#american football fic

[lecsainz]

if you can make one with Travis Kelce and reader where they have a baby and reader goes into labor with the baby

ITS TIME

˒ ⌕ masterlist . . .

parings: travis kelce x wife!reader

summary: that one where you're pregnant and it's time to meet your little one.

an: I went with Travis and Y/N having a five-year-old kid. I know you asked for a baby, but I wasn't sure how to do it and I just loved how the story evolved, so I didn't have the heart to change it. Hope you like it.

type: fluff ಇ

It was a typical morning, much like many others during your pregnancy. You got up and watched your husband sleeping as you searched for your slippers to head downstairs and start making breakfast for the family, despite Travis's wishes.

Travis didn't want you to exert yourself during the pregnancy – it was the same during Aiden's and now during Ivy's.

You were beating some eggs when you heard the little steps of Aiden coming down the stairs.

"Mommy! Is today the day?" the little one asked excitedly, hugging your leg. Ever since Aiden overheard your conversation with Donna that Ivy would arrive by the end of December, he became super protective of you.

"Not yet," you said with a smile, bending down to pick up the 5-year-old.

"She's taking too long," he pouted, running his hand over your belly. "Daddy promised she'd come faster." That made you laugh, earning a scowl from your son.

"I think it's time for Daddy to wake up, don't you think?" You innocently asked Aiden.

And you watched the little one run upstairs to wake up his father.

While you were setting the coffee table, you were surprised by a pair of muscular arms hugging you from behind and a kiss on your neck from your husband.

"Good morning, dear," Travis said with a huge smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Kelce." You turned and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, receiving an "Eww" from Aiden, making both of you laugh.

The rest of the day flew by; Travis had training with the Chiefs, so you spent the afternoon playing with Aiden, who bombarded you with questions about his sister.

As soon as the clock struck six, you decided it was time to prepare dinner, but the moment you got up from the carpet where you were building Legos with Aiden, you felt liquid running down your leg.

"Mommy? Did you pee?" Aiden looked curious.

And before you could respond, you heard the garage gate opening by Travis. "Honey, I'm home!" He shouted from the garage.

"I think it's time," you told him as he walked through the kitchen door.

"Time for what?" He looked at you, clearly not understanding.

"Mommy peed," Aiden said excitedly as if sharing a secret.

"OH MY GOD, IT'S TIME!" Travis realized and started panicking. "SHOULD I CALL YOUR PARENTS? OR MINE? I NEED TO TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL!" Travis began frantically searching for the phone.

You found his hysteria amusing. "Travis, your phone is in your pocket," you approached and touched his shoulder. "Everything will be fine. We've done this once, and we'll manage again," you reassured calmly.

"Oh, dear, how are you so calm?" He asked, laughing.

"I'll get Ivy's bag," you said as you headed to the adjacent office. "Call your parents to stay with Aiden at the hospital!" You yelled to Travis.

"Can I bring my Legos?" Aiden asked, holding the plastic pieces, and when Travis called his mom. "Of course, buddy."

"Is Ivy coming?" Aiden ran after you to ask. "I think she already senses that you're getting ready to be an official big brother, sweetheart," you replied to him. "Ivy is coming!" Aiden ran off excitedly.

"Are we ready?" Travis asked as he helped you to the car, despite the small delay caused by your disagreement – him wanting to carry you to the car and you preferring to walk to dilate faster. "More than ever," you said, giving your husband a kiss.

[lestowell]

This is giving Dallas Cowboys fan who sucks dick in the stadium bathroom during half time

[smeddiemunson]

jock steve is fantastic but steve and wayne bonding over sports??? top tier because nothing is funnier to me than eddie needing to make plans AROUND steve's plans with his own uncle

wayne being really into sports is also just a ton of fun, like always listening to the radio broadcasts of basketball games and now he has someone to listen with!! eddie coming home and the first thing wayne asks him is "did steve catch up on the game this morning"

you've really inspired me i have so many steve and wayne bonding over sports feelings now o(￣▽￣)o

Eddie gets home from something, he’s surprised to see Wayne’s truck in front of the trailer, he thought he was working. But he’s excited because it means he gets to hang out with Wayne for the evening! They can have TV dinners and Eddie can tell Wayne all about how great things are going with Steve.

And then he gets in the trailer, and there’s the unmistakable sound of Monday Night Football. And his boyfriend, who he saw no more than an hour ago, who did not mention this, is sat on the floor in front of their coffee table and dishing out a KFC bargain bucket.

“Hey, baby, we’re watching football. You wanna join us?” Steve says.

Wayne just throws him a beer, expecting him to agree anyway. It’s not like Eddie wouldn’t be privy to everything going on even if he did try to hide away in his room.

So Eddie sits on the couch behind Steve, accepts the paper plate Steve sets on his lap, and cracks the beer open.

Steve and Wayne get into the swing of the game, shouting at the tv, laughing at each other, saying things that Eddie can’t even decipher using context clues. Then at first intermission, Eddie very quietly interrupts to ask “who’s playing?” because he thinks that’s a question he’s supposed to ask.

And Steve launches into an explanation of the Chicago Bears and the Green Bay Packers. And he must notice that Eddie looks completely lost because he stops, then tries again with.

“It’s like Gondor versus Mordor. We, Chicago, are Mordor-“

Wayne corrects him, “Gondor.”

“Right. Gondor. And they, Green Bay, are Mordor.”

And Eddie still doesn’t really get it but it helps and it makes him feel kind of all warm fuzzies to know that they listen to him when he rambles about his favourite books. So he sits back and devotes himself to learning the thing they love.

[ror-witch]

Fear

A Weira drabble revolving around the birth of Phobos. Trigger warnings for childbirth, near infant loss, blood, and a canon accurate unhappy ending.

