#Tottenham Hotspur

[trulyhblue]

Could you possibly do a Grace Clinton x Reader please based on what Alessia mentioned on her podcast about Grace being a big hugger and like a sloth ! x also love your work ❤️

Just A Hugger

Grace Clinton x Lioness! Reader

Warnings: fluff, secret but established relationship, very short!

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You were sitting on one of the bean bags for the first time all camp, snuggled under an array of blankets, cuddling your phone as you stared up at the TV in front of you. The room was dark, holding refuge to more than a dozen tired athletes, all clad in their sponsored trackies and hoodies. You were among the handful that had been able to snag a bean bag before they were all full.

Alessia and Ella shared one beside you, and Niamh and Lotte planted theirs together in order to create one combined. On the lounges behind you, many of the girls lay across one another, sluggish in their endeavours to soak up some team bonding while also maintaining the silence. Beth had made you a hot chocolate, and Esme had picked the movie, which was of no complaint to anyone, considering the City girl always seemed to know best. You could hear Lauren muttering about her latest Lego creation to LJ, who was somewhat endorsed by the topic of conversation, yet scrolled aimlessly on her phone as she hummed along in agreement, since Hempo’s tangents often let on for prolonged periods.

Your feet peeked out from under the blankets, your fluffy pink socks matching with your girlfriend, who was nowhere to be seen. There was a quiet hum of chatter as the movie played, and everyone was content with the mixture as it was the first time anyone had really gotten to bond with another teammate outside of training.

The euro qualifiers were tough, and your fresh arrival to the team made it even more difficult to mould into a routine. In such high stake games, you certainly weren't looking for any significant game time, but you were a halftime sub during England’s campaign against Sweden, and you were hopeful of getting the same minutes this time against France.

You were younger than most of the girls but had been around professional football for long enough to have known them all for quite some time. You made your debut at United only a few years ago before playing for City in the Youth groups. There you met the likes of Mary, Katie and Ella, who were the first Lionesses that you had truly gotten to know. You had eventually met Grace when she came from Bristol to United, and from then, you were both sent on loan to Tottenham, where your friendship blossomed into a North London Treasure. Fans are no longer sure Grace is a United player, but their NLD golden girl. You were born and raised Manchester-bound, and you were not prepared to face the fact that you were slowly becoming among the faces of Tottenham’s affiliates. It took you a while to process the hurt that came with your loan, and at some points, you envied how quickly Grace fit in with your teammates and the game they played. But you soon moulded well as a striker, especially as your relationship with Grace consumed your everyday life.

You had moved in together as friends and slowly found your deep feelings for her embedded into your heart. The hugs during celebrations, and the post-match interviews matched with longing stares and soft compliments. Fans jumped to the joyride of how calm and collected the two of you held yourselves, especially as a duo in the games. Grace was always helping you up after badly set tackles, and you pushed her away from unnecessary quarrels with opponents. The media would pick up on the assists Grace would give you, and the spectacular goals that came as a result of your chemistry. There weren't any other two players that had this sort of combination together, and clubs were quick to realise that if they wanted one of you, the other was instantly included.

It was only half way through the season when the two of you got together. It was after your win against Arsenal, and the celebrations mixed with alcohol were quick to loosen your tongue. It was a well-kept secret between you two, except your two best friends Charli and Celine had caught on about your feelings long before you had even gotten together. The media were just enamoured by your friendship with Grace. The fans adored the affection you showed each other. There was inevitable shipping rumours, but they never held much significance.

While you liked the privacy of your relationship, Grace wanted to make it known that you were hers. It wasn't like you kept it discreet. You had shown each other the same amount of PDA before you made it official, so there was minimal change when it came to the way you interacted with each other, save for the heavy affection shown in the showers after a match, away from prying eyes. However, Grace had found herself falling more protective of you. If someone had made a false tackle on you, she’d be all over it before you had even hit the ground. It was an anger that had never presented itself beforehand, but it was sure to unleash the second you winced into the grass.

You were very reserved on the pitch. There wasn't much you got up to, and your card count was very low. Grace was much more vicious, but held accountability when it was due.

Everyone just thought that it was the end-of-season drama, where teams were making last-second challenges that would aim to help their position on the ladder.

Now, as both of your loans with Tottenham were soon to be over, Grace and you had not only made yourselves comfortable in the London atmosphere but had created special bonds with the likes of Celine with Grace and you with Charli, which made the return back a little difficult to face. You were both extremely valuable to each team, and there had been an inexplicable improvement that United wanted a piece of, though Tottenham wanted to keep. You were conflicted with the history of your home, and the alliance of your new life, which added to the stress of debuting with the England Senior Team.

You felt a familiar figure crouch beside you, placing another layer of soft blanket over your figure. With a soft kiss on your forehead, you snuggled up to Grace’s side, immediately cradling her waist with your arms, engulfing her chest with your head, and listening to her steady heartbeat.

“God, you're so warm.” She muttered, pulling your thigh over her leg, letting your weight lean against her. You let out a silent laugh as Grace wrapped her arms around your shoulders, running her hand through the nape of your hair, playing with the loose strands.

You peered down at her feet, feeling the familiar fabric of your matching socks. “Where have you been?”

Grace tucked you into her chest further, breathing in your scent as she sighed. “Talking to Sarina. She wanted to see what I was doing with Tottenham?”

You looked up, carefully calculating the mood on your girlfriend's face. “What about it?”

“Just whether we— whether I was staying.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I’d have to ask you.” Grace glanced down at you, smiling at the crease between your eyebrows. She pecked your nose, tracing your features subtly. “She said that she could see that we were dating from a mile away.”

You scoffed at that. “Bet she did.”

None of your national teammates mentioned anything, though some of the senior girls had caught on quite quickly that something had changed since the last time they had seen you in Manchester. Ella, who was usually the slowest had walked in on you two that very morning, yelping and whining over breakfast, making your face go red with embarrassment and Grace shoving Tooney over to Lessi, who, inevitably, now knows.

You had told Beth and Leah that you two had gotten close while partnered together at training. Leah had told you it was obvious, and Beth had given you a big hug before listing things she and Viv did to keep their relationship a secret before it got out.

Grace had told Mary, who told Millie, who told Rach, and soon enough pretty much everyone who cared had found out over the course of a day. They were quick to subtly congratulate you, but the attention had died down by the time dinner had past and you all were watching the somewhat indulging film Esme had put on.

You weren't keeping your relationship a secret, but neither of you found a point in letting it known. If someone asked, you’d tell them. Both of you were waiting for the media to catch on, but until then, you were content with the quietness of it all.

“I’ll go wherever you go, you know that?” Grace muttered, placing soft kisses down the coloum of your neck. You pressed your figure closer to her, sighing when her hands ran against your sides.

You held out your hand to grab hers, tracing the ridges in her knuckles. “What do you think? Tottenham or United?”

“I don't care, baby.” She spoke, peeking up from where her face hovered above your collarbone. “I would warm the bench if it meant I was with you.”

You laughed into the blankets, nudging your face into her neck. “You're a sweet talker, Clinton.”

Grace didn't deny the statement, smirking down at your cosy position against her. She wouldn't trade you for any contract offer in the world. No amount of money or years of playing football could equate to holding you in her arms.

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yourusername

Liked by Graceclinton, Leahwilliamson, and 98,367 others

tagged — graceclinton, alessiarusso, ellatoone

yourusername — training and socks 🧦🎀

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Comments:

user78 — if they are not in love then idk what love is

lionesses — pretty in pink! 💕

graceclinton — I love the way you look at me

graceclinton — feet on feet 🤢

^ yourusername — you love it 😙

wosofan — THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER I CAN NOT DO THIS THEY R SO CUTE

alessia — 😍

* liked by creator

user17 — im dreading the time their loan at Tottenham ends.

^ user67 — what if one of them stays at Tottenham and the other stays at United?

