#Arsenal Televised football

[factflow]

The Beautiful Game 6 Mind-Blowing Football Facts You Won't Believe! Are You Ready To ...

Step into the thrilling world of football, the globe's most beloved sport, boasting a staggering 4 billion enthusiasts worldwide. Uncover the origins of this mesmerizing game, tracing its roots back to England in 1863 when the Football Association laid down the first rules. Dive into the ultimate showdown of international football, the FIFA World Cup, a prestigious event that captures hearts every four years. Prepare to be astonished as we reveal the lightning-fast goal that etched history in a mere 2.8 seconds and the remarkable feat of Stephan Stanis, who netted an incredible 16 goals in a single match. Join us in rewinding time to witness the groundbreaking televised moment that forever changed how we experience football, featuring none other than Arsenal.

[desperate-gay]

LEAH WILLIAMSON SMUT WHERE YOURE DATING ANOTHER FAMOUS MALE FOOTBALLER BUT HES CHEATING ON YOU SO YOU CHEAT WITH HER AND YOU SEND HIM THE TAPE. Is that too much😳😳😳

Sharing Is Caring

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

SMUT 18+

summary: maybe your boyfriend cheated on you and flaunted it all over social media, but you get back at him in the best way with the help of your best friend

Mason Mount spotted kissing new girl down the streets of Manchester

Once Leah saw the photos surfacing on every social media app, she immediately began to text you. Asking if you were okay or needed anything, but you didn’t respond. You still haven’t and it’s already been a day which worries Leah, so she immediately goes to the store, grabs all of your favorite snacks and beverages, and races down to your apartment.

You scoop another spoonful of brownie ice cream and shove it in your mouth, not caring about the coldness on your sensitive teeth, too busy sulking and spacing out at the trashy reality show playing on the TV. Soon you hear someone crash in from the front door, making you turn your head swiftly.

A flustered Leah stands by the doorway with a basket full of items you can’t see from where you’re sitting. You send her a weak smile and turn your attention back to the television. Footsteps begin approaching you and the couch sinks downwards next to you.

“I saw the photos, how are you holding up?” Her tone stays soft but cautious, testing the waters to see how your emotions are at the moment.

All you do is shrug in response while stirring your spoon around in your ice cream, placing your gaze anywhere else but the blonde’s pitiful look. Leah just nods in understanding before sitting back on the sofa, allowing you to talk whenever you’re comfortable.

“I’m not even that brokenhearted about it. Mason’s been pulling away for a while so it was only time until he found someone new” You say, breaking the comfortable silence after a few minutes. The girl beside you moves closer, placing her hand on your criss crossed legs.

“That doesn’t give him any reason to cheat. If he knew it was going nowhere, he should’ve ended it, not find some rando in a crowd who is not even half as pretty as you.” Leah getting slightly irritated at the man for doing something as vile to you. Once again, you just shrug at her truthful statement and compliment.

“I’m kind of happy he did it.” Leah’s eyebrow quirks at your whisper while you let out a shaky sigh before finally looking at the blonde. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely pissed he did and is parading it all over the internet, but I’m not upset he’s not mine anymore.” Your tone slightly shifts from quiet to angry in a millisecond.

“Good because you deserve someone who can cherish you, appreciate you, and show you how beautiful you truly are.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be up for that challenge.” You joke, laughing quietly to yourself but stopping when you don’t hear anything from the girl next to you. As you look up, you see Leah with a stunned look on her face which soon turns into a smug smile.

“The real challenge would be if you could keep up with me or not.” Now it’s your turn to look shocked, noticing the cocky smirk on the woman’s face. She shifts closer to you, placing her hand on your knee while rubbing her thumb against you. “C’mon, baby. Do you think you can handle me?” She teases, moving her face closer to yours, making your eyes switch between her eyes and lips.

Right as Leah's mouth opens to say another taunting comment, you wrap your hand behind her neck and slam your lips against hers. The kiss quickly turns heated when Leah’s tongue enters your mouth, warmth flooding your body in seconds. Her hands grip at your waist and tug you into her lap without breaking the kiss. The sound of your lips colliding together is enough for a pool of arousal to make its way between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” She mumbles against your lips, holding herself back from jumping right back in.

“I’ve always liked Arsenal more than Manchester United.” You snicker which in turn makes the blonde grin before diving back in.

The show in the background becomes muffled, your focus solely on the girl beneath you. Her hands are placed on the small of your back slightly pushing in to make your back arch and chest push into her. They soon begin to slowly slide down to your bottom as your tongues stroke against each other’s.

“Let’s go to the room, yeah?” Leah insists, breaking the kiss. Her eyes trail your face, admiring your lips swollen and red, eyes hooded, and hair messy.

“Yes.” You pant out, breaking the girl from thought and causing her to smile in anticipation. She hooks her hands under your thighs, easily picking you up as if you only weigh a pound, and hurrying into your now one-person bedroom.

Just as she’s about to drop you, she decides against it and topples down on top of your body. You both giggle at her antics before eagerly connecting your lips again. Leah’s right forearm holds herself up by your head while her other hand roams under your shirt, rubbing and scratching as she trails further up.

“No bra?”

“You wouldn’t be wearing one either if you were lounging around, sulking while eating ice cream.” You huff, impatiently pulling the blonde back in an attempt to reconnect your lips. Leah swiftly sits up on her knees, looking at your disheveled form on the bed.

“You look so pretty for me, love.” Your heart thumps against your chest at the new term of endearment. The blood rushing to your cheeks felt abnormal, never having been this flustered by someone’s gaze.

Leah’s eyes continue to roam your figure while her hand traces absentmindedly. She notices your breath hitch when it sits on your collarbone, inches away from your neck. She rotates her hand so her fingers lie against it, wanting to see your reaction. You squeeze your eyes shut while your fist grips against the sheets.

“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, angel.” Leah chuckles, leaning down and pressing her lips onto your neck, sucking at your sweet spot. Little whimpers leave your mouth before you tilt your head to the side, allowing her to have more access.

“Lee, please do something.” You whine, feeling her hand under your shirt, palming at your breast.

“Such an impatient girl. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you to behave.” She rasps against your ear, tugging it down with her teeth. Your thighs squeeze together, trying to relieve some tension between your legs.

Leah finally lifts your shirt over your head and throws it mindlessly somewhere in the room. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed as your whole body would cower away but with Leah, it felt different. It felt good. It felt right.

Her head leans down, kissing around your chest before latching onto your nipple. The tension in your body quickly disappears as you sigh in relief. While her warm tongue swirls around you, her free hand trails down your stomach and beneath your shorts and underwear.

Your breath hitches when the pads of her fingers swipe through your folds, collecting all of your arousal and spreading it. Her mouth leaves your chest with a loud plop before she attacks your lips again, swallowing all the little noises you’re making as she rubs tight circles around your clit.

Right as you try to tug off your shorts, Leah’s hand grabs your wrist, restricting any movement. “What do you think you’re doing, love?” She rasps against your neck, continuing to scatter little hickeys around.

“Please.”

“You gotta be more specific on what you’re pleading for, baby.” The defender taunts with a wicked grin, shifting her head over yours so she can witness your pleading.

“Please take off my clothes and fuck me.”

Something in her shifts when she hears those words come out of your mouth. Suddenly she doesn’t want to make you wait because if she makes you, she’ll also have to hold herself back.

Both of her hands grip on each side of your shorts and yank them down aggressively, wanting to waste no time even if there isn’t a limit. You gasp at her change in demeanor but it overall excites you further.

“God you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Leah rasps, getting worked up by just the sight of you underneath her, naked and squirming. She moves towards the lower end of the bed, lying down so her face is close to your core.

“Leah, I need you.” You pant, feeling her warm breath against your wetness. Right when you think she’s going to dive in, she tilts her head and begins to kiss your thighs, leaving light bite marks behind. You shake your thighs with a whine which makes the blonde chuckle against your skin.

But soon your whines are replaced by moans when she latches onto your pussy with no warning. She knows exactly what she’s doing and how to do it. Her mouth switches from sucking and flicking your clit with her tongue to dipping her tongue in and out of your dripping hole.

Subconsciously your hips slowly grind against her face for more friction which she figures out quickly. She wraps her arms around your thighs and places both hands down on your pubic bone, pushing you more into the mattress to restrict any movement.

With the amount of people you have been with, no one has eaten you out this good before. She knows exactly when to loosen or tighten her tongue, where you need her, and at what pace makes it more pleasurable.

Moans spew out of your mouth consistently as your hands grip so hard against the sheets your knuckles are white. The blissful sensation shoots through your whole body like a lightning bolt, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Lee, baby. I’m close, so close.”

Leah unwraps one of her arms and reaches up to grasp your neck with her hand, choking you with very little pressure but enough to heighten your senses. While she continues to abuse your clit, she notices your eyes squeeze shut and your hips move up more slowly against her mouth.

When you finally let out a loud squeak and a string of curse words, she knows you’re cumming. Her tongue doesn’t stop lapping around until you twitch away from her touch. She lets go of your neck and kisses her way up your body until she’s face to face with you to which you pull her down, smashing your lips against hers, moaning when her tongue invades your mouth.

“That was so good.” You breathe out with a giddy smile. She sends back a dashing grin before nuzzling her face in your neck and pecking around.

“We’re not done yet. I’m just getting started with you.” Leah smirks, making your eyes widen. Her right-hand drags around your skin, fingertips brushing so lightly it’s almost ticklish. “I want you to squirt all over my fingers, baby.”

“I can’t do that-“

“You will, and we will show your little cheating boy toy just how good I make you feel. I bet he’s never made you squirt before, has he?” She tilts her head, eyes never leaving yours.

“No one has.” You whisper from both embarrassment and shock.

“Mmm, even better.”

She makes no other movement besides her hand continuing to wander around your body, confusing you with the sudden silence. You’re also in your head about how she means you’re going to show him.

Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by two fingers plunging into you. A whine shoots out from your mouth without even trying. Leah is so enticed by how your pussy swallows her fingers so well, almost sucking them in. She isn’t going fast, almost purposefully going so slow to torture you.

You whimper at your body feeling full but not any improvement towards an orgasm. The defender’s thumbs remain against your clit so with each thrust of her hand, she rubs it slowly.

“I thought the point of squirting was also to cum.” You huff impatiently which makes the girl chuckle at your needy state.

“See, baby. I’m going to edge you which will make you more sensitive and make you feel more built up. It might feel like torture for a bit but it will all be worth it.”

Before you can protest, her lips latch onto yours as she speeds up her fingers, causing you to moan into her mouth, allowing her to just swallow them. Her fingers are only halfway in but they move fast along with her thumb rubbing against your bundle of nerves.

She knows immediately when you’re about to come so right when you’re about to tilt off the edge, she pulls away leaving you whining in discomfort. Only after a minute or two, does she dip her fingers back into you and do exactly what she did before.

This repeats 3 or 4 more times, ending with you sobbing in overstimulation and want. You were so so so close each time but she pulled away before you could even realize it.

“Awe, baby, you did so good. Now it’s time to show that jerk what he’s missing, don’t ya think?” Leah tilts her head in fake question before reaching over your head to grab her phone she must have set by you at some time.

Your head finally wraps around what she has been talking about. She wants to record her fucking you and send it to Mason. It’s a very risky move. It’s crazy. It turns you on.

Showing off that you’re getting so deliciously fucked by the English captain. He parades on the internet him kissing some other girl, you parade to him having sex with a very familiar girl.

“Are you okay with this? I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.” Her dominant persona fades a little into concern. Of course, it would be fun for her to show the idiot what he lost and what she has gained, but she needs you to want to do it too.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Are you sure?”

“Leah, I need you with your fingers inside of me, pounding into me, recording, then making me cum so hard I see stars. I want to show him I upgraded.” You purr against her ear, having sit up slightly to reach her. The defender’s eyes flutter shut with a quiet moan, showing you how much your words have an effect on her.

“Lie down.”

When you don’t comply right away, she shoves you down on the bed, her dominant demeanor returning. Her free hand reaches down, slowly rubbing your clit while her other presses record on her phone. You coincidentally moan right when it starts.

From your nose and lower, your whole body is on display on the camera, showing off the fresh red hickeys scattered around, your very swollen clit under the blonde’s thumb, and your extremely wet pussy.

Without wasting any time, Leah slips her middle and ring finger into you. Unlike before, she goes knuckles deep into you. Your mouth lets out a high-pitched noise along with a string of moans as she drags her fingers in and out, her thumb never leaving your clit.

Once a few seconds have passed she immediately fastens her thrusts, curling her fingers up to brush against your g-spot. Your moans get louder and never stop the faster she goes, and from the constant edging, it’s not going to take much to push you over the edge.

This orgasm feels different though. It feels bigger and more intense coming up. Usually, it approaches and disappears fast, but the pleasure right now leading up to it feels amazing. More amazing than your normal ones.

“Baby, I think I’m getting close.” You gasp before moaning again.

“Say my name.”

You look up at her in confusion only to see her eyes full of lust and her phone held up right next to her. Realizing that it’s to show who she is you don’t complain.

“Leah, please make me cum.”

“Again.”

“Leah.”

“Again.”

She knows you’re extremely close. Each time her fingers thrust into you, your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around her digits. And by the way your nails are digging into her bicep and your eyes are squeezed shut, you’re holding it as much as you can.

“Leah! You’re making me feel so good, Lee. Please let me cum.” You’re basically sobbing at this point so when she mumbles the next words you crumble.

“Cum for me, baby.”

As you let go, you feel liquid run down your thighs along with louder wet noises as Leah’s hand continues to pound into you. Your mouth is wide open in silent pleasure while she carries on pushing you to the end of your orgasm.

Once a pornographic moan finally escapes your lips along with your body spasming, she pulls her fingers out and gently rubs along your clit. Your body jerks away with each swipe of her thumb so she finally stops altogether.

“Such a good girl. My good girl.” Leah praises before ending the recording and lying down next to you.

She wraps her arms around your naked form and pulls you into her. Your head finds its place in her neck while she rubs her hand up and down your arm, soothing you after the very intense moment.

“I didn’t think I could do that and you proved me wrong. You are one of many talents, Miss Leah Williamson.” You jab your finger into her chest teasingly. The defender tilts her head back with a laugh before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

Both of you lay there in comfortable silence, embracing each other’s warmth.

“Should we send it?”

“I will never say no to showing that dweeb what I can do to you and he can’t.”

[meazalykov]

commercial

alessia russo x actress!reader (requested)

summary: pairing up with a footballer for a commercial changed your life

based off of the adidas commercial she was featured in before the women's world cup in 2023

you never thought filming a commercial would bring you to london. 

being an actress with a hit hbo series and a partnership with adidas kept you busy, traveling constantly between coasts, countries, and continents. 

this job felt different. you’d always admired women’s sports, so when your agent called you with the news that adidas wanted you for their new campaign promoting the women's world cup, it felt like an honor. 

empowering women, celebrating athletes—it was something you could get behind since its what you cared about. you said yes without a second thought. 

now, with a plane ticket in hand, you were ready to make it happen.

the moment you step off the plane at heathrow, london’s summer breeze hits you—crisp, slightly cool, and carrying the scent of rain and freshly brewed coffee. your driver, an older man with a kind smile, helps load your bags, and you’re soon winding your way through the city streets. 

as you look out the car window, everything feels vibrant and alive. red double-decker buses whizz by, people spill out of cafes, and there's a constant hum in the air. 

despite being a little jet-lagged, you’re excited—more excited than you've been for a job in a long time.

the next morning, you arrive on set for the commercial shoot, and it’s a whirlwind of motion—producers barking orders, cameras being set up, and the smell of fragrancelingering in the air. 

a production assistant greets you almost the second you step out of your car, a polite smile on their face, speaking rapidly into their headset.

