#I do enjoy some good statistics :)

[saltinesinsoup]

aughh man its like. i want to watch something but nothing on youtube is good and everything being recommended to me feels like mindless slop but also i dont feel like there's any good shows out right now that i could watch and i also dont really want to rewatch anything and at its core i think im bored and a little bit creatively unfulfilled

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

Okay so it turns out youtube music saw us being jealous of the spotify users and I too now have a wrapped! Or a "recap", but whatever. Check it out:

So that's neat! I don't know if I have a top 100 playlist for all those ask games; I'll have to poke around a bit and see. *Some time later* Okay I have poked around and I do have one! Ask games here I come! (Probably on blagueofchaos though, in the interest of keeping this one tidy.)

I must say I don't remember listening to a remix of Naked, just the normal one with the music video*; I'm not sure if this is a youtube vs. youtube music thing -- most of the time I listen on just plain youtube so it's possible this is only accounting for the slice of my data where I'm using my phone*? I'm not positive, but it's nice to have statistics, or ones that actually seem to reflect my listening habits.

To be completely honest, I did technically have a spotify wrapped too, but the only things I listened to on there were the official Riot Fest playlist and some of Jon Walker's stuff because he did specifically ask people to stream it on there and I was like, alright, fine, but only for you Jon. Lol. But because of the Riot Fest playlist, I didn't even recognize most of the songs on my wrapped, and the top song was one I listened to twice, so like I said, these stats are definitely much more reflective of what I actually listen to.

Although, I will say, it's curious that it tells me my % ranking for MCR but not for TAI when they were my top artist this year? Idk, struck me as odd I guess. But yeah it's a decent % I suppose, although I guess I'm not even competing with most of the people on here since it seems like most people on here use spotify. I also can't help wondering whether I truly listened to Same Blood exactly 100 times or if it rounded the number for me. If I genuinely did that just by like instinct or whatever, that's amazing, but I can't help being a bit suspicious there.

*Interesting update -- when I look in my top 100 playlist, it is indeed the standard music video version of Naked, so I'm not sure where the part about it being a remix came from. Based on the full playlist, though, I do think youtube is accounting for things I listened to on the website on my laptop as well as in the app, so this is indeed a pretty solid reflection of my listening habits I'd say.

Also, youtube made me top 50 playlists from Fall, Summer, and Spring, so if you want to ask about a song from any of those lists, you can too! Also there is a 2021 top 100 on there! Not positive how I missed that last year or if I just forgot, but it's interesting to see. I hadn't found TAI yet then so it's a pretty different list, haha. This will probably be my most TAI-heavy year ever, come to think of it, because goodness knows I binge things most when they're new to me... Funny to watch the trends in my own taste.

But yeah, this was fun :) I might add some more of the other cards about my listening personality on a reblog on blagueofchaos too. Happy spotify wrapped and a merry youtube recap to all! ;)

[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)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

@tsukikourito @pickuptruck01 @gabriiiiiiii @4y3sh4 @tiredflame132

@cliosunshine @btszn @izayas-rings @semra4 @ethereally-lyann

@drthymby @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010

@joemama-2 @horisdope @banenemilk @nanasukii28 @spindyl

@ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @sashisuslover

@chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd @angelicscribe

[taglist is closed]

[inkskinned]

my father told me he read it, but he hasn't read it. that's okay. my friends keep picking the words out of my throat.

someone once told me that the more trigger warnings that go on a book, the better it is. i didn't mean to write something with so many conditional phrases - i was writing about what i felt while being a human. sometimes you are a person and sometimes you are a statistic. sometimes it is falling upwards and sometimes it's sliding back down again.

my father tells me that it will be difficult to get people to read it. i didn't like the idea of a singular genre. i'm not going to lie to you - it is actually a difficult book to get through. i change the rules in it. it's not poetry or prose explicitly. it's neither false nor reality. i give you the tools to "solve" the book, but i let you do the thinking. my father says people don't care to think. i don't know about that - i think we just, like, enjoy reading.

the thing is - i was tired of stories about survival where someone with depression goes to therapy and wakes up okay. i didn't live like that. i was tired of books about violence, where the gore of what i experience was splashed in glitter to lick off the page. like, i was a person, you know? i had a life and a job and a family. and in books, i watched my story get ripped up so people could explore the viscera of my body. so they could feel good. my brother once called it inspiration pornography. we had walked out of a suicide-prevention seminar, both of us disgusted while the increasingly-elated presenter kept listing methods-of. i remember the look on my brother's face. like i would tear that man apart given the right time and place.

my father says that kids these days. he warns me against writing about things that are too-serious. he says that they don't want it. i don't listen. he does make me take out a scene from the book where i go to church after having sex with a woman. it used to be the 7th scene in the book. i don't think he's read further than that, it rocked him too hard to continue.

it's a book about being queer. it's a book about being raised catholic. it doesn't have monsterfucking, i'm sorry. it's just about, like.

at some point you have to choose to stay here. and then you do have to stay here, which takes practice. this is about forming the habit. this is about what happens after you've already started doing the work. because, like. you keep going. you have to. and it's like. very imperfect.

i should make a post on instagram. i should make this announcement less bittersweet. but like -- i'm giving it you, specifically, because i think you know why i had to write it. you and me. this little community.

body's a bad monster. here's the link if you're interested in ordering.

