#there's still lots of game left for me to play

[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

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@chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd @angelicscribe

[taglist is closed]

[linderosse]

3 days left!!!

Sun from Skyward Sword has the honor of being the first ever Zelda in-universe and founding the first kingdom of Hyrule. As a direct reincarnation of the goddess Hylia, she’s got a lot of magical strength and a lot of opportunities to use it (though I do wish we got to see more of it in the game itself). Wonder how Echo will stack up to her legacy!

In other news, EoW’s Still World somehow reminds me more of the Silent Realm from Skyward Sword than it does the many other parallel worlds across the series, like the Dark World, Dark Realm, Labrynnan Past, Subrosia, or Lorule. Probably unintentional, seeing as EoW is likely aiming for a Lorule-ish vibe, but maybe I’ll change my view when I play the game!

Prev | Next

Masterpost

[masonmontz]

heey, hope you like it :)

fluff word count: 1,2k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

You sighed when you stopped the car and saw Mason standing there waiting for you, and as soon as he saw you he walked slowly towards the car looking at the ground.

Rasmus walked in front of the car and greeted you, and you gave him a smile, but you knew neither of them were happy about the draw in today's game.

“Hey babe” you said as Mason sat in the passenger seat, and he just threw his backpack in the back seat and rested his head on the seat. 

“Hey” he spoke softly and sighed, and you unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned in to leave a kiss on his cheek. Mason turned his face and you kissed his lip, trying to hug him, but a car honked behind you and you had to let go of him. “What a day.” 

You smiled and started to leave the airport parking lot while Mason didn't say anything, and he was quiet the whole way home. It wasn't a bad game, but Manchester United didn't score any goals even with possession, and they missed a lot of chances to score, but you know that's not what's bothering Mason.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” you asked as soon as you entered the house, without talking much during the journey. You talked about everything except football, and sometimes Mason answered or he just listened to you. “I can make pasta or we can order something.”

“Actually, honey, I'm not hungry, but you can order something for dinner and I'll pay” he said and took off his uniform jacket, and you just shrugged because it's hard to comfort Mason at times like this. “I'm going to take a shower.”

You sighed and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water and then went back to the living room to look for a restaurant to order something for you, and even though Mason said he wasn't hungry, you knew he would eat your food if you didn't order anything for him. 

Fifteen minutes passed and Mason still hadn't come downstairs, which was odd, so you put your phone away after ordering Mexican food for the two of you and went upstairs to talk to him.

You could hear the shower running from the bathroom in your room, so you walked over there only to see Mason with his eyes closed and his hand resting against the wall. He had left the door open, but you still knocked before entering. Mason opened his eyes and saw you, and even though he was sad he smiled at you, making your heart skip a beat. 

Mason turned off the shower and you grabbed a towel for him from the counter, and as soon as he opened the shower you handed him the towel, which he thanked you for before starting to dry himself.

You watched Mason dry himself off as you leaned against the bathroom sink, and even though you knew he was sad, you couldn't help but run your eyes over his thick thighs, which looked more attractive every day. Mason wrapped the towel around his waist and you left the bathroom, and when you lay down on the bed, he went to the closet to put on a black sweatsuit. 

In less than five minutes he threw himself next to you on the bed, and you just reached out to stroke his damp hair.

“Wanna talk about today?” you asked and Mason closed his eyes, putting his hands on his face. “You don't have to keep it all to yourself, Mase.”

“I’m so frustrated” he said and you sighed, approaching him and placing your face in his neck. “I don't even know why I traveled with the team today if I didn't even leave the bench.”

“You were injured until last week” Mason tends to put too much pressure on himself and that's why he gets so frustrated when things don't go as he expects.

“I know, but Erik said that I was going to play today and he didn't even consider putting me in, it's ridiculous” you just put your hand on his chest and caressed it over his sweatshirt, but it was difficult because Mason spent his vacations training to be in the best shape and return to play and he got injured quickly, and only you saw how he reacted when he received the news that he was injured again.

“You need to be patient, Mason, Coach believes in you and-”

“I've been patient for so long, I just want to play and be a starter in a game for ninety minutes, is it really that difficult?” you could hear the frustration in his voice, and he knows you get sad the same way he does. “I can't stand reading so many bad messages about myself anymore, and it consumes me.”

“I know last season was tough, honey, but everyone knows how hard you worked to get back in top shape this season” you said. “Erik believes in you and so do I. You're there for a reason, you need to understand that the more you demand of yourself, the more frustrated you become.”

“Sometimes I feel like I'll never play like I did at Chelsea and-”

“You know you will, the season has started now, you have many months left to prove everyone they were wrong about you.”

