennis would make senseeeee but no arms which may or may not be a problem-

Although jotting that down for later, thank you anon! :D

next thing you know my google search is “sports related to plants” /j

[flyingdidii]

Football + #jaydick for @hmmbarkbark

Gotham vs Blüdhaven⚔️

[devivi12]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou Characters: Kirishima Eijirou, Bakugou Katsuki Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Alternate Universe - College/University, sport school, Archery Captain x Judo Captain AU, inspired by the art of soursoppi on tumblr, Fluff, Archery Captain Bakugou Katsuki, Judo Captain Kirishima Eijirou, One Shot, Kiri is amazed, Bakugou is cool as ever Summary:

“Wow” Kirishima couldn’t help but whisper in awe as he set his eyes on the blond boy in front of him. His strict expression full of concentration, he probably didn’t even notice Kirishima entering the room. The boy took the next arrow into his hand, carefully placed it to the bow and pulled the string. He took a deep, calm breath and let go. The arrow quickly darted through the air and landed firmly in the middle of the board standing at the other end of the room.

“Cool.” Kirishima whispered again and let his training bag fall out of his hand. It landed on the wooden floor with an unexpectedly loud thud in the silence.

 *** Inspired by soursoppi's art on tumblr 'love at first shot': https://soursoppi.tumblr.com/search/love%20at%20first%20shot

[fanaticalthings]

POV: You're on Gothamtwt

just gothamite things

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[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

[celestie0]

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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