When the doctors tell Queen Weira she is expecting the heir to her throne. She is not surprised, nervous, but not surprised.

It was what she was made for, after all. To rule, and to provide her people with the next ruler. She has known this since she has known anything. She is Queen, her mother was Queen before her and her daughter will be the next Queen. A line unbroken since Leryn.

What she does not know, is what comes next. Everyone she knows tells her what joy will blossom in her heart as the baby grows inside her. She will glow, and not just with the Light of Meridian. It will be a beautiful timing.

But Weira calls them all liars.

(In her head, of course, for a Queen would never do that aloud.)

For in truth, everyday is a new misery. Her stomach revolts and empties without fail every morning, and sometimes afternoons, evenings as well, and despite assurances that this will eventually stop, it does not. Her limbs weaken, struggling under the growing weight she carries. Random bursts of pain strike in her muscles like lighting, and her hips ache everytime she moves, enough even when she takes to bed at night it brings her no relief.

And, of course, these miseries compile under the burden of Queenship. Because, even now, her precious daughter is not—can not be paramount. Meridian is. Her duties can not stop, no, can not even slow down, lest her world fall to ruin without her guiding Light.

Even as her belly swells with life, she is a Queen first.

Mother second.

But through it all, she never complains (well, again, never aloud). It’s what she is made for, after all, she tells herself.

She’s lost count of how many times she’s told herself that.

But in her darkest moment, she breaks with the line of Queens and whispers, “I hope you never have to go through this, little one.” Then she balks at her words, ashamed, wishing to snatch them back.

It’s what they are both made for. Her and daughter.

Her daughter. The Princess. The future Queen of Meridian. Duty comes before all. They must remember that.

Well, they were right about one thing. Through all the angony, one thing keeps her going. The thought that soon she will hold this little one, and she will gaze up at her green eyes just like her own. That is how she imagines her anyway, for her daughter never has Zaden’s lilac blue eyes in her dreams, only her own.

She often talks to her at night, when the world is quiet. And for a moment, a brief, private moment of weakness, she is not a Queen but just a mother. She tells her daughter that she hopes she finds love, not just a political match. She tells her she knows she will be a natural with her magic, not like her mother, she jokes. How beautiful she will be, the most beautiful.

Her little Princess.

She loves her more than anything already. Even though she knows she should not.

As the term draws to an end, she struggles on a name. Zaden and the Council provide their opinions, strong names, soft names, historical names, but none feels right.

They decide to wait, to see her face and gift her with a name that will suit her.

And the days grow closer to that day when Weira shall finally look upon her daughter's face. Until, one day, a day without remark save for the painful twisting of her womb and a small gush of water, she begins her arrival.

Labor, the Queen finds, is also not how it was described to her. There is pain, yes, undeniable, indescribable pain, but there is something…more bearable in it than the rest of the pregnancy. Perhaps it is simply because the end is finally in sight. They say many find resolve at the end of a marathon and so it is with her. The worst part is quite honestly all the attendants flustering about in a panic. Weira can not abide such hysteria under ideal circumstances, and now she finds it nigh unbearable. If she possessed any clue of what she was doing without them, she would have sent them away.

Indeed, when the time comes to bear down and push, a time when, at least so she was told, many women lose their nerve, Weira feels like she is finally handed back the reins of this pregnancy.

And then the horse reared.

Her daughter arrives with one long, hard, final push. The world spins and fills with a hazy light. The relief she feels is borderline delirium, stronger than anything she has felt to this point.

Then another even stronger, more primal urge rocks her.

Where is my baby?

There is nothing but silence in the air.

She anxiously pushes aside her bangs, sticky with sweat, to look past her. The attendants are huddled around their leader, who holds a small, unmoving bundle.

The terror she feels at the sight manifests as a crack in the air, and a rumble of thunder on an otherwise sunny day.

“What is wrong with her?”

Her voice breaks and trembles as it has never done before. Zaden grabs her shoulders for support, but she does not even realize he’s there. There is silence for an unbearable moment and then the one holding her baby seems to find her words.

“The babe is fine, Your Majesty, it is only…”

The lead attendant wets her lips, but does not bother delay, fearing the Queen's magic will act without intention once more.

“The babe is a boy, your Majesty.”

Her husband gasps. The other attendants look at the ground, ashamed for her.

Weira doesn’t feel any surprise, any shame—just that need. The need to hold that which is being withheld from her.

There in the birthing bed she is a mother; not a Queen.

Her first mistake.

“Just give me my baby!” She snarls, her magic snaps again and the baby is all but tossed into her arms.

She—he, lands with a soft plop, still silent, but awake. Beautifully awake. He looks up at her with green eyes exactly like her own. Tiny and perfect and more wonderful than anything in the entire universe. She is his everything, and he is hers. And in that moment, that single breath, everything is perfect and right. Gender be damned. Everything else be damned.

Then the moment was broken.

Again, the baby is snatched from her, and before she can even demand an explanation or protest, there is a sea of red flooding out from her.

She doesn’t remember much about what happens after. It takes a few hours before she comes back. She remembers bits and pieces—pain, crying, and blood.

So much blood.

But she is alive, and that is all that matters.

Until it isn’t.

The hemorrhage leaves her weak, drained. She can barely lift her arms, she feels like she’s fighting against tar just to lift her head. She holds out her shaking arms for her precious baby but her attendants share uneasy looks. She orders them to give him to her anyway.

He feels as heavy as brick now, almost too heavy. She struggles to hold him. But he just stares up at her with those beautiful green eyes and she somehow finds the strength. If only for a few moments at a time. The rest of the time he sits in his bassinet next to her, quietly watching her. Only when Zaden finally dares to hold him does he squirm and fuss, and Weira shrieks at her trembling husband to return him to her at once.