[cavegirlpoems]

You know another thing that fucking sucks? I actually really enjoy RPGs that basically boil down to 'you're in a hostile unknown environment with lots of weird shit, dangers and potential rewards, go explore and try not to die'. Like survival-horror-ttrpgs, right? And, in theory, this is what D&D is meant to do. Hell, in the early editions - from the original little white books to probably early AD&D 1e - it's actually pretty tightly designed around doing that (with occasional interludes into flabbergasting racism, that we all quietly excise). The problem is that because D&D is marketed as, like, the everything-ttrpg that lets you tell big dramatic stories and have character arcs, the D&D-o-sphere thinks it's too good for that style of play. Like "here's a spooky hole full of traps, try not to die" is somehow looked down on as being unsophisticated reactionary dreck for grognards. And "here's a spooky hole, try not to die" is the only thing D&D is any fucking good at! You want big character drama and an epic narrative and emotional beats? You're on your fucking own, sunshine, D&D won't help you with that. But if you want to get killed in a cave by a spike trap or eyeball monster? D&D's great at that, it loves things that try to kill you. (This is, I think, a distinction between type-1 and type-2 D&D). (D&D 5e is also noticably worse at being D&D-as-survival-horror than earlier editions - except spiders 4e who is a statistical outlier adn should not have been counted - because in their effort to market it as an everything-game, they stripped out a lot of the stuff that actually cared about creating that experience, because some people don't like dying in holes what with taste being subjective and god forbid they play something else instead) And it kinda sucks because in theory if I want to go play a survival horror rpg where I go into a hole/ruin/alien spaceship/haunted house/heist/evil gameshow and try not to die, despite the fact that this is in theory how you're meant to play D&D, in practice that's not how it's gonna go down because 75% of the player base is ignoring the type of game D&D is actually written to be and desperately trying to beat it into the vague shape of a narrative game. Anyway this is why I like OSR stuff, it's like if D&D dropped the facade and stopped pretending to be stuff it's not. (I should note, to avoid pissing on the poor, that I play a whole bunch of stuff, from VtM to a bunch of PbtA hacks, to weird indie things, to larps, to shit I wrote myself. Die-in-a-cave-D&D is part of a healthy varied ttrpg diet)

[smileymoth]

Hello! I decided to do a research presentation on the "cannibalism" tag and it's relations to the MCYT communities on AO3! I looked into time frames, overall fandom data, individual character data and made a hopefully coherent conclusion on the information I gathered. I will be posting a link to my very messy excel file where I stored the base information via reblog, so check the notes.

I used canva for the statistics graphs and indesign to put this together... And a big big thank you and a shout out to my very good friend @theslyvoid9 who made 99% of the drawings used in this presentation and who also helped me look up data!!!

I hope you enjoy this little project of ours! Also please remember that this was made in pure fun, so please don't be rude to anyone. If there are typos or weird number errors, or if we missed out on some SMPs I am very sorry ^_^

Enjoy!

[alchemistc]

eta: based on my spiral in the tags of this post

Tommy's quiet as Buck nuzzles his nose into his neck, fingers stretched wide against Buck's back, rubbing absentmindedly.

Buck tilts his gaze up. He's staring at the ceiling.

There's nothing wrong with a little ceiling staring. Buck is actually a really big fan of ceiling staring, when needed, but Tommy's been so good at being a sounding board when Buck needs it, way better than the silently judgey rafters, and Buck wants to return the favor.

"What're you thinking about?"

Tommy hums, lifting his head just a bit, the skin under his chin wrinkling like a shar-pei.

His hand slides up, down, palm lifting so he can swirl his fingers a bit.

Buck's always been a big fan of cuddling, but there's something extra sweet about Tommy's version of it - skin to skin, even if it's just rucking up Buck's shirt so he can get a hand in there, arms and legs all tangled up in each other, his hand always drawing aimless patterns. Buck's getting too used to it - had caught himself pouting, a little, the last time Tommy hugged him in a rush out the door and didn't do the little circular motion against the small of Buck's back that usually indicated when a hug was over. He's a little worried someone else is gonna hug him and he's gonna melt into it, tuck his face into someone inappropriate's neck.

"Eddie asked me something earlier, and I didn't have a clue how to answer it."

Buck tips his chin against Tommy's chest, a little eager at the idea of providing answers. Tommy knows how much he likes that.

"What about?"

"About you." He pinches at Buck's side. "Us, technically."

Oh. Well. Buck doesn't have facts and figures and statistics about that. Yet.

He hums.

"He wanted to know why I don't call you Buck."

"Do you two talk about me enough for him to notice that?" He's pretending not to be pleased about that. He's doing a shitty job, but still.

Tommy blows out a breath, hands drifting down, over the hem of Buck's briefs to squeeze. "You are one of the things we have in common. It's not all shirtless men beating the crap out of each other and trauma bonding over enemy gunfire," he says, wry, fingers sliding over Buck's ass and around to his hip, no real intention in the motion, just touching to touch.

And that's - oh that's kinda nice. The idea of that, just being a shared interest between them.

"I didn't know what to say," he continues, like he can't see Buck really fucking enjoying the idea of being a topic of conversation between his boyfriend and his best friend. "You introduced yourself as Evan. You've never corrected me, so - I didn't see a reason to change it up."

Buck grins, a little bashful. "Yeah. It took me a while to figure out why I did that."

Tommy raises a brow, hands still wandering as he waits for Buck to expand on that.

"Buck was a work thing, to start," he tells him, still working his way through it, because he's only recently considered exactly why he'd never told Tommy to call him Buck. "And then the 118 kind of became my family, and Buck - it just felt like Buck was who I was. The person I wanted to be. Evan was just - the guy I was before I found my people." Tommy's hand sweeps over his back. "And, like - I never hated that guy. Evan. He was just - he was just there, in the background. People only used it when they had something serious to say." Except his parents, but that - that's not the point he's trying to make, anyway.