^ user66 — I will become violent if this happens

^ user16 — both teams will want them both. I doubt this will happen

charlottegrant — my little koala 🐨

^ yourusername — miss you char char 😣

ellatoone — less and I third wheeling

^ alessia — you’ll live tooney

^ graceclinton — double date?

^ user62 — Y/N AND GRACE CONFIRMED???????

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[othernightslikethis]

THE WHITE EMPEROR

Cap 1 here

Ningning x Male Reader x Winter (aespa)

3k words

There were two things your very core despised more than the colour green—which, for some reason, you had always loathed above all else—boredom and loneliness. And yet, it was precisely these two afflictions that now imposed themselves upon your existence with inexorable voracity.

Flat on your bed, staring at the ceiling like a shipwrecked man drained of strength, you lay prisoner to your own inertia. Your leg bounced incessantly—sometimes in aimless frenzy, sometimes in a more measured rhythm—as if that minuscule movement could somehow ease the crushing monotony consuming you. Sleep, ever elusive, refused to grace you with its veil of rest, even as lethargy spread through your limbs like a slow-acting poison.

The irony lay in the fact that this idleness did not stem from a lack of purpose but rather from a cruel, exasperating wait. Only a single day remained before you flew to London, yet each second stretching between you and that coveted moment felt like an eternity. Time, relentless and mocking, dragged itself forward with deliberate slowness, seemingly revelling in your torment.

Fate, a capricious creature of surprises, had a peculiarly fortunate misfortune in store for you. To your unexpected delight, an event of considerable excitement presented itself. The shrill ring of the doorbell—once a source of irritation and exasperation—echoed through the house with vigour, its sound travelling through the rooms until it reached the upper floor. Curiously, the very noise that had tormented you for an entire year now brought inexplicable relief, as though it heralded something of utmost significance.

With a drawn-out sigh, void of enthusiasm, you emerged from your sluggish haze, abandoning the bed with no particular haste. Your limbs, weighed down by idleness, moved with reluctance as you rose, utterly indifferent to the idea of dressing with greater propriety. Composure gave way to urgency as you descended the stairs, each step creaking beneath your indolent tread.

The night air, cold and slightly damp, slipped through the cracks of the windows, pricking at your bare skin. Yet, such discomfort barely registered, for your mind—still shrouded in the fog of unrested sleep—was wholly fixated on the source of the interruption.

At last, reaching the door, your hand hesitated on the handle. A moment of uncertainty lingered between you and whatever lay beyond. But with one final resigned breath, you turned the latch and opened the door.The silence blanketing the space was abruptly shattered by a lively, resonant voice from the doorway.

— How long do you plan on standing there lookin’ like a dead fish, bro?

Before you, dressed in casual attire, stood none other than Vinícius José Paixão de Oliveira Júnior—or, as he was more commonly known, Vini Jr. His eyes, alight with an energy impossible to contain, flitted upwards to where the unmistakable figures of Rodrygo Goes, Jude Bellingham, Kylian Mbappé, and Eduardo Camavinga loomed. Last, but by no means least, stood Antonio Rüdiger, adorned with a hat so utterly bizarre that its eccentricity was rivalled only by the effortless ease with which he wore it.

— We’ve come to drag you out for a bit. A farewell party—what d’you reckon? — Vini announced, a mischievous grin playing at his lips.

Time granted you all of two seconds to process the situation before the entire group, like a relentless tidal wave, breached the sanctity of your home without the slightest hesitation. Caught in the sudden invasion of your peace, your only response was to shut the door behind them, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips. Shaking your head in amused resignation, the hint of a smile still lingered on your face.

— I really do love these guys.

Strobe lights flashed at a frantic pace, reflecting in the eyes of those who stared at them, while deafening music pulsed from every corner of the room. And yet, far from being a nuisance, that chaotic symphony had a hypnotic allure—something that, strangely, you found enjoyable.

The table where you and your friends were gathered boasted a medley of drinks, each glass holding a different concoction, and the air buzzed with an ephemeral sense of celebration—a welcome distraction from the impending departure awaiting you at dawn.

Vini, ever the exuberant one, leaned towards you, giving your shoulder a light tap to steal your attention. His expression bore an almost childlike anticipation, certain that he’d draw the words from you that, deep down, you knew had to be spoken.

— So then? You and that girl you’ve been into… What’s the deal? — he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

You sighed deeply before bringing the glass to your lips, allowing the whisky to burn its way down your throat with a mix of sting and comforting warmth. The faint touch of honey attempted to temper the alcohol’s harshness—but to little avail.

— Feels like I’m talking to a ghost. — you murmured, setting the glass down with a dull clink. — She barely bothers to reply to my messages. One moment, she treats me with absolute indifference, and the next, she throws me a few scraps of attention. It’s like she sees me as a bloody pet—gives me a momentary treat, and there I am, wagging my tail and begging for scraps of affection.

The weight of frustration crashed down upon you so heavily that your head fell against the table with a dull thud—a quiet, resigned groan slipping from your lips amidst the indistinct murmur of the room

Rüdiger, in an almost paternal gesture, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, while Rodrygo, his expression sombre, crossed his arms and took a slow sip of his drink before stating, with cutting pragmatism:

— And you’re just gonna stay like this?

His tone held no condescension—just a blunt, matter-of-fact certainty. Vini, nodding vehemently, reinforced the sentiment: — If she treats you like that, maybe it’s time to move on, mate. There’s no shortage of hotties in the world

— Leave him alone — Mbappé said as he settled beside you, sliding a drink in your direction. — He needs time for himself.

Just then, Mbappé and Camavinga arrived with the next round of drinks. The older Frenchman led the way, while the younger trailed just behind, tilting his head inquisitively.

Eduardo, however, remained standing, arms crossed over his chest, his expression scrutinising as he asked:

— What’s this all about?

Rüdiger, with a knowing smirk, tossed out a teasing reply:

— Our dear little Japanese friend is suffering over love.

— I’m Korean! — you snapped, irritation flaring as you scowled.A chorus of laughter erupted around you, a mix of exasperation and begrudging amusement washing over you.

— "Same thing!" someone called out between chuckles.

— My man, have you actually told her how you feel?

The silence that followed answered for you. Your hesitant glance and slight shake of the head were enough for Mbappé to exhale thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the rim of his glass.

— Hmmm… Then maybe you should. — He raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. — She’s not a mind reader, man. She won’t know how you feel unless you tell her.

He let the words settle before setting down his drink with finality.

— But for now, forget about all that. Go dance. Leave the overthinking for later. Tonight’s your send-off—make the most of it! We’ll see you in a year!

The last sentence was repeated in unison by the group, followed by an enthusiastic toast. The clinking of glasses echoed in the air—a fleeting moment of celebration before the night continued.

---

Winter felt restless, to say the least. Anxiety coursed through her veins like an insidious poison, undermining her usual tranquillity. She had sent him a message three hours ago, and the silence that followed had become an unbearable weight on her chest. It was an unusual absence, unsettling, almost unnatural. She was used to receiving his response instantly, as if his very existence lingered on the edge of hers, always ready to dispel any shadow of uncertainty. What had once seemed charming now felt deeply disquieting.

Why hadn’t he answered? What was keeping him? Was it merely a distraction, or was something more serious standing between them? Under normal circumstances, she might have convinced herself that he was sleeping, wrapped in the languor of slumber. But no, Winter knew—with the unshakable certainty of one who observes a sacred ritual—that he never slept without receiving her goodnight. It had become an unbreakable tradition, a habit deeply rooted in their routine.

Restlessness settled in like a weed, choking her thoughts. With every passing minute, her mind wove increasingly disturbing scenarios, as if the absence of a single response could herald impending disaster. Almost involuntarily, her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant, torn between reason and the impulse to send another message.