“I just feel like if he had put me in today we would have had a chance, I just watched them and couldn't do anything to help the team.” 

“Today's draw wasn't your fault, and yeah, maybe you would have helped if you had played but questioning the coach is not the best idea, Mase. Who knows, maybe next time you'll start as a starter?”

Mason didn't respond and just sighed, but he pulled you against him and wrapped his legs around yours, hugging you while leaving a few kisses on your neck. You laughed out loud as he tickled you because he wouldn't let you go as he laughed with you at your screams. 

“Let me go, oh my God” you were out of breath from laughing so hard, and Mason climbed on top of you and finally stopped tickling you, and you pulled him by the neck and pressed his lips against yours. Mason leaned on the bed and when you ended the kiss he looked at you smiling, and you ran your hands over his face, because you love seeing him happy.

“Thank you for this, I know I'm being annoying but you always know how to help me” he said and you just gave him a little kiss. “You’re the best part of me, Y/n.” 

“You can talk to me about anything, right? I'll always support you, Mason.” Mason lowered his head to give you another kiss, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted you. 

“What’s that?”

“My dinner.”

“Your dinner? How about me?” 

“You said you were not hungry” you said as you walked down the stairs, smiling. 

“Looks like I'll have to eat yours then” Mason said and took the credit card before leaving the house and going to get your dinner. 

You went to the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery and returned to the living room, so you could have dinner as you always do at the coffee table watching some movie. 

“Ah, you really know how to make me feel better” he said as he saw you sitting on the carpet. 

“Do you want to watch One Tree Hill with me? Please, please” you begged and he smile. “Thank you, that’s why you’re my favorite.” 

“Just because I love you, ‘cause I can't stand hearing about Nathan and Haley anymore.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

[diazsdimples]

🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Please ignore that I'm doing this several months late 😬

🤠 - 24 for Ranch AU!

But that did leave him with an awful lot of time on his hands. Bobby and spare time have never been great friends – the last time he was left to his own devices for more than a day, he’d ended up knee deep in planning a lavish wedding that had ultimately been chucked out the door when he and Athena realised, they really didn’t need anything more than themselves and the kids. All that to say that it isn’t really surprising that Bobby downloads the Sims 4 onto his ancient laptop and creates a full-scale version of the ranch. He gets the dimensions off the listing, and with the help of a convenient floorplan and google earth, he manages to make a rather convincing version of the home. He does up the exterior to look just like the ranch house, complete with the large veranda and the ornate trims around the spandrels, and even manages to find a tile that looks exactly like the path leading to the front door. The interior is a different matter. Bobby doesn’t love the colour scheme either, and he can’t see himself coping with an oven as miniscule as the one that comes with the home, so he allows himself a little creative licence. It’s just a video game, after all. He’s not seriously planning it out. Several hours later, Bobby sits back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. Blessedly, Athena still has a job, which means Bobby hasn’t needed to worry about her finding out his momentary lapse in sanity, but it also means he hasn’t got anyone to show off his creation to – a thought that upsets him a little more than it should, were he being normal about the whole thing. He’s fiddling around with some of the furniture in the master bedroom when the front door bursts open and a furious looking Buck stalks over his threshold, followed by a harried Eddie. “What’s going –” “Bobby, you wouldn’t believe what that man made us do!” Buck explodes as he starts pacing the kitchen. Eddie leans against the countertop, running a hand over his face. “I know you said I shouldn’t let him get to me but I can’t, he’s just so –” Buck trails off, looking over at Bobby. His eyes flicker from Bobby’s patient expression to the open laptop, still displaying the Fake Ranch. “Are we… interrupting something?” “No.” Bobby goes to shut the laptop but Buck is quicker. “Is that the Sims?” Buck asks incredulously. “Man, you must be bored, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play video games.”

❄️ - 24 for Frostpunk AU!