"Good serious or bad serious?"

"Just - important. Something - something that needed both of those parts of me to be present in the moment."

Tommy hums. "So when we met, and you introduced yourself..."

"I think I was just trying to manufacture some intimacy." Buck admits, like he hadn't spent a ceiling-staring evening of his own figuring out this exact thing. "Get you to call me sweetheart right out the gate."

Tommy's eyes go soft and sweet. Buck never means to do this, give Tommy all these chick flick moments of introspection, but when they stumble into his lap he can't deny the little thrill that races up his spine at the sight of Tommy tucking them away. Tommy's hand settles between his shoulder blades, fingers spanning wide. "I'm not telling Eddie that," he teases, and Buck nips at his arm in retaliation.

[mrrharper]

Player Of The Month

You can support me at ko-fi.com/mrrharper

It did not take long.

Jake got a notification saying he'd been chosen as the Player of the Month from the server he's been playing on for months now. He was very excited about this as he's never got any in-game title like that before.

He clicked on the notification and scrolled through all the buzzwords to see what rewards he would be getting. Weirdly, there was no mention of any items, upgrades or other perks. Instead there was a button. "Brand new personalized experience".

Jack eagerly clicked the button, the only option avaliable to him. At first nothing happened and he just assumed the game was loading some new assests which would probably take some time.

Suddenly he felt some buzzing in his head, followed by a sharp pain and a feeling as if his headset was tightening around his head. He was paralyzed by this for a moment, his mind completely losing track of what was happening with his body as it was experiencing sudden sensory overload.

And then he was back in the game, but something was different. He was transported to Iron Gym, a locaton on the opposite side of the map from he was just a minute ago. He looked down and saw that his avatar had changed completely. He tried to access his character menu to see what had happened but he couldn't, so he walked up to a mirror.

In in he saw someone completely different. A young dude, clearly muscular, wearing a backwards cap and a pair of tight compression shorts. He looked like a gym bro! Not only that, he looked pretty similiar to the NPCs that populated this area of the game world, which Jake found very strange. Something went wrong here.

Wait, where was his headset? Jake put his hands on his face, but couldn't find the bulky gear he had to wear to play. What was going on?

A player came up to Jake and chose the option to initiate the conversation.

Jake #27AD0019 turned around to face Player#A97F4. His eyes flashed red, showing he was now in interaction mode.

"ey dude, ya got any issue with me bruh?" he asked, an arrogant streak in his voice. He then waited for the player to choose a response form the dialog tree, entering one of his idling animations, moving slightly from left to right and flexing his bare chest.

"Damn, that's a new one, didn't see this character before here" the player muttered to himself, clearly intrigued by the sudden appearance of a new NPC. He then chose a response.

"No, I just noticed you're a regular here and you seem to be doing pretty good, so I wanted to say hi."

#27AD0019's changed his attitude from annoyed and arrogant to proud and cocky. A new animation was triggered by the player's response, making him flash his teeth in a cocky smile, then flex his arms in a double biceps pose.

"hell yeah bruh, am the top dawg here dude"

The player focused on the NPC's muscular arms, while the character kept them in a flexed position up in the air. Player#A97F4 was starting to enjoy the conversation and knew exactly what dialog option he would choose.

"I see, you clearly work out every day. Your form is very impressive."

This prompted another few animations, in which #27AD0019 flexed his arms, chest and legs, showing off his muscles to the player.

"fuck yeah bro! i lift, like, all day dude, gotta work for guns like this bro huhuhuhuhuhuh" He let out a low, dumb laugh. The player grinned as he saw one of the potential responses he had avaliable.

"So not much happening in your life except the gym, right?"

A few calculations happened int he background that determined whether the NPC would respond positively or with anger. The result then took into account the character's intelligence statistic - 3/10. This gave the player the exact result he was looking for.

"huhuhuh yeah dude, am a real gym bro dude, ain't nothin' more important that liftin' bro. head empty, just gains huhuhuhuhuh" The answer triggered another loop of flexing animations.

#27AD0019 was going to be a very popular NPC.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

I think your RPG takes are really good :) I enjoy D&D 5e to some extent (like, it's fine), but I feel D&D's market dominance isn't great. But what gets me the most is how incurious many people who play D&D 5e to the exclusion of other games are. No interest in seeing anything that deviates from how D&D does things.

Yeah! This is a point I've tried to make clear too, like... ultimately if someone WANTS to stick to 5e that's not my problem. If they want to use heavily homebrewed 5e for a Doctor Who or Cyberpunk or Homestuck campaign or whatever and their table has fun with it like. Okay, I personally wouldn't do that but I also have no right to tell anyone to NOT do that.

But the moment they get so entrenched in that idea of "You can use 5e to do ANYTHING" that they start acting like someone else wanting to use anything other than heavily homebrewed 5e for anything is some ridiculous or preposterous idea that's when I have a problem with them. Especially when the people who think like that are a statistically significant enough portion of the tabletop public to affect business decisions in the hobby.

Like. One of the saddest cases I've seen in recent memory, the upcoming Adventure Time ttrpg from Cryptozoic was initially pitched as having its own system, only to later end up being switched to 5e. And considering that the initial Dicebreaker article that came out months before this announcement featured quotes from one of the developers about why they decided to use their own system and why they thought D&D wouldn't work well with the narrative flow they wanted for the game, and also that the reason given for the switch to 5e was "feedback from fans", it's clear that this is not a decision they made because they WANTED to make a 5e hack, but because they NEEDED to make it a 5e hack in order for it to be profitable because there's just such a huge portion of the tabletop public that got pulled into the hobby with 5e and is so fundamentally incurious that they won't touch a book with a 10-foot pole unless it some form of "5e compatible" logo on the cover.