"y/n, so glad you could make it! we’re just about to start introducing everyone. can i take you to meet the other talents– the footballers i shall say?”

you nod, straightening your posture and reminding yourself to relax.

 

just another job, just another set. yet the excitement buzzing in the air makes your nerves tingle. the assistant leads you toward the back of the set, where a few women stand, laughing easily with one another. 

you recognize them immediately.. lena oberdorf, mary fowler, and alessia russo. you’d seen their photos in the media. never having enough time to watch ninety minutes of football, you still knew how good they were.

lena is first to notice you. 

“y/n!! you’re kidding?!!” she says to mary with a friendly smile, sticking her hand out. “nice to meet you.”

you shake her hand, grinning. “nice to meet you too. i’m a big fan of your game.”

“and i am a big fan of yours!!” lena says, seeming genuinely pleased. “looking forward to working with you today. the concept seems fun.”

mary and alessia both chime in their greetings.

there’s a moment of small talk as you chat about the campaign, the concept, and the filming schedule. but as you exchange introductions, your eyes keep drifting back to alessia. 

there’s something about her that draws you in—something in the way she carries herself, confident yet laid-back, with a gaze that's intense but kind. and when her eyes meet yours, you swear you see a flash of something else, something that makes your heart skip.

“so, you’re an actress..” alessia says finding small talk, leaning in a little closer. her voice has a certain lilt to it. warm, curious.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, 

“i’ve been working in television for a while, but this is my second sports commercial.”

“oh, really?” alessia tilts her head, her blonde hair falling to the side as she studies you. 

“guess we’re both kind of stepping into each other’s worlds for this one. i’ve never done a commercial myself unless it was for arsenal.”

“well, from what i’ve heard, you’ll be great,” you say, and it’s not just a compliment. you mean it. 

you’ve heard from your assistant about alessia playing for the england national team. she must be amazing. 

alessia chuckles softly, and you catch the way her eyes sparkle, like she's genuinely enjoying the conversation.

“we’ll see,” she says, that easy confidence still there but with a playful glint. 

“just don’t laugh at me if i mess up my lines.”

you shake your head, laughing. “only if you promise not to laugh at me trying to dribble a football.”

“deal,” alessia says, flashing you a grin that makes you wonder just how often she uses that smile to get what she wants. 

there’s something magnetic about her, and as much as you try to focus on the task at hand, your mind keeps circling back to her.

soon, it’s time to start filming, and the director calls everyone to their positions. the first scene you're shooting together is a lighthearted setup in a grocery store, meant to highlight how sports are part of everyday life. 

you and alessia are supposed to be casually shopping, pretending to pick out items until a boy accidentally passes a football to alessia, who starts dribbling the ball fantastically.

the idea is to show how these footballers are stars both on and off the pitch—effortlessly cool, effortlessly themselves.

you’re on the camera for the attention, the familiarity of many people seeing one of their favorite actresses on screen. 

as the cameras roll, you find yourself struggling to stay in character—not because you're nervous, but because you're genuinely awestruck. 

alessia makes it all look so easy. she maneuvers the ball around her feet effortlessly, as if it’s a natural extension of her body, and at one point, she jumps up and crosses her legs to move the ball up in a seamless move. 

the crew claps and cheers after the director says cut, and you have to remind yourself to look casual, to pretend like this is something you see every day.

"you okay there?" alessia whispers when you find yourself staring for a second too long. 

"yeah, totally," you reply, trying to play it off. "just, you know, impressed. you're kind of amazing."

“kind of?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “i’ll take that, i guess.”

you both laugh, and the rest of the shoot continues with an easy flow. 

the chemistry between you translates on camera, and the director nods approvingly after each take. 

by the time you wrap for the day, you're already regretting that it has to end so soon.

as everyone’s packing up, alessia walks over to you, her expression a mix of mischief and curiosity. 

“hey, i know you’re busy with your job but... do you have any plans while you're here in london?”

“not really,” you say, glancing down as you fidget with your hands. 

“i have some interviews coming up in new york soon, but other than that, i’m kind of free.”

“oh,” she says, her voice light but her eyes steady on yours. 

“how about we grab dinner tonight? there’s this great italian spot not too far from here—i thought it might be nice to hang out without all of the chaos.”

you don’t even have to think about it. “yeah, i’d like that a lot.”

later that evening, alessia takes you to a cozy restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of london. 

it’s intimate, dimly lit, with exposed brick walls and a menu that makes your mouth water the second you open it. the conversation flows easily—surprisingly easily—and you talk about everything from football and acting to travel, family, and your favorite shows outside of the ones you’ve been in. 

it feels like you’ve known each other for longer than a day.

“so, you travel a lot for work,” alessia says at one point, sipping on her lemon water. 

“ever get tired of it?”

“sometimes,” you admit. 

“but it’s also kind of amazing. i mean, many people would do anything for the opportunities that i’ve been given—like getting to meet people like you for example.”

alessia laughs softly, shaking her head. “you’re flattering me.”

“maybe,” you say with a playful smile, “but it’s the truth.”

alessia leans back in her chair, and there’s a look in her eyes you can't quite place—somewhere between admiration and something deeper, something that makes your stomach flip. 

“you know, you’re not what i expected,” she says, voice gentle but sincere.

“what do you mean?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“i don’t know, someone... a little more hollywood, i guess?” she shrugs.

“i get it. luckily i’m not from hollywood, i am from new york.” you smile. 

“that’s nice to hear.” alessia giggles. 

the conversation continues late into the night, and by the time you both walk out into the cool london air, you’re standing a little closer than necessary, arms brushing as you make your way down the street. 

she walks you back to your hotel, and when you say goodnight, there’s a moment—a heartbeat of silence—where you both just look at each other, and you feel it. 

something more than just a bond that was formed in one night.

“goodnight, y/n,” she says softly, lingering for just a second before turning to leave.

“goodnight, alessia,” you reply, watching her walk away, already replaying the night in your head.

the next few days fly by in a blur of filming and hanging out with alessia whenever you can. 

you text constantly, even when you're both too busy. a couple of weeks later you’re in new york city with castmates on your show– and alessia is with arsenal finishing the season. 

she sends quick messages between training, silly selfies with her teammates, and voice notes that make you smile every time you listen to them. 

it’s not long before you’re both sharing pieces of yourselves you don’t usually let others see. 

when alessia heads off to the women's world cup with england, you don’t expect to miss her as much as you do. 

you haven’t seen her since that night in london. her messages get shorter, more sporadic as the competition heats up, and while you understand—she’s busy, focused—you can’t help but wish you were there to cheer her on in person.

and then, one day, you get a text from her: 

wish you could be here. can't wait to see you soon!

your heart skips a beat, and without thinking, you open your laptop, check your schedule, and find a two-week window. 

before you can second-guess yourself, you’re booking a flight to australia.

when you finally arrive in australia, the world cup is in full swing. 

the streets are filled with fans, the excitement is in the air, and you find yourself caught up in the energy. 

on the day of the final, you’re practically buzzing with nerves and anticipation. you dragged one of your castmates to come with you across the globe, just to see alessia live. 

you find your seat, your heart pounding as you look out over the pitch.

when alessia takes the field, you can’t stop grinning. you cheer loudly, the sound almost getting lost in the roar of the crowd, but you know she hears you—somehow, you just know. 

the match is intense, every pass and tackle pulling you deeper in. but as the final whistle blows, it’s spain who takes the victory, and the stadium is filled with a mix of cheers and groans. 

your heart sinks as you watch alessia’s face fall, the disappointment clear in her expression.

as england’s players walk off the pitch, heads hung low, you feel helpless, wanting nothing more than to comfort her. 

you’re not sure if she’s even seen you in the stands, and you hesitate, unsure of what to do. 

then, you see leah, one of her teammates that became one of your favorites, give alessia a nudge and nod in your direction.

alessia looks up, scanning the crowd until her eyes land on you. for a moment, she’s still, and then she’s moving—walking quickly toward you, her face a mixture of surprise, relief, and something that looks like hope. 

before you know it, she’s right in front of you, and you’re pulling her into your arms, holding her tight as she buries her face in your shoulder.

“i’m so proud of you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. 

“you were amazing.”

she lets out a shaky breath, holding you close. “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“well, i couldn’t let you play in a world cup final without me,” you say, smiling softly as you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. 

“win or lose, i’m here for you.”

alessia’s eyes soften, and for a moment, the weight of the loss seems to lift. she cups your cheek with her hand, her thumb gently brushing against your skin, and you lean into the touch, your heart swelling with something warm and undeniable.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. and as the noise of the stadium fades into the background, all that matters is this—being here with her.

“maybe i can stay in london for a while, to make you feel better if thats okay?” you hug her again, holding her knowing that the world cup loss is still in her mind. 

“that is more than okay, y/n.”

masterlist

[12woso12]

The North Stand

Something a little different from my Dorothy in North London series, but don't worry, that's coming soon! If you have any requests for One Shots then just let me know!

You and your twin brother were referred to as Barca's wonder twins. He was a prolific striker for the men, and you a fearsome defender for the women's team. When your brother died tragically at an away game after colliding head first with a goal post, you leave Barcelona behind for the red and white of Arsenal.

When you have no choice but to return to the scene of the accident for a match, you insist it doesn't bother you. In reality, you're dying inside.

TW: Death, Mental Health

It was 6pm on a Friday when you first discovered you were needed at Anfield. Originally, the club had planned to leave you in London for the match despite your assurance to Jonas that you were completely fine.

It had been 14 months since he'd died.

14 months since your twin had been ripped from existence, stolen from you in one reckless moment of football. All for a stupid game.

A stupid goal.

A stupid league.

Football was so trivial now. Winning trophies would never outshine the feeling of sharing a drink with your brother. Playing in the Champions League would never live up to the memory of opening your stockings with him on Christmas morning.

Before his death, you would've given anything up for football. But now you'd give up football in a heartbeat just to speak to your brother once more. You were stuck in what had once been a dream career with only the memories of your brother to cling onto.

It seemed silly to ever think that you needed to give up everything for football. If anything, football owed you. It had taken away your other half. You couldn't even look at a Barca shirt, let alone watch a game without withdrawing into your bed for days at a time with the face of your brother fresh behind your eyes.

It had taken you a week to decide to leave Barcelona after his death. The noise around the entire situation was so loud. Fans had found your address and were leaving their condolences in the form of flowers and teddy bears at your doorstep, there was a televised tribute to him at Camp Nou where thousands of fans tuned in to grieve. Alexia had tried to convince you to attend but instead promised to attend for you after seeing your vulnerable state.

It was a touching tribute, not that you had watched it.

Within a month of the tribute at Camp Nou you had fled the country. Alexia had tried to understand, she really had, but her heart ached at your departure knowing that she'd failed in fixing your pain.

Arsenal was a good change. You already had friends there in the girls who played for England and you integrated well into the found family they'd developed at the club. At first, they'd tried to get you to speak about your brother, they tried to get you to show even an ounce of emotion surrounding his death but you had completely shut that part of yourself down. Instead you reverted to your old self. The person you were before the accident.

You cracked jokes with Beth and cooked tacos with Alessia in the evenings. You spent hours learning from Leah and took up pranking Kim and Steph in your free time. Kyra became one of your best friends and you moved in together after only a month.

Life at Arsenal was good, great even. It allowed you to breathe. You'd gone 14 months ignoring your grief and if you had it your way, you'd go the rest of your life without having to deal with it. But now, with Wubben-Moy and Codina out with injuries and Katie Reid away with England youth, Arsenal were asking the world of you: You would need to resume your usual role as a starting centre back alongside Leah.

Your brother had died in Anfield stadium. Now you'd be treading the very grass where'd he spent his last seconds alive.

'I'm so sorry to have to do this, Y/n' Jonas' voice rippled through the phone. You gripped it tightly, knuckles white to match the pale of your face. It was your own fault they were asking you really, you had just spent the last two weeks convincing that team that you'd be okay to play if needed.

'It's alright, Jonas. It's no biggie' You croak out. You could hear him sigh down the phone and you pictured his furrowed eyebrows lacing together in concern.

'Is Kyra home with you?' he asked. 'Do you need me to send Leah so you can have some company?'

'Jonas i'm okay, i promise'

'If you need someone to talk to you know our psychologists are fantastic...'

You shook your head furiously. 'I'm fine. I'll be at Colney first thing tomorrow to travel up with you guys'

'Okay.' he didn't sound convinced. 'Make sure you get some good sleep and i'll see you tomorrow'

As soon as Jonas ended the call you threw your phone across the room. It slammed into the wall opposite and clattered to the floor next to laundry that you were yet to put away. It wasn't usual that you got angry but sometimes it felt as though it were the only way to keep all your other emotions in check.

If you cried over your brother, you didn't think that you'd ever stop. You thought you'd be fine to play at Anfield but now it was actually happening, now that it was more than a distant horror, you'd never felt fear like it.

'Y/n?' You jumped at the sound of Kyra approaching your open bedroom door. You gave her a weak, unconvincing smile as her eyes flickered to the dent in your wall. It wasn't often that Kyra saw you as anything other than happy, sure she'd seen you upset after a loss or run down with illness but you'd always held her at arms length when it came to your brother.

It wasn't personal. You did it with everyone.

'Are you alright?' Kyra tiptoed into your room and hesitantly took a seat besides you on your bed.

'Jonas called' you tried to sound casual but the shake in your voice didn't go unnoticed by your best friend. 'I'm playing on Sunday, Codi got injured'

Kyra was silent for a moment before she gently placed a hand on your shoulder. 'You don't want to play?'

You shrug. 'Yes. No. I don't know.'

'That's alright, you don't need to be sure of anything right now' For someone known for her childish antics, Kyra had moments of maturity.

'I thought I'd be fine.' You cleared your throat. 'I will be fine'

Kyra slung her arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close. 'Just know that we'd all understand if you weren't'

You knew she was delicately skirting around the topic of your brother, not quite wanting to broach it but not wanting to let it go either. You felt vulnerable with Kyra, as though she saw straight through your closed facade.

'I just want this weekend to be over.' You squeeze her hand lightly 'Then everything will be okay again'

Kyra sucked in a deep breath. 'You never talk about him, you know.'

Black dots suddenly swarmed your vision. 'I can't Ky, I just can't'

'Okay' she said simply pressing a light kiss to your forehead. 'But if you ever have a moment, even a second, where you think you can then i'll be here'

You didn't get much sleep that night. Nor did you manage to eat anything. Time passed slowly as you tossed and turned in a patch of nervous sweat. You hated how emotional you were feeling, you didn't want it. You didn't need it. It was 3am when you eventually climbed out of bed to find Kyra in her own. As though sensing your presence, she opened her eyes slightly and shuffled over before pulling you down besides her.

It was a routine performed many times before.

Her quiet comfort let you sleep until dawn.