“You did it,” he repeats, praying his voice won’t betray him. “You’re safe.” At his words, Eddie’s eyes shut, and his brings his hands up to his face as he lets out a deep exhale. His fingers shake as he wipes a tear from his cheek. “I didn’t think we’d – I thought -” Eddie swallows thickly. He looks around the tent, eyes wet, and his gaze falls on a familiar mop of brown curls. “Is that – is that my son? Can I see him, please?” Buck squeezes Eddie’s shoulder again, offering him a smile. “Of course.” When Buck reaches Christopher’s bed, the kid looks up at him quizzically. It’s clear that he wasn’t as blissfully unaware of his father’s event as Buck had hoped, despite the small crowd of medics around him, all intent on distracting him. “Is everything okay with Dad?” he asks Buck, without preamble. Buck crouches down to Christopher’s level and brushes a loose curl out of his eyes. “Yeah bud, everything’s okay. Better than, actually – he’s awake.” Buck holds out his hand for Christopher. “Want to come see him? He’d like to see you.” Christopher throws himself into Buck’s arms, taking him by surprise. Buck catches him around the middle and hauls him up, carrying him to Eddie’s cot. The moment Christopher sees his father, sitting upright, awake and breathing, a great sob escapes his lips. Buck lowers him into Eddie’s waiting arms and pauses, not sure what to do as he watches father embrace son. Fat tears roll down Eddie’s cheeks as he holds Christopher as tight as he can, muscles shaking after weeks of no use.

[iheartz4starzz]

NEVER THERE 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

husband!chuuya x f.reader

SYNOPSIS: you only get to see your husband, chuuya, once a day, which is late at night when you're about to go to sleep. the next morning, you always wake up to him gone.

TW: slight angst, but dw, it'll be fluff at the end, might be a few grammar mistakes

NOTES: fun fact: a lot of these oneshots are based on my c.ai chats <3

Btw I never specified if the reader was taller or shorter than Chuuya, so you can just imagine it urself. ^^

You heard the door unlock, revealing a redhead mafioso, who peaked his head into the room. He let out a sigh and stepped through the door, running a hand through his hair as he set his hat onto his nightstand.

"Doll, did you wait f'me again?" Chuuya asked and crossed his arms.

There you were, sitting on your guys shared bed with your phone in hand. You were playing mobile games while waiting for your beloved to return home after a long days worth of work.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel the same when you're not here next to me when I sleep." You replied, averting your gaze with a slight pout.

Chuuya let out another sigh, but couldn't help but chuckle and smile warmly at how cute his wife was. He quickly showered and changed into his bedtime clothes before getting into the sheets next to you.

Resting your cheek on your husbands toned chest, you let out a breath of contentment before closing your eyes. The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms was soothing for you, which was perfect to help you sleep.

"How was work today?" You asked with a yawn, trying to keep yourself awake.

"Fine. I had to fix a smuggling deal that one of my stupid subordinates messed up." Chuuya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

You laughed, then snuggling closer to the redhead. You let out another yawn, to which Chuuya noticed and ran his fingers through you (h/c) hair. "You're tired, doll. Go to sleep now."

You shook your head in protest, blinking your eyes. "Nuh-uh! I want to spend more time with you, so I need to stay awake."

Chuuya shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. "Sleep now."

"But I-"

"No buts."

You sighed, closing your eyes to let your sleepiness consume you. Before you could final succumb to your slumber, you looked up at Chuuya with tired eyes.

"Will you be here next to me when I wake up?"

Chuuya could only bite the inside of his cheek and shake his head. "No doll, I'm sorry. I have work tomorrow."

You nodded and closed your eyes. "I love you, Chuuya."

"I love you to, (Name)."

The next morning, you woke up per usual to Chuuya not next to you. You let out a sigh of disappointment and stretched, then moving your feet to over the edge of the bed. You unplugged your phone from your charger and noticed a note and a red rose sitting on your nighstand.

You took the letter and read it, smiling in the end. The letter said:

'Dear (Name),

I'm sorry I can't be there to greet you in the morning. I promise I'll make it up to you next time with a bunch of presents, love, and kisses.

I love you.

Your husband, Chuuya.'

Though the letter was sweet, you couldn't help but frown in disappointment. That's what he would always say when you brought up the fact that he was never there for you. Pushing the thoughts down, you got up from bed and headed to your office to start working.

Usually you stayed home, due to the fact you were a stay-at-home wife, and partially of the fact you also worked from home. It was only those one times you went outside if you wanted to go shopping.

One work was finished, you went to the kitchen to make dinner and clean up around the penthouse. Once again, you ate dinner alone and left leftovers for Chuuya to eat once he got home. You then got ready for bed and got under the covers, bringing out your phone and began to wait till Chuuya came home.

Another hour passed, and Chuuya was still not home. You let out a sigh and laid sprawled out on the bed, starfish style. Bringing your arm up into the air, you stared at the hand with a ring wrapped around your ring finger. You chewed the inside of your cheek and rested that hand on your chest. You yearned for Chuuya's love, and missed him dearly.

Just then, the door to the bedroom unlocked, revealing the redhead who walked inside with a tired expression.

"Hey, Doll. I'm back." He greeted you with a smile.

"Welcome home." You replied and sat up.