The attendant’s note her weakness, and they, more experienced than her, offer solutions.

And Weira hates them for it.

“Perhaps we might find a wet nurse for the…Prince, your Majesty?”

“No!” Weira all but snarls; as feral as the Beasts that still haunt her land. The Light of Meridian does not pawn off her child to another. She is all nourishing, all giving—life itself, as her mother told her.

Only her body has not received that message. It’s weak and selfish, too busy making blood to restore her, rather than milk to feed her baby. He tries, he’s good—so good, and he tries and tries, quietly and gently for nearly a day of her own stubbornness until his body betrays him too and the hunger cries start.

And then they never stop.

Guilt gnawing at her raw bones, Weira finally hands him over. The wet nurse comes, and while disappointment still hangs heavy, she tries to ignore it, for at least her beloved baby will eat now. That is far more important than her pride.

But he doesn’t.

His hunger cries change into full throated cries of terror, as the wet nurse picks him up, and he scratches at her breast with his tiny little fingers and pushes away, refusing her.

This goes on for an entire day.

Zaden, who she would never have considered unkind or obtuse until that moment, says, without thought,

“It seems he just wants you, my love.”

She screams at him till they are both pale in the face, and tears are falling from their eyes.

When they set him back in her arms, the crying only lessens. He is starving and Weira can not help him. She who sustains an entire world can not provide for her own blood. Her beloved boy who looks up at her with tear filled eyes and soft cries and wonders why his world is not giving him what he needs.

The Council comes later that same day, as is tradition, unaware of the developments, to wish her congratulations on the birth of the Princess.

Their congratulations die on their lips when the truth is revealed.

There has never been a first-born Prince until now. Whether through some nefarious design or a magic she simply did not know, every first child born of the reigning Queen has been a girl. Until her.

She has broken the line of Queens.

And it is all anyone cares about.

Not her baby who cries are starting to quiet, the red gone from his cheeks, tears are no longer being produced in his eyes.

He’s dying.

Her baby is dying.

That is all Weira cares about.

The Council, Zaden, and her attendants try to comfort her in the only way they know how.

“Perhaps, it is for the best, your Majesty. This baby, after all, is no Princess.”

“We can try again, my love.”

“A baby that will die of stubbornness like that would never thrive, your Majesty. Best we worry about you for now.”

They want to take him away, so she does not have to see what comes next. Weira panics, and buries her face into his tiny body. Will they slit his throat to ease his passing? Bludgeon his head like a rabbit? Smother him? Or will they let him suffer alone and scared, wanting only to feel the warmth of the mother who has failed him till blackness takes him?

When come to take him, she refuses, and they protest,

but she is still Queen, and her word is law.

The baby stays.

Everyone else leaves.

Weira has a plan. It is not a good plan. But she doesn’t care.

Her studies have told her that certain magic can sustain a person more than any food. The lifeblood blood of a planet or a person, or…a heart. Like the Light of Meridian. The birthright that would’ve been his had he been born a female. To allow a male child to interact with the holy magic of the Escanor line is forbidden. The consequences are unknown—but probably not good. Forbidden things are forbidden for a reason.

Weira doesn’t care.

The Weira of two days ago would be aghast with her for even thinking of it. But the Weira who has seized her now only cares about one thing.

He feels like a corpse already in her shaking arms, cold, unmoving, small—so small. Only his eyes, watching her intently give any sign of life.

She pushes aside his swaddle and presses her hand against his tiny chest, his heart beating faintly under palm.

How much, she wonders. She has the power of a sun churning in her veins, what if she burns him? Just a drop? A river?

Then she throws caution to the wind.

And Queen Weira does the unthinkable.

“Take it little one, take it please! Just live. Live.”

Her magic crosses over him like the warmth of the sun on his parlor skin. And he responds instantly. Color returns to his face, and he squirms and wiggles. He can not smile yet, but his face looks so cheerful Weira worries she might melt.

There is an hour, just an hour, where everything is right. She holds her baby, and they simply stare at each other. They are happy. She imagines a world where he grows up, knowing she loved him more than anything. A world where they place a golden crown on his head after she places her last kiss on his forehead.

But as he slips into the sweet escape of sleep, Weira is confronted for her actions.

It is oblivious to anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of magic what she has done. The golden hue of her magic still lies upon his skin, and the air smells of petrichor and roses.

The Council panics, reprimanding her with words so harsh, it is as if they have forgotten she is the Queen. Her attendants hang their heads, and even Zaden looks at her as if he can not believe what she has done, who she even is.

And it is not just anger on their faces, no, it is fear.

Fear that the Heart will be forever corrupted. That their world will die, blackened and withered beyond repair. Weira wants to scream at them that it's just a foul superstition.

But who is to say that it’s not the truth?

Doubt begins to darken her clouded mind. The Queens had never allowed a King before. Surely, there was a reason. What did they know but did not share? What had she done?

Doomed her world? For her own selfish desires? Because she could not-would not remove herself from a hopeless situation?

She begins to understands why Weira the Queen can never be Weira the Mother.

Because Weira the Mother will throw away everything Weira the Queen, and Leryn the Queen, and every Queen in between them has built for her child. And, in this world, that simply can not happen. This world where so many more depend on her, and her alone, she can not weigh one life against them all.

However precious that life is.

And so with one last look into those green eyes, she shakily hands him to the wet nurse. His screams start again, but she orders the wet nurse to take him away with a quivering voice. She covers her ears with her hands as they take him down the hallway.

She tells herself he is of her blood, he will understand why she must do this.