[reiderwriter]

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen. 

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut. 

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely." 

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" 

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you. 

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes. 

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation. 

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech. 

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart. 

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex. 

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it. 

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question. 

“Of course I have.” 

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?” 

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths. 

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering. 

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?” 

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours. 

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him. 

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs. 

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?” 

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief. 

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.” 

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.” 

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word. 

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side. 

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it. 

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances. 

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.  

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days. 

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall. 

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.  

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer. 

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you. 

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat. 

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again. 

“I look forward to working with you.” 

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

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[stevie-petey]

dibs

“Jinx!” Again, they say this at the same time. They both groan, and without any other words, they jump into an intense game of rock, paper, scissors.  “One, two, three!” Steve holds out a rock, Robin does as well, and the two teens almost strangle one another.  They try again, this time they both land on paper, and Robin throws her head back in frustration. “I’m not good at math, but this cannot be statistically possible.”

Summary: do the laws of dibs still apply if steve and robin see you at the same time ???

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 1.4k

Before you swing in: this is for my beloved val (@southelroy), and i was so excited to try my hand at writing robin and steve together <3 this is a very silly fic, not at all meant to be realistic or serious, and it isnt proofread so pls enjoy n beware !

-

According to the ancient rules of “dibs”, the first person who sees the desired one has the rightful claim of dibs. Anyone else present during this time must obey this sacred rule, respecting the fact that the other has laid claim first. It’s an old, ancient tradition, held up for centuries through faithful friendships. 

It’s a solid system, really.

Except Steve and Robin see you walk into Family Video on the same day, at the same time, together. 

You walk in, hair slightly wet from the rain and your eyes bright, and smile at the two of them shyly. Setting down your umbrella, you unbutton your raincoat and look around the store. “Sorry, is it okay if I hide out in here for a bit? My umbrella broke and I really don’t feel like catching a cold.”

Steve and Robin stare at you, wide eyed and in shock. They’ve never seen you before, they surely would’ve remembered your face if they had, and their brains short circuit simultaneously. 

When they don’t say anything, you cautiously walk up to the counter and laugh nervously. “Uh, hello? I can leave, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“No!” Steve shouts, panicked that the word “leave” has left your very pretty and pink mouth. When you flinch at his raised voice, he quickly clears his throat and lowers his voice. “I–uh, I mean… No, no. You can stay–please! I mean, if you don’t mind, ‘cause, ya know, it’s raining–”

“What my coworker here is trying to say is that you can definitely stay.” Robin interrupts, admiring the way the raindrops in your hair seem to form a halo. “In fact, why don’t you have a look around? We have plenty of movies.”

You smile at Robin, which she practically melts seeing. “Thanks, you guys are lifesavers. I’m here visiting my cousin, and he said I should stop by anyways.”

“What, do we know him?” Steve asks, finally finding his voice again. 

“His name is Dustin Henderson, if that helps. He’s a freshman at Hawkins, said he stops here sometimes–”

“Dustin Henderson is your cousin?” Steve and Robin say at the same time, completely taken aback. 

You laugh. “Ya know, I’ve gotten that a lot since being in Hawkins. I take it he’s well known?”

“Oh, he’s definitely well known.” Robin snorts, thinking about how many people would scream at the idea of more Hendersons running around the world. 

But if they’re anything like you, then Robin thinks she’d love to be invited to a Henderson family reunion. Immediately. 

“Well,” you smile again at the two teens, amused by their weird dynamic. You can see why Dustin likes them so much. “Since I’m stuck here for a while and I promised Dustin I’d get a movie, I’m gonna take a look around as suggested.”

You pause, now realizing you haven’t asked for their names, and you gasp. “I’m so sorry! What are your names? I feel horrible for not even asking.”

“You could never do any wrong,” Steve sighs dreamily, leaning against the counter in what he hopes is a cool looking pose. “I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

He sticks his hand out for you to shake, which you accept with a slight giggle. He’s odd, but incredibly endearing even if he’s currently standing against the counter like a middle-aged man. “I’m Y/N Henderson.” 

Robin, sensing what Steve is trying to do, hip checks the boy so that he falls onto the ground. “And I’m Robin Buckley, the better half of this duo.”

Like hell she’s going to allow him to flirt with you. 

Her declaration makes you laugh, even as poor Steve groans on the floor in pain. You wink at her, amused by her charm, and start to walk towards the movie aisles. “Oh, I believe that.”

Steve scrambles back up, and the second you’re out of earshot, he and Robin immediately shout at the same time, “Dibs!”

“Jinx!” Again, they say this at the same time. They both groan, and without any other words, they jump into an intense game of rock, paper, scissors. 

“One, two, three!” Steve holds out a rock, Robin does as well, and the two teens almost strangle one another. 

They try again, this time they both land on paper, and Robin throws her head back in frustration. “I’m not good at math, but this cannot be statistically possible.”

“Okay, let’s think about this.” Steve holds a finger up to indicate that he’s speaking, which Robin scoffs at. “I saw her first, so–”

“Uh, news flash, dingus: I saw her first.”

“Were you dropped as a child? I clearly saw her first–”

“Actually,” your voice causes both Robin and Steve to turn in horror, realizing too late that you’ve been standing behind them, listening in. “You both saw me at the same time, so I’m not sure how the rule of dibs applies here.”

“We…” Steve gapes at you, speechless. 

Robin is no better, her face burns horribly. “We think… You’re pretty?”