Letting out an audible huff, Kim Minjeong was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Yu Jimin—Karina—settling beside her with quiet serenity. The leader, observing the vacant, distant expression on the younger girl’s face, reached out gently, resting her fingers on her shoulder in an attempt to pull her back to reality. But there was no response. Persistent, Karina insisted, giving her a light shake several times until Minjeong finally emerged from her daze. She blinked a few times, visibly confused, before lifting her gaze to the other girl.

— What? What happened? — she asked, her voice slightly hoarse, as if she had gone a long time without uttering a single word.

— Nothing in particular… It’s just that you haven’t said a word for nearly two hours.

As she spoke, she raised a hand and, with careful precision, placed her fingers against Minjeong’s forehead, subtly assessing her temperature. Her expression remained unchanged, but there was a trace of concern in her voice.

— I was worried.

Winter shook her head, forcing herself to push aside the thoughts that had insidiously invaded her mind. At last, she abandoned the brooding that kept her bound to that figure whose affection for her was so glaringly obvious. Who, after all, could ignore such evidence? And yet, she had never managed to discern whether, deep down, she could ever truly return it.

She had never been granted the boldness to do so, leaving her only with hesitation and the gnawing guilt of keeping him tethered to her so mercilessly. Sometimes, she saw herself as a jailer of emotions, depriving him of the freedom to seek love elsewhere, though never out of deliberate cruelty. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was the selfishness that pulsed within her in secret.

But for some unfathomable reason, merely imagining the possibility of him falling for someone else made her stomach churn, as if a venom coursed through her veins, robbing her of breath. The mere thought of his eyes—once fixed solely on her—turning towards another, of his smiles, his gestures, his very essence ceasing to belong to her, was an intolerable affront, an unbearable misfortune.

He was meant to be hers—from his first breath to his very last.

Two pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, accompanied by the sound of suitcases being dragged along the floor. Suppressed giggles dissipated into the air.

— She’s thinking about her prince charming! — Aeri teased, a sly grin on her lips.

Karina, slightly furrowing her brows, turned to her friend, arching an eyebrow in evident confusion.

— What are you on about? — she asked, doubt clouding her gaze.

— She’s talking about [Y/N.] — Ning chimed in, exhaling a sigh laden with exasperation before throwing herself onto the opposite sofa, arms crossed over her chest. — I don’t get what she sees in him. A rude, ill-mannered man with… Urgh! The most insufferable arrogance. I hate that man!

Her tone dripped with resentment, and the irritation that coloured her expression made her disdain painfully obvious.

— Oh, him. What’s her problem? Did they have a row or something? — Giselle, saying nothing, merely shook her head in response. — So?

The young woman, visibly exasperated, let out a sharp huff before finally voicing her grievance:

— That bastard! Not only did he spill orange juice all over me, but he didn’t even bother apologising! And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to say that if I was going to be a whiny baby, I should just wear nappies! The nerve of him!

Karina and Giselle exchanged a knowing look, as if trying to gauge how seriously she was taking her outrage, while Winter, unable to hold back, let out a quiet chuckle, covering her mouth in a feeble attempt to disguise her amusement.

---

The journey unfolded without incident, and the presentation in London proceeded in an orderly and formal manner. However, the reception was far below expectations—an inadmissible slight for someone of his stature. After all, it was a loan for a season and a half, but even so, his arrival should have been met with the pomp and reverence befitting his name. What kind of insolence was this? In just a year on the Old Continent, he had amassed more titles than those dull, uninspired nobodies had won in an entire decade. And yet, his arrival was marked by an infuriating coldness.

There was no frenzied crowd, no eager reporters vying for his words, no paparazzi scrambling for the best angles of his figure. No bombastic headlines, no fanfare. Nothing. They treated him like some random nobody, a mere afterthought, and the sheer audacity of it all made his blood boil. How dare they? How could they ignore his greatness? Talent and glory should speak for themselves, yet here, they seemed invisible. The silent disregard gnawed at his pride, fuelling his indignation. He was a blazing star, a force of nature destined to make history. And yet, here he was—cast into obscurity by a bunch of visionless fools.

London had better open its eyes and bow, for soon enough, it would have no choice but to kneel before his grandeur.

Even so, he was compelled to report for training that very same day, with no room for delays or indulgences. With meticulous resignation, he donned his gear, adjusting each piece with an almost mechanical lack of enthusiasm. A club staff member had been tasked with showing him around—a formality he found utterly tedious, devoid of charm or novelty.

The tour dragged on at a sluggish pace, punctuated by dull descriptions and robotic gestures. The staff member, diligent in his duties, detailed every facility with almost solemn seriousness, while he, in turn, absorbed the information with blatant disinterest, as if every word were a distant echo incapable of sparking even a flicker of curiosity

When he was finally given permission to begin training, his steps towards the pitch were slow, lacking vigour or determination. There was an air of laziness about him, a sense of weary indifference in the way he moved, as though every metre covered was an unnecessary burden. As he set eyes on the impeccably manicured pitch—an emerald carpet many would consider a sacred altar to the sport—he felt nothing but sheer boredom. A yawn escaped his lips, an uncontrollable reflection of his apathy, dissipating into the air like an unmistakable signal of his utter indifference.

Then, he felt an unexpected touch on his shoulder.

Upon entering the facility, he was greeted by a man slightly shorter than himself. His features betrayed his Korean heritage—just like his own, the idol of his national team, Heung-min Son. With an affable smile and an air of camaraderie, Son extended his right hand towards him in a gesture of courtesy.

— Welcome aboard, mate!

His face bore a friendly expression. His hand remained suspended in the air for a moment, waiting to be accepted. He considered the gesture briefly, contemplating whether to return the courtesy. But then, a sardonic smile curled his lips, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. He shook his head in refusal and turned his back on Son without hesitation.

— I’m the star here, old man.

As he walked away, Son remained there, his hand still hanging mid-air, his lips slightly parted in perplexity, his eyes widening just a fraction as if trying to decipher the logic behind such a blunt, unexpected reaction. However, after a brief moment of hesitation, he merely shrugged, resigning himself to the lack of explanation and choosing not to dwell on it.

Still, he observed him closely, noticing how he remained slightly apart from the others, detached from the interactions around him, sitting in wait for coach Ange Postecoglou, who would soon be giving instructions for training. There was a subtle melancholy in his posture—or perhaps just an involuntary sense of displacement, a feeling that he was a stranger in a sea of familiar faces.

And then, before he had even noticed the approach, someone sat beside him.It was Richarlison.

— Don’t even think about opening your fuck mouth, you donkey.

His response came swiftly, laced with contempt, cutting off any attempt at conversation before it could begin.

The striker, however, seemed entirely unfazed. He merely raised an eyebrow, as if hostility were nothing new, and shrugged indifferently—suggesting that, from the very start, he had perhaps never intended to say anything at all.

---

Throughout that week of gruelling training sessions, the Tottenham squad clocked onto the half-arsed effort you were putting in. Your shots were limp, completely lacking any proper power, like you couldn’t be arsed to give it some welly. Your movement, meanwhile, was lethargic, not a shred of graft or determination. Slacking off had become your most glaring trait, and the blasé way you treated every drill reeked of silent arrogance — a proper delusion that your spot among the starters was set in stone, no matter how pony your performance. But that bubble burst in the most humiliating way. On the eve of the clash against Brentford, as you scanned the starting XI list, your eyes scoured the names once, twice, three times, hoping to find yours. No such luck. Reality hit like a ton of bricks: your name wasn’t there. Your heart skipped a beat, proper gobsmacked, and like a mug, you checked again, squinting for a typo, a mistake, anything to explain the snub. But nah. No getting around it.

The air rushed out of your lungs in a proper rage. Your fingers tangled in your hair, yanking hard, as you exploded with a torrent of proper meltdown:

— THE ACTUAL WHAT?! — you bellowed, your voice bouncing off the changing room walls, dripping with disbelief and proper cheek. — WHO DOES THAT COACH THINK HE IS?!