(She hopes he does.)

It was the last time she held her little Prince.

She’s failed as a mother, and she’s failed as a Queen. And so in a world where she can not be both, she chooses to be Weira the Queen, the Queen who so many depend upon.

Later, when they ask what the Prince’s name shall be, all she can think of is the fear on her Council's faces.

The fear that caused her to save his life.

The fear in his screams when she handed him away.

Her fear that made her push him away.

The answer comes without thought.

“Phobos.”

——————

Phobos and Weira are, in my headcanon, two people characterized by their extremes—the very definition of “all or nothing.” Unyielding, and just terrible with emotions. But Weira just focuses it differently, doing what is expected of her even if it destroys her. Whereas Phobos will always choose the selfish option, even if it destroys everyone else

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(in honor of the glorious return of football season, heres my favorite football fic rec:

clear eyes, full hearts

summary:

In this small, small town, only one night matters: Friday. When first-string quarterback James Potter of the Hogwarts Lions gets injured in the first game of the season, newcomer and runner-up Remus Lupin is charged with filling his shoes and leading the team to victory. It’s a shame he can’t stop staring at the coach's son.

(a Friday Night Lights inspired, wolfstar AU))

[formulawolff]

hmmm thinking about a fic with fem!driver x joe burrow 🤭

[lilflowerpot]

I’m so happy that you share my headcanon of Keith having a crush on James because honestly there was so much unresolved tension between them.

Also, can you please open your fruitful mind cave and please share some headcanons that you have of the two of them please? So i can sit here and giggle uncontrollably while staring at my phone🙃

[original]

I don't really have a whole lot in the way of concrete headcanons regarding Keith & James' past, it's more nebulous ~vibes~, but let me give it my best shot:

So first thing's first, they met upon starting middleschool at the ripe young age of 11 with that delightful hormonal cocktail and all the dysfunctional emotions it entails a-brewing.

Keith's dad had been dead some three years at this point, and his foster placements had gone up in flames enough times that he'd been recently, but rather permanently, placed in a local group home. That in mind, he's all but given up on making actual human connections because these things seem to just never quite work out for him; better that he give up trying altogether, and save himself the hurt, but then... there's James.

Keith's already snagged the desk by the window in the far back—the best spot, as far as he's concerned—and is as happy to ignore and be ignored by his classmates as they file in for sixth period physics, until- until he walks in, all loud laughs and cheeky smiles, with a gaggle of kids hanging off his every word and more effortless charisma than any pre-teen boy should ever really have the right to.

And then gunmetal eyes sort of slide across the room—like he knew he was being watched before Keith even realised he was watching—all lazy arrogance and stupid hair, and he's looking Keith up and down and raising an eyebrow and- Keith looks away, mouth drawn and shoulders tight. Kids like that like to fight kids like him, he knows, and he cannot afford to get chewed out on his first fucking day for god's sake.

But it's not just physics because why would it be, no, over the coming week Keith finds that James Griffin—and it's no surprise to learn he's from money with a name like that—shares at least half his classes, P.E. among them, which is where it truly beings.

"It" being their... rivalry, Keith supposes.

He's not even sure who started it, just as likely to be both of them as neither, but when they're put on opposing teams for a "friendly" game of football, what begins as Keith making the most of his natural dexterity—skirting around lumbering opponents, nimble as a cat—turns into Griffin hunting him and only him down across the pitch like a damn bloodhound. "That's the game kid" the coach tells him, as if, by the end of it, he hadn't been systematically cornered and corralled by the other team irrespective of whether or not he had the damn ball, entirely at Griffin's direction, "like it or lump it". Keith, still wheezing with ribs that protest every breath after a particularly rough tackle, finds himself quite particularly disinclined to lump it, and certainly doesn't like it one bit.

Definitely not.

So Griffin pushes, Keith pulls. Griffin hits, Keith kicks. Griffin scratches, Keith bites.

But it's not bullying, never that: Keith's known his fair share—a scruffy orphan with anger issues is an easy target, he supposes—and this simply isn't it. Griffin evens defends him, once, in the particularly chilly January of their first year when a meat-headed trio think it funny to soak Keith's shirt during gym and leave it out to freeze; without pause or hesitation, Griffin had quietly handled them with more snide diplomacy than Keith himself would ever wield, and though the details of that closing whisper-threat were known only to he who'd received it, the sudden pallor of face and contrition of manner had left quite the impression.

...As did the cozily lined sweater that James—with goosebumps rising on his arms and cheeks already pinking from the chill—had thrown into Keith's arms from across the changing room, citing the pinprick hole in the cuff as reason enough for him to have been planning to rid himself of it anyway.

They're not friends—how could they be? James is intelligent and popular and so annoyingly good at things he damn near makes an art out of breathing—but for the first time since he was orphaned, Keith finds himself with one singular constant that he can rely on to be infuriatingly charmingly stubbornly there: never shying from Keith's sharp edges nor being swayed by the cruel whispers that haunt him everywhere he goes, James is just... James. Disagreeable. Incomprehensible. Unwavering.

And maybe, just a little bit like Keith.

Oh, and I'm also inclined to believe that (both in this au and canon) that past altercation seen in s7ep01 where Keith goes "I can out-fly anyone in this building" and James fires back with "Oh yeah? Is that what mommy and daddy told you before-" [gets punched in the face] was a classic case of projection on James' part: he strikes me as a kid whose parents expect nothing less than perfection—not only that he could be the best, but that he should—so I think that Keith getting the group in trouble, coupled with James just outright projecting his own experiences, led to a cruel comment (and worse for the fact that I believe James didn't actually know Keith was an orphan until after this instance).