“Well, I gathered that much.” You laugh again, and the sound is enough for both Steve and Robin to forget all their worries and admire how delicate it is. Then, holding up two dvd’s, you place them on the counter. “I’ll take these, please.”

Robin looks down at your movie selection, seeing The Breakfast Club and The Outsiders, and her heart drops. “Just… Just these?”

“Mhm,” you nod, unsure why her demeanor has suddenly changed. “Is there something wrong with my movie selection?”

Steve looks at Robin and he knows immediately what’s wrong. She absolutely hates your taste in movies, which he’s ecstatic over. He lets out a whoop and first bumps the air. “Yes! She’s mine!”

“Shut up, you moron!” Robin screeches, embarrassed and infuriated. She cannot believe that this is happening to her right now, in front of a very pretty girl, no less. Closing her eyes, Robin takes a deep breath and turns to you. “Please excuse my friend, he’s allergic to pretty girls.”

“Hey, that’s not true–”

You cross your arms at Robin, an amused smile on your face. “What’s so wrong with my taste in movies?”

“Nothing!” When you raise your eyebrow at her, Robin accepts her fate and gives in. She knows she’s done for now. “It’s just… It’s incredibly bland.”

“I happen to think your taste is impeccable, Y/N.” Steve butts in, batting his eyelashes at you for added effect.

Robin watches, with pure disgust, as it works. Steve’s charm gets you to laugh once more, and you even lean closer to his side of the counter. You place a hand on his arm. “I’m honored to have you on my side, then.”

Stupid Harrington and his stupid male species. 

While you and Steve exchange gross lovey-dovey glances, Robin rings up your movie rentals with disdain. 

“That will be $5.25, please.” She mumbles, crestfallen. 

You tear your eyes away from Steve’s and notice the jealousy and hurt on Robin’s face. You frown, feeling bad for being the cause of this. She seems like a sweet girl, and Dustin spoke highly of her, so you know she’s someone special. Taking some cash out of your purse, you hand it to Robin and catch her eye. 

“Hey, listen to me real quick.” Robin looks up, despite not wanting to, but your eyes are too pretty not to look into. When you have her attention, you turn to Steve. “Can you give us a second?”

He looks bewildered. “What? Why?”

“If you leave now, I’ll give you my number.”

“Yes ma’am!” Steve hops over the counter and goes to sort some movies, leaving you alone with Robin. 

Once he’s gone, you lean in close to her. “I understand what you’re going through.”

Her eyes widen, terrified she’s been caught. “W–what? No, I think you’ve gotten this all wrong–”

“It’s okay,” you grab her hand, gently take it between yours. “We’re more alike than you may think, and while I’m flattered, you’re too young.”

Robin knows she should be devastated by this, but all she hears is, “So… Let’s say ten years from now, if you happen to visit Dustin again…”

You laugh, she’s got such a spark to her. “You’ll have to figure out the whole ‘dibs’ thing by then with Steve.”

“I saw you first!” Steve shouts from somewhere in the aisles, before a giant crash follows. A few seconds pass, and then, much quieter this time, he shouts, “I’m fine!”

-

⌑ writing masterlist

[whenlilyfallsinlove]

sheldon cooper x reader??? thanks 😍

my first request!!! hope you like it :)

girl from the train station

"WAIT!" sheldon's voice called at the train that had just driven off. oh he was so screwed. his mom would be so mad; this had definitely put him off breaking rules for life.

he sighed and looked round to see if there was anyone he could ask for help. then he realised he was in germany, of course there wouldn't be many people that could help him! his german was good, but it could only take him so far.

"hey, are you okay?" your voice interrupted him from his thoughts. he looked up to see you, standing in front of him, a sympathetic smile on your face.

"hallo-." sheldon begins in german but you cut him off.

"i speak english, i'm here visiting family." you chuckle. sheldon finds himself smiling slightly as well, but quickly stops.

"oh well.. i'm definitely not okay, i just missed my train in a foreign country and my mom's going to kill me because she thinks i'm at the library." sheldon says, in a panicked tone.

"calm down," you say comfortingly, "i think my mom can help you get home."

"really? that would be wonderful." sheldon breathes out a sigh of relief.

"yeah.. i'm y/n. by the way. nice to meet you." you hold out your hand for him to shake.

"sheldon." he looks at your outstretched hand, and reluctantly shakes it.

you give him a confused look.

"sorry i don't really like physical contact, no offence but i don't know what germs you have." he states, matter-of-factly.

surprisingly, you laugh. "fair enough."

sheldon smiles slightly back. you seemed a nice enough girl, he felt like he could trust you.

"right, you're in luck, we just dropped my dad and brother off here, so we'll be able to take you back to your mom." you say, and lead him to where he had just bought that damn strudel that made him miss his train in the first place.

"mom" you approach a woman that looked like an older version of you, "sheldon missed his train home and has no way of getting back!"

"now now honey calm down." your mom says then turns to look at sheldon, "do you know where you're staying?"

sheldon nods and tells her where he's staying.

"oh, that's right around the corner from my parents, that'll be easy then, you can come with us if you'd like." your mom smiles at him.

"i.. would like that." sheldon nods.

"great!" you cheer. sheldon looks at you. although you weren't his type of person (then again, who was?), he found you endearing.

"let's go then!" you say, and the three of you walk to your mom's car.

"would you like to sit up front sheldon? i'm feeling generous." you smile at him.

"no thank you, it's statistically safer in the back." he says, but then sees your face drop a little. "thank you though." he adds, and smiles at you.

"that's fine, i'll keep you company." you take a seat beside sheldon in the back.

your mom starts the car, and then you were on your way back to sheldon's hotel.