The silence cracked with a calm but firm voice behind you:

— Your coach. — Turning, you faced Kulusevski, staring you down like he’d seen this tantrum coming a mile off. — S’only natural a player who can’t be arsed starts on the bench — he carried on, all chilled, almost taking the piss. — If you’re not grafting in training, why’d you expect a spot among the starters?

A mirthless, bitter laugh slipped out, stewing with that toxic mix of indignation and scorn bubbling inside. This twat who’d nicked your spot had the bare-faced cheek to chat like it was nothing, like he hadn’t proper mugged you off just by existing. Who the bloody hell did he think he was?The rage lit you up, proper fuming, moving sharp and narked. On a proper strop, you spun on your heels and charged at him, shoulder-barging him proper. The clash was a proper clatter, catching the lad off guard and slamming him to the deck before he could blink.

— What a fuck liberty, mate.

---

The match kicked off without you getting a sniff of the pitch, and no one needed to tell you how proper gutted you were. The team’s shambolic mess of a performance had zero tactical shape—proper car crash stuff, made even worse by the gaffer’s cluelessness. His decision to leave you rotting on the bench filled you with silent rage. Not even a hint of you coming on, like, he didn’t even glance your way! What’s that bloke’s problem? Instead of firing you up to work harder, it just made you couldn’t-be-arsed in training. A proper spiteful lethargy took hold, this involuntary sod-it-all attitude showing in your half-hearted drills and calculated sulking. Every drill, every shout from the coaches, your mind drifted further, already convinced you’d never get a proper chance under a gaffer who picked the squad like he was drawing names from a hat.

But then, as if fate decided to take the piss out of your sulk, the unexpected happened: when they announced the starting XI for the League Cup semi against mighty Liverpool, your name was in there. The initial shock turned into a mix of disbelief and proper disdain. Was this the gaffer’s desperate Hail Mary? A random whim? Or some weird power move? Didn’t matter. Like it or not, you were starting the biggest game of the season. Now, with the training-ground sulk behind you, it was time to decide: prove your worth proper, or let the apathy win and fade into irrelevance.

Soulmate ❄️

"Im playin' today."

"That's great, I've been kinda busy, but I swear I'll watch the highlights"

"Better do it, gonna play like always 😜"

Pocketing your phone with a smirk, you got your head straight. You pulled on the number eleven shirt—never your favourite. You’d always fancied the number ten, proper iconic, the maestro’s number… or maybe twenty-eight, a nod to the day you first locked eyes with Minjeong, that split-second moment etched in your mind like it’s framed in gold.

Taking a deep breath, you climbed the stadium stairs, boots clattering on concrete. The distant roar of the crowd mixed with the changing-room banter, a proper buzz of anticipation. Your chest tightened with nerves and adrenaline, the weight of the coming battle on that sacred turf. At the tunnel’s edge, you paused, shut your eyes, and let the cold wind slap your face—game on.

It’s gone past the 61st minute of the second half, and you couldn’t be more off the mark. The match had been a proper shambles for you, a right spectacle of frustration and gloom. The bloody ball barely came your way, dodging you like it couldn’t stand the sight of you, and your own teammates—far from linking up with you on the pitch—acted like you were a ghost, useless and aimless, blithely ignoring your existence.

Even when the round thing did finally land at your feet, your noggin couldn’t conjure up a decent move. Your attacks crumbled against the relentless wall Liverpool had thrown up, every defender like a slab of granite. And to top it off, you couldn’t be arsed to track back and help defend, leaving a gaping hole in your lot’s backline. The cost? Brutal: two lightning counterattacks from the opposition, both turned into goals that rubbed salt in the wound. Deep down, you knew—your half-arsed effort had weighed heavy in the collapse. But you weren’t the only one having a mare that night; your whole squad looked knackered, proper lost.

There was this cursed lethargy in the air, a sluggishness that turned your team into a piss-poor parody of itself. Football, in all its glory, demands grit and fire, but your lot just lay down, gutted and hollow.

Not that any of this bothered you much—you’d already made peace with the disaster. At least until your eyes caught that sodding electronic board glowing in the shadows, flashing your number without a shred of mercy.

— What?! — you barked across the pitch, half-laughing in disbelief. — Nah, no fucking way.

You shook your head, raking your hands through your hair, biting your lip till the metallic tang of blood hit your tongue.

— Fuck this.

You finally caved, trudging off the pitch without so much as a nod to anyone, straight down the tunnel to the dressing room.

Two hours after the final whistle, the worldwide web had turned into an absolute circus. Gutted and seething, you nearly launched your phone at the wall, as if that could wipe away the torrent of abuse flooding your mentions. The headlines were merciless, screaming in block letters about a collapse that’d seemed unthinkable. The story was unanimous—no sympathy, no doubts:

Moon [Y/N], the Biggest Disappointment of the Season?

Korean Star in Decline

Moon [Y/N]: Understand How He Went From Olympus To Becoming Football's Biggest Failure In Recent Years

Some Spurs fans were practically calling for his head on a pike while others defended him.

@fanaticalspur876: Moon was clearly lazy, just see for yourself!

@Yuliandremoslc: Someone told [Y/N] he could play football, and he believed it!

@hosterbigwf: We gotta be patient. Moon will get the hang of it and be our star player!

"Blimey, what’s the bloody issue with these blokes? Clearly, I wasn’t the only one to cock things up, to fail miserably at meetin’ the expectations that, God knows why, were piled onto me.

You, clockin’ the situation, shook your head with a mix of resignation and proper disdain, choosin’ to ignore the whole kerfuffle. But how’d you manage it? Bloody hell, how! You distracted yourself, chuckin’ yourself into hedonistic binges. Lost in huntin’ down raves in London—ones that’d make you forget the bloody shambles your life’d become—you decided to stumble into the first dodgy joint that crossed your path.

Gettin’ in wasn’t the hard part; the real struggle was keepin’ your act together. Pissed as a newt, you could barely stand upright. Before you knew it, you were lurin’ toward the dance floor, driven by some primal urge. There, you started grindin’ against some random bird, a total stranger who, despite her delicate appearance, radiated a vibe that didn’t match her frame. She was a good eight inches shorter and slim-built, almost fragile, you thought. But sod it, you were dead wrong! Fragile? Not a chance. Her arse kept rubbin’ against your thigh so insistently that your knob, already at full salute, felt ready to burst.

Her scent was weirdly familiar, like a distant memory, makin’ you wrap your arms round her waist, feelin’ her warm, smooth skin against yours. Your fingers trailed down, explorin’ every curve, till she leaned back with a soft sigh, her head restin’ on your chest.

— Please… Fuck, you’re so hard I’m goin’ proper mental. Let’s find a better spot… — she purred, with a sly grin that screamed both cheek and impatience.

You, playin’ along, let out a low chuckle and leaned in closer. Your lips met her neck, kissin’ it with a mix of tenderness and proper lust. She arched her head back, givin’ you more access, a silent, fiery invitation.

— You’re a bit keen, ain’t ya? Who said I wanna leave? — you shot back, tone dripping with cheeky defiance.Then her hand, quick as a flash, grabbed the bulge in your trousers, makin’ you jolt and yelp:

— Wow! hell! What’s that for?!

— “Can’t stand man who play daft. I’m gaggin’ for it, you are too—let’s skip the faff and just fuck already. — she fired back, no-nonsense, her bluntness borderline brutal.

— My flat’s nearby. Let’s go.

She turned around, and that’s when you got a proper look at one of the most fit birds you’d ever laid eyes on. Her eyes, near hypnotic, seemed to throw your whole world off-kilter.

For a split second, a weird déjà vu gripped your chest, like you’d met somewhere in another life. Both of you frowned and blurted in unison:

— Do I know you?

The synced words froze the moment—a beat of shock—before meltin’ into pissed, careless laughter. Without another word, you both staggered toward your flat, lurchin’ down the street like two sods surrendered to chance and pure, raging horniness."