You were silent on the coach ride the following morning. You sat at a table of four with Kyra opposite Less and Vic who kept taking concerned glances at your abnormal state. You crossed your legs beneath you and tried to focus on the pile of cards you'd just been dealt. Normally, you were the champion of rummy but now you just couldn't focus enough to care. The only thing that had been running through your mind since you woke up was your brother's face.

His face on tv as he clattered into the post, ball flying well over his head. His face as blood poured from his hairline. His face as the life left his eyes. Just like that.

He'd died just like that.

Everything he'd ever loved and lived for gone. Just.Like.That.

You'd never felt pain like it.

That's why you had shut it out when you came to Arsenal. You threw yourself into your new life hoping that eventually the pain would dissipate but it hadn't, not even the tiniest bit. Instead it seemed to grow, every time you were reminded of your twin the lump in your throat evolved and the agony in your heart rattled loudly against your rib cage.

As you studied your cards, you locked eyes with Leah who sat besides Kim on the isle opposite. She had been keeping one eye on you since the beginning of the journey and you couldn't help but feel annoyed. Leah had taken you under her wing when you'd first moved to Arsenal having known you well from England but these past few days you'd withdrawn from her completely. You didn't want to give Leah the opportunity to ask if you were okay, because once she did you weren't sure you'd be able to hold yourself together.

It was late afternoon by the time the coach arrived in Liverpool and you were on an important hunt for food when Leah finally managed to corner you in the hotel reception.

'Hey' she grabbed your shoulder gently as you attempted to make a get-away. 'We need to talk'

'About what?' you said nonchalantly

Leah rolled her eyes. 'Don't, Y/n. I'm really worried about you. You shouldn't be here, why did you agree to play?'

'I'm fine Le. It's just another game.'

'No, it's not.' she bluntly reminded you 'At least not for you it isn't.'

Your heart was pounding so violently that you thought it might leap out from inside your chest. 'Can we please not do this?' You glance around the empty reception nervously, afraid of who might overhear the conversation.

'Go home, Y/n' Leah instructed as though she had any say in the matter.

You scoff at her brashness. 'No, who else is going to be able to play in place of Codi?'

'Steph would. We'd find answers' Leah said

'Steph hates playing Centre Back'

'It doesn't matter. She'd do it for you Y/n.'

You hated when Leah treated you like a kid. You weren't that shy seventeen year old on your first England camp anymore, you had outgrown the way she saw you.

'Leah stop. I don't need your help with this. I'm fine'

'You aren't fine' your captain argued 'You haven't been fine since moving to Arsenal and we all know it...you never talk about Ben'

At the mention of your brother's name, your brain seemed to short circuit. You stared incredulously at Leah, no one had dared to mention his name to your face in 14 months. Leah might've been the closest thing to family that you had but she had no right to bring up your brother in the way she had.

'Fuck you' You spat furiously and pulled away from Leah who gritted her teeth at your disrespect, looking slightly hurt. You strode away from Leah and into the lift, abandoning your hunt for food for the comforts of your hotel room where you'd remain for the remainder of the evening. You were glad to see that Leah made no attempt to follow you, although deep down a part of you ached for her comfort. But you didn't need her. Not really. As soon as the weekend was over you would apologise and things could go back to the way they were before where you weren't reminded of your brother's death at every waking moment.

Leah would understand. At least, that's what you hoped.

You sent Kyra a quick message to explain you were having a quiet evening and that you'd see her tomorrow and then locked your hotel door for the night.

You were fast asleep when you became vaguely conscious of a knocking at your door. Exhausted, you opened your eyes to glance at the time as the knocking persisted. It was only 10pm. Sighing you stumbled to your feet and dragged open the hotel door to see Kim staring you down, a stern look stretched upon her face.

'Good to know you're alive' she barged into your room before you had a chance to welcome her inside. She grimaced at the mess of clothes on your floor before turning to face you.

'I texted Kyra' You grumbled

'Sit down' Kim demanded

'What? Why?'

The Arsenal captain crossed her arms and waited for you to do as she said. Slowly, you lowered yourself back down onto the bed.

'Leah told me what happened'

You sighed 'It's not what it seems like'

'You need to let someone help you. You're struggling and you need help.' Kim watched as you shook her head and fixed your eyes on the ground.

'I'm fine'

'Don't bullshit me.'

'I'm not.'

Kim rolled her eyes. 'I don't know why you agreed to come, but you have nothing to prove Y/n. It's okay if you're still grieving, it's okay to be devastated, it's okay to feel these things. But what isn't okay is for you to push away the people that care about you.'

You said nothing.

'You don't need to speak to me about whatever is going on in your head but at least talk to Leah. Or Kyra or Less. Hell, the whole team is in your corner. You're going to end up in a dark place without paying into those relationships, okay kid?'

Kim put a finger beneath your chin and lifted your eyes to meet her own. You were beginning to crack under her harsh but ever caring gaze, a tear made its way down your cheek and Kim gently wiped it away.

'I'll apologise to Leah' you whispered 'After the game'

Kim hummed in disapproval. 'I'd rather you didn't play at all'

'Too late now'

'It's not' Kim countered 'But if you're really going to play then do it safely. Don't commit any dangerous fouls triggered by emotion and if you need to stop or get off the pitch then you tell me straight away, okay?'

You nodded compliantly. 'Got it'

Kim pulled you in for a hug before leaving you to your thoughts. You'd never get any sleep now.

The following day the match approached quickly. You spent the morning with Kyra, avoiding the older players as much as possible. Even on your team walk, as Kyra rushed off to prank Steph, you hung back with Vic as you watched Kyra drench Steph with a bottle of water - something that you would usually be involved in too.

And when you arrived at Anfield after lunch, you opted out of doing a pitch inspection with the rest of the girls who exchanged worried glances. Leah hung back in the changing rooms with you under the guise of needing to do a few exercise for her knee when in reality you knew she was only trying to keep an eye on you. As the team news was announced and the internet started buzzing at the knowledge that you'd be playing at the very pitch where your brother had died, you did nothing but sit and wait.

From the changing rooms, the fan chants could be heard loudly. It was clear that the Arsenal fans had eclipsed the turnout of those of Liverpool which came as no surprise. You sat in your cubby and tapped you foot to the tune of Lacasse's newest and, in your opinion, greatest fan chant yet. You felt strangely calm, at least calmer than you had done last night.

You were eager to get the match under way because as soon as it was over, you could get back to your North London bubble. The thought made everything a little easier and as you jogged onto the pitch for warm up you instinctively turned away from the end of the pitch where your brother had died. Luckily, Arsenal were warming up on the opposite side which you were almost certain Leah and Kim had planned. You breezed through your warm ups by keeping your head down and ignoring the pitiful gazes that staff members kept sending your way.

And no matter what, you didn't dare look toward the North stand.

Before you knew it, kick off was upon you. You stood besides Leah and took a knee at the first blow of the Ref's whistle. For the first half, Arsenal faced the pitch end that your brother had died at. You tensed each time the ball was crossed into the box and one of your teammates (namely Alessia) tried to put their head to it.

Ben had died trying to do the exact same thing. You felt as though you could throw up any second.

By the time half-time rolled around you were both mentally and physically exhausted which wasn't exactly a promising sign considering Arsenal were 3-0 up. You and Leah had worked seamlessly together to protect your goal but that didn't mean you hadn't given the occasional sloppy pass or let Kiernan slip by you one too many times.

You were playing well but everyone could tell that you were trapped inside your own head. Even the fans, who had been applauding you extra loudly all game, could be seen nervously watching you handle the ball with a lack of precision. And yet Jonas didn't take you off.

As you made your way out for the second half, Katie wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gave your hair a light ruffle.

'You're doing good, mate. Almost up. Then we can get the hell out of this shitty stadium' she gave you a smile of reassurance before running off into her position and you couldn't help but grin at the Irish woman's ability to always try and make light of a situation.

You kept your eyes away from the goalpost that had killed your brother as you stood less than 10 metres in front of it. Leah's eyes flickered nervously over to you as you fidgeted uncontrollably waiting for the whistle to blow. It was an artic day in Liverpool yet you felt as though you were sweating buckets, your legs felt like jelly as the second half finally got underway.

Deep in your chest, as Liverpool pressed high, you felt an overwhelming amount of grief. You were too close to the goal, too close to where Ben had taken his last breath. Everything was too close and you felt as though you were going to collapse from the weight of it all if you were made to take one more step toward the goal.

So, you did what you knew how to do best...You turned the grief into intense anger. As play progressed it was clear that your tackles were becoming riskier by the minute, you barrelled into poor Missy Bo Kearns around the 60th minute mark who fell to the floor clutching her leg in agony. You were fortunate to only receive a yellow card.

As the match drew to a close and you managed to keep a clean sheet, Liverpool took one last go at attacking in the 91st minute. The play was started by Taylor Hinds who managed to get the ball through Arsenal's experienced midfield and onto the foot of the striker. Without thinking, you swiped the ball out from under her legs and gained possession back to your own side. However, Liverpool's number 9 had fallen to the ground in the tackle and was dramatically flailing about.

'Get up, you're fine' You insisted at the girl. When she refused to move you grabbed her biceps and tried to forcefully remove her from the grass, much to her surprise. The girl pushed you away from her.

'What the hell y/n?' she yelled capturing the attention of the teammates around you. As the ref blew her final whistle and the stands erupted in celebration at Arsenal's win, you ignored it all and advanced on the girl.

It had all been too much. And this girl was providing you with the perfect opportunity to let your anger out properly. You shoved her backwards.

'What are you doing?' Leah's voice was suddenly in your ear, her arms wrapping around your torso in an attempt to restrict you access to the poor Liverpool player. Katie appeared by your side and began to shield you from the abuse the Liverpool team had now began to shout at you...but it wasn't as though you didn't deserve it.

Leah dragged you backwards as you thrashed around in her grip, still trying to get to the Liverpool player. Eventually, Leah got you into the tunnel and haphazardly shoved you into the nearest empty room that she could find.

'Are you out of your mind?' Leah exclaimed 'You can't be starting fights like that! You'll be lucky if the FA doesn't fine you!'

'I don't care about the goddamn FA, Leah! Fuck them.' you try to advance on the door but Leah blocks your way.

'You're not leaving this room until you calm down'

Your brain was running at a million miles per hour, all you could think about was how much you needed to punch something or else you were going to break. You lunged past Leah but she was too quick and way stronger than you. She grabbed your entire upper body in her arms and held you against her chest, your head beneath her chin.

'Stop Y/n' she breathed 'It's okay'

For a moment, time slowed. You tried to escaped Leah's grip, you really did. But there was something about the way she was holding you with so much care and concern that you suddenly went lip in her arms and finally let out a gut-wrenching sob. As your legs collapsed, Leah carefully lowered the two of you to the floor so you were positioned between her legs. Your sobs racked your entire body, the pain in your chest had broken out and had been set free after 14 long months.

Leah placed small kisses to the top of your head. She rubbed your arms in comfort and never stopped whispering words of reassurance. When you were still sobbing fifteen minutes later she only pulled you tighter into her chest and folded her legs over your own.

'I've got you' she assured you.

Part 2?

[pookietv]

checkmate | arthurtv

first non social media post!! hope u guys like and thank u for all the love straight away, very cool :)

a lil arthur tv x reader

being round whilst the boys were watching the football was.. a strange experience to say the least. the moment you walk through the door you're practically having a can of beer shoved in your hand and ushered to come into the front room quietly so they don't miss any commentary.

though you didn't follow football too much, you did sit quiet and watch also, mainly just following what you're told, from chris telling you the ref is 'off his head' to george trying to convince you that the guy in goal is the best person on earth, it was quite interesting, besides the often shouting at the tv as if those in the commentary box could hear them.

as soon as you sat next to arthur he'd give you a small smile and nod, a quick hello before a comforting and quiet normal from arthur, his eyes trailing back to the tv as you crossed your legs, opened the can of beer and observed, slightly leaning your bodyweight on arthur, moving your head back to check he was okay with it, as you usually did, and he gave you a small grin, signalling it was fine.

when the game finished with an arsenal win (much to chris' enjoyment) the boys began chatting amongst themselves, and arthur pulled out his phone, beginning a chess game as they talked, and instantly got a bit of mocking for it.

"chess already, you sad, sad man," arthur hill laughed at his own remark a little, and arthur just shrugged, "it's fun and the games over so," he murmured, his cheeks slightly red but laughing himself also.

"to be fair, i always wanted to learn how to play chess, i mean i played a tiny bit in middle school but 'm not very good," you stated, and chris rolled his eyes, "not another nerd," but arthur looked up at you with his widely interested eyes.

"you wanna learn chess? i, i can try teach you, if you liked... i mean, i don't know how good of a coach i am but i can try," he offered, looking at you with a goofy and excited grin.

you nodded a little, smiling back, "yeah, sounds fun, i mean if you have the patience to teach me, i might not be very good," you added, as arthur shook his head a little "i'm sure you'll be fine, you're smart," adding "lemme go get my board," and leaving the room quite quickly, earning a snort from george.

"he's just happy that for once in his life he's not having to convince someone to play with him, and they actually want to play," he teased, and your eyes rolled a little, a small grin on your face.

"and especially because it's you," chris said, earning himself a soft shove from you and a little laugh.

"hey, leave the guy alone," you giggled a little.

"he's just dying for you to be mrs television," george charmed in with their not-so-subtle jokes about you and arthur.

it had been a running joke in the friend group for a while, that arthur had grown a bit of a crush on you, but you had shoved that in the back of your mind (or at least attempted to) because you were almost certain they were wrong and he was just a sweet guy.

it had also been a running teasing point that they all were also convinced that you had a crush on arthur too.

and whilst they weren't exactly wrong, you weren't going to give them the benefit of confirming it, or the leverage of admitting to them that they were right

"hm?" arthur said, his head cocked a little as he walked back into the living room, a box in his hands, clearly just curious about what the subject of conversation had turned to whilst he was gone.

"we were just talking about the fact that it's interesting that she wants to learn chess of all things," arthur hill teased, leading to everyone else giggling like school children.

arthur rolled his eyes, also used to the joking, "doesn't really surprise me, i mean you guys are too dense to play so hopefully if she gets a grip of it i might have a decent chess partner for once," he quipped back with a slight grin on his face, before opening the box on the coffee table and beginning to set out the pieces, as you sat on the other side of the coffee table, assuming the position to play.

"i'll let you play the white pieces, cause it means you get to go first," he says first, and you nod, looking down at the board, before he starts again, "you know the names of the pieces and how they move?"

"a little," you said, before pointing at some of the pieces, "a pawn, right? an' it just moves forward a space?" you stated, earning a nod from arthur.

"except on the first time you move them, then they can move two, if you like," he confirmed.

as you continued to play, the boys began rolling their eyes and proclaiming that you guys were 'officially nerds' and teasing before going into their rooms.

after a while, you had began to learn all the moves of pieces quite well, with small encouraging nods from arthur and little pieces of help so you weren't left completely stranded playing against someone much better than you.

"see, i've got you in check now, can you see it?" he asked a little softly as your eyes scanned across the board that was at least making a little more sense to you.

"mhm... it's your rook, right?" you said, though slightly unconvincingly as you bit on your nail a little, before arthur grinned.

"yeah, it is, so you obviously wanna move your king," he nodded, looking at you with almost a proud smile, "see, not long now and i'll have my own chess protégé," he joked a little, and you rolled your eyes.