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the always amazing @thewolvesof1998 and @prince-buck-diaz.

Here a smidge more of NFL Buck and Firefighter Eddie, secret relationship.

“Wait, did you ever meet Evan Buckley, when you worked the Longhorn games?” Chimney asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. Eddie hesitated to answer.  He really didn’t want to tell too many lies, but at the same time he couldn’t drop enough information that could lead back to his partnership with the quarterback.  Apparently, his delayed response was answer enough.  Chimney lit up, “Holy shit you have met him!” “Um… well yea. Hard to forget a guy you took off the field in a collar after being knocked unconscious, all the while flipping off the opposing team.” Eddie recalled and he couldn’t stop the small smile to come to his face at the memory. The University of Texas was playing their long-time rivals, Texas A&M, and the latter was getting their asses kicked.  By the third quarter, things started to get really ugly. Defensive players were hitting harder, everybody was getting into everyone’s face, and the flags were flying. By the time coverage broke down, leaving Buck completely vulnerable, 2 players and an assistant coach had been thrown out of the game. It became 3 when defensive lineman, James Dorrick flung the offensive right tackle aside and put his entire weight and speed towards Evan Buckley, picking his whole being up a solid foot from the ground and slamming him down. The ball had been long gone from the quarterback’s hand.

Tagging (no pressure and apologies if you've already been tagged or have posted): @911onabc @thekristen999 @lizzybizzyzzz @bekkachaos @transbuck @ebdaydreamer @elvensorceress

(James Dorrick is not a real player. Also if you have any questions about American Football and the NFL, I am more than happy to answer for a better understanding. I watch a lot of football, hell I just finished binging Quarterback on Netflix, even attend games here and there. So I have some good knowledge.)

[avalentina]

Love's Booked Part 1 📖

Image Not Mine

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some kissing, a bit of angst, but mostly cute fluff.

Word Count: 3.6k

I’m grabbing another box of reshelves when the little chime above the door of Rose’s Books dings. My grandmother used to call me her little rose and it was her who fueled my love of books. When I get out from the storeroom, a young guy about my age is wandering around looking at everything. He looks like he just finished an early evening run. His short hair has these adorable natural curls to it and when his amazing brown eyes meet mine, the box slips from my hands and thumps to the floor, landing on my foot.

“Merda, ouch.” I yelp as he rushes over with a shy smile on his face and grabs the box. Easily hoisting it onto the nearby counter.

“Is your foot okay?” He asks with an American accent and my stomach erupts in butterflies.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Bruised toes tend to happen when you own a bookstore.”

“Oh, you own this place? It’s cozy, I like it.” He says, that shy smile back.

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re Rose?” He asks.

“Well technically my name is Y/N, Rose is a nickname from my best childhood memories, so it seemed fitting. But anyways, did you just come in to browse or are you in need of a specific title?” I ask, shaking myself out of the daze and back into sales mode.

“I was hoping you had a copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone. I lost mine.” He says sheepishly.

“I don’t have The Sorcerer’s Stone, but I do have The Philosopher’s Stone.” I say with a knowing smile.

“I keep forgetting it has a different name in the U.S.” He says and we fill the short walk over to its shelf with talk about Potter. I hand him the book and our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

“All set then, or do you need some time to browse?” I ask, hoping he opts for the latter option.

“I think I will take a peek around if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I nod. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m a firm believer that a good book is always better with a comforting drink.” I’ve got a little setup of some espresso, tea options, water, lemonade, and my favorite apple cider behind the register station.

“Maybe just a small lemonade.” He says and I grab him one before going back to my shelving. As I go around the shop reshelving I feel the weight of his eyes on me from time to time and can’t help but take quick glances over at him as well. He’s just so pretty to look at.

I hear the door chime again, as my best friends and business partners Livia and Nico come in to help me close up the shop. Nico grabs his first box and starts reshelving before setting it aside and rushing back over.

“Y/N why is Christian Pulisic in the shop right now?” He asks me and I guess he’s referring to the cute guy with brown eyes.

“He needed a new copy of Philosopher’s Stone. What’s wrong with that?”

“He's Christian Pulisic, one of the new signings for AC Milan.

“So he’s a footballer?” I ask.

“One of the BEST footballers ever. I bought his jersey to wear to games as soon as the transfer was finalized.”

“Okay Nico, breathe, he’s also a normal human being. Why don’t you do the reshelves in the kids section and I’ll finish your area.”

“Would it be a bad time for me to get his autograph?”

“Of course not, happy to chat with a fan.” The guy who I guess is kind of a big deal says to Nico with a genuine smile and extends his hand so Nico can shake it.

“Ciao. È un piacere conoscerti di persona. Sei incredibile. Adoro quando fai scivolare la palla tra le gambe di un altro giocatore, penso che tu la chiami nutmeg, comunque è così bello.” Nico says in rapid fire Italian.

“I'm going to be honest. I have no idea what you just said. I recognized nutmeg but that's about it.”

“Not to worry Christian, I can translate Nico for you. He said, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you in person. You’re amazing. I love it when you slip the ball through another player’s legs, I think you call it a nutmeg, anyway it's so cool.” I say. “Nico just has a tendency to get all of his rushed thoughts and ramblings out in Italian. It's a lot easier.”

“That makes sense. Maybe all I need is an Italian tutor.” He says, looking at me with that shy smile.

“Oooh, Y/N would be amazing at that. After all, she is half American.” Livia chimes in, having finished her round of reshelves.

Christian raises an eyebrow and my face flushes as I explain. “My father was on vacation in Florence when he met my mother who was on holiday there with her friends.”

“Her parents are the best Italian love story. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl enjoy classic Italian food, boy up and moves to Italy to be with girl.” Livia adds and I bury my face in my hands.