---

When the two of you stumbled into the flat, you could barely walk without tripping over every bloody thing in your path. Your mouth was locked deep in a snog with the woman whose name you couldn’t even be arsed to ask, but who—with proper skill and heat—dominated your tongue like a proper expert. Her hands, quick and sly, slid under your black shirt, scraping lightly at your ribs, drawing out a muffled groan you could hardly stifle.

Your hands, once resting on her waist, slid down to her firm thighs, gripping them hard before hoisting her onto your lap. She didn’t hesitate, wrapping her legs around you, breaking the kiss just long enough to fix you with a blazing stare.

— Hhhnm, you’re fit — she whispered, breathless, trying to catch her air. — Tomorrow… I’ll… I’ll proper regret this…

She sighed deeply before a proper moan slipped past her lips as your teeth grazed her bare neck. Even as she bit her lip to hold back, she couldn’t stop grinding against you while you sucked and kissed her skin.

— You’re dead sensitive here — you murmured, earning a squeak as she shoved you back toward her neck with her hands.

A laugh slipped out, but you carried on for a bit, finally tossing her onto the bed to take in her full glory. Her lips were swollen from snogging, a slick of spit glistening at the corner of her mouth. Her neck was littered with bruises, and her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

Your hands moved to her earrings, carefully removing them and setting them on the dresser. Then you knelt before her, grabbing the hem of her dress and peeling it off slow, leaving her in nothing but a lacy white lingerie set.

— You’re like a goddess — you gasped, laughing under your breath. Leaning in, you pressed soft kisses to her flat, toned stomach, feeling her shiver and arch toward you. — Christ, you’re hot. Proper hot.

The only reply was a faint, languid moan—nothing like the loud, over-the-top noises you’d expect. Maybe she was too shy to let go, or maybe she was just the quiet type. Either way, it didn’t matter. With proper skill, you undid her bra, freeing her tits, and a smug little laugh escaped you.

— You pissed?

— Proper wankered.

— Just don’t spew on my bed, yeah? I’d owe you one.

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a sharp, ringing moan that filled the room. Your mouth latched onto her nipple, greedy, as her back arched and her body writhed. Your right hand squeezed her other breast, while your left slid down, slow and deliberate, to her soaked knickers.

— You’ve drenched these — you rasped, voice thick.

— That’s your fault — she shot back between gasps. — I’m proper soaked for you. Hurry up and fuck me already!

Her voice, though shaky, had an edge that vaguely reminded you of someone—though you couldn’t place who.

— Patience, babygirl — you replied, half-authoritative, half-seductive. — You’ll get what you want… if you’re a good girl for me, yeah?

She whined and clamped her thighs around your hand. You smirked.

— You like being called ‘babygirl,’ eh? Proper naughty, you!

You sang the words, sliding your hands up her body to her waist. With steady fingers, you tugged her knickers down, letting the fabric glide over her legs. Every inch revealed felt like a victory. You kissed her calves, working your way up to her thighs, where her arousal was already slick. The wetness was mad—had to be because of you, right? You’d stick with that to keep your ego intact.

When you finally tasted her, it was like the universe had cracked open. Even if you weren’t usually fussed about the flavour, hers was addictive. Your finger circled her clit, precise, and she gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. You stopped.

— What’re you doing? I want to hear you — you ordered softly.

You smacked her thigh three times, leaving red marks. Instead of fighting, she yanked your head back between her legs.

— Then shut it and eat me out already, you sod!

You obeyed, diving in like a man starved. Your tongue worked her over—licking, sucking, worshipping—and her moans drove you wild. She squeezed your head with her thighs, forcing you deeper.

— Yes, you bastard! Eat this pussy! — she cried, writhing. — This what you like, eh? Licking me like a proper obedient pup! That’s it, baby! Don’t stop!

She threw her head back, eyes wide, as you pressed her thighs harder. Not to suffocate—you wanted her to clamp down. She grinned, wicked.

— Christ, you’re fit… I’m gonna… Fuck!

You kept at it, feeling her shake. Her legs trembled until, with a muffled scream, she came hard—body arching, crushing your face into her. Her juices flooded your mouth, and you drank her down like a man possessed. When her legs finally gave out, you pulled back, breathless.

— Fuck… Never had anyone come that hard on my tongue — you muttered, admiration in your tone.

— Fuck, I’d love to suck you off right now, but I reckon I can’t even stay on me feet this second. — She pauses, catching her breath. — fuck me. Now.

You don’t show a hint of hesitation, guiding her firmly onto the bed. Settling between her thighs, you lean toward the nightstand—but she slaps your wrist away sharply.

You don’t show a hint of hesitation, guiding her firmly onto the bed. Settling between her thighs, you lean toward the nightstand—but she slaps your wrist away sharply.

— No condom.

Her tone brooks no argument. You briefly consider protesting, but let’s be honest—what bloke in his right mind would turn down bareback with a bird this fit? Your brain and your cock are in full agreement. Smirking, you line up against her slit but hold back, teasing her by sliding along her folds.

— Please… I’m begging… she whimpers. You almost pity her—almost—before leaning close to her ear and growling:

— Beg harder.

— Please! I need you inside me—every fucking inch. Don’t torture me! I need it so bad… Ruin me, stretch my cunt to fit your shape, fuck!

— Hmm. Good girl.

You murmur—then thrust into her without warning. You don’t wait for her to adjust to your length, nor care if it’s pain or pleasure twisting her face. You set a brutal pace, pounding into her like a piston. Soon, the slap of skin, the creak of the bed, and the thud of the headboard threaten to bring the walls down. Her eyes roll back as she lets out a piercing moan.

— That’s what I want, fuck! Stretch and wreck this cunt! She’s all yours, you bastard! Fuck me!

Her screams climb as you pull out and slam back in. She’s babbling now, words crumbling into gasps and cries.

— M’brain’s turning to fucking muuuuuuush!

Her legs lock around you, heels digging into your arse. Grinning, you drive deeper—if not for the booze, you’d swear you could see the outline of your cock straining her belly. Her nails claw down your back, leaving red welts that sting like hell. You dip your head to suck a nipple, and the overload of sensation wrings a shattered gasp from her.

— Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, shit!

— Love my tight little cunt, don’t ya? — she pants, voice wrecked. — Wanna come inside, yeah?

You lot spent the rest of the night fucking like two rabbits in heat, going at it in every corner of your flat—spots you didn’t even know existed, positions you’d only seen in pornos. Even managed to smash your Tv — proper accidental-like, mind.

---

The woman was now on all fours, her raised arse flushed a bright crimson, marked by at least a good dozen slaps—the bruises nearly purpling by this point—as his cock pounded relentlessly into her cunt, driving with rough urgency. Their moans filled the room, echoing in a symphony of raw pleasure. Her eyes stayed shut tight, while his, sharp and hungry, fixed on the hypnotic slap of her arse cheeks against his shaft. Suddenly, her shoulders buckled, and she collapsed face-down onto the bed, arse lifted even higher, presenting herself wantonly for him to keep ploughing into her.

With a deliberate smirk, you slicked a finger with spit, paused for a beat, then guided it slowly to her backside, pushing it in without haste. She stiffened, a low, throaty groan escaping her.

— Oh, fuck, oh fuck! that’s new… Don’t you fucking stop! Today I’m your filthy whore—go on, spill your cum in this depraved little cunt! — she cried, voice trembling between submission and wild ecstasy.

---

She’d taken the reins, riding him with untameable fire, her hands—gripped by a near-feverish desperation—clutching his waist, steadfast and ravenous. Her body moved in a frantic rhythm, swinging between reckless rises and plunges, peppered with brief, calculated pauses where she’d twist and writhe along his length with a skill that left him gobsmacked. For a blink, his mind wandered, wondering if this bird might’ve been a dancer or summat, ’cause her movements dripped with near-choreographic precision, like a proper pro in the body arts.