After Chuuya was done with getting ready for bed, he got under the covers with you. Chuuya let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"I missed you." Chuuya told you.

You stayed quiet for a moment before responding. "I missed you to. But, you're not going to be here next to me when I wake up..."

Chuuya frowned. He felt a twinge of guilt in his heart and began to rub your back apologetically. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, (Name). You know how my boss is."

Suddenly, Chuuya heard sniffling. He watched you sit up from his arms and bury your face into your hands, beginning to cry. Chuuya felt his heart shatter to see you sobbing because of him. Chuuya sat up quickly and rubbed your back.

"(Name)?" He mumbled quietly, his soft voice laced with concern and worry. "Hey, what's wrong, baby?"

"I-I'm sorry. It's just that— I miss you so much, Chuuya. I only see you one time a day because you always come late from work." You sobbed and wiped your tears. "But every time I stare at my ring, I have to keep reminding myself that I have a husband! But it feels like I don't, because you're never here!"

Chuuya didn't know how to reply, and only felt his guilt increase from hearing your pain and yearn for his love. Chuuya cupped your cheek, turning you face towards him. "(Name), I—"

"Am I pushing you away? Am I to clingy? Is that why you're spending so much time at work instead of at home with me? Your wife?" You interrupted Chuuya, sniffling again. "Is your job really more important than your wife? Do you still love me?"

Chuuya's eyes widened when he heard that last question. He quickly brought you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "No, I still love you! And you're not pushing me away, (Name)—"

Chuuya took a deep breath before continuing. "You're not pushing me away, love. I would never allow that to happen, because you're the most important woman in my life. I love you far to much to ever let you go. It's just... it's my job."

"But wouldn't Mori understand that you have a wife at home? You're not just some mindless pawn for his use! You're your own person, Chuuya!" You argued, tears streaming down your cheeks. "N-No, I'm sorry. I understand that you're doing this for the both of us. I understand that you're working really hard to have a roof over our heads..."

"(N-Name), don't just brush if off like that," Chuuya stammered, cupping both of your cheeks. He let out a sigh before pressing a kiss against your lips. "I'll see what I can do, alright? Just... please don't cry. I can't bare to see you like this."

You nodded and laid back down in bed with Chuuya, wrapped in his arms. You sniffled again and wiped the left tears on your cheeks, your eyes puffy and red. "I'm sorry, Chuuya. I just don't want you to overwork yourself."

"I know, Doll. I understand where your pain is coming from, I really want to do something about it." Chuuya replied and brought your closer to him, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "I love you, (Name). Don't think to much about it, okay?"

You nodded once more. "I love you to, Chuuya."

The next morning, you stirred from your sleep, blinking your eyes awake and looked to your side. Frowning to see that Chuuya wasn't there, you got up and ran a hand over your face.

'Don't be such a bad wife, (Name). Chuuya is doing this for both you and him. At least appreciate what he's doing.' You told yourself and got up from bed, making your way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

As soon as you left the bedroom, the smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, tingling your taste buds. You breathed in the smell, licking your lips as you approached the kitchen. You peaked around the corner, your eyes widening to see Chuuya standing at the stove with a apron that said 'Kiss The Cook.'

"Chuuya?"

Chuuya jolted and turned around, quickly turning off the stove and smiled at you warmly. "Morning, Doll."

You teared up, smiling as you ran towards Chuuya, crushing in a hug. "Agh! W-Why are you crying?" Chuuya frantically asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"N-No, it's happy tears, Chuuya! Happy tears!" You repeated, laughing at his misconception.

Chuuya smiled and cupped your cheeks, giving you a morning kiss. "You're such a crybaby." He teased and flicked your forehead.

You whined and held your forehead, pouting as you looked up at Chuuya. The two of you laughed it off in the end. Chuuya wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The two of you connected lips, the kiss strong, passionate, yet gentle at the same time.

After a few moments, the couple broke the kiss and smiled at each other. You rested your forehead against Chuuya's, eyes closed as the two of your soaked in the moment.

"I love you, Chuuya." You whispered.

"I love you to, (Name)." He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Soo... Kiss the Cook, eh?"

"Shut up!"

ENDING NOTE: i didn't want to make readers wife role seem to clingy, or to unappreciative. i hope i didn't make anybody upset with reader, tho.

luv u all! <3

-mai

[satureja13]

While Vlad and Ji Ho and Sai and Jeb enjoy their couple time together, good mates Jack and Kiyoshi are having a picknick. Even though they are supposed to meet for dinner soon. Jack is always hungry. And Kiyoshi wonders why they are not having pizza again, Jack's favourite.