"yeah, that may take a while arthur, but keep dreaming," you laughed back a little, looking up at him for a moment before back at the board. "by the way, why the hell is your guys' flat so cold? you guys can't afford the heating or something?" you teased a little more, before arthur shook his head.

"oh, i'm sorry, i didn't even realise it's cold, i thought it was warm, look, here," he practically babbled out before pulling his jumper from over his head, a baby blue one, and leaving him in a white shirt, well fitted on him.

"no, don't worry about it, you don't have to give me your-"

"no, seriously, take it, don't want you to be freezing," he murmured out, offering it to you, "like i said, i was warm anyways so,"

you nodded a little, looking at him with slightly flushed cheeks before taking it from him, thanking him quietly as you slipped it over your head.

"see? suits you more then me, anyways," he joked slightly but you shook your head.

"nah, i doubt it, probably look like shit right now, practically rolled out of bed when chris told me to come round," you joked a little, but arthur rolled his eyes a little, almost in disbelief.

"shut up, you. you know you always look good," he said, his own face flushed also.

"oh, um.. i mean, i doubt it, but thanks," you practically murmured out in response, cheeks burning red as you laughed a little at your own stupidly flustered state, eyes practically burning into the board in hopes that arthur could not see your flushed face as you moved a piece.

"i watched that shark documentary you recommended the other day," arthur stated, breaking the slight silence, and you looked back up at him, "oh yeah? what did you think?" you asked with a slight grin.

"the little section about shark bones was so cool!" he practically beamed, and you nodded, as he moved a piece in return.

"the part about when shark fossils are found they just look like bone because of calcium exposure! i thought that was so fucking cool," you giggled, and he nodded before pausing.

"i... i think it's really cool that i can always talk to you about my dumb interests like chess and animals and you're always interested and half of the time you know more then me, which i just find so cool," he said, and you smiled up at him slightly.

"well, i mean, its just... it is interesting, you know? i mean, you're very interesting, i like when you go on little rants about things and i get to listen," you nodded.

"i, um, i'm trying to say that, you know, i think it would be cool if we could go out and talk about weird things sometime," he said, and you felt your eyebrows furrow slightly, looking up at him with a slight twinge of confusion, his widened brown eyes looking down at you with a dopey grin.

"like, um... like a date, i mean," he clarified, before looking back at the board, "i have you in checkmate, by the way." he grinned slightly goofily.

"only you, arthur tv, could ask a girl out and checkmate her at the same time," you giggled a little, shaking your head in disbelief.

"i mean, i can take back the checkmate if that'll make you say yes?" he joked back.

"sure. i'll say i beat you in chess and you can take me on a date." you quipped back, and his grin only grew.

"best defeat of my life, easily."

[reminiscingtonight]

cowgirl's got my heart?

Cowgirl's Got My Heart Blurb

A/N: featuring a chaotic Leah Williamson

“Babe, do you know where my charger is?”

Straining your ears, all you can make out is the quiet buzz of the television going off in the living room downstairs.

Sighing, you make the long trudge down to the first floor. The closer you get, the more you can make out what is playing on the TV.

“Stupid Arsenal girls obsessed with the Arsenal boys,” you mutter under your breath when you realize it’s an Arsenal Premier League game.

You love your girlfriend, you do, but her English bestie has somehow turned your cuddle buddy into an avid Premier League watcher. You’re all for 'supporting the boys,' but less so when it comes at the cost of losing your quality time with Lia.

Honestly, how much football could a footballer watch? The answer is not enough apparently.

With the living room in sight, you sigh out your question again. “Baby, do you know where--”

Feet screeching to a halt, you have to fight the urge to groan.

“You’re not my Lia.”

The blonde head of hair sitting on your couch turns at the sound of your voice. Leah gives you little wave, toothy grin on show as she snuggles deeper into your cushions.

“Williamson, where’s my girlfriend?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs, eyes quickly darting back towards the television when the crowd momentarily breaks out into a cheer, which quickly dissolves into annoyed groans as the ball goes out of play.

“Who even let you in here?” you moan, thumping your head against the wall in frustration.

“Got my own set of keys.”

Your head flies up at that, eyes instantly zeroing in on the Arsenal defender. There, in her hand is a small keyring filled to the brim with what you can only assume are the keys to mutliple of her teammates’ houses.

Your eyebrow twitches. “You... what?!”

Before you have a chance to cuss her out or try wrestling the keys out of Leah’s grasp, there’s a soft hand wrapping itself around your forearm.

Turning around you come face-to-face with a very amused Lia.

You all but wrap yourself around your girlfriend, journey for a working phone charger long forgotten. “Baby, make her go away,” you groan, pressing your face deeper against Lia’s neck.

Your girlfriend chuckles, hand coming up to rub soothingly against your back. “Sorry, no can do. We’re watching our counterparts play.”

“You’re watching them lose,” you correct, flinching when a seat cushion goes flying and hits you directly in the head.

You turn around to glare at Leah, who has an equally as annoyed look on her face. “They aren’t losing.”

“It’s 0 - 1, they’re losing.”

Leah huffs in frustration and this time you can’t stop the smug smirk from rising to your lips. Leah lives to annoy the living daylights out of you but you do the exact same to her.

Though your smirk is quick to fade at the harsh pinch you receive.

Yelping, you turn to see Lia giving you a pointed look.

“What? They’re losing!”

“It’s not over until it’s over,” Lia quips, pulling you to the couch with her.

You let out a disgruntled noise when you end up sandwiched between the two Arsenal players.

Leah instantly throws her feet into your lap, ignoring your look of disgust. “Foot rub please.”

“Did you grow up with cave people? I know Amanda raised you better than to throw your feet into laps uninvited.”

“I said please! And I’m stressed. Watching the boys can be stressful sometimes.”

“Turn it off then!”

The frantic “No!”s from both sides of you almost has you jumping... Until you realize their four eyes are glued firmly to the television again.

“Sorry.” At least Lia has the decency to look apologetic when she sees your unamused face.

Leah on the other hand seems to relax further against the coach, toes digging deeper against your thighs as she crosses her arms behind her head. “Gotta get with the program, (Y/N). Football’s not a hobby or a job. It’s a way of life.”

She says it with a little smirk, self-satisfied expression on her face as she turns her full attention back to the game on your television.

Your eyebrow twitches again.

Leah lets out a yelp when you actually tackle her this time, hands digging around her pocket for the keys.

“You can have your football life somewhere else that isn’t my couch!”

Send me a fic title

[magicfootballstuff]

Dirty Little Secret - part 5 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 5/?

Read other parts here.

———

You’ve hardly spoken to Leila since the news broke that she’ll be playing for Manchester City next season, and not at all since the tournament began. You’re completely focused on your goal of winning the Euros, as Leila probably is too, and you immerse yourself in the bubble of the Lionesses camp while trying to block out outside noise. That includes talking to Leila. 

You watch her games though. In between your own matches and the intense training schedule, there’s plenty of downtime and you manage to catch quite a few of the other games on the large screen in the Lionesses’ television room, including the Spanish team’s group games. You act like you’re watching them out of professional curiosity, knowing the likelihood of having to face Spain in the knockout rounds, but you’re as focused on Leila as an individual as you are on the Spanish team as a whole.

Sure enough, after a successful unbeaten group stage, England have to play against Spain in their quarter final match and it might be the hardest game you’ve ever played so far in your career.

It’s not just the physical aspect - one hundred and twenty minutes on a muggy summer evening against a team that has the majority of the possession - but also the mental side. When Spain go ahead, it’s the first goal that England have conceded all tournament, the first time you’ve found yourselves in a losing position, and it takes resilience like you’ve never seen before to pull yourself back not just level, but into the lead.

You almost forget that you’re playing against Leila’s team. She’s on the bench, which you feel conflicted about, having been looking forward to facing her on the pitch again, but at least it removes that possible distraction.

The final whistle blows and thanks to Georgia’s extra time worldie, England are through to the semi-finals.

You walk around the pitch, grinning and hugging your own teammates in celebration, while shaking the hands of the heartbroken Spanish players. Some of them, you know from the Copa de la Reina afterparty, where you were Leila’s guest, and it’s hard to look them in the eye knowing that you’ve just crushed their dreams of progressing further in this tournament.

You walk past Ona Batlle, who you’ve played against many times in the league, and who is being comforted by Rachel. Then Mapi Leon, who you know is one of Leila’s closest friends, lets you pull her in for a brief one-armed hug, but all the time you’re looking for one person.

You spot Leila from across the pitch, still wearing her purple substitute bib, and she must see you too because you end up slowly meandering towards each other as you do the rounds on the pitch.

Leila isn’t quite crying, not like some of her teammates who left everything out on the pitch in one hundred and twenty minutes of gruelling football, but the look in her eyes is one of heartbreak.

You don’t know what to say.

In the end, words aren’t needed. You’re not sure who initiates it, but you end up in each other’s arms. Leila is slightly taller than you and her arms wrap around your shoulders, one hand cradling the back of your head as you lean into her and wrap your own arms around her back. The warmth of her body against yours is comforting and you almost drown out the sound of the jubilant crowd singing Sweet Caroline because suddenly the only thing that matters is Leila.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into Leila’s shoulder.

“Don’t say sorry,” Leila replies. “You’ll make me cry.”

You want to apologise for that too, but you obey Leila and stay quiet instead, still full of adrenaline from the game and knowing that seeing Leila cry will probably set you off too.

You wish you could freeze this moment, to exist just the two of you in each other’s arms, as you did for those short days in Barcelona a few weeks ago. Leila’s body fits against your own in a way that you’ve never fully appreciated before, but you feel like this is where you belong. She’s just a little bit taller than you, her hand cradling the back of your head, and though it should probably be you comforting her now that you’ve knocked her team out of the tournament, the embrace is as much of a comfort to you.

Though you’d like to remain in Leila’s arms forever, you eventually break apart, but with promises that you’ll talk properly as soon as all the formalities are done and you can get a moment of privacy.

You have to wait until after the huddles, when some of the girls are still doing media duties and you’re back in your tracksuit after a shower, but you get a message from Leila on your phone.

Leila Can I see you? Is there somewhere we can go?

Knowing that your time is limited before both teams have to leave the stadium, you reply straight away.

You Meet me outside the changing rooms?

You pull a hoodie over your head and slip your socked feet into your sliders, then leave the England changing room. Leila emerges from the Spanish dressing room within seconds, and you silently lead her in the opposite direction from the media zone, until you find a deserted hallway deep within the underbelly of the stadium. There, you end up on the floor, side by side with your backs against the wall, thighs pressed together and your fingers intertwined with Leila’s in her lap.

You’re reminded of the only other time you and Leila snuck away after a game - after the second Champions League game at the Emirates. Back then, your actions were fuelled by lust and secrecy. Today, you just want Leila’s company for as long as you’re allowed to have it, and you don’t care about getting caught.

“Are you mad?” you ask Leila, as you trace your thumb over the small tattoo on the back of her hand. “That we knocked you out?”

“Some of the girls are angry,” Leila says with a shrug. “Like Aitana - I think her head might explode. But I’m not mad. Just sad. We wanted to win. We really wanted to win for Alexia.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, leaning into Leila’s side and letting your head fall against Leila’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you, her fingers still absently toying with yours.

“It kind of is,” you point out.

“No,” Leila insists, shaking her head firmly. “We have such good players but you need something extra to win a tournament. It feels like there’s always something missing with us. I can’t describe what it is, but I know your team has it.”

You think you know what Leila means. You’ve played in many different teams over the years - youth teams, professional clubs, national sides - and with that you’ve experienced the full range of success levels. The teams you’ve been a part of that have won titles have all had that special something that Leila refers to, a connection between teammates, the two-way trust between the coach and the players, the special spark that allows you all to push through, even when it’s tough. 

You think that the Lionesses have probably demonstrated that tonight. You’ve played in so many teams that would have crumbled as soon as they went one goal down against one of the best sides in Europe, yet you came from behind to earn your place in the semi final. That’s the mark of a team that has something special.

Spain, for whatever reason, doesn’t have that, despite the obvious talent in their squad. You wonder if Leila is more mad at that than she is at you for knocking them out of the tournament.

“You’re gonna win this whole competition, you know that, right?” Leila tells you.

If there’s one thing that Sarina has brought to this England team it’s belief, but while you know this team is more than capable of winning the Euros, you’re still not sure whether it will actually happen.

“You think so?” you ask Leila.

She nods and says, “I hate it. My heart says anybody but England. But I also want it for you. You deserve it.”

“I know it’s the whole point of sport, that only one team can win, and don’t get me wrong, I love winning. But sometimes I hate it when my dreams have to come at the expense of my friends’ dreams.”

“Is that what we are?” Leila asks, and when you lift your head from her shoulder to look at her, she’s smirking back at you. “Friends?”

She gives your hand a performative squeeze, as if to emphasise the beyond-friendliness of your relationship.

You open your mouth to say something witty in response, then close it again. Because the thing is, you and Leila haven’t actually defined what you are. Football rivals with benefits is probably the most appropriate term, because to be honest, you’re not entirely sure if you know Leila well enough to call yourselves friends yet. 

But with Leila looking at you with curiosity in her eyes, eyebrows half raised as if she’s expecting you to confirm the exact nature of your relationship, you don’t know what to say. You could joke, but that would just be deflecting. You could be honest, and tell her that you don’t know what you want but that you like the way that things have been going. Or you could field the adrenaline still coursing through your body from the match into telling Leila that you’d like to maybe explore making things a little more serious when she moves to England soon.

What if she doesn’t want things to be more serious? What if she’s more than happy with just an occasional hookup? More to the point, are you sure that you want anything more than what’s currently going on between you?

The door at the end of the hallway crashes open before you can even begin to vocalise any of the confusion in your mind, and your head jerks up to see that it’s Mapi who is interrupting you, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you sitting together on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

“Shit, my bad,” Mapi says in English, before she switches to Spanish and addresses Leila.

You let your fingers slip out from between Leila’s as they converse and use your hand to play with your hair instead, running your fingertips through the damp strands, until eventually Leila turns back to you and says, “Sorry, I have to go. We’re leaving soon.”

Leila pushes herself to her feet, then offers out a hand to help you to yours. You keep your hand in hers as you follow Mapi down the hallway, only letting it drop when you pass into a more public area where there might be some media. The last thing you need is for pictures of the two of you holding hands to appear on social media before you even get the chance to figure out how to label what Leila is to you.

There are a few more people around, and one of those is your captain Leah, whose frowning face relaxes when she sees you.

“Oh, there you are,” Leah says to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Nobody knew where you were. The bus is leaving soon.”

Leah’s eyes flick curiously between you and the two Spanish players, but if she suspects anything, she doesn’t comment on it.

Mapi leaves you, entering the Spanish dressing room, but Leila stays and you know it’s time to say goodbye. At least this time, with Leila’s move to Manchester imminent, you hope there will be chances to see her again sooner than usual once your own tournament is over.

You migrate towards each other and wrap your arms around Leila as she pulls you against her chest, burying your face against her shoulder. She smells divine, and you try to commit it to memory as you inhale.

“Good luck,” Leila murmurs into your hair, her voice soft enough that only you can hear her. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“For me or for England?” you can’t help but tease her.

“You,” Leila says, speaking at a normal level again as she pulls out of the embrace. “Fuck England.”

There’s an amused glint in her eyes as she says this, but it quickly vanishes when she realises she’s still standing within earshot of the England captain, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning as Leila raises an apologetic hand in Leah’s direction.