His gob, though, was dead set on another job—mouthed at her tits, suckling and lapping with a hunger verging on proper primal. Clocking the sheer intensity of his bliss, she tossed out a remark dripping with cheek and sass:

— Oh, good boy! You’re like a greedy little bairn goin’ at me tits! Don’t fret, baby… Mommy’s got you!

---

— You’re moaning like a bitch in heat! My neighbours heard you. Got no shame, have ya?

The pair of you were drenched, the sound of water crashing down on your bodies in the shower doing sod-all to drown out the squelching, filthy noises you were both making. His hand fisted in her hair, twisting it into a messy plait—a proper half-arsed ponytail that screamed how rushed this all was. The water, pouring in a steady torrent, nearly managed to sober him up, but not enough to clock who she really was—not yet, anyway. Bit by bit, he noticed her legs were trembling, proper on the verge of buckling, so you grabbed her tight, spun her round to face you, and hoisted her up into your arms, settling her onto your lap.

Sharp as a tack, she got the message and shot back with a deep, blazing kiss, like she was trying to violate his mouth with pure, unrestrained passion.

---

Her legs, clasped round your neck with a languid fervour, while the curve of her back, taut as a bow, arched like a hillock bathed in twilight’s glow. The lady, whose voice had melted into husky sighs and broken whispers, had spent her strength on cries that once echoed off the chamber’s vaulted ceiling. You breathe deep, and your movements, once frantic, shift to a solemn, almost liturgical rhythm. She, cracking open her bleary eyes, stares at you with saucer-like pupils reflecting flames of unquenchable yearning.

—Fucking come inside me! Fill my womb, you bastard! Knock me up!

She pleads, voice tremulous as an autumn leaf, while your hips, now swaying to a sluggish tempo, trace slow, concentric circles in the humid ether. That gut-wrenching knot, known to lovers since time immemorial, twists your insides. Your brow grows heavy, cyclonic vertigo storms your mind, and the edenic ache of long-held restraint crests into inevitable release. With one final, desperate plunge, you drive into her like a ship into a tempest, and your spunk, in pulsing spurts, bursts forth.

As the blinding orgasm fades, more sober than pissed, the booze finally hits proper—leaving your eyelids leaden. You’ve just enough awareness left not to collapse atop her and crush her to death, but not nearly enough to stay awake.

---

I swear down, I’ve sat through this whole chapter at least six times 🥹🥹🥹.

Not gonna lie, I’m proper rubbish with all the smut stuff—honestly, this is me first proper crack at it, so go easy on me, yeah?

[skipper1331]

Obviously in love // Grace Clinton

a/n: based off this request:)

Grace Clinton liked you.

You liked Grace Clinton.

Everybody knew.

Everybody but the two of you.

Several occasions showed exactly that.

-

It started with the many superstitions the two of you had or rather shared. The girls would always tease you about it while both of you claimed and often argued that you‘d play horrible if not doing so.

1.) Grace always had to do your hair. Each time she would do a different hairstyle, each of them done perfectly as your hair wouldn‘t ever get in the way, no matter what happened.

2.) You had to tie her boots. Yes, she was able to do it herself, (like you were capable of doing your hair yourself) but something about you tying her shoes gave her enough confidence to shoot from every angle and distance on the pitch. And score goals.

3.) "ready to win?"

"Ready whenever you are"

-

"Popcorn!" Celin shouted as she entered the living room with three bowels of popcorn balancing in her hands.

The Tottenham girls were sat around the couches, arm chairs and bean bags as the movie marathon was about to begin.

Grace and you shared a bean bag, yourself sitting in between her legs while your back rested against her front and her arms were loosely wrapped around your mid section. "Try not to fall asleep to soon, yeah pretty girl?" the midfielder purred, in responds your hands pinched her thighs "If i remember correctly it was you who snored like a grizzly bear the last time" you giggled as Gracie attacked you with pokes in your side. She only stopped when she felt a smack against the back of her head, "movie starts" the captain stated. You settled back in her arms while she pulled you closer.

Her arms brought you a type of comfort nobody ever could.

-

It was save to say that Grace loved the spare key she had to your home. She used it at every opportunity she got, opening the door when you were with her "I have my own key, I can open the door for us" proudly showing the key on her key chain. Or other than that, letting herself in when you weren‘t there as she made herself a home and even using the key when you were at home but didn‘t expect her to come over.

You stood in the kitchen, preparing your dinner when you felt arms snuggling around your waist, a head resting on your shoulder. You shrieked, caught completely off guard as you yet melted in the grasp, your favourite scent filling the air.

"Gracie! You promised me!" you grumbled, turning around as you stared at the midfielder with crossed arms, "you can‘t just come over and use the spare key! It‘s for emergencies"

"It is an emergency!" she defended herself, arms up in surrender.

"What‘s the emergency, hm?"

"I missed you" she stated, pulling you close before she hid her face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something inaudible.

You sighed, asking "Do you want some dinner?" your fingers combing through her hair.

"Yes, please"

-

"You‘re staring" the voice of Beth appeared next to you, calling you back to reality.

"What did you say?"

"You‘ve got something in your eye" she repeated as you looked at her, "what? Where?" trying to find what and in which eye.

"Grace"

You glared at her while she laughed her ass off.

"Shut up!" you hit her arm, Grace already skeptically looking at the two of you from the other side of the pitch, about to make her way over.

"Come one, you like her" Beth said now in an softer tone, "and she likes you"

"We‘re best friends!" you replied, slight anger in your voice.

"Whatever you say, babes"

-

After tossing and turning for hours, you came to the realization that you weren‘t able to sleep. You didn‘t why but it annoyed you. Physically you were tired, your eyes closing every now and then but you just couldn’t fall into a deep slumber.

Not knowing what to do, but desperately in the need and want of sleep, you reached for your phone.

"Hello?" The sleepy voice rasped.

"Gracie?"

"What‘s wrong? Are you okay?" She shot up from her bed, you never called at such a late hour and with the shakiness in your voice she thought of the worst.

"I don‘t know, sorry. Forget about it" you mumbled, regretting that you called her at 3am.

"Wait-" but you had already hung up. You would find a way to sleep.

On the other side of the phone, Grace was already out of bed, throwing a hoodie and joggers over her pyjama. She raced through the apartment, every possible light on, searching for eventually needed stuff, not being bothered by the noises she made which woke up her flatmate.

"What are you doing? It‘s in the middle of the night" Celin said, leaning in her door frame while she rubbed her eyes.

"Something’s wrong"

"Do we have an intruder?!" she yelled, grabbing for the nearest weapon in her room.

"What? No. Something‘s wrong with my- Y/N"

Celin watched Grace pace through the kitchen, collecting your favourite snacks which she had stored in her home in case you hung out here, craving some of them.

"When are you going to tell her that you like her?"

"We‘re best friends"

"Are you telling me that or yourself? Everybody knows you like each other"

In silence, she put on her shoes, backpack filled with essentials before she rushed out of the house.

When she opened the door, she was met with darkness. Because of this, she assumed that you were in your bedroom. Gently, she opened the door-

"What the fuck!" you yelled, frightened. You switched on your lamp, staring at the midfielder, "you scared the shit out of me!" suddenly wide awake.

"I scared the shit out of you? You scared the shit out of me!" she replied, putting down her backpack and walking over to 'her' side of the bed - the side she slept in when she was staying over. "What are you doing here?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"You called me and then hung up on me all of sudden." she slipped under the duvet, closing the distance, "I was worried" her hands found your waist, pulling you in her grasp before she continued, "what‘s wrong? There’s a reason you called me, so please don‘t say 'nothing'"

Looking away from her, you could feel your cheeks heating up embarrassingly.

"I couldn’t- can‘t sleep" you muttered, "and I can always sleep when you‘re here, so-"

"you thought asking me to come over would help until you realized it’s three in the morning?" she finished your sentence.

you nodded.