“That's actually adorable.” Christian says. “So what do you say? Will you help me learn Italian?”

“I'll think about it.” I reply.

A little bit later Christian is ready to pay and I ring him up. I scrawl my number on the bottom of his receipt along with a little note while he and Nico talk a bit more.

“Text me when you're ready for your first lesson.” It says and I stick it inside the book before handing it to him.

“Receipt is in the book. They make great bookmarks.” I say as he leaves the store.

Later on that night I've just gotten settled in my apartment above the shop when my phone pings with a new text.

Same time tomorrow? He had texted.

I suppose. We can use the lounge area up the rounded staircase in the shop. I answer.

Christian sends back a thumbs up and I go for a quick shower. As I fall asleep I can't help thinking about his pretty face and shy demeanor. But it's the curls on top of his head that get my stomach tingling.

I get dressed the next morning with him in mind. Wearing a slightly lower cut shirt than normal. It's bright red and I pair it with black dress pants and a gold chain style belt. My sneakers are the only thing I refuse to compromise on.

When Christian arrives he's wearing an identical outfit to yesterday but I notice the AC Milan logo on the zip up this time.

“I take it you had training again today,” I say to him.

He nods and follows me up the rounded staircase in the middle of the shop to the mezzanine style space where we have chairs and a sofa set up for anyone who wants to read a bit while they're in the store.

“So what do you know?” I ask him.

“Well I know that Ciaò means hello, arrivederci is goodbye, and grazie is thank you, but that's about it.” He says and I smile.

“And what do you need to prioritize for learning?” I ask next.

“I'd like to be able to communicate with my team on the pitch.” He answers with that cute shy smile. "After that, anything and everything that will help me with press and media interactions."

“So pass, see, drop, ball, cross, shot, man on, etc.?” I clarify after we share a laugh over press and media interactions.

“Yeah that covers most of them, I take it you know football.”

“I know both world football and American Football. Although I'm still not sure I understand how the latter is classified as football when the only players that touch the ball with their feet are the punter and the kicker. Plus it's not even spherical.” I ramble and he lights up with a huge smile.

“I get it. It is kind of funny.” He chuckles. “So does that mean I'll see you at the San Siro?” he asks and this time it's my turn to laugh.

“Maybe for the derby. But I'll be in black and blue.” I say with a smile.

“Ahh, you're an Inter fan.”

“Which makes you the archenemy.”

“Oh no, whatever can I do to change your mind?” He says jokingly.

It was then I noticed that we'd been slowly leaning in closer to each other and now we were just inches apart.

“Fanculo, baciami.” (Fuck it, kiss me.) I say and close the distance pressing my lips against his for a short moment before pulling away.

“Can I grab you something to drink?” I say in an attempt to get a breather, but before I can get up Christian pulls me back, kissing me again. I can't help but kiss him back.

“That, that was amazing.” He says in a whisper, smiling.

Eventually we both venture back down for waters. On his way out for the night Christian kisses my cheek and I blush like crazy. “See you tomorrow Y/N.” He says as he leaves. You wave goodbye and turn your mind to closing up when Livia interrupts you.

“I saw that.” She says with a giggle and I just smile at her. “And don't you have the day off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, he insisted on taking me for ‘an evening coffee and maybe gelato,’ were his exact words.” I say, a smile forming.

“You're into him! OMG wait until I tell Nico!” Livia exclaims. “He'll be begging for pitch side tickets.”

“Oh good Lord, you're right. You can't tell him, at least not yet, let me have tomorrow and then we can talk.” I tell her.

“Oh sure, make me keep gossip this good from my fiance.” She says back and we both laugh.

-The Next Evening-

I pair my favorite navy blue and gold constellations cold shoulder shirt with light wash flare denim jeans and my Ja 1 Chinese New Year sneakers. My Inter Snake necklace and a light gray leather crossbody bag with my wallet, phone, and sunglasses as my only accessories. Christian meets me just outside the bookstore in a white puma tee with a black logo and jeans.

“Bellissima.” (Beautiful.) He says as I exit.

“Grazie.” I say back with a smile.

“Any suggestions on the best spots around here?” He asks and I nod as we make our way to one of my favorite espresso places.

We arrive and take a seat outside as a waiter comes out to greet us.

“Buonasera, cosa posso offrirvi per questa splendida serata?” (Good evening, what can I get you two on this gorgeous night?) The waiter asks.

“Due espressi e due cannoli, per favore, grazie.” (Two espressos and two cannolis please, thank you.) I respond in rapid Italian. Christian just looks at me wide eyed.

“I ordered an espresso and a cannoli for each of us, the ones here are fantastic.”

“Do they have the Italian doughnut ball things?” Christian asks.

“Zeppola?” I ask him back just to confirm we're on the same page.

“Yeah, those.” He says smiling shyly.

“They should, but if you're on a sweet kick you gotta try the cream cheese Sfogliatelle.” I say back.

“I'm sorry, the cream cheese what?” He asks.

“The Sfogliatelle. Sfol-ya-tel-le.” I have him say it until he gets it. Which is pretty quick. “It's basically a croissant filled with cream cheese. They can also be filled with a custard, or sometimes almond paste.” I explain to him.

“I'm at your mercy here, whatever you like I'm down to try.” Christian says before adding, “Go crazy with it, I'm going to have to try it all eventually.”

When the waiter returns with our espressos and cannolis I order the zeppola and sfogliatelle, as well as a cream puff and a classic tiramisu.

Christian's eyes alight when everything arrives. I can't help but comment on it, “Looks like someone has a bit of a sweet tooth.” I say with a laugh.