"so where are you from sheldon?" you ask, wanting to find some things out about him.

"medford, texas. what about you?" he nods.

"nice, i'm from (insert place here)." you respond.

"how come you're in germany anyway, sounds like a long way from home?" you chuckle.

"i'm here at grad school." sheldon responds.

"grad school?! wow you must be a genius." your eyes widen.

sheldon sees your reaction and chuckles.

"i am, i started college at 11." he subtly brags.

"11?? woah!" unlike many other kids his age, you seemed impressed and in awe of him. he liked that.

"yeah." sheldon says.

"i wish i was as smart as you." you look at him.

"it's just a natural gift." he responds. "i'm sure you're good at other things that i'm not. for example sports."

you giggle. "maybe i am. then."

for the rest of the car journey, you and sheldon talked about yourselves. sheldon learnt you came to germany quite a lot because your grandparents lived here, you had an older brother who annoyed the living hell out of you (he could relate) and you were a swimmer. he found himself quite enjoying talking to you, and was quite sorry when he arrived back to his hotel.

"here we are, it's been a pleasure driving you home sheldon." your mom speaks up from the front.

"thank you so much for driving me." he smiles politely.

"mom, please can i walk sheldon in!" you beg.

"alright, but don't be too long." she smiles fondly at you.

"come on." you say to sheldon who thanks your mom again and you walk up to his shared room.

you reach to a stop outside of his door and sigh.

"well.. it was nice meeting you sheldon." you smile sadly at him.

"and you. i had a great time talking to you in the car." he smiles back.

"yeah uhh.. maybe i could give you my number, in case you'd want to talk again..? you can tell me more about your string theory." you feel your face heat up and look down.

sheldon's eyes widen "uhh yeah okay." he surprises himself.

"here." you take hold of his hand and write your number on it, using a pen from you pocket.

"i'll call you." he nods. "well goodbye y/n.."

"bye sheldon." you reply and before he can stop you, you place a quick kiss on his cheek and walk off.

sheldon brought his hand to his cheek, open-mouthed. first, he lied to his mom, then he snuck out, and now he had just been kissed by a girl!

maybe today hadn't been so bad after all.

[reidmaniac]

first date || spencer reid x fem!reader.

warnings: none just fluff.

a/n: im sorry for being gone for like forever guys, but here’s a short and simple first date story, it’s kind of a continuation of them meeting in the coffee shop, but you don’t have to read that to read this.

spencer reid stood nervously outside your apartment, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. he adjusted his glasses for the third time in as many minutes, his mind racing with facts about first dates, statistical probabilities of success, and the best ways to make a good impression. when you opened the door, his thoughts scattered as he took in your warm smile and the light in your eyes.

"hi spencer," you greeted, your voice soft and welcoming. "you look great."

he blushed, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "thank you. you look beautiful," he replied, his words sincere. "i brought you these." he handed you a small bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors reflecting the excitement and hope in his heart.

"they're lovely," you said, your smile widening as you accepted the flowers. "let me put these in some water, and then we can go."

spencer nodded, watching as you moved gracefully into your apartment. he took a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm and enjoy the evening. it was, after all, just a date—a chance to get to know you better and share a few moments together.

you returned quickly, flowers now safely in a vase. "all set," you announced. "where are we going?"

"there's a little bistro downtown that has great reviews," spencer said, his voice gaining confidence. "i thought we could try it."

"sounds perfect," you replied, linking your arm with his as you stepped outside. "lead the way."

the walk to the bistro was filled with easy conversation, spencer's nervousness gradually melting away in the warmth of your company. he told you about his latest case, carefully omitting the more gruesome details, and you shared stories from your work, your laughter a soothing balm to his anxiety.

at the bistro, you were seated at a cozy table near the window, the soft glow of candlelight creating an intimate atmosphere. spencer found himself relaxing even more, his natural curiosity and enthusiasm taking over as he asked you about your favorite books, movies, and hobbies.

"i didn't know you liked science fiction," he said, his eyes lighting up. "i have so many recommendations for you."

you chuckled, delighted by his passion. "i can't wait to hear them all," you said. "but only if you let me recommend some of my favorites, too."

"deal," spencer agreed, his smile wide and genuine. he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "i'm really glad we did this."

"me too," you replied, your touch lingering on his hand. "i've been looking forward to this for a while.

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, shared stories, and the comforting realization that this was only the beginning. as spencer walked you back to your apartment, he felt a sense of contentment settle over him.

"i had a wonderful time tonight," he said as you reached your door. "thank you."

"so did i," you replied, stepping closer. "we should do this again sometime."

spencer's heart skipped a beat as you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his. the kiss was sweet and brief, but it held the promise of many more to come.

"i'd like that," he said, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. "goodnight, y/n."

"goodnight, spencer," you whispered, your smile lingering even after the door closed behind you.

as spencer walked away, he couldn't help but feel that tonight was the start of something wonderful. and for once, he didn't need statistics or probabilities to tell him that. he just knew.

[pretty-random-writer]

Clueless

___

Pairing(s): Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You and Spencer are oblivious. But maybe you two aren’t the only ones who are… ||| Based on this request

Warning(s): reader is gender neutral (not really a warning but whatever), Spencer is implied to be autistic too, secret relationship (?)

A/N: This is NOT my best writing. But I tried! Hope you enjoy & feel free to request!!!

Main Masterlist

||| Do NOT plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work in any way. Thank you. |||

___

Spencer Reid is smart. Everyone knows this is in the BAU. I mean, what average person just has an IQ of 187? People can be shocked about how many facts and statistics he knows just on the top of his head. Or how he can beat almost anyone in a chess match. So, yeah, he’s really smart. 