"I‘m sorry"

"Don’t be, I’m glad you called me" the girl tangled your legs together, resting her head on the pillow, "Besides, it's a full moon, no wonder you couldn't sleep"

With that being said, you hugged her back, resting your head on her chest like you always did.

And within a few minutes you were asleep, the rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a slumber.

-

Derbies were always rough matches, especially when it was Arsenal.

As it was now.

Grace and you were both in the starting lineup, excited to play against the gunners - some of your national teammates.

"Ready to win?" you asked Gracie, the girl already staring at you with heart eyes (which was unnoticed by you).

"Ready whenever you are" she replied, smiling - an unspoken rule to have this small conversation while you waited in the tunnel - Grace always lined up behind you.

In the first half, both teams had their chances, sadly none of Tottenhams and thankfully none of Arsenals leading to a goal.

With Katie McCabe on your side, it was rather physically exhausting, the Irish woman challenging you in more than one way. Each time, Grace saw you hitting the ground, she was about to rip Katie‘s head off, only calming down when she saw you get up right away. Yet her anger was still very much present in the break. She was holding your hand tightly, in the need of your touch to reduce her anger.

In the first few minutes after halftime, Alessia opened the score, fueling more pressure on the team for the equalizer. The game got rougher and more physical as tackles came sliding in from multiple players.

When Tottenham was awarded a corner kick and it came flying in your direction, you jumped up, trying to head it somewhere near the goal. But instead of hitting the ball, you felt another head smack against yours.

Grace watched in horror as you went down while her legs started to work on their own - sprinting towards you. Blood trickled down your forehead, making the midfielders stomach twist. Multiple people were at your side, including the Arsenal player who caused your injury. She pushed everybody aside, kneeling down next to you, "Get the fuck away from my girl" pure venom laced in her voice as she shoved the gunner away, her full attention on you and you only. You had a nasty cut on your forehead, eyes barely staying open. You could hear your favourite voice talking, but you didn‘t understand what she was saying - was she even talking to you? All you knew was that her hand was holding yours. You knew her touch. You‘d always recognize her touch - no matter what.

"Mate, what‘s your problem?!" Katie McCabe snarled, matching her attitude while pulling her on her collar. "My problem?!" Grace jumped up, her hands bloody from holding yours, "She‘s fucking bleeding"

"And? Everybody hurts themselves. It‘s a physical game after all!"

"She‘s not just anyone!" with that she shoved Katie to the floor, all her anger bubbling over. Of course, the defender was up on her feet in less than 10 seconds, starting to shove Grace around, both of them yelling at each other.

Katie had to be held back by Leah and Kim while Beth and Ashleigh pulled Grace away who was still shouting at the Irish woman.

How dare she to say anything about you?!

-

Winning the fa cup against Manchester United was amazing and something massive. Tottenham made history that day. Unfortunately, Grace wasn‘t allowed to play yet that didn’t stop her from cheering for the spurs, especially for you. When you scored the opening goal, Grace thought her heart might explode with all the pride she felt and when Marta made it 3-1 in the 89‘. The deal was settled.

After receiving your medals and the pitch-celebrations died down, the team decided to go out tonight.

When you entered the bar/club, you were met with very loud but fancy music, people dancing everywhere and a few of your mates sitting at a table chatting. Not in the mood to dance just yet, you joined them, greeting everybody before taking a seat in Grace‘s lap - nothing new.

Her mouth fell open as she almost drooled at the sight of you, "you look- wow" she breathed out, completely in love with you.

"Thank you!" you grinned, " you don‘t look bad yourself" while checking her out the best you could - but indeed, she wasn‘t looking bad, she looked gorgeous.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked, squeezing your hips.

"Yes, that would be nice" you replied, making no move to get up, "don‘t you want to ask what drink I‘d like?"

"I know you quite well by now" with that she got up before gently guiding you back down in her chair.

While Celin tried to make conversation with you, you only had eyes for the midfielder, admiring her from afar. You frowned when a lady approached her and started talking to her. Your jaw clenched, chest tightening as you glared daggers into the woman’s head. What‘s her problem? the strangers hand touched Grace‘s arm as she discreetly stepped closer. "Someone is flirting with Y/N‘s girl" one of the girls teased, your friends laughing at her joke. That comment made your jealousy grow, your hands balling into fists as you tried to keep your cool. "Aren‘t you going to do something?" Charli asked, sensing your frustration.

With a huff you got up, marching over to the beast who was talking to the beauty.

Stepping between both of them, you leaned against the counter, "hi! I‘m her girlfriend and you are?" your voice sounded firm and stern, Grace taken aback by your statement and your sudden outburst.

"Sorry" the girl was quick to flee the scene, not wanting any drama as well because she was scared and intimidated by you and your presence.

After the girl was gone, Grace grabbed your hips, pulling your back against her front, "What was that?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"That creature was flirting with you" you replied stubbornly, crossing your arms as you tried to leave her touch.

"Stop" Grace grumbled, pulling you back, "relax" she ordered softly, her arms wrapping fully around your midsection. As on cue, you melted in her embrace, letting all anger flow away.

"So, what was that?"

"What was what? I just wanted my drink" you answered yet defensively.

"None of that, it‘s me" she whispered as you intertwined your fingers, "were you jealous?"

You sighed, "yes"

The young lioness froze, she didn‘t expect you to be straight up honest with her. She knew you had never lied to her and she wouldn‘t assume that you would ever lie at her, but she indeed thought that you would avoid admitting your obvious jealousy.

"I don‘t like it when other people flirt with you" you mumbled after you had turned around, looking at her.

Not wanting to push you any further, she kissed your forehead in responds before guiding you on the dance floor.

"They‘re disgustingly cute" Charli told Celin as they watched the two of you dance.

"And obviously so in love"

[iconsfinder]

[httpsdana]

Hi bestiee can I request a fic w Lucad Bergvall “prompt 13” 🫶🏼

Sweet Like Strawberry~Lucas Bergvall

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

13-"I’m your boyfriend, and I demand you kiss me right now.”

y/n was stretched out on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket with a strawberry-scented lip mask glossed over her lips, and a facemask on her face. It was one of those evenings where she could finally relax, and the masks felt like the perfect treat for herself-care night. Lucas had been busy all day, so she assumed he’d be tired and want to unwind, too.

But as soon as he walked into the living room and saw her curled up, his eyes went straight to her lips. He was used to her putting facemasks, but the shining material on her lips caught his attention.

“What’s on your lips?” he asked, dropping onto the couch beside her with a curious smirk.

“It’s a lip mask,” she explained, holding back a grin. “Strawberry-flavored too. It’s supposed to make them soft.”

The second she mentioned “strawberry-flavored,” his interest doubled. “So, can I taste it?”

“No,” she said with a laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly as he leaned in.

“Oh, come on,” he protested, his tone a mix of whiny and playful. “Just one kiss.”

She shook her head. “Lucas, it’s supposed to stay on. If you mess it up, I’ll have to start over!”

But he wasn’t one to be deterred. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he leaned closer, puckering his lips in a dramatic show. y/n pulled back, covering her mouth with her hand as he tried to press a kiss on her lips.

“Not happening!” she laughed, dodging as he leaned forward again.

He huffed, crossing his arms in mock frustration, but the pout on his face was too cute. “You’re really going to deny me a kiss?” he teased, inching closer as she dodged yet again.

“Yup!” you replied, holding back another laugh. “Gotta let this lip mask work, remember?”

Lucas gave her a look, brows raised in playful disbelief. “Alright, that’s it,” he announced dramatically, his hands reaching to pull her close as he finally dropped the line. “I’m your boyfriend, and I demand you kiss me right now.”

y/n couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her, his mock-serious tone cracking her up. And before she could dodge again, he managed to plant a quick peck right on her lips, his grin widening as he pulled back, clearly pleased with himself.

“Mmm, it does taste like strawberries,” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers again. Before she could protest, he stole another quick kiss, savoring the taste of the lip mask. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, keeping her close as he pecked her lips over and over.