“Sorry,” she says. 

“No need to apologise,” Leah replies diplomatically. “In your position, I’d probably feel that way about us too.”

You think about going in for a goodbye kiss with Leila, but Leah’s presence causes you to hesitate, and before you can make a decision Leila has already said her final goodbye and followed Mapi into the Spanish changing room.

“You alright?” Leah asks, now that it’s just the two of you.

You and Leah know each other incredibly well, playing alongside each other for over a decade, first in the same England youth age groups, then at club level with Arsenal. And while you can tell Leah is curious about the interaction she saw between you and Leila, and that her question isn’t so much asking about your well-being as it is inviting you to open up to her, you also know that she’s not going to push you to tell her anything that you’re not ready to share.

“All good,” you respond.

Leah drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side as you re-enter the now almost empty England changing room.

“You bossed it tonight,” she tells you. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You too, captain.”

She smiles at you - the whole England captain thing still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, for either of you, and while you can’t quite believe that the skinny girl with the white blonde hair and the gangly legs who you first met over ten years ago is now leading her country to a European Championship semi final, you know that this is something Leah has always been destined for.

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself but you’re still on such a high from the game that you dare to wonder if Leah is the person who will finally lead England to a major trophy.

“Two games left,” Leah tells you, and you know that she’s reminding herself as much as you. “Two games left to change our lives.”

———

“You’ve got a new girlfriend, I see,” Georgia grins at you as you sit down for breakfast the morning after the Spain game.

“What?” you ask, nearly choking on your granola.

“That’s what Twitter thinks, anyway.”

“Show me.”

Georgia flips her phone around and shows you a tweet that reads “new woso couple alert?” accompanied by a couple of pictures of you and Leila embracing on the pitch after the game. You can feel your cheeks start to heat up and you hope they don’t visibly redden, especially as you feel Leah’s eyes on you, the only person around the table who might be able to guess how close to the truth this fan ‘rumour’ actually is.

“Oh, because I consoled a player after a game now I’m dating her?”

You scroll through some of the comments. There’s nothing too outrageous there - some about the length of the hug, some speculating how or even if you and Leila actually know each other, mixed in with a couple of theories that it’s purely professional and that Manchester City will soon be announcing your return to the club where you spent your formative years thanks to “agent Leila”. It’s not new either. You’re no stranger to being shipped with other footballers, it sort of comes with the territory of being semi-famous in a fanbase of mostly queer women, but never has a rumour about your dating life been so close to the truth.

Suddenly, you’re wondering if you were wrong to hug Leila in public after the game. At the time you followed your instinct, wanting to comfort somebody who means a lot to you. But if you’d waited until you were alone to do that, you wouldn’t have strangers on the internet speculating about the nature of a relationship that you can’t even define yourself yet. Leila was hurting, but was being there for her in that moment really worth potentially outing this to everybody before it even has a label?

Stewing over a decision that you made in the heat of the moment and didn’t think twice about, you return Georgia’s phone.

“It’s just the fans though,” Georgia says with a shrug. “They come up with all sorts of crazy theories sometimes.”

“Yeah, there’s some fans that think I’m dating Ella,” Alessia interjects with a laugh.

“Wait, are you not?” Leah asks, managing to keep her expression deadpan for a few seconds, before it cracks open into a grin.

“Alessia wishes she was dating me,” Ella says.

“I do actually,” Alessia replies, reaching out for one of Ella’s hands as she adds, “El, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you how I really feel…”

“Shut up!” Ella snatches her hand away and rolls her eyes as the rest of the group descends into a fit of laughter.

With the group’s attention now elsewhere, any opportunity you might have had to finally admit to your friends what’s going on between you and Leila has passed.

There’ll be other times. When the tournament is over, maybe then you’ll tell them. But with a semi final coming up and the possibility of a final too, you can’t deal with any distractions, whether those come from outside opinions on social media or your friends teasing you about the developments in your personal life.

You feel Leah’s eyes on you and you suspect she knows the truth, but you’re grateful for her silence.

———

England makes it past Sweden with relative ease and you can hardly believe that you’ve made it this far. The final at Wembley is all that stands between you and your wildest dream, but it also means you have to face up to the dilemma that’s been on your mind since you knocked Spain out in the quarter finals.

Should you invite Leila to watch the final as your guest?

You haven’t actually talked to Leila since the quarter final. You know that she’s probably been busy getting ready to move to England, meanwhile you’ve been caught in the bubble of the Lionesses camp.

But once the excitement of winning the semi final has passed and you’re back to focusing on training for the final, you realise that you want Leila there to support you. Just as you went to see her play in the Champions League and Copa de la Reina finals, you want her in the crowd as you compete for the European Championship trophy.

But you don’t know if she wants to come, especially after it was your team who knocked hers out of the same competition.

Plus, though Twitter moved on from the hypothetical of you and Leila after a matter of hours when something else became more interesting, you’re sure that a sighting of Leila in the crowd at Wembley, in the England friends and family section no less, will be sure to bring those rumours right back to the attention of the fans.

After a day of deliberating, you eventually decide that it’s a risk you’re happy to take, if it means Leila might be in the crowd to watch you play the most important game of your entire career.

You text her on your way to lunch after a conditioning session in the gym two days before the big final.

You Do you want to come to the final? I can get you a ticket…

And then, you add a second message as an afterthought.

You Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear an England shirt 😉

Leila doesn’t reply immediately

Leila Sorry I move to Manchester this week 😔 but good luck!

You’re disappointed, but you knew this was a likely outcome. Besides, it’s probably for the best. If Leila had accepted the offer, not only would you have had to explain everything to your teammates, but you’d probably have ended up introducing Leila to your entire family too, which sounds like way too much for somebody who isn’t even officially your girlfriend.

You No problem! Good luck with the move!

———

Leila was right - this England team does have something special.

It hits you, strangely enough, not when the final whistle blows nor when Leah lifts the trophy and a shower of confetti rains down over you, but when you crash Sarina’s post-final press conference with the rest of the team. It’s so ridiculous, your socked feet slipping against the floor, Mary shimmying her hips as she dances on the tables, two dozen journalists watching on in amused disbelief, but there’s no group of people you’d rather have done the last month and a half with. And the medal around your neck, hanging heavy with the sheer importance of what you’ve just achieved, is a permanent reminder of the best summer of your life.

You return to the dressing room, where an England-branded bucket hat somehow finds its way onto your head, and sit down in your cubby to check your phone. Messages have been flying in since full time - friends, family, even distant acquaintances you haven���t seen in over a decade, all wanting to congratulate you on the win. But there’s only one person you’ve been waiting to hear from, and you feel giddy when you see her name in the list of notifications.

Leila Congrats campeonaaaa! I told you that you were gonna win 😋

She’s accompanied the message with a picture, a selfie in which she’s wearing the England shirt emblazoned with your number that you traded for hers during the Arnold Clark Cup. 

You take a selfie to send back, keeping the ridiculous hat on your head and lifting up your medal to catch it between your teeth. You grin as you snap the photo and send it to Leila.

Almost as soon as you send it, your phone starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime. You’ve ignored a few calls since you won, overwhelmed by the number of people trying to congratulate you already, but when you see Leila’s name, you accept immediately.

“Hey,” you say, when Leila’s face appears on the screen of your phone.

“Nice hat,” she greets you, stifling a laugh.

You raise your eyebrows, then say, “Sexy, huh?”

Leila gives you an incredulous look, before she says, “Show me your medal then.”

The dressing room is already noisy, but somebody turns the speaker up and it’s almost impossible to hear Leila, so you make your way out of the central changing area and towards the showers, where it’s slightly quieter, before lifting the medal so that it’s in the frame of your front-facing camera.

“Does it suit me?” you ask, shooting her a teasing smile.

“I like it,” Leila tells you. “Winning is very sexy.”

You open your mouth to flirt back, but you’re interrupted by a shout from a few metres away. When you glance up, Leah has emerged from round the corner, a half empty bottle of champagne clutched in one of her hands.

“Oi!” she cries out. “Come and dance with us.”

“Two minutes,” you say to Leah.

Leah’s eyes flit between your face and the phone in your hand, and realisation washes over her face, perhaps remembering the interactions she saw between you and Leila after you played against each other last week.

“Oh!” she says, eyes wide. “Take your time!”

“I’ll be there in a second,” you promise Leah, before turning back to your phone.

“Go and celebrate,” Leila urges you. 

“I wish I was celebrating with you,” you admit.

“Sorry,” Leila says with a grimace.

“No!” you interject. “I’m not blaming you for not being here! How did the move go?”

“It was good,” Leila shrugs. “The apartment is nice but I need to go to IKEA to get some furniture.”

“Maybe I can come and visit when you’ve settled in?” you suggest optimistically.

“Okay, but you lose the hat,” Leila tells you, and it’s more of an order than a suggestion.

A thought pops into your brain, probably fuelled the bottle of beer you just downed on top of a shit ton of adrenaline from the match, and you cheekily ask, “What if I’m wearing just the hat?”

“No,” Leila warns you firmly, though she rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Go,” Leila tells you. “I don’t want to stop you celebrating.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to draw out the goodbye as long as you can. “But I’ll see you soon, right?”

“See you soon, champion.”

[linamromero]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.

𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

It was late in the evening and you and the Manchester United squad were on the coach home, from London after a win of 2-3 with you, Tooney and Millie scoring each of the goals.

Your coach ride was energetic as you won against Arsenal. You, your girlfriend Ona, Hannah, Lucía and Millie were sat at the back of the coach singing some english songs.

Ona had lifted you onto her lap midway through a song, clapping her hands on your thighs in rhythm with the song, “Ona please stop, my thighs hurt now.”

“Vale, lo siento amor." She whispered a little loudly as Lucía was belting out Lewis Capaldi.

“But you are a comfy seat.” You smirked down at your girlfriend.

The team bus came to a halt in a service station for everyone to get some food, to stretch their legs or go to the toilet. You groaned as you got off Ona’s lap, getting off the bus for a minute.

Most of the girls including you and Ona went to McDonald’s, “What would you like 𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘦?"

“Nuggets!” Ona pouted at you.

“Vale, i’ll get us 20 to share.”

Once you got your food, you were waiting on the other girls and Millie decided to film a TikTok. She was rating everyone’s ‘jerk’, Tooney went first everyone was in fits of laughter for her arms.

Alessia reluctantly agreed to doing it, tired from the game. Ivi was full of beans and did it really well, whereas Vilde had no clue how to do it and did a random dance with her legs. Kirky was too busy munching on pringles to do it properly and Maria was just flicking her legs around.

Ona was up next to be rated and she was pretty good considering she had a large bag of McDonald’s in her hand.“Y/N, your turn!” Millie said getting her phone ready.

“Okay! okay!” You held your hands up doing your best ‘jerk’ as Millie filmed you.

“That was sick!”

“Thanks Mills.” You smiled as she went over to Aoife.

By then everyone was ready, so the team got back on the coach. Ona intertwined your hands together as you sat together, she sat in the window so you laid in her arms. “Awh the cutest couple.” Tooney clasped hands sitting in front of you two.

You and Ona had talked a little before you fell asleep with your head in her lap, she promised you that she’d wake you when you got back to Manchester.

“Wakey wakey.” Ona muttered in your ear.

“No.” You mumbled nuzzling into her stomach.

“Sí bonita, we can go to bed and have lots of cuddles when we get home.” Your girlfriend spoke not too loudly.

The girls piled off the bus, taking their belongings with them. Ona and you were the last of the team off the bus, you said your goodbyes to the team and the coaches.

Ona drove home as quickly as possible, so that she could have cuddles with you in bed. You both showered together taking a little longer than usual as you got distracted with each others bodies.

You eventually got to bed, not bothering to put any clothes on after your shower. Ona laid her head on your bare chest as you played with her soft brunette hair, “Te amo mucho hermosa."

“Te amo, bebé." You responded kissing her temple.

Ona had control of the television, she put on the women’s football show, which was the highlights of all the games in the WSL today. It included your outstanding goal which was assisted by your girlfriend.

The television show slowly ended, Ona’s eyelids were closed her slow breath tickling your stomach. You decided to leave her not moving, you were in a comfortable position to sleep in.

The remote sat loosely in her palm so you took the opportunity to turn the television off so you two could sleep, “Buenas noches, Miss Batlle.”

[bigbumder96]

account introduction thing!!!??

ngl i feel a bit goofy doing this🙁

general:

name: darcie

age: im a minor😭

gender: girl (she/her :3 )

sexuality: lesbian

from/live in: england unfortunately😣 east london specifically, or essex depending on if u focus on the postcode or the london borough😭 officially its east london tho

interests:

tv shows:

- the inbetweeners

- white gold

- station 19 (still have to catch up on the latest episode lmao

- 9-1-1 (also still have to catch up one episode😭)

- fresh meat

- ted lasso

- heartbreak high (both the old version and the reboot !!! i dont prefer one over the other, although i do tend to post about the 90s one more lmaooo)

- friday night dinner

- this country

- call the midwife

- ackley bridge

- baby reindeer (i wouldnt exactly call it an interest, this show fucking traumatised me, but i watched it like last week😭)

- phoenix rise

- moment of eighteen (a k-drama btw!!)

- move to heaven (also a k-drama!!)