But there is something that only a few people know about him.

He is clueless. So clueless. 

When the anybody would make a joke, Spencer would have a difficult time deciphering it. His issue was that he took these jokes literally. Because, in his mind, it’s just like a case. Because maybe if he could figure out what the joke meant, he would finally get it. 

The BAU team knew Spencer was clueless in those types of circumstances. And they had no problem explaining to him what they meant. That was until a new person entered the team.

When you first started your job at the BAU, everything went well. You met the team, did some paperwork, and called it a day. Of course, in the beginning, you were a little overstimulated but it subsided. You knew it wouldn’t always be as easy of a day in comparison of the future work days, but you thought it went pretty good.

The day that you started working was the day the team saw how perfectly you and Spencer fit together. I mean, even on your second day, the team saw you and Spencer talking during lunch! They have never seen Spencer talk so animated.

During your first week, the team got a case. While discussing it on the plane, Spencer noticed how your hands were twitching, like they were itching to move. And how you were talking to yourself, almost sounding like you were…counting?

Even though he doesn’t want to disturb you, Spencer moves to the seat next to you. You don’t seem to mind though, you’re too focused. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he pulls out a Rubik’s Cube. He can tell that you’re wondering what he’s doing, since you stopped counting. 

“This was one of the first puzzles I’ve solved.” Spencer tells you. “It took me a few times to solve. But when I finally did, I still found it…therapeutic.”

There is a pause between the both of you. Until you speak.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” You explain. “I mean, I was. But I forgot my headphones. And I’m not the best on planes, especially with the turbulence.”

There was a pause between them. Then, Spencer offers the cube to you. He’s just holding it out for you to take. Finally, you do. “Thanks,” you say, fidgeting with the Rubik’s Cube. 

“Anytime” he says, smiling. Smiling because he knows what it’s like. 

***

After your first few months, you felt as though you were finally apart of the BAU team. Normally, it takes you a long time to be able to trust new people. But, you were proud to call the people in the team your friends.

“Okay! Who wants to go over to Rossi’s for dinner tonight?” Derek says in the bullpen after another night of paperwork. 

“Oh, I’m in” said Emily. 

“Will’s watching the kids tonight, so count me in too.” JJ added while packing up for the day.

“Oh! I want to go too! Who doesn’t want the Italian Stallion to make them dinner?” Penelope comes out of no where.

Everybody pauses in the bullpen and looks at Penelope.

“The-“ Rossi starts. “The Italian Stallion?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Even Hotch smiles a little. Penelope looks mortified. She clearly didn’t see Rossi enter the room.

“Rossi, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t-“ Rossi interrupted Penelope.

“Garcia, It’s fine. I know you were just joking.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Rossi then adds. “Plus, I kind of like it.”

The laughter starts again. 

“What! Don’t laugh at me! I’m not giving you folks free dinner for nothing. Don’t make me second guess myself.” Rossi says with a smile, even though he’s trying to be serious. 

“Okay!” JJ says. “So, everyone’s going?”

The team looks at each other in agreement. 

“You two lovebirds going too?” Derek asks you and Spencer, with a smirk on his face. 

“Hm?” You and Spencer tear away from your conversation, and look at Derek. All eyes are on you both.

“God! Can you both just make a move already, or do I have to shoot you both with an arrow or something?”

“Shoot us with an arrow?” Spencer says. He looks at you, and you look just as confused. “Why?”

Everyone exhales an exhausted sigh, mentally cursing everything in this situation.

“She means if you guys don’t start dating, she’s gonna have to play Cupid to get you guys together.” JJ explains. 

“Ohhh…” You both say at the same time. Blushing. Hard.

“I mean, come on! How can you guys not see it?” Penelope exclaims.

“Trust me. We do.” Emily joins in.

You look at the rest of the team. They all just kind of nod in agreement. You look at Spencer and he just kind of smiles at you. You both can’t help but laugh quietly. 

“What is so-“ 

That’s when full laughs start to erupt between the both of you. Everyone looks around at each other, confused. Except Hotch…

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer says still laughing with you. “This is just a little funny.”

“What’s ‘a little funny’?” Derek says, clearly trying to figure out what is going on. 

“It’s just-“ Your laughter is slowly coming down. “We didn’t know when to tell you guys…”

“Tell us what??” Penelope is trying not to explode over this suspense.

You and Spencer glance at each other and join hands. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!!!” Penelope squeals. Very loudly. “Really???” 

You both nod, smiling so wide. 

“Well, well, well…” Derek says patting Spencer on the back. “Proud of you, Pretty Boy.”

“Finally!” Emily says.

“That’s what I’m saying.” JJ agrees.

“Wait.” Emily turns to Rossi and Hotch, who are both smirking. “Did they know about this?”

A pause enters the conversation. 

“Really?” Penelope whines. “I wanted to be the first to know!”

“Babygirl, It’s okay.” Derek huffs out a laugh. 

“Hey, Hotch only knew because he’s their boss.” Rossi explains. “How I knew? Well… I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I?”

“Remind me never to underestimate you, old man.” Emily pokes Rossi in the shoulder.

“But really, we are happy for you guys.” Hotch says to you and Spencer. Then, he looks to you and says “You should come by to dinner with us. Consider it a welcome to the family.”

You look around at the team, then look at Spencer who is looking at you right back. “Okay. I will.”

And, so, you did. 