“I'm usually more careful with it, but this feels like a good time to just let myself enjoy it since I just have light training and film tomorrow. We play Torino on Saturday, my first game at the San Siro.”

We enjoyed the espressos and pastries with light conversation. Christian told me a bit about his time at Chelsea but was very vague about it. It seemed like a place that frustrated him more than anything. After we finished, Christian insisted on paying even after I offered to split it with him considering what I ordered for us. As we were walking back to the store Christian and I exchanged stories about childhood. When I told him I played football at university on a scholarship he seemed pretty impressed and asked if I ever wanted to go pro.

“No. Towards the end of uni I felt more of the stress, I wasn't playing for fun anymore, I wasn't enjoying myself on the pitch, and I realized I didn't want to lose my love for the game.”

“What position did you play?”

“What didn't I play is the better question. I had really good pitch awareness, I acted as the secondary goalkeeper, but I usually played in the center, whether that was at center back or center mid. Sometimes striker, but I liked center back the best. It was more of a defensive midfield almost, with the way we played, but I got my share of goals and assists and a few clean sheets too.”

“Leftie or Rightie?” He asked and I answered with a proud smile on my face. “Dominant leftie.”

“Impressive.”

“I'm also left-handed but I actually golf and bowl right handed.”

“You bowl?”

“Of course, it's great for grip training. It helps exercise and build the muscles in your fingers, which is good for keepers.”

“Ok, damn, that's actually interesting. I'll have to ask Mike if he bowls.” Christian comments just as we reach the shop.

“Well, this is me.” I say and he shakes his head with a smile.

“You live above the store? Why does that not surprise me at all.”

“It's like the shortest commute to work a person can have and then I have more time with Astra and Aurora in the mornings.” I say and Christian raises a brow. “Come on up, I'll introduce you.”

We go up the back set of stairs inside the building and I unlock my door. Astra my huskydoodle and Aurora my havanese are sitting in their respective beds patiently waiting for me to call them out.

“Okay, are you ready?” I ask Christian. They won't bite him or growl or bark obnoxiously, or anything but they will go beg for all the attention. He nods and I give my girls the signal.

“Ciao Ragazze.” I say. At the mention of their code (hi girls) they come rushing out of their beds towards me for a few nuzzles before they begin their investigation of Christian.

Christian ends up spending about twenty minutes with me and the pups, before heading home to get some sleep. I went about business as usual the next morning, it was shipment day so I had plenty to keep me busy all day. Nico arrived late in the afternoon. He does all the businessy managerial paperwork on Fridays. Livia and I call it his office day. I'm on a quick break when Nico comes and grabs me.

“Someone requested you specifically.” He says as I follow him out to the front.

Christian is standing there in his training kit with a small black gift bag. “Hey you,” he says with a smile.

“Hey yourself, I didn't think you'd be by today.” I replied with a wide smile.

“I brought you something.” He says and goes to hand me the bag when Nico pipes up. “Y/N why don't you and Christian head up to your place, I'll close up the store tonight.” He says and shoos us both up the stairwell that's inside the storeroom. Once we get inside and Astra and Aurora settle, Chris hands me the bag. I pull out a badge style pass to the San Siro which is attached to a black lanyard.

“It’s an all-access pass into the tunnel and the reserved section for the game tomorrow.” Christian explains and I sigh.

“I’m flattered, really, but I can't. I work an open to close at the shop.” I say. I go to hand it back to him when my phone buzzes. “What the hell did you do?” I ask Christian after reading my message.

“I messaged Livia about my idea and she said she'd be happy to cover it for you.” He tells me.

“So is this what happens? We kiss twice, go on one maybe-date, and suddenly my world is supposed to revolve around you? Because I hate to break it to you, but that's not how shit works.” I say back, mildly pissed off.

“Y/N no. I'm sorry, I thought I was doing something nice for you.” He says sadly and suddenly I feel like shit for getting pissy with him.

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that.” I say. We stand in an awkward silence for about a minute when I break it. “Listen Christian, I wouldn't say no to a second maybe-date or a first official date with you, but I love my job, I love that store, and I have worked way too hard to get it to where it is. It's my livelihood, just like football is yours. I need to be here for the store just like you need to be there for your team.”

“Then you'll let me take you out after the store closes tomorrow?” He asks.

“I'd like that.” I say back.

“I admire your passion and dedication to the store, so I'm sorry if I made it seem like I didn't care. I should've tried to look at it from your perspective.” He apologizes.

“Can we kiss and make up now?” I ask with a sly smile and Christian smiles back before pulling me into him and kissing me sweetly.

“I think I'm going to like having kiss and make up time with you.” He says with a smile. One I happily return. We watch a few episodes of one of my favorite American shows while cuddling on my couch with the dogs. Eventually we both end up hungry, and I pan sear some steak and vegetables, boil some of my favorite fresh pasta and then toss it all together with some granulated garlic, fresh grated parmesan, and a poppyseed vinaigrette. After dividing it into two bowls I rejoin Christian on the couch.

“So, do you prefer Christian or Chris?” I ask him in between a bite of dinner.

“I'm good with either, it's usually Chris during casual conversations like this with my family, friends, and teammates.” He elaborates.

“Noted… Chris.”

After we finish eating, Christian insists on helping me with the dishes. As he's leaving I go to hand him the badge.

“Keep it,” he says. “Just in case you change your mind.” He kisses me soundly and heads out.

I go to head to bed and see the gift bag on the coffee table. I can tell there's more in there just by the way it sits. Sure enough, under a few pieces of tissue paper is the mostly white US National Team jersey. When I pull it out a note falls out.

Y/N,

I was thinking that maybe we could meet in the middle. Seeing as you're half American and all, a US Soccer jersey wouldn't be treason.

