A/N: Totally unrequested. Inspired by @chemicalimagines’s soccer!reader and punk! Gerard. Idk. It’s fluff.
Warnings: A couple of soccer bitches? Thas it?
#7, the angry defender, and her pal #16, smashed into you from either sides, making you lose your footing and the ball while you were at it. Luckily, the other forward, your best friend, swooped in and got it. She was about to take her shot when #7 from the other team blindsided her, tackling her to the ground and out of bounds.
“Card! CARD! Are you fucking blind?” you yelled, scrambling to get up from where you laid. Your swift legs stalked over to where the asshat #7 and y/b/f lay on the ground. Y/b/f was in serious pain, holding her ankle in distress. Two of your teammates came and started helping her off the field, so it was up to you to confront the bully who was somehow not getting fucking carded.
“What is your problem?” you shoved my finger in #7’s chest, getting up in her face. “You’ve been targeting us the whole game, are you trying to get us hurt?”
“Speak for yourself you fucking bitch!” She huffed, shoving you backwards into another teammate of yours who came to back you up. You noticed both your teams were starting to come over and gather around us. “You landed on McKenzie!”
“She grabbed my hair and pulled me down with her!” You protested, resisting the urge to shove her back. #7 frowned deeply, nearly growling when she took you by the shoulders and dug her fingernails into your already marked up skin. “Get off!” You yelled, squeezing her wrists and pulling them down and off you.
Just then a ref grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the crowd. “Who the fuck do you think you are, young lady!” He scolded you, digging in his pocket. Why were all refs like this?
“Ref, y/b/f just got blindsided and got her ankle fucked up and she doesn’t even get a direct kick penalty?” You threw your hands in the air, enraged at the fact that you knew what was going to happen. This was the first time it had ever happened.
He held up the red card, making the people in the stands boo even more loudly than before, although you’d forgotten they were even there. You scoffed in disgust, dropping your hands and head in defeat. You turned on your heel to walk back to the bench but snapped your attention towards the stands when you heard that oh-so-familiar voice.
“Fucking bullshit ref! She didn’t do a fucking thing, the giraffe over there shoved her! Fucking card her!” Your boyfriend, Gerard, shouted from the stands along with his best friends and brother, who joined in as well.
“Y/N doesn’t deserve it! Card seven!”
You hid a smile underneath your hand. Frank never failed to make you laugh. The ref turned to them, cupping his hands to use as a microphone to yell at the only black spot in the sea of our bright school colors. “Young men if you cannot conduct yourselves in a respectful manner I can have you removed from the grounds!”
“Aw, guess that means I can’t streak today huh? Damn it’s fantastic weather for the balls to hang free, you know my man?” Gerard sighed to Frank, pretending to be defeated.
Frank stuck out his bottom lip, looking towards the ref. “Yeah, ref! We’ve been looking forward to this a while. It’s our favorite soccer pastime!”
You giggled, raising a hand in a thumbs up as you made your way over to the bench, where you’d stay for the rest of the game. But you didn’t mind. You knew what you did was right, and that everyone would support you for it.
“She said it’s broken,” you sighed, flicking your tongue up to let the chocolate ice cream curve into a swoop. “She’s done for the rest of the season. So am I.”
“Me too,” Gerard grinned, interlocking your spare hands together while licking up the melted vanilla ice cream that dripped down the cone and onto his fingers. “They said that we’re a new record for game time disturbances, and that we can’t come anymore. But I know Doris loves how supportive I am of you, so she’ll let me in.”
The corner of your mouth perked up. “Doris is a sweetie. But you’re lucky she’ll even do that. I bet if she wasn’t friends with your grandma-”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” he rolled his eyes, taking another mouthful. You resisted the urge to tell him not to do it because you knew it was no use; he would do it anyway. Dumbass must like brain freezes. “I just need to dial it down a bit, I guess.”
You chuckled. “No, I’m the one who needs to dial it down a bit. It almost turned into a fist fight.”
“You’re too nice to get into a fist fight. You’d hit the girl then apologize, but probably hit her again. And apologize. It’s an endless circle,” he sighed, letting go of your hand to throw his arm up. “‘Fuck you!-Sorry. Eat a dick!-Oh, gosh, I didn’t mean it. Kiss my ass!-Please accept my sincerest apologies, kind sir-”
“Okay, okay! I get it,” you giggled, covering his mouth, as he was attracting attention. “I apologize a lot. I get it.” You paused, thinking about the next morning. “What’s gonna happen tomorrow? Soccer is the only reason people like me and if I don’t have that-”
It was his turn to cover your mouth, silencing your little anxiety-fueled rant. He made sure you were gonna shut up before lowering his hand back to the table. “Don’t you worry your pretty little face about that. Me and the boys…we’re working on something to fix it.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Gerard, you know there’s nothing-”
“You just wait, babe,” he grinned mischievously. “You just wait.”
It’s been a week since the incident of the soccer game, and now prom was a few days away. For some reason, Gerard hadn’t given you a promposal yet. Granted, he was your boyfriend and he didn’t have to, but he always loved spoiling you and showing off the fact that you were his girl.
It was lunchtime, and you was walking back from the food area from getting a spoon when a soccer ball rolled towards your feet. You stopped it and picked it up, reading the inscription on it.
“You always get me out of trouble, now it’s my turn. Welcome back to the team.
P.S. The promposal is coming, don’t you worry your pretty little face.”
You looked up at Gerard, who was standing with his friends and your team, who were all smiling at you. “I-I’m back?” You stuttered, studying all their faces, searching for a hint of a lie.
Our coach walked through the sea of players. “Damn right you are, y/n/n. Goth boy here and his buds sent a video of the ref to the state sports association and they thought it wasn’t right. So you’re back!”
You were ready to bust into happy tears, and ran up to Gee, jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist before lifting his chin up in a dimension altering kiss.