Kiyoshi doesn't realize he's walking on the water again. Or he forgot they are back in the Muggle World and he shouldn't reveal his divine nature here... Let's just hope no one notices him ö.Ö'

And while Jack is happily riding around with a Jet Ski he rented, Kiyoshi is happily browsing his phone. He'd even been longer without reception than the others. 60+ years! A lot to keep up with.

When Jack finally left the ocean and joined Kiyoshi on his blanket, it already got dark and they have to leave soon to meet the others. But Jack wanted to talk to Kiyoshi. He needs to make sure this mateship of theirs is not going to drag them back down to the hell they've been in during their relationship. Jack is not sure how to start and how Kiyoshi would take it so he waited until they were almost due to leave... Jack: "Kiyoshi..." Kiyoshi: "Hm?" Jack took a deep breath in and then he let it all out: "You know, after I - uhm... left you, I had to have a talk with Greg. And as much as I hate him, I think I have to admit that he was right - in some points at least. He said a relationship is hard work. And he didn't hesitate to point out that I also played my part in ruining - eh, us. So I want to make sure we talk about things that make us feel uncomfortable. And things we need - and want." Kiyoshi laughed: "Ah, he gave me that talk too. Even twice. To make sure it seeps through, I guess." Jack: "What? When?" Kiyoshi: "When we were here together, at Beltane. I was still a bit out but he managed to reach me, he is very powerful. And wise."

Jack: "So, what do you think?" Kiyoshi: "I think we should follow his advice and work hard. I cherish ... our mateship too much to let it go to waste again. I promise you, I won't keep anything from you and talk to you if I feel uncomfortable. And about my wants and needs. I will share it all with you. No more hiding - no more secrets." He wanted to say '...you' instead of '...our mateship', but it's not the right time for this when Jack wants to discuss their mateship. And he's still so anxious and vulnerable. It's just the beginning. And they have all the time in the worlds to sort it out. And so they agreed to the new terms and conditions of their mateship.

But Jack was so anxious of being hurt again, he couldn't help it and asked: "Do you think it will work?" Kiyoshi: "Let's just do our best, hm? We both changed, a lot." Jack pondered about it for a while and came to the conclusion Kiyoshi was right. Kiyoshi had spent 6 decades in that tree to reflect and Jack went through the hell of pain for leaving him, his Alpha. And the therapy game chased him through an almost relationship with Lou and even killed him so he could make a brandnew start. They now both know what they have lost. And what they have been missing. A chill wind blew over the ocean to the beach and Jack, who was still wet, shivered. Kiyoshi noticed it: "Don't tell me you are cold!" Jack: "What? No! I'm the Super Soldier, after all!" Kiyoshi laughed: "Hey, no more secrets! You promised!" Jack: "Fine! I'm cold. But it's just a reaction. Because my skin is still wet!" Kiyoshi: "Aouwww. Come here." And he pulled Jack close.

And Jack leaned in. He felt warm in an instant. Kiyoshi smelled so good. Like sun and ocean and food - and Kiyoshi's very own, incomparable scent. Jack: "Do you think this is a weird thing to do for mates?" Kiyoshi: "It's only weird when we make it weird. If it feels good for both of us and we agree on something, nothing should be weird between us. Right?" Jack moved even closer to Kiyoshi's warm body: "Right. We can't compare our mateship with what others have and do, I guess. Not even our woohoo felt weird for me. It felt good, great even. Even though we didn't both agree beforehand. I only felt so bad because I thought it was - eh ... inapproprate, you know. Since you're a diety now." Kiyoshi: "And I was horrified because I knew what you went through and I - eh ... felt I kind of exploited the situation. Though, I had no choice, like you. But it felt good for me too." Jack sighed as he remembered: "So good." Kiyoshi pulled Jack a bit tighter and put a soft kiss on Jack's wet, sandy hair.

They sat there, cuddling, until Jack's phone made weird zombie sounds (that's his ringtone for Sai...) Message from Sai: 'Where are you? We're waiting at the restaurant!' Seems it's really about time to leave. Kiyoshi was already dressed while Jack was still shaking the water - and sand - out of his hair. Kiyoshi endured it - and smiled. It might sound strange, but this quirky side of Jack played a big part helping Kiyoshi get out of the tree. And he wouldn't want to miss it.

Eventually they put the blanket in Jack's inventory and ran over to the restaurant boat in the harbor of Porto Azzurro. Jack knew they would have pizza for dinner, so he was fine with eating something else at their picknick ;)

Ah, it's been a long time since I've seen them so happy together. One of the best days I've ever had with them <3

'It's merely human situations The moments between us both The distance, the passions Finding a reason. Today...Like always, I am thinking of you.