“Lucas!” she giggled, trying to push him back, though she wasn’t really trying that hard.

“Sorry, it’s too good,” he said, grinning as he snuck another kiss. “Maybe I’ll help you reapply it if I mess it up?”

y/n rolled her eyes, laughing at his persistence. “Yeah, right. You’d just kiss it off again.”

He shrugged, pulling her even closer until she was nestled against his chest. “Guess you’re right,” he admitted softly, pressing his lips to hers once more, this time slower, savoring the kiss. His eyes were warm as he pulled back, a little smile playing on his lips.

She sighed in mock exasperation, finally giving in and letting him wrap his arms around her. “Fine, if you insist on ruining my lip mask, I guess I can let you stay.”

“Perfect,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to the tip of her nose. “That’s all I needed.”

With that, he settled beside her, pulling her into his arms as the two of them melted into a comfortable cuddle, his head resting gently against hers as he sighed contentedly.

[sonsationals]

now he knows what it's like to be one of us

[alotofpockets]

Fan interactions | Grace Clinton x Reader

Summary: You admire the way Grace interacts with her fans.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

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You were in the stands of Brisbane Road Stadium, wearing your favourite Spurs jersey with your girlfriend’s name on the back. Your attention on the midfielder wearing number eight. Football had never really been your thing, but you loved coming down to support her as often as you could. 

Spurs were ahead by 2-0, and still they were determined to expand their lead, you could see it on all the player’s their faces, and the way they were moving on the field. Grace had tried to teach you the rules of football, and what certain things meant. You swear you tried, but there was definitely a lot that didn’t stick. She never minded though, she would tell you over and over again if she had to. She just loved the effort you put into learning her sport, and the way you would come to support her even if you didn’t know half of what was happening.

It was the 85th minute when you saw Grace charging forwards with the ball, leaving defenders behind her one by one. You watched hopeful, as the determination to get the goal was present on her face. With one look up from outside the box, a term you remembered, she kicked the ball over the keeper, earning the team another goal. Your girl had scored and you cheered loudly, along with the rest of the Spurs fans in the stadium. The players all celebrated on the field together. When Grace got out of the huddle she found you in the crowd, and made a heart with her hands. Your heart melted at her adorable gesture, you blew her a kiss in response.

When the final whistle was blown, and the players did their round around the stadium signing things for some fans, and taking pictures with them, Grace found you again. “Hi baby, the girls want to say hi if you're up for it.” It had been a couple weeks since you had been able to make it to a match, since they didn't align with your work schedule, so you agreed and let Grace help you onto the field. She held your hand, and guided you into the tunnel. “I'm so glad you were able to make it today.” She said with a big smile on her face. You squeezed her hand, “It was so good seeing you out there again. You played so well, darling, and you scored a goal!” She pecked your cheek. “All for you, my love.”

In the hallway you hugged and greeted some of her teammates that passed, having small conversations with them before they headed into the locker room. It was nice seeing the girls again, they had become your friends too over time, but your busy work schedule had made it that even on regular, out of football, hangouts you hadn’t really been able to tag along.

“Y/n/n hi! I've missed you, so happy to see you here again. How are you doing? Has work been a bit less stressful?” The ever hyper Charlie was the first out of the locker room. “Hi Charlie, it's so good to see you too! Work has been getting a bit slower again, so I’ve finally been able to get some rest this week. So, I thought I’d come to support my favourite club again” You laugh, the only reason this club was your favourite, was it’s connection to a certain midfielder, and you both knew it. “How about you? Did you visit your family while you were with the Matildas?” The girl talked about her time with her family until Grace made it to your side again. Charlie hugged you goodbye, and yelled “Don't be a stranger!” Your way as she headed out of the building.

“I just need to do some interviews before we can head home, are you okay to stay to the side?” You pull her into your side and kiss the top of her head, “Yeah, you go do your thing, baby. I'll be fine.” She did a couple interviews in the hallway, before she held out her hand to you, and you made your way outside together.

A bunch of fans were lined up outside of the doors. She looked at you to check if you were okay with her interacting with them for a bit, you met her silent question with a smile and a nod. You watched as she had small conversations with the younger kids there, signed jerseys and notebooks, took pictures, and accepted small gifts. 

It warmed your heart seeing how many people looked up to her, and were grateful she had so many wonderful fans supporting her. You watch with a big smile on your face, as she went down the line of fans, making sure that she didn't miss a single one of them, and that she took the time for each one of them.

Once she had interacted with each and every fan waiting, the both of you headed to the car. “Hey love, I admire you so much. The way you took the time to interact with all of them was so incredible.” The most adorable blush creeps up to her cheeks, “I used to be that little girl waiting in line to meet my favourite players. Now I am lucky enough to be in the position where kids look up to me, and I want to give them those experiences that made me want to play football myself, you know?” She really was too good for this world. “Yeah, I know. I love you.” She smiled and pecked your lips softly, “I love you too.” With that she started the car to drive home, where you would spend the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch.

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💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[raphinha]

ARCHIE GRAY & SON HEUNG-MIN have a bit of fun during the squad photoshoot

First Team Squad Photoshoot 26 September 2024 | Premier League

[hendolish]

jude likes to tease lol

[mickysgf]

my goodness this was insane

[emmylksblog]

WHO HID THESE FINE GUYS FROM ME?!

especially LUCAS he’s so magestic… and HIS HAIR?!! he’s aaron warner literally couldn’t get him out of my mind which will probably result in me writing about him so if anyone is interested let me know 💅

[pedriache]

Hiiiii girly I found your account like two days ago and I am obsessed🫶🏼 I was wondering if you could write a fic with Lucas Bergvall (I’m literally obsessed with him these days) maybe like a first date in his hometown showing you around cute fluff… hihi love youu

Keep driving — Lucas Bergvall.

Pairing: Lucas Bergvall x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lucas takes you around his hometown before meeting your family, and you slightly pressure him to keep driving for the small sake of you not having to meet his family just yet.

Word count: 330+

Disclaimer/s: All fluff

A/N: why’d i just find out he’s a 2006?? WHAT? also sorry this was so half assed i gave up … apologies…

It was your first time in Stockholm, your first time in Sweden to be exact. It was beautiful, you loved the place the second your eyes landed on it. Lucas had wanted to bring you there for a while, and you both had finally found enough time.

He picked a small diner for a date, one that he visited a lot with his family on birthdays or big celebrations. The food was great and you’d both had a wonderful time. He told you random history facts about the city, which you’d teased him for as he’d gotten particularly excited telling you all his random facts.

After the diner, he took you for a sight seeing drive. A smile plastered across his face while he told you about the memories he had at various locations.

“So, how do you like it so far?” Lucas questions, turning to look at you for a moment before looking back to the road.

You smile at him, shifting in your seat. “I think it’s amazing. I can’t believe you grew up somewhere like this! It’s a beautiful place, honestly.”

“We can go home now, i’m sure my parents would love to get some alone time with you.” Lucas chuckles, his thumb rubbing a small circle on your thigh. “Or we could keep driving for a little while longer. Whatever you’d like.”

You think for a moment, “keep driving. We have five days to spend with your family, I just want to see a little bit more.”

The blond gives you a knowing look, “are you scared to meet my family?”

“Terrified.” You gulp, “so, lets just push that off a little longer, yeah?”

Your boyfriend laughs and nods. “Okay, we can do that. But you’re going to have to meet them eventually, y’know?”

“I know, I know.” You huff, “I simply need a little more time. Now, drive.” You peel his hand off your thigh and intertwine your fingers. Lucas gives you teasing grin and a reassuring squeeze as he drives down a new road.

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[avenirdelight]

son heung min. gareth bale. dele. tottenham hotspur.

[pokemonwearingsportsmerch]

[katiemccabeswife]

now i’m not a spurs fan to any extent but…

the amount of times i have watched this edit is crazy

[benzicons]

like! :)x