GOOOOOAAL!!!
Isagi loves soccer. Everyone knows that. It’s simple: anything within kicking distance turns into a ball he has to kick.
⚠️ Warnings: none.
Pairing: bf!Isagi Yoichi x fem!reader
It’s a calm, cosy evening. Soft LED lights fill the living room. You're wrapped in a blanket, with a bowl of chips, popcorn, and a couple of bags of sour candy within arm's reach. Tonight, you're insatiable. You can thank the CDs for that.
“The CDs? Yoichi repeats, his finger sliding over the laptop trackpad. “I… didn’t know there was a CD version,” he says, a little thrown off. “I thought we’d watch it on Netflix. Since we have Netflix. And no CD player. If that’s your thing, I can order one.”
“What?” you ask, mouth full of paprika chips.
“You said you have CDs.”
A small laugh escapes you. “I said I have the CDs. It's my nickname for PMS: Cholesterol & Diabetes days. CDs.”
Well, he wasn’t expecting that. “Okay. So, Netflix, is it.”
“Yeah.” you say, getting up from the couch and tugging at the hem of your T-shirt. “Start it without me. I'll be right back—I just need to pee.”
Once in the bathroom, your phone buzzes in your hand. A 'period starting today' notification flashes on the screen. You look down, and yep—a tiny reddish stain on your underwear confirms the diagnostic. It wasn't just PMS. The storm had officially arrived.
You slip into Yoichi's room to grab a new underwear. Since you recently started crashing at his place, a few of your clothes are already scattered in his closet. Unfortunately, because you only just started crashing here, the only things you’ve brought over are nice dresses, pants, and cute panties that would be a crime to ruin.
“Damn it.” you sigh, grabbing a mustard-yellow boxer with pretty lace on the sides. Alright, a good layer of pads assembled like Tetris should do the trick, right?
In your toiletry bag, you take out a pack of sanitary pads. The plastic seal gradually loses its color between your nails as you stretch it to open it.
“You coming?!”
“One sec!” Of course, for narrative purposes, the attempt fails.
Still for the sake of this scenario, the pack is going to slip from your hands and roll a few feet away from you.
In the living room, your man is getting impatient: two minutes, my foot! He grabs a handful of popcorn and wolfs it down in one go. “What the hell is she doin’?!” he pauses the film, getting up from the couch. He headed toward the hallway, only to freeze. “What are you doing?!” Standing there with narrowed eyes, he stares at you, crouched next to the dresser.
A small rustle catches his attention. Something rolls on the floor, stopping a few centimetres from his right foot. Foot… Ball. With the tip of it, he rolls the ball left to right, then right to left.
“Sorry, I took a bit longer. Gimme the—”
“And Isagi Yoichi intercepts the ball!” he announces in full commentator mode.
“What? No, no, no. ” But the silly thing just starts running around the big room.
“Thirty seconds left on the clock.The score is deadlocked. And Isagi has the ball at his feet!” His voice rises, epic and breathless. “This is the moment legends are made of.” He starts dribbling. Little touches, quick feet, the pack bouncing between his socks. “What a first touch—absolutely sublime!
You bend down in a hurry to reach for it, “Give it back! I need it!”
“And the opposition is putting up a fight—desperate tackle coming in hot! But Isagi refuses to be denied! ” He spins on his heel, faking left, pulling the crinkling plastic back with the sole of his foot.
... And you miss by inches, nearly face-planting into the carpet. Completely unfazed, your boyfriend keeps playing.
“He’s not giving an inch—watch this!”. He’s gliding past invisible defenders, feinting to the left. “You can’t teach that!”
“Yocchiiii!!!!”
As he could hear you with the screaming crowd!
With a perfect fake, he sets the ball up. “He centers it perfectly. Plants his foot. Can he do it?” A cocky I’m-about-to-score-the-winner smirk appears on his lips, “Oh, you better believe it! This is Isagi we’re talking about! He shoots, and—” The pack is launched full speed into the wall. “GOOOOOAAL!”
He drops into the most theatrical knee-slide in history, sliding across the carpet like he’s just won the World Cup final in the 90th minute. “YEAHHHHH!!” he roars, pumping his fists in the air. “THE EGOIST STRIKER DOES IT AGAIN! HISTORY IS MADE TODAY, FOLKS! WHAT A GOAL! WHAT A LEGEND! THE CROWD IS GOING WILD—ISAGI! ISAGI! ISAGI!”
He's fully lost in the celebration. Then, he opens his eyes.
Scattered everywhere are neat little, purple-wrapped rectangles. Under the bed. On the carpet. One even stuck comically to the side of his desk lamp. And there you stand, arms hanging by your sides, with a completely deadpan expression. RIP to your current underwear. Yoichi slowly lowers his hands. He looks at you. Then at the pads.
“…Oh. ”
You grab one, “And that's a red card for Isagi.” and lightly tap the rectangle against his head.
©𝓮𝓷𝒕𝓮𝓷𝒅𝓼𝓶𝒂𝓻𝒂𝓰𝓮
𓂃✍︎ : 𝐈𝐈𝐗. 𝐈𝐕. 𝐌𝐌𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈, 0. 826𝓴
➤ 🌱 He's so silly. I love him 🌱