Yes, you see. It's merely human conditions Feeling well or not If it's by day, or if it's by night If it's nostalgia or post-love. Today...Like always, I am thinking of you

Like our time hasn't yet passed. Tell me, where are we? What could happen? Hearts bound by an arrow, but, To each other that's the barrier that must be demolished I am thinking of you. I am thinking of me' Cosas della Vida - Tina Turner & Eros Ramazotti

Outtakes

Ah, I so wanted them both on the Jet Ski, like on their date over a year ago here at Tartosa! But Kiyoshi refused to stay in the water because he developed thalassophobia (fear of water). Who knows when -.- And I only realized hours later: I should have given him that fear-be-gone potion or already turn off that stupid fear option (but it would also remove the wants, I guess?) but I don't use them anyway either. Little Goat: 'That's boring!' Little Goat: 'Let's go over and watch Ji Ho and Vlad again, then!'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[jtks-gh05t-g1rl]

My everything.

part two

(also on my Wattpad)

warnings: swear words, mc getting hit on, death(disclaimer before).

..... I woke up, light peaking through, shining on my face. As I sat up in bed I noticed a note and uniform hung on the closet door.

the note read: "This is your new uniform. Please get dressed and come downstairs to the dining room for breakfast.. If any adjustments need to be made, please inform me or Lord Diavolo, signed, Lucifer."

▪︎Leviathan's POV▪︎

There she was. Walking down the stairs into the kitchen was the woman of my dreams, literally. Last night, after I showed her the room she's staying in, I went back to my room and fell asleep immediately. That wasn't normal, at least not for me. I always stay up until the early morning playing video games and watching anime, but that night was different. During my slumber, I dreamt about MC. It wasn't a normal one. It was honestly terrifying. More of a nightmare if anything.

(mention of death) °°°°°° there had been loud noises and yelling coming from the front entrance of the house. I assumed it was my brother's fighting again, until I heard Mammon..

"BELPHEGOR, I SWEAR ON MY LIFE I WILL MURDER YOU!"

Belphie? he's supposed to be in the human realm..

Mammons voice sounded coarse, serious, and tearful.

I blanked out for a moment. Before I knew it, I was watching as Mammon was being held back by Lucifer and Beelzebub.

Mammon became weak and lost balance. He fell to the floor, still screaming. His fall led my eyes to MC laying on the ground, unconscious, bruises on her neck, eyes glazed over.

My stomach dropped. My heart began to palpatate, beating out my chest.

I started to get closer to her body. I got just close enough to see her colorless face.

°°°°°°°° I woke up right when I got a look at her face. The image is engraved in my mind. Every time I blink, I see her.

But here she is, standing in front of me smiling and waving.

"Good morning, MC. How was your first night?"

"Good morning! It was actually pretty good, I wasn't expecting to be able to sleep." "Oh, I do have a question, though."

"Yes?"

"What about my family and friends? I'm still not completely sure if I trust everything going on right now. It would help a lot to still have contact with them."

"Ah," "we have sent letters and gotten in contact with your family and school to let them know about all of this." "As for your contact with your family and friends, you should still be able to contact them on your D.D.D. "

"Ok, cool. I would go insane without them." she placed her hand on the chair next to me "Is this seat taken?"

I looked up and shook my head slightly. Why would she want to sit next to me? Maybe she was actually interested in talking about TSL, or maybe she's just going to use me to get closer to my brother's. That's happened a few times, so I wouldn't be surprised.

Mammon sat down next to her, ruining my chances of talking to her. Not that I would've anyway, but it would've been nice to have the option.

Breakfast was served, and everyone was talking and smiling, but I couldn't stop thinking about the dream I had. ..... Why would I have a dream like that? .... I've had nightmares, but never any that bad. ... maybe it's a sign? .. or a warning? . . "psst, Levi, you ok, hun?" asmo broke me out of my thoughts.

"Huh - oh yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure? You looked a little stressed."

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm just thinking about the dream I had last night."

"Oooh, well, what was it?"

"I'll tell you later."

After breakfast, we all started cleaning up.

"Leviathan, You and MC have the same schedules, so you will be showing her to classes."

I nodded and turned back to MC.

"Well, you ready?"

"Yes, sir!" "wanna tell me about TSL now?"

°°°°°°° MC and I made it to RAD with about 10 minutes left to spare until class started.

We were walking in the hallway talking. Another demon came up to us looking smug and confident.

"Hey. You're new, right?" "I thought you were cute and was wondering if you were single?"

he playfully smacked my arm with the back of his hand.