___

[s-awturn]

Written by Lana Del Rey || F1 Dilfs

cw: a little obscene, nostalgic feeling, cute, sweet love, some jokes about age, suggestions for sugar daddy x sugar baby behavior

a/n: I didn't tell you, but I finally got out of the unemployment statistics and this week didn't help me feed the creativity for what I have open, I sketched a few things here and there, However, nothing came out to my liking, so I focused my efforts on other things and here we are. And obviously, I'm focused on my new hyperfixation, enjoy!

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Weber, Kimi Raikkonen.

TOTO WOLFF, be my daddy.

“You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it, get it”

Considering the age difference between you two was almost 25 years, you used to joke with Toto about him being your sugar daddy. Not that you were with him because of any advantage that Toto could benefit you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't give you gifts or try to make your life easier in any way he could.

And by God, he loves to spoil you, give you expensive gifts, take you to extravagant surprises, if that makes him your sugar daddy, he doesn't care, after all he's not even close to stopping.

“I already told you that you don’t need to spend money on me, Torger” You returned the box with the Bulgari emblem on the lid. You knew it was the watch you had glimpsed in the display case a few weeks ago. Toto was getting uncontrollable.

“And I couldn’t care less about that, accept it” he pushed the box back to you “there’s no chance of this being returned, just take it”

SEBASTIAN VETTEL, say yes to heaven.

“Cause I've got my eye on you

I've got my eye on you”

From the moment you met him, you knew it would be impossible to take your eyes off him. Sebastian He caught your attention from the first moment you saw him. You spent weeks talking about him, how attentive he had been in the interview he gave you, how kind and helpful he was. It was no surprise that you were in love with the Formidable Sebastian Vettel.

But it was a surprise to discover that he reciprocated your feelings.

“I thought you were reading,” he said without taking his eyes off the puzzle he was putting together. You felt your cheeks flush as you were caught red-handed.

“And I was,” you confessed, dropping the book on the arm of the couch, “but I thought I told you that sometimes it’s impossible to keep my eyes off you,” and it was his turn to blush.

FERNANDO ALONSO, off to the races.

“My old man is a tough man

But he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam

And he shows me, he knows me”

People said that Fernando had bad posture, he was a difficult guy to deal with. But you never cared about that, because with you, he was nothing more than putty in your hands, he could be as hard as a rough diamond and as sweet as fruit jelly.

Fernando didn't care about being labeled as a difficult guy, he just needed to be good to you, the rest could go away and he didn't care. It wasn't like he could stop himself from being soft on you, after all you dug deep into his chest until you had his entire heart in your hands.

“I love knowing that only I have your soft side, Nano” you say, kissing his chin before giving a startled little scream as you are thrown onto the bed.

“Not for long, tesoro” He murmurs, giving sweet bites to your bare thighs. You giggled before grabbing his hair.

JENSON BUTTON, video games.

“Heaven is a place on Earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls, honey

Is that true?”

If a few years ago, someone had told you that you were with Jenson Button, you would have laughed out loud in disbelief. After all, there was no way you could have fallen in love with him, not by the guy who was the very meaning of the word “scoundrel” in the dictionary. You wouldn't believe it if someone told you that Jenson would give you his very idea of Heaven on Earth, that Jenson would look at you like you were the only thing keeping him on the planet.

He made you feel unique, and to him, you are the only one.

“You should sleep, peach,” he murmurs sleepily, tightening his arm around your waist. You felt your whole body heat up, few things in the world were better than Jense's sleep-husky voice.

“I don’t feel tired, Jen” you slide your nails down the back of his neck.

“Then let me tire you out, peach” he says, getting under the sheets and the next sound was his moan across the room.

MARK WEBBER, summertime sadness.

“Kiss me hard before you go

Summertime sadness

I just wanted you to know

That, baby, you're the best”

There are the good things in life, and then there is Mark Webber. Sometimes you couldn't believe you had managed to marry him. Despite all the hustle and bustle that surrounds his life, the few intervals of time he spends with you at home, you can't help but feel lucky to have him, Mark had brought you the peace and tranquility you had been searching for.

And all of that made it worth it every time he went out to work, because Mark may have left Formula One, but Formula One never left Mark.

“Don't study too much, I know your thesis needs to be done quickly, but you need to rest, princess,” he says, watching the car pull up at the front door. “And eat right, you can't spend fifteen days eating only instant noodles”

“It's your fault if you got me addicted to your food, love... But I promise I'll take care of myself" you reply before kissing him, enjoying the last moments of his summer vacation. “Call me when you land and go to bed early, you're not young enough to stay up all night.”

He rolled his eyes “I thought we were past the age jokes phase.”

“Never”

KIMI RAIKKONEN, bad boy.

“Baby ghetto love

Mama knows I like the bad boys”

And there was nothing he could do to stop you, when he noticed, you were already infiltrated into his skin, hidden under the entire layer of ice. And Kimi wouldn't allow anyone to try to take you away from there, you had already received the title of Raikkonen girl.

He was the kind of man her mother said would break her heart, Kimi was the perfect kind of bad boy.

He wasn't called the Iceman for nothing, Kimi was the most indifferent person you've ever seen in your life, No one could be that stoic except Kimi Raikkonen. And not even his usual coldness stopped you from approaching him, you seemed drawn to him like a moth to a flame, you wanted to know what was underneath all that ice.

“Your mother hates me anyway, so what difference will a bottle of wine make?” he asks, pressing the buttons on the joystick.

“And I’m still labeled as the bad guy in this story,” he murmurs, dropping the controller anywhere before kissing her.

“It’s not for her, it’s for me,” you reply, sitting on his lap, not caring about disturbing his game. “Only drunk can I put up with you two exchanging barbs all dinner long.”

gif credits: hookhausenchips, lostfxwn, tur80, the-offside-rule, vro0m, summerblueringo.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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