-Christian

P.S. if you do feel so inclined and want to wear my club jersey, feel free, I included one of those too.

I set the note aside and pull out the red and black jersey. Flipping it to look at the back I see Pulisic 11 and can't help but smile. I grab the USA one and check its back as well.

“He thinks he's so smooth.” I say to Astra and Aurora. “Va bene ragazze, è ora di dormire.” (Alright girls, sleep time)

Astra and Aurora follow me back to my bedroom. As soon as I open the door they go and jump up. Aurora sprawls out on the pillow that I don't use and Astra curls up right in my spot. I take a quick shower to get rid of the dirt from the day. Once I've got my sleep shirt on I lift the sheets. Astra moves to the other side so I can slip in. Then she scootches back over for snuggles.

When I get up the next morning I glance around the room and my eyes land on the red and black jersey. I text Livia to make sure she's still ok with covering for me. I pull on black skinny jeans, the USA jersey, and combat boots. I pull my hair back in a braid, add my sterling silver football long earrings, paint on a dark red lip, and draw my cat-eyes. I grab my crossbody bag and the pass, before stopping in the shop to thank Livia.

“Go get him girl!” She hollers as I leave for the San Siro.

Hope you enjoyed! I'm still working on part 2. It will probably be 3 parts total with an open ending so I can do check-ins in the future.

-Ava

[lecsainz]

MISS HIM

parings: travis kelce x wife!reader

summary: you and travis are married and have a two-year-old daughter, but you feel tired and like you're not one of travis's priorities.

authors note: taylor wearing a friendship bracelet with travis number was the reason for my breakdown.

✩. . . masterlist !

You and Travis are happily married, raising your two-year-old daughter, Poppy, in the bustling city of Kansas. Travis, the star player for the Chiefs, leads a busy life, constantly under the spotlight. As much as you love him, you sometimes feel like you've taken a back seat in his priorities.

One evening, as you sit on the couch with Poppy, watching her favorite cartoon, you can't help but feel a pang of loneliness. Travis has been gone for a while, caught up in his training and media obligations. Your daughter looks up at you with her big, innocent eyes and says, "Where's Daddy, Mommy?"

A sigh escapes your lips, "Daddy's working, sweetheart. But he'll be back soon."

"Mommy sad?" Poppy asks, her little brows furrowed.

You manage a smile, ruffling her hair, "No, baby, Mommy's not sad."

But the truth is, you are. The weight of holding everything together has become heavier, and you long for the days when Travis's attention was solely on you and your little family. You know he loves you, but it's easy to feel neglected amidst his demanding career.

That night, as Travis returns home, you can't bring yourself to share your feelings. He's exhausted, and you don't want to burden him further. Instead, you put on a brave face and serve him his favorite dinner.

Poppy can't contain her excitement as she bounces in her high chair, giggling and clapping her hands. Travis can't help but be charmed by her infectious laughter.

"Daddy, up! Up!" Poppy reaches out towards Travis, her tiny fingers desperately wanting to be held by her father.

Travis's face lights up as he scoops her up into his strong arms. "You want Daddy to hold you, sweetheart?"

Poppy nods vigorously, her laughter filling the room as Travis raises her high in the air and then brings her down in a gentle swoop, earning more squeals of delight from their little one.

You watch the heartwarming scene, and despite your own worries, you can't help but smile at the beautiful bond between father and daughter.

He looks at you, grateful, and says, "Thanks, babe. You're amazing, you know that?"

You smile, "It's my pleasure. How was your day?"

As he talks about the game plan and the intense training session, you listen intently, even though your own worries weigh heavily on your heart.

He says, "Baby, is something wrong?"

You looked at your husband and gave a soft smile. "Nothing, just a little tired, no need to worry, my love."

Travis leans in to kiss your forehead, then your lips, and suddenly, everything seems a little bit better.

In the morning, as you watch Travis play with Poppy in the backyard while preparing breakfast for the family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. You had a deep yearning for more of his attention and presence. It was a feeling that had been growing inside you for a while, and you couldn't keep it to yourself any longer.

You decided to confide in your closest friend, who was on the other end of the call, feeling a need to unburden your heart.

"Y/N, you should talk to Travis about how you're feeling," your friend suggested.

You sighed, a heavy weight on your shoulders. "I just don't want to add more stress to his life. He's already so busy with football, and I'm afraid of being a burden."

But as the days went by, the feeling of being a second priority in your own marriage continued to gnaw at you.

Days turn into weeks, and you continue to silently bear the weight of your emotions, never wanting to be the one who distracts Travis from his career. But one evening, as you're getting Poppy ready for bed, she asks, "Why doesn't Daddy play with us anymore, Mommy?"

It's as if her innocent question tears through the walls you've built around your feelings. You hug her tight and whisper, "He loves us, baby. He's just busy with his job."

Your daughter looks at you with those same innocent eyes, "But I miss him."

You nod, blinking back tears, "I miss him too, sweetheart."

Later that night, after putting your daughter to sleep, you finally decide it's time to talk to Travis. You find him in the living room, going through plays for the upcoming game.

Travis noticed the serious look on your face as you sat down on the couch together. "Is everything okay, babe?"

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Travis, I love you, and I love our life together, but lately, I've been feeling like we're drifting apart. You're so dedicated to your career, and I'm proud of all your achievements, but I miss us. I miss you."

Travis's expression softened as he listened to your words. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted you to feel that way. Football has been demanding, but you and Pops are my top priorities, and I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt the weight of your unspoken worries finally lift. "I didn't want to burden you with my feelings, but I need you to be there for us, for our family."

Travis took your hand and squeezed it gently. "I promise, I'll make more time for you and Pops. We