"You don't mind right, man?" The crusty demon said. My face was covered in pure disgust.

"She's okay, thanks."

"Yo, help me out here, bro."

"Actually, we're both good." I grabbed MC's arm and began to walk away.

"Wait a second, I want to hear from the lady." He looked at MC.

"I'm gonna have to pass on that offer." MC said awkwardly

"Aw, c'mon cutie," "If you're going to say no, you gotta at least give me a reason."

"You want me to be honest?" She looked at him with innocent eyes.

"Hit me"

"Well, I would rather have my nails ripped out and shoved into my eyes than date you. Plus, you're pushy." That same look remained on her face.

MC began to walk past him, I followed. She was trying to hold back laughter.

"What a great start to my first day." The girl said, giggling.

"I know, right? In all seriousness, I promise not everyone here is like that."

We made it to our first class. I spent the time trying to help MC figure out school stuff.

(look who finally posted lol)

[luckydicekirby]

would love any director's commentary you may have on The Only True Thing if slightly older fics are on the table here bc lowkey it changed my brain chemistry forever. I read it on a whim like four years ago at 1 in the morning and ever since then I've been hooked on making all my fav pairings miserable for no reason. this sounds like sarcasm but I'm being completely sincere the schadenfreude is exquisite

okay first of all I’m SO glad to hear this because making your favs miserable is I think one of the most rewarding activities on this earth so I’m really glad I could help share that joy. thanks also to sylvain for just making it so easy. anyway, here’s some assorted thoughts, hopefully some of which are edifying!

(the only true thing for reference for anyone playing along at home.)

this fic affectionately named the darkling au due to this tweet which I feel like I should put in a hall of fame someday. anyway this entire thread showcases the origin of this fic which was me catie and lily bullying each other on twitter about sylvix, a pastime left behind in 2019 which i really miss.

the thing that really first made me Crazy Cuckoo about sylvain is his B support with Byleth--I'm obsessed with that moment where he very coldly threatens to kill you and then laughs it off, and that was pretty much the jumping off point for Sylvain's characterization in this au--what if he was like that all the time? answer: it would be bad, but also pretty sexy!

One thing I miss about writing for fe3h is the hero’s relics were sooo nice as like. shortcut symbolism. the lance of ruin comes preloaded for you! It’s familial cycles of violence! Easy! and there's a mechanic for it breaking ALSO preloaded into the game mechanics! I wrote like three versions of the ending and the lance getting busted moved around a bit--it originally happened a little earlier.

For a while when I was still femblempilled I was idly thinking about two sequels to this—a sylvain pov sequel about the war, which would have been fun but also Yikes, and then epistolary dorothea/ingrid ideological divorce fic. sorry to dorothea and ingrid who really get the short end of the stick in this universe.

oh there's a playlist. I can’t claim to have put a ton of thought into it it’s just all my fav bad ya boyfriend songs <3 actually dead girl walking reprise is like. yeah that's the fic.

ANYWAY. I feel like a lot of my commentary on this has been washed away by the sea (the passage of time) so a few extras. I apparently wrote like 400 words of sylvain POV of the training yard scene also? Last edited September 26th 2019, here you go:

Felix has always been smaller him, ever since they were kids. Still is these days, to Sylvain’s delight. He wondered about it plenty, these past two years--maybe Felix had a growth spurt. Maybe he caught up to Dimitri. Maybe Sylvain would meet him at the monastery and they’d see eye to eye. Of course they don’t. Felix is a head shorter than him, and he’ll never see things the way Sylvain does. Still. Sylvain thought about it. He’s had a lot of time to think about Felix since the last time he saw him, since Felix ran away. Still a crybaby at heart, no matter how sure he was he’d grown out of it. Not much has changed, Sylvain figures. Felix might have everyone else fooled with that delightfully sharp-edged exterior of his--a pretty decent feint, Sylvian should know--but Felix can’t hide from him. Sylvain sees him down to the bone. The two of them are a matched set: liars at heart.  Like right now. Felix is trying so hard not to cry, his back to the wall of the training yard, his grip tight around the wood of his training sword like he’s actually going to use it. Sylvain hopes he will. He hasn’t gotten to see Felix fight yet, really fight. He bets he’s gotten better. He bets he’s elegant and controlled—maybe less so with Sylvain, and wouldn’t that be nice? That’s how it goes sometimes, when Sylvain dreams about their last day together. Felix’s sword at his throat, biting and cold, ending all this before it began. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Sylvain wouldn’t have had to spend such an awfully long time missing him.  He bets Felix could make him hurt. Nothing seems to do that anymore, except for thoughts of Felix, the ones he can never stop worrying at like a bruise.  Sylvain doesn’t want much these days, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard: he wants Felix in a way that aches, delirious and unstoppable. It doesn’t matter so much how. Felix is welcome to cut him open or kiss him quiet or anything in between. As long as he never stops looking at Sylvain like he is now, hateful and just on the edge of tears, so clearly focused on nothing else. As long as Sylvain can have that, the rest doesn’t matter.  That’s love, Sylvain figures; the cheerful facade he gives the girls is nothing. He forgets about a new one every week. But Felix? He’ll be dead someday, and Felix will still have a grip on his heart, as tight as he’s holding his sword and just as dangerous.