- there she goes

- benidorm

- skins (only gen 2 tho im afraid😞)

- the inBESTigators (dont judge lmfao😭😭😭)

- little lunch (i cant theyre js both such good shows)

- dodo (a cartoon)

- taskmaster (only season eight tho for the icon joe thomas‼️)

- mr bigstuff

- supacell

im currently watching derry girls and jamie johnson atm !!

films:

- the shawshank redemption

- the green mile

- goodbye charlie bright (my absolute fav omg)

- the business

- the football factory (theyre making the sequel to this at my school im so happy i love nick love films😍i didnt see nick love himself tho💔)

- good will hunting

- bohemian rhapsody

- dead mans shoes

- ferris buellers day off

- harry brown

- little miss sunshine

- the inbetweeners movie

- the inbetweeners 2

- white chicks

- the basketball diaries

- mid90s

- spiderman: into the spider-verse

- spiderman: across the spider-verse

music:

- alex g (fav song: too many to put here, but if i had to pick then prolly the whole race, trick, and rules album, as well as hope (the song) and bobby (also the song)😭)

- tv girl (fav song: better in the dark, louise, and daughter of a cop)

- the fratellis (fav song: for the girl)

- the killers (fav song: read my mind and andy youre a star)

- the smiths (fav song: girl afraid, bigmouth strikes again, and this night has opened my eyes. guys i swr i liked them songs before they got popular im acc rly annoyed at the tiktofication of bigmouth strikes again and this night has opened my eyes😣)

- queen (fav song: spread your wings and long away)

- the stone roses (fav song: i wanna be adored and made of stone. basic i know😣😣)

my ALL-TIME FAV - the jam (fav song: when youre young, eton rifles, pity poor alfie / strangle, david watts)

- oasis (live forever. icba to type ‘fav song’ anymore😭)

- mitski (why didnt you stop me, goodbye my danish sweetheart, me and my husband, your best american girl, once more to see you, etcetera…)

extras:

- im into football and i am a big arsenal fan !!!! my fav player is def martin ødegaard, and i may or may not be one of those deluded emile smith-rowe fans who think that hes gonna have a huge comeback and be like he was two seasons ago🤫🤫🤫

(edit: im gonna kms he left arsenal🙁)

i also support england as a country (obviously) plus a tad bit of dagenham amd redbridge, because they are my local ! (before you call me a glory hunter, ive supported arsenal since i was 3 because thats what my mum and grandparents support!!! also its a bit hard to support your local when not all the games are televised and you cant afford a season ticket, not to mention i had no clue who dagenham and redbridge were when i was choosing a football team, because i had no clue how leagues worked and i didnt gaf about football tbh💀)

- i like webtoons! my fav is jacksons diary, our walk home, and crystal city killers😱 (please does anyone have any cute wlw webtoon recs im so desperate)

- in year seven my drama teacher made us watch a play (on the screen, not irl) called slowtime but we didnt get to finish it💔my teacher spoiled the ending but i didnt care and tracked down the rest of that video bcs slowtime is such a good play i love everything abt it😍

- last year i was obsessed with this book series called football academy (written by tom palmer) and it was genuinely so good but there was nobody myp age cuz it was for kids💔i dont rly read them anymore, but the interest is still there if someone by chance has read them please contact me and have a conversation with me about it🙏🙏🙏

- i also have a very obscure interest about london boroughs??? like i dont even know a lot about them, i just love talking about/watching videos about london boroughs... i blame the lb guy on tiktok

i apologise as this was very long, and i probably wont even post that much😭 sorry for the yapping tho🙏🙏🙏

[forrcst]

name: forrest mcleod age: thirty-five pronouns: he/him birthday: july 24th zodiac: leo sun, aires rising, taurus moon sexuality: homosexual hometown: aviemore, scotland previous occupation: right winger for arsenal fc in the premier league current occupation: personal trainer for the haus time at haus: one week

+ traits: passionate, determined, strong-willed, charismatic, charming - traits: brash, unintelligent, clumsy, gullible, impulsive likes: football, summer nights, the smell of the ocean, war films, grime and hiphop, sleeping in, ryan reynolds. dislikes: classical music, early mornings, scruffy beards, autumn weather, cats, exotic food, tottenham hotspurs.

kinks: power play, romantic, pain play anti-kinks: bathroom play, infantilism, daddy kink position: versatile

as a kid, all he ever wanted was to be a footballer. growing up in a small town in the scottish highlands, there wasn't much else to do except kick around a ball and forrest was forever glued to the television screen to watch the latest games. though he knew he should support a scottish team, it was a north london squad - arsenal - that captured his heart. the premier league was exactly where he wanted to be; the life of a footballer seemed so glamourous with the money, the cars, the abundance of free shit. and of course, the game itself. 

he was part of a local football team as a kid, working his way through the ranks until he was scouted by his dream club's academy. suddenly, the small town scottish boy was thrown in amongst some of the world's best up and coming players. initially he believed himself to be a defender, but the academy saw his potential in midfield as a right winger and by twenty-five years old he was one of arsenal's starting eleven.

forrest quickly grew in both fame and fortune, though the club had its struggles, he was grateful to be part of a family that adored each other and he saw his teammates as his brothers above anything else. he held a secret close to his chest, however. in the premier league, it's known for there being no openly gay players - forrest was certain he wasn't the only one, it was impossible statistically, but the risk of losing his career by outing himself just simply wasn't worth it. so, he lived in secret. he got into relationships with women to diminish any possibility of rumours and for a while, he convinced himself he could be happy with this lifestyle.

unfortunately, at the age of thirty, forrest suffered an injury during a match against club rivals, tottenham. a poorly executed slide tackle displaced his knee and he was quickly rushed into surgery and extensive physiotherapy. for two years, he tried his hardest to get back out on the pitch. it was already a risk, his age meant that he was struggling to keep up with the teenagers up and coming on the scene, but he was also slower to recover from the injury. there were games where he didn't even make it to the bench and though it broke his heart, by thirty-two it was time to retire and say goodbye to the thing he loved most.

left without any clue of where to go next (becoming a manager or pundit just didn't feel right), forrest quickly spiralled into blowing his enormous pay-out on drink, drugs, and eventually fell into the world of gambling. within a year he'd gone from earning thousands every week to owing millions of pounds in debt. forrest realised he'd gone too far too late, thus when a friend of a friend recommend the haus of perses and a chance to earn a decent wage whilst also exploring his sexuality, he simply jumped at the chance. forrest kept himself clean to ensure he would be accepted, and soon found himself packing his bags to start a new life as a personal trainer within the haus.

[lighthousenewsnetwork]

In a stunning display of technological prowess and cultural sensitivity, North Korea has unveiled its latest, most ambitious missile yet. This gargantuan weapon, codenamed the "Great Harmonic Destroyer," is not only a marvel of engineering but also a testament to the Hermit Kingdom's commitment to the fine arts. Standing at a staggering 300 meters tall and boasting a diameter wider than a football field, the Great Harmonic Destroyer dwarfs anything previously seen in the world's missile arsenal. Analysts estimate the behemoth's payload capacity at a whopping 100 metric tons, enough to carry not just a nuclear warhead, but an entire philharmonic orchestra, complete with a conductor's podium and enough sheet music to fuel a small bonfire. "This missile represents a quantum leap in both military and musical innovation," declared Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un in a televised address, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "For too long, the world has associated North Korea with mere rockets and bombs. Now, we will unleash a symphony of destruction that will leave audiences both awestruck and utterly obliterated!" The orchestra, to be hand-picked from the prestigious Pyongyang Philharmonic, will be tasked with performing a carefully curated selection of music during the missile's flight. Sources close to the regime claim the repertoire will include a stirring rendition of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy," a medley of classic North Korean propaganda anthems, and, for a touch of contemporary flair, a crowd-pleasing Gangnam Style remix. The international community, predictably, has reacted with a mixture of alarm and confusion. President Donald Trump, ever the social media savant, took to Twitter to express his disapproval in a series of all-caps tweets that read, "BIG MISSILE! BAD NEWS! VERY UNCOOL! WE WILL MAKE NORTH KOREA PAY HUGE!" Meanwhile, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, in a gesture of Gallic diplomacy, offered to send a delegation of cheesemakers and mime artists to negotiate a peaceful resolution. The United Nations Security Council, ever the bastion of decisive action, has scheduled a series of emergency meetings to discuss the situation. However, sources within the organization paint a picture of bureaucratic paralysis, with member states more concerned with arguing over catering options than forging a unified response. Back in North Korea, ordinary citizens have expressed a mixture of pride and trepidation over the Great Harmonic Destroyer. Public celebrations erupted across the country, with cheering crowds chanting slogans like "Death to Imperialism! Long Live the Symphonic Boom!" However, whispers of doubt linger under the surface. Farmers are grumbling about the missile's exorbitant fuel costs, while students are questioning the practicality of playing oboes at supersonic speeds. In a final, unexpected twist, however, an enterprising journalist managed to snag a glimpse of the "missile" during a tightly controlled press tour. To the shock of observers, what appeared to be a colossal rocket was revealed to be… a giant, inflatable balloon. It seems Kim Jong-un's latest "weapon of mass destruction" is more suited for a giant birthday party than a nuclear apocalypse. This revelation has left the world with a sense of bewildered anticlimax. While tensions remain high, there's a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, North Korea might be more interested in staging a pyrotechnic concert than starting World War III. One thing remains certain: the Great Harmonic Destroyer has achieved one thing – it has forced the world to confront the absurdity of nuclear brinkmanship, all while providing a much-needed dose of dark humor in these tense times. Let us all hope that the next time North Korea unveils a "missile," it's filled with something less destructive than a French horn – like, say, a giant peace treaty balloon. Now that would be a symphony worth listening to.

[gurutrends]

Dani Dyer defends fellow WAG Lauren Fryer from ‘cruel’ trolls – with fiancee of West Ham star Jarrod Bowen supporting ‘absolutely gorgeous’ girlfriend of Arsenal midfielder Declan Rice

Getty WHAT HAPPENED? Ex-Love Island star Dyer is accustomed to life in the spotlight after forging her own celebrity status through television appearances and as the daughter of former EastEnders actor Danny Dyer. Others have been thrust under that microscope, including the partners of many professional footballers. THE GOSSIP Fryer, the childhood sweetheart of Arsenal midfielder Rice and…

[ozzyscollectiblehub]

Everybody's No. 1 Pick: The Legacy of Quarterback Terry Bradshaw

When you think of legendary NFL quarterbacks, a few names immediately come to mind. Among them, Terry Bradshaw stands out as a figure who not only defined an era of football but also transcended the sport to become a cultural icon. From his rocket arm to his undeniable charisma, Bradshaw's legacy is one that still resonates with fans today.

Early Life and Rise to Stardom

Born on September 2, 1948, in Shreveport, Louisiana, Terry Paxton Bradshaw grew up with a love for football that would eventually shape his entire life. His high school years at Woodlawn High School were just a glimpse of the greatness to come. Bradshaw's impressive performance as a quarterback earned him a spot at Louisiana Tech University, where he truly began to shine.

By the time he left Louisiana Tech, Bradshaw had set multiple records, establishing himself as one of the top quarterback prospects in the country. It was no surprise when the Pittsburgh Steelers selected him as the first overall pick in the 1970 NFL Draft. What followed was a career that would not only elevate Bradshaw to legendary status but also turn the Steelers into one of the most dominant teams in NFL history.

The Heart of the Steelers' Dynasty

Terry Bradshaw's career with the Steelers is the stuff of legend. Over his 14-season tenure with the team, Bradshaw led the Steelers to four Super Bowl victories, a feat that no other quarterback had accomplished at the time. Under his leadership, the Steelers won back-to-back Super Bowls twice, in 1974 and 1975, and then again in 1978 and 1979.

Bradshaw's performance in these critical games was nothing short of spectacular. He earned two Super Bowl MVP awards, solidifying his reputation as a clutch player who thrived under pressure. His deep passes, often referred to as "bombs," were a key weapon in the Steelers' offensive arsenal. Whether it was connecting with Lynn Swann or John Stallworth, Bradshaw's ability to deliver in the biggest moments was unparalleled.

The Man Behind the Helmet

Beyond his on-field achievements, Terry Bradshaw's personality made him a fan favorite. Known for his good humor and down-to-earth demeanor, Bradshaw was a natural in front of the camera. His infectious personality and quick wit made him one of the most popular figures in the NFL, both during and after his playing career.

Bradshaw's transition to broadcasting was seamless. He became a fixture on television as an NFL analyst, where his insights and humor endeared him to a new generation of fans. His work on Fox NFL Sunday has earned him multiple Emmy Awards, further showcasing his versatility and appeal.

The Legacy Lives On

Terry Bradshaw's impact on the NFL and popular culture is undeniable. He wasn't just a great quarterback; he was a pioneer, a leader, and an entertainer. His contributions to the game have been recognized with numerous honors, including his induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1989.

But Bradshaw's legacy goes beyond the trophies and accolades. He represents a time when football was gritty and raw, and when quarterbacks were expected to be both tough and talented. His story is one of perseverance, as he overcame early struggles in his career to become one of the greatest to ever play the game.

In today's NFL, where the quarterback position is more glamorous and protected than ever, it's important to remember pioneers like Terry Bradshaw. He set the standard for what it means to be a franchise quarterback, and his influence can still be seen in the game today.

Terry Bradshaw's journey from a small-town kid in Louisiana to an NFL legend is a testament to his talent, determination, and charisma. He remains a beloved figure in the football world, not just for what he accomplished on the field, but for the way he carried himself off it. Whether you're a lifelong Steelers fan or just someone who appreciates the history of the game, Terry Bradshaw is a name that will always be synonymous with greatness.

In the annals of NFL history, there are many great quarterbacks, but there will only ever be one Terry Bradshaw—the No. 1 pick in the hearts of football fans everywhere.

Sports Illustrated Magazine 1970 Everybodys No.1 Pick Quarterback Terry Bradshaw | eBay

[wikiuntamed]

On this day in Wikipedia: Tuesday, 9th April

Welcome, witamy, üdvözöljük, welcome 🤗 What does @Wikipedia say about 9th April through the years 🏛️📜🗓️?

9th April 2023 🗓️ : Death - Karl Berger Karl Berger, German-American jazz pianist (b. 1935) "Karl Hans Berger (March 30, 1935 – April 9, 2023) was a German-American jazz pianist, vibraphonist, composer, and educator. He was a leading figure in jazz improvisation from the 1960s when he settled in the United States for life. He founded the educational Creative Music Studio in Woodstock, New..."

9th April 2019 🗓️ : Death - Charles Van Doren Charles Van Doren, American writer and editor (b. 1926) "Charles Lincoln Van Doren (February 12, 1926 – April 9, 2019) was an American writer and editor who was involved in a television quiz show scandal in the 1950s. In 1959 he testified before the U.S. Congress that he had been given the correct answers by the producers of the NBC quiz show Twenty-One...."

Image by Associated Press

9th April 2014 🗓️ : Event - Franklin Regional High School stabbing A student stabs 20 people at Franklin Regional High School in Murrysville, Pennsylvania. "The Franklin Regional High School stabbing was a mass stabbing that occurred on April 9, 2014, at Franklin Regional High School in Murrysville, Pennsylvania. Alex Hribal, a 16-year-old sophomore at the school, used a pair of eight-inch kitchen knives to stab and slash 20 students and a security..."

9th April 1974 🗓️ : Birth - Jenna Jameson Jenna Jameson, American actress and pornographic performer "Jenna Marie Massoli (born April 9, 1974), known professionally as Jenna Jameson (), is an American businesswoman, writer, television personality and former pornographic film actress. She has been named the world's most famous adult entertainment performer and "The Queen of Porn".Jameson started..."

Image licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0? by Toglenn

9th April 1924 🗓️ : Birth - Arthur Shaw (footballer, born 1924) Arthur Shaw, English professional footballer (d. 2015) "Arthur Shaw (9 April 1924 – 2 November 2015) was an English professional footballer who played as a wing half in the Football League for Brentford, Arsenal and Watford...."

9th April 1821 🗓️ : Birth - Charles Baudelaire Charles Baudelaire, French poet and critic (d. 1867) "Charles Pierre Baudelaire (UK: , US: ; French: [ʃaʁl(ə) bodlɛʁ] ; 9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867) was a French poet who also worked as an essayist, art critic and translator. His poems are described as exhibiting mastery of rhyme and rhythm, containing an exoticism inherited from Romantics, and are..."

Image by Étienne Carjat

9th April 🗓️ : Holiday - Anniversary of the German Invasion of Denmark (Denmark)

[calacuspr]

Calacus Monthly Hit & Miss – Darts & Colin Graves

Every month we look at the best and worst communicators in the sports world from the last few weeks.

HIT – DARTS

It’s not that long ago that darts was associated with smoke-filled bars, pints and a male dominated crowd that didn’t exactly welcome a wide demographic of fans.

Watching Eric Bristow or Jacky Wilson with a cigarette or a pint as they played promoted a certain image that seems alien to the way the sport is now contested.

It all changed when Barry Hearn, the renowned promoter of snooker and boxing, led a breakaway from the governing body, the British Darts Organisation, to allow players to compete throughout the year and make a living from the sport.

The Circus Tavern venue gave way to Alexandra Palace and a prize fund of £64,000 with a winner’s cheque of £16,000 has risen to £2.5m with 96 players from around the world battling for the winner's £500,000 grand prize.