and what exists of the sylvain POV sequel I never wrote:

Felix looks like shit. Of course he’s also beautiful. He’s radiant, for all that his hair’s a mess and his face is drawn and he’s got the kind of dark circles that only come from weeks and weeks of exhaustion. He’s Felix, right? He can’t be anything else. “You look like shit,” Sylvain tells him, because honesty is what Felix thinks he wants from him. He hasn’t seen Felix in six moons, but that probably hasn’t changed. “What are you doing here?” Felix asks. His horse stamps her feet and shakes her head, moving uneasily under him. Felix has never been a good rider. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate his mare, and she doesn’t appreciate him. Sylvain wonders how long Felix has been making his way across Faerghus like this. He wonders if he stole the horse. It’s awful not to know. “Looking for you,” Sylvain says. “They say you’re searching for the king.” Felix never could stop himself from chasing ghosts. Sylvain hates that about him. It’s just as unfair as everything else: it’s the only reason Sylvain is still here, after all.  “I am. And you should be defending Gautier territory.” “Got a message from your father,” Sylvain lies. He slides off his horse, patting her flank. Felix, clumsily, does the same. “He wants you to come home.” That part’s probably true.  Felix scoffs. “My old man can send all the messages he wants. I’m going to find the boar.” He means it. Sylvain can see that he means it, in the flinty look in his eyes, the fold of his arms, the jut of his chin as he looks up at Sylvain. It’s the saddest thing Sylvain’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of shit. “Felix,” he says. He reaches out. He can never help it, not when Felix is like this, not when he believes. Felix doesn’t flinch from Sylvain’s hand on his cheek anymore. “Sweetheart. You know he’s dead.” “Don’t call me that,” Felix says. But when he swings himself back in the saddle and Sylvain does the same, he doesn’t tell Sylvain not to follow. That’s more than good enough. 

[captain-k8kat]

So far, I don't like lies of p as much as I like bloodborne, though that's not saying much because I love bloodborne more than any other game. Lies of P is still a really excellent game.

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Was soooooo happy with this phase 1 which is what made it so much funnier that I was immediately clapped by his phase 2 😂

[gammija]

i keep constructing elaborate political speeches in my mind. as if somehow if i could just talk to pvv-voters compellingly enough, explain to all of em why this is moronic on every level, they'd all suddenly find out that they're actually leftists at heart who just heard a few facts wrong

[mabaris]

honestly tho i think the fallow mire is the best map in inquisition. the rest of them try to be TOO big because they’re chasing the open world feel and. plenty of other people have spoken, better than i could, about how it makes them feel empty and like they’re just fluff for fetch quests to pad out playtime hours

but the fallow mire is still PLENTY big and feels much more dense because there’s less empty space and overall just. less Going On. i know it’s the dragon age protagonist’s job to get involved in every problem, but i do like how most of the quests seem tighter, related to each other and the overall plot. and it feels more true to the scale of like, kirkwall and og redcliffe and haven

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.

[illdothehotvoice]

It think it's so funny how much I hype up Superstar Saga like objectively she isn't even the best game in the series I just think she's really neat

[leonbastralle]

hello

this is annie, u might (if at all) remember me as romeo-and-simulet. recently i logged into this account for the first time in 4 years and i havent opened ts4 for the same amount of time basically so its safe to say i wont be getting back to that any time soon.

i have been feeling like hanging around though, hence the Rebrand TM (i couldnt stand my old url any more skfjhskdfs) thats making me feel more comfortable to reblog and interact w things that i enjoy! so i just wanted to make a post explaining this just in case someone sees me pop up on their dash and is like who the fuck is that skjfhskd

that and also i got some messages asking how i am during the time i was away which i thought was very sweet so i just wanted to say that im alive and im actually pretty happy right now! thank u to whoever stuck around and i hope whatever i end up dumping on this blog is enjoyable

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!