The format may essentially have remained the same, but the event has taken on its own personality, blending sport and entertainment together with intro music for each player as they walk to the stage.

Darts has changed from being a sport for old men to a spectacle played and watched by a younger crowd, attracting attention from general sports fans over the Festive period in particular, rather than just a regular fanatical crowd, many in fancy dress outfits.

The sport has become progressive too, with Fallon Sherrock flying the flag for female players and beating men in the World Championships on more than one occasion.

No wonder Sky extended their broadcast deal until 2025 when the last contract came close to expiring and after this year’s drama, no one would bet against them extending it again.

That darts caught the imagination of the wider public is down in no small part to Luke Littler, the 16-year-old prodigy who reached the 2024 final having first played when he was only 18 months old.

Perhaps his success shouldn’t have been a surprise, given that he was playing in under-21 competitions when he was just 10.

The unlikely star, who looks older than his teenage years, was a breath of fresh air, joking about his diet of kebabs and pizza and obsession with his Xbox.

He beat former world champions and his idol Raymond van Barneveld on his way to the final to truly announce himself on the world stage.

Sports stars flocked to meet him, including Tottenham Hotspur’s James Maddison, Arsenal duo Declan Rice and Aaron Ramsdale and, after the final, he visited his beloved Manchester United, who introduced him to legendary former manager Sir Alex Ferguson.

Because of Littler, darts became front-page news, the talk of every UK television news show, and the 2024 World Darts Championship enjoyed record-breaking viewing figures thanks to Littler's fairy-tale.

His semi-final against Rob Cross averaged 1.79m viewers with a peak of 2.32m viewers, up by 40 per cent on the previous overall record and for the final that rose to a total audience of 4.8m viewers – the highest-ever non-football audience for Sky Sports.

Darts even dominated social media with Instagram seeing 11.8m video views and 10.2m total reach on Facebook. The Sky Sports website and app also saw 2.44m follow the live blog, up 307 per cent compared to last year’s final’s 648,000.

Sky Sports Darts' Wayne Mardle, who knows a thing or two about the sport, believes that Littler is the real deal.

He said: “I can't remember someone going up there with such a swagger and just banging in 180s and hitting 11 and 12-darters like they are going out of fashion.

"I'm a darts fan first and foremost, I was watching it and I had goosebumps watching him. I love people achieving and that was a boy achieving something on the world stage.”

UK-based global darts retailer, Darts Corner's managing director Craig Heenighan underlined how this year’s World Championships have had an impact on the sport as a whole.

He said: "Luke Littler's performance has captured the hearts of the nation. It's clearly had had a huge impact. It's not often that darts is on every radio station and on the back of every newspaper.

“If you think of elite-level sports, what 16-year-old could compete and make it to the final and have a have a really strong chance of winning?

"And it's not as though he's scraped through, he's been quite convincing in the wins he's had. I also just think it's probably the way he's gone about it. He doesn't look overawed. He's got a huge amount of composure. He seems very at home on stage, which is incredible for a 16-year-old.

"I think with the younger boys and girls around the country, looking at Luke, at the age of 16.... We've all seen the videos on TV of him playing (darts) in his nappy at 18 months old.

"I think that (says to) a new generation that darts is actually quite cool. And (they think): 'I could be quite good at darts.' And I think it just breathes new life, perhaps, into a new generation looking at the sport."

It’s not just the teenage sensation that caught the headlines though.

In a sport where opponents respect each other and promote the positive atmosphere created by the excitable crowd, a word too for the eventual winner this year, ‘Cool Hand Luke’ Humphries, who, despite ensuring no fairytale ending for Littler, did a great deal for the sport himself over the course of the event.

In a sport where machismo was once taken for granted, Humphries made no secret of his battles with anxiety but has overcome the challenges and lost some weight which has also benefited his performances.

In the post-match press conference, Humphries added that speaking openly about his troubles "definitely helped me because it was a weight off my shoulders".

"I'm not the only sportsman in the world who goes through it," he continued.

"I'm definitely not the only person in this room that goes through it. I was very open and honest about it because it was affecting my career and it was hard to hold it in.

"There have been lots of people on social media who've said 'You've really inspired me and helped me'. That makes me feel great. I didn't do it because of that. I did it because I wanted to be open and honest. All of a sudden I had celebrities and sports stars that messaged me and said that they go through the same."

Humphries, also praised the impact Littler has had and said: “I’m not just saying this because it will please everyone, but Luke has been an unbelievable talent. He has been fantastic with all the media that has come about with him and he took the defeat so well. He’s one of the best players in the world, there is no doubt about that.”

Humphries vowed to give some of his prize money to his local club as well as Prostate Cancer UK, who had already been pledged more than £900,000 after sponsor Paddy Power promised to donate £1,000 for every 180 that was landed, 914 in total.

"I'll donate a bit myself from the prize money. It's very, very close to my heart. My father-in-law, who has battled prostate cancer, went and got checked out. He's found it early.”

While there have been reports of pubs and clubs closing, reducing the access to darts by those who do not wish to play at home, organisations such as Flight Club can attract a Gen Z crowd.

With more than a dozen locations in the UK and venues in the US and Australia, they feature hi-tech booths with pumping tunes that also serve brunch and cocktails and interactive screens to allow groups to play different games.

Littler went one step further at the Bahrain Masters final later in January, hitting a nine-dart finish as he beat Michael van Gerwen 8-5 to secure his first senior PDC title.

It will be fascinating to see if Littler’s rise has a lasting effect on the popularity of darts but you wouldn’t want to bet against it after the excitement and focus this year’s World Championships attracted.

MISS – COLIN GRAVES

Yorkshire County Cricket Club (YCCC) has a reputation as one of the most well-regarded clubs in England, having won over 30 County Championship titles.

But the Club has been marred by scandal in recent years and rocked by financial uncertainty that threatens its very existence.

While Colin Graves was first Chairman of the 160-year-old Club, from 2012 to 2015, the Club faced accusations of institutional racism, culminating in a complaint from captain Azeem Rafiq and later from others, resulting in a high profile investigation.

While the scandal was unfolding, Graves had an opportunity to take a stand and ensure those who were guilty were punished and safeguards put in place to ensure nothing like that happened again.

Rafiq’s claims painted a sorry picture of the abuse he and others had suffered.

The Club appeared to reluctantly concede only that Rafiq had been “the victim of inappropriate behaviour” while Graves attempted to dismiss these claims of racist language as mere “banter”, and was understandably roundly condemned for his response.

In late 2021, the Club released a statement concluding that “there is no conduct or action taken by any […] players or Executives that warrants disciplinary action”.

Yorkshire refused to send “anyone with executive authority to give evidence” to a parliamentary committee on the subject, while refusing to publish its internal report on the investigation into racism allegations.

When the report was published, it sent shockwaves through the Club and wider cricketing family, exposing a culture of racism that had long gone unpunished.

Yorkshire lost the right to host international games, was fined £400,000, and was docked 48 points from the 2023 County Championship, while many senior staff were sacked.

Sponsors understandably distanced themselves from the Club, including ground sponsor Emerald Publishing, creating financial issues that still afflict it today. The suspension of international games hosted at Headingley is estimated to have cost the club and surrounding area as much as £2,5m per game.

On top of the fine, the Chief Executive, Director of Cricket, and Head of Human Resources were all released, along with £3-4m.

After bungling their initial reaction, in August 2021, Yorkshire released a statement apologising to Rafiq and just over two years later, in October 2023, the Yorkshire Cricket Foundation released another statement apologising for racist behaviour.

Yorkshire’s increasingly difficult financial plight led to seeking investment from the Middle East to help address its financial challenges.

The situation got so bad that late last year, it transpired that the club was relying on support for the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) to help pay staff wages.

There were reports that the heating had broken down at Headingley and that former Newcastle United owner Mike Ashley was planning on buying the famous ground.

When Ashley’s bid failed to materialise, it was hardly a surprise when Graves was confirmed as the only viable option to help the club get back on its feet.

A statement from the Club said: “The Board of Yorkshire County Cricket Club has tonight agreed to recommend the loan agreement from Mr Colin Graves.”

The former Chairman then told talkSport: “The ball is in the Yorkshire board’s court to make a decision, but my interest is real, it’s absolute, and that’s for one reason and one reason only, and it’s to save Yorkshire County Cricket Club. None of us wants to see that institution disappear.

“It’s not in a good place so from my point of view that’s the reason I’m doing this. I’m passionate about the place and I want to make sure that Yorkshire County Cricket Club survives and prospers.”

Understandably, Rafiq has sharply criticised Graves’ return and said: “There is a sense of sadness, a bit of anger. The message it clearly sends out is cricket is not a place that is safe for people like me: people from South Asian communities or people of colour.

“We have ended right back where we started. Nothing has changed. All we have had are empty words and broken promises. Now a man who has always seemed to minimise the club’s problems, a man who last June went on television and dismissed racism as “banter”, a man whose family trust was described as a “roadblock” to reform, is likely to return to Headingley as chairman. So where is the outcry now? Where are the interventions?”

Earlier this year, Graves released a further statement apologising to the racism victims: “I apologise personally and unreservedly to anyone who experienced any form of racism at Yorkshire County Cricket Club. Discrimination or abuse based on race, ethnicity or any other protected characteristic is not and never will be acceptable.

“I profoundly regret some of the language I used when asked about the events that took place when I was Chairman, at a time when I was no longer at the club. I understand and sympathise with those who regarded my comments as dismissive or uncaring.”

Local MP, Alex Sobell, made a plea for alternative investors and said:  "Yorkshire County Cricket Club has admitted the racism prevalent at the club exposed by the brave testimony of Azeem Rafiq and rightly set up a whistleblowing helpline and investigation into the cases raised.

"Mr Graves has dismissed what the club has admitted, describing it as banter. I am very concerned that we would lose the progress we have made under a return by Mr Graves and would need not just a statement recanting his views but full commitment to create a club for the whole community."

Clive Efford MP, a member of the Culture, Media and Sport (CMS) select Committee, said Graves' return to the club would be "a disaster" while its Chair, Dame Caroline Dinenage MP, invited Graves to give evidence to the committee in February, adding that his return "undermines" the progress that Yorkshire has made so far.

"The disgraceful treatment of Azeem Rafiq by Yorkshire CCC was the tip of the iceberg, with racism, classism, sexism and misogyny found to be entrenched across the sport," Dinenage said in a statement.

"The publication of the Independent Commission for Equity in Cricket's report last year offered a turning point for English cricket, which the ECB appears to be taking.

"The return of Colin Graves to Yorkshire and to English cricket risks undermining what progress has been made so far.

"The Culture, Media and Sport Committee will be watching closely as this deal progresses, so that the terrible past of Yorkshire CCC does not repeat itself."

Charity Sporting Equals also criticised the plan and stated: “The potential reinstatement of Colin Graves as Chairman of Yorkshire County Cricket Club would undermine the progress made.

“His reinstatement would send a message that emboldens those who perpetuate the myth that racism is simply banter, that it is enough to pay lip service to policies and procedures. It would make a mockery of the suffering of ethnically diverse players across the country. It would be a rejection of the ICEC Report’s thorough investigation and well considered conclusions.“

The Club was then forced to refute accusations that it had dismissed other potential investors in preference to Graves’ return. "Yorkshire County Cricket Club and agents acting on our behalf have met with over 350 interested parties to work through the validity of each and every genuine offer to refinance the club.

"No stone has been left unturned and a thorough and rigorous process has been conducted by the board to ensure the club stays operational for the benefit of its members, creditors and employees. We refute any assertion to the contrary.”

There is no doubt that if Graves does ratify his bid for the Club, it will prove to be an unwanted sideshow and raise further questions about English cricket’s commitment to tackling racism.

Whether sponsors remain with the club or depart to disassociate themselves from the controversy remains to be seen, potentially plunging the Club into further financial difficulties.

Some are said to be reviewing the situation and Rafiq asked others to do the same:

"My question now is for Yorkshire's current sponsors… Does Colin Graves reflect your values? Is it acceptable to describe racism as banter?

"Sponsors found their moral compass before, and they need to find it again, because any organisation supporting this is complicit in it. There is still time for them to act, to leave now and stop Yorkshire stepping back in time and undoing what progress they have made in the past three years."

YCCC has now confirmed that Graves will return, passing the vote with an 88% majority, a huge endorsement from the Club members.

How far Graves goes in accepting his mistakes and ensuring progress continues to be made in the fight against racism may well determine whether the Club can move on from one of the biggest challenges it has ever faced.

[magicfootballstuff]

Dirty Little Secret - part 3 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 3/?

Read other parts here.

———

Your life can be split into two parts - before the Arnold Clark Cup and after the Arnold Clark Cup.

Or before Leila and after Leila.

You return to Arsenal and it’s surprisingly easy to settle back into the club routine and prepare for the next league game. You’d been slightly worried that it would be difficult to adjust, an abrupt return to reality after ten days of secret meetings and illicit hookups, but life at Arsenal is exactly as it was before.

It helps that the Arnold Clark Cup almost feels like it took place in a different reality. What you had with Leila was just a holiday fling between two consenting adults. You’ve both returned to your real lives now.

But then one evening three weeks after the international break, you’re tidying your apartment and sorting through things to have a clearout, when you find Leila’s red Spain jersey amongst a pile of clothes. You trace your finger over the yellow number fifteen on the front, then flip it over to look at Leila’s name on the back. You haven’t yet washed it and when you lift it to your nose and inhale, you’re sure you can still smell Leila’s scent on it, and you know that you didn’t imagine those two weeks at all.

You haven’t talked to Leila since you parted ways at the end of the international break, but seeing her shirt brings a whirlwind of memories that leaves you yearning for something.

Before you even have time to second guess yourself, you’re swapping your sweatshirt for Leila’s football shirt, then sprawling artfully across your bed as you take a selfie from above and send it to Leila.

You Thanks for the new pyjamas

It’s just a bit of fun - just like every other moment you shared with Leila. Part of you doesn’t expect her to reply. And she doesn’t straight away, you’ve given up on sorting and have settled down on the sofa to watch a Manchester City men’s game on the television when your phone finally vibrates with a response.

Leila Looking gooood 🤤

She doesn’t say anything else and you leave it there, not sure what else to say without coming across as too eager, so you set your phone aside and give your full attention to the football.

An hour has passed before another message comes through.

Leila Sorry I was out for dinner but home now

She’s attached an image to her message, a picture of her wearing the England shirt you exchanged with her. Except that she’s wearing just the England shirt, the hem coming down to cover her hips but very little else, her long legs bare.

You Leilaaaaa

Suddenly you don’t care about the football on the TV anymore.

———

Arsenal gets knocked out of the Champions League in the quarter finals by Wolfsburg, which means you miss out on the opportunity to play against Leila again in the semi final. Your last glimmer of hope that you might get to see Leila before a possible meeting during the Euros in the summer is snuffed out.

But when Barcelona beats Wolfsburg to advance to the final, you receive a surprising message a few days later.

Leila You coming to the Champions League final?

You hadn’t really given it much thought to be honest, since your own Champions League journey came to an end and it became irrelevant. The final is after your own season ends and there’s been talk amongst some of your Arsenal teammates of going on holiday together before you all split off into your various national teams for the Euros, but nothing set in stone.

The chance to watch Leila play in such an important match, to possibly even see her lift the trophy that every footballer in Europe dreams of lifting, would be special. But you haven’t seen Leila since the Arnold Clark Cup and there’s not enough of a thing going on between you for it to seem appropriate for you to just show up without Leila’s permission.

You Do you want me to come?

Before even waiting for Leila’s response, you already start checking your diary, working out the logistics of a spontaneous weekend in Turin and whether it fits in with your pre-Euro schedule.

Leila Yeahhhh. I can get a free ticket if you want? Barca friends and family area

You smile to yourself as you type out your reply.

You Aww, am I your friend? 😉 Why do you think I’d be cheering for Barca anyway? Maybe I’m a big Lyon fan

Leila replies straight away.

Leila 🖕

———

It turns out that Leila is serious about her offer of a ticket to the Champions League final, which is why just two weeks after the end of your season with Arsenal and the heartbreak of missing out on the title by just a single point, you get on a plane to Turin by yourself.

You don’t own a Barcelona shirt and though you take the Spain shirt from Leila with you, it stays in your suitcase as you head to the stadium. Having not yet had the chance to talk to Leila in person, you’re still not sure exactly what’s going on between you and it feels like a step too far to show up to one of her games wearing her name on your back. 

Instead, you’re trying to keep a low profile, donning a pair of dark sunglasses in the hope that it’ll make you less likely to get spotted by eager-eyed fans curious to discover why you’re sitting in the Barcelona family section.

It’s easy to get swept up in the atmosphere of the stadium. There are way more Barcelona fans than Lyon fans and the noise they make is immense. You’re a Manchester City fan, an Arsenal player, but tonight you’re a culer. You don’t know the chants but you don’t need to because you get caught up in the pure thrill of it all. Even when Barcelona go one, two, three goals down, the singing continues and there’s still belief that they can pull this back. Alexia gets one back just before half time that feels like a reward to the fans for their belief in the team.

But despite Barcelona’s best efforts in the second half, Lyon’s three goals prove too much to overcome and when the final whistle blows, they collapse to the pitch, exhausted and defeated.

You watch as Leila, who spent the game on the bench, wanders onto the pitch at full time, and your heart breaks for her when you see the hurt on her face and the tears shining in her eyes. You know that Barcelona were favourites and if you’re completely honest, you expected them to win. You thought that you would be celebrating with Leila tonight, but Lyon have the best record in this competition for a reason and now you need to prepare yourself to console her.

It’s quite a lot for something that’s just a casual friends with benefits situation, but then again, so is flying to Italy to watch the final in the first place. 

The trophy ceremony seems to drag on forever, as if you’re down there on the pitch on the losing team yourself. You’ve been on the wrong side of a cup final enough times yourself to know that there are very few worse feelings in football than having to stay on the pitch after losing such an important game and watching another team celebrate with the trophy you wanted to lift, so you know exactly how Leila must be feeling right now.

After the ceremony, the Barcelona players wander over to this section of the crowd and greet their families over the advertising boards. You hang back as Leila exchanges hugs with what you assume to be her family. This moment is for them, not for you, and you know that you need to wait for Leila to beckon you across if she wants to see you. What would you say to them anyway? You can hardly introduce yourself to Leila’s parents as the girl who hooked up with their daughter for two weeks in February. If the roles were reversed, you don’t know if you’d want to explain the situation to your own family.

So you wait, and you keep waiting. 

But Leila doesn’t beckon you over. In fact, she doesn’t even acknowledge you’re there at all.

The longer you’re standing there, the more the doubt starts to cloud your mind. At first it was explainable - there are obviously other people here to see Leila who she would prioritise talking to after the game more than you. But when she moves away from her own family to talk to the family of her teammates, then eventually moves back onto the pitch and hovers around a group of dejected Barcelona players, you start to wonder if Leila has forgotten that she invited you entirely.

Maybe you should’ve been more assertive. Maybe you should’ve stood closer to the barrier so that Leila couldn’t miss you.

You sit down again on the plastic stadium seat and pull out your phone, deciding to message Leila instead

You Sorry about the result but I’m so proud of you anyway! Let me know when you’re free? I can’t wait to see you!

When you look up, you can no longer see Leila. You scan the few blaugrana shirts still on the pitch just in case, but most of the team seems to have returned inside to the dressing room and you can only assume that Leila is one of them. The crowd has thinned out too, even the friends and family sections that were full long after the rest of the fans started to leave the stadium is starting to empty, and you know it’s probably time for you to leave too.

As you make your way out of the stands, you find a quiet corner on the almost deserted stadium concourse and decide to call Leila. You’re not sure if she’s checked her phone yet since the final whistle, so it’s not exactly a surprise when it rings straight through to her voicemail, but you decide to leave a message anyway.

“Leila, it’s me,” you say. “Listen, I…” You let out a sigh, then say, “I know you must be hurting right now. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling and I … and I just wish I could do something or say something to make it better but I can’t. But I’m proud of you. Just getting to the final is an achievement. Shit, I know that’s not what you need to hear right now but…”

You lean your head against the nearest wall and close your eyes in frustration, fully aware that you’re rambling almost nonsensically at this point.

“I’m here if you need me,” you continue. “Or if you don’t, that’s fine too. I’m leaving the stadium to get some food, then I’ll probably go back to my hotel, but just let me know you’re okay?”

You hesitate for just a few seconds, unsure how to sign off, before you panic and just end the message there. 

“Fuck!” you growl.

You turn around to lean your back against the wall, only to realise that the concourse isn’t as empty as you thought, but that two fans in Barcelona shirts have just witnessed your outburst.

“Sorry,” you apologise to them, but they don’t seem bothered by your swearing. In fact, they actually approach you, a little giddy, and you suddenly remember that you’re not as anonymous as you’d often like to be.

“Can we get a selfie?” one of the girls asks, taking out her phone. “My friend is a huge Arsenal fan. You’re one of her favourite players.”

You force a smile onto your face. Normally you don’t mind fan interactions, in fact it usually warms your heart to know that there are people out there who you don’t even know who support you and look up to you, but there’s a time and place for that and you’re really not in the mood right now. Despite that, Leila is to blame for your sour mood, not them, and you’re not going to take out your frustrations on a couple of innocent fans.

“Of course,” you tell them, positioning yourself so that one girl stands on either side of you and smiling at the outstretched phone of the girl on the left.

“Thank you,” they say, once the selfies have been taken.

“No problem,” you reply, and you only let the smile slide off your face when they’re out of sight.

You really need to get out of here. And fast.

———

You thought that by distancing yourself from the stadium and the match, it might ease your mind a little. But by the time you get back to your hotel with a paper bag of takeout food, you feel more uneasy than ever. 

Leila is still silent. No texts, no calls, nothing on social media. 

You replay your voicemail message over and over again in your mind, each word sitting like a brick on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Was it too much? Surely Leila would have messaged you when she was ready. What if your message comes across as needy, as smothering? What if you’re only pushing her away further?

Fuck. Leila probably doesn’t even want you here at all. You’re only a hookup to her, a bit of fun to pass your downtime during the Arnold Clark Cup. You were wrong to read anything more into the invitation to watch the final. She can only have wanted you here on standby, a plaything to use as a celebration if Barcelona won the trophy. But they didn’t and she doesn’t need you, she doesn’t want you.

The more you spiral, the more you want to speak to her. Just a single message, a word of reassurance or even just an acknowledgement that she’s not in the right headspace to see you tonight, would be enough to settle your anxiety.

As it is, you’re alone in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city with nothing but a bag of food and your own intrusive thoughts.

You want to call someone, to talk to a friend before you completely fall apart. Leah, perhaps. You’ve known her forever and out of all your friends, she’s probably the least likely to judge you if you call her up out of nowhere in floods of tears and tell her you’re having a breakdown in a hotel room in Turin over some girl you hardly know. In fact, Leah is such a good friend that if she knew you were distressed, she’d probably hop on the first flight to Italy to comfort you in person.

But Leah is on holiday in America and she deserves the time off before the Euros without having to worry about her idiotic best friend having girl problems on the other side of the world.

You’re just going to have to deal with this alone.

Hot tears spill down your face and you cocoon yourself beneath the bedcovers, wishing that the bed would swallow you whole.

You don’t know how you could’ve been so stupid to think that this meant something, how you could’ve been so stupid to catch feelings for Leila when there are clearly far too many obstacles between you for it to ever work out. In your defence, it’s only now that you’re starting to realise that you are catching feelings for her, but still… you could’ve done more to stop it from happening in the first place.

The doubt and the self-loathing clouds your mind and you cry it out until you can’t cry anymore, until you finally succumb to exhaustion, passing out into a dreamless sleep with tear-stained cheeks.

———

You wake up alone, having had a bad night’s sleep, to several messages from Leila, which can be summed up by the most recent one.

Leila Can I see you today?

The rest of her messages, all sent within the last couple of hours this morning, are a mixture of pleas and apologies.

You’re still pissed at her for not responding to any of your messages last night. But you flew all the way to Turin at Leila’s request, used the ticket that she gave you for free to watch the match, and you don’t fly back until later today. And, despite your anger, you do still want to see her.

You’re not going to make an effort though, which is why you message her back with the address of your hotel. If Leila wants to see you, then she can be the one to make the effort to come and see you herself.

When she arrives at your hotel, you decide to meet her downstairs in the hotel restaurant, instead of inviting her up to your room. There’s less temptation to let her seduce her way back onto your good side if you meet in public.

Leila looks like shit - that’s your first impression. She looks like she’s had even less sleep than you have, her eyes puffy, her expression weary, her usual smile absent. 

If she hadn’t pissed you off yesterday, you’d probably hug her. 

Instead, you just let her sit down across from you and ask her, “Do you want to eat?”

She shakes her head. 

“I’m not hungry today.”

“Coffee, then?” you suggest, because she definitely looks like she needs it.

Leila nods. 

You’ve already ordered yourself a coffee (you’re normally a tea person but you don’t want to risk the Italian tea not being to your taste) and a sandwich, but you call over the waiter once more for Leila.

“So what happened?” you eventually ask, once Leila has ordered her coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Leila apologises with a shrug, and from the way that her eyebrows are furrowed together, it seems like she’s having a difficult time trying to hold herself together.

“Sorry for what?” you ask, waiting for her to admit that she messed up, but when she doesn’t, you continue talking. “I flew here by myself, I sat in the family section surrounded by people I don’t know, all speaking a language I don’t understand. The only person I knew in this city yesterday was you. You invited me here. I thought you wanted me here.”

“I want you here,” Leila pleads with you. “But a lot happened yesterday and it was too much.”

“I get that. You think I’ve never lost a cup final? I came here to support you, win or lose. And then you hurt me. You made me feel like an idiot.”

The effort that Leila has been putting into not falling apart crumbles and the sobs heave through her body, shoulders trembling and tears spilling down her cheeks. Annoyed with her or otherwise, it’s not nice to see, and you feel a pang of regret that your harsh words have upset her.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for one of the unused napkins on the table and passing it across to Leila, letting your fingers brush against her hand as you do. “I’m pissed off, but I don’t want to see you cry. I don’t care that you didn’t win the Champions League. I would’ve loved to watch you lift that trophy but I’m proud of you anyway for making it to the final.”

Leila uses the napkin to wipe her tears, and the silence, as well as the sad look in her eyes, compels you to keep talking.

“And it’s not like I was expecting anything from you yesterday either,” you tell her. “If you didn’t want to see me or you were too busy, that’s fine. But just one message to let me know what was going on and I wouldn’t have been left waiting around feeling stupid.”

“I know, I know,” Leila says, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “So much stuff is happening right now. It’s all too much. But you’re right, I should have messaged.”

You don’t know what to say. It almost feels like you’re back to square one, like you don’t even know Leila at all. But then you realise - do you even know Leila? It’s not like you’ve actually spent any time getting to know each other. There’s an obvious attraction between you, and physical chemistry too, but do you actually have anything in common beside your profession?

“Can I make it up to you?” Leila blurts out.

“How?” you ask.

You’re expecting a smirk to slide across Leila’s lips and for her to suggest you go somewhere private for her to apologise to you in a more physical way, but instead, she looks you straight in the eye and says, “Come to Barcelona?”

“When?”

“This week. We have another final - la Copa de la Reina. You could come to the game.”

You let out a sigh. You can’t put yourself through what you’ve been through this weekend again, as tempting as it is to just forgive Leila and succumb to her request. Yet despite the fact that you cried yourself to sleep last night because of Leila, you can’t deny the fact you’ve still got a soft spot for her and it’s incredibly difficult to say no to her.

“I’ve got an England camp coming up soon,” you try to reason with her. “We’re starting our Euro prep.”

“Just for a few days,” Leila pleads with you. “I really want you to come. Please.”

“I can’t just drop everything at short notice,” you tell Leila, though your plans for the next couple of weeks don’t involve much more than relaxing as much as possible before getting straight back to work with the Lionesses.

“Okay,” Leila says, and though that’s all she says, you can tell she’s disappointed.

Would it really be so bad if you said yes? Would it hurt to give her another chance? You don’t want what happened yesterday to ruin what’s been going between you forever, which means forgiving her at some point. Maybe a little holiday in Barcelona, especially before you enter the biggest summer of your life so far, is exactly what you need.

It’ll be like the Arnold Clark Cup all over again, an escape from reality until you have to return to life as a footballer and Leila’s on-pitch rival.

“Fine, I’ll look at flights to Barcelona,” you concede. “I can give you two days, maybe three, before I need to be back in England.”

“Thank you,” Leila says, smiling at you gratefully.

She reaches into the little bag that she brought with her and pulls out a piece of blue and pink fabric, and as she unfurls it you realise it’s a Barcelona shirt.

“My jersey from yesterday,” she explains as she passes it across the table. “To thank you for coming to see me. If you can come to Barcelona next week, you could wear it to the final?”

Wearing Leila’s name to one of her matches sounds serious. It sounds like a commitment. As is flying to Turin, or even to Barcelona to watch one of her games, but that hasn’t quite gone to plan.

Things were so easy when you were flirting from different countries, or sneaking around St George’s Park for a bit of fun. The rational part of your brain tries to warn you that it’s probably not a good thing that at the first sign of this perhaps actually being a little more serious, it’s resulted in this misunderstanding and both of you getting upset.

But the pleading look in Leila’s bloodshot eyes is impossible to say no to.

“Thanks,” you say, refolding the jersey and setting it aside.

“When do you go home?” Leila asks.

“This afternoon,” you answer. “My flight’s just after four. You?”

“In a couple of hours,” Leila tells you. “I can’t stay much longer. Only Patri knows I’m not at the team hotel.”

You can’t help but smile, reminded a little of the way you both snuck around St George’s Park back in February, only now your secrecy has led you to fly to a whole different country while Leila has snuck across town to see you.

This thing between you, this connection that has been growing since that tackle back in Barcelona, is far from easy. But aren’t the best things in life worth the fight?

“Come here,” you say, pushing back your chair and getting to your feet.

You hold your arms out wide until Leila understands and gets up too, stepping around the table and into your embrace. Her arms wind around your back as you pull her close, burying your face into her shoulder 

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Leila mumbles into your hair.

You don’t say anything in response, instead simply squeezing her closer and savouring the feeling of her body against yours. If you can make the logistics of a trip to Barcelona next week work, it won’t be long until you can hold her again like this, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to make the most of every second you can get with her before you have to go in separate directions again.

If this tumultuous weekend in Turin has taught you anything, it’s that you can’t take anything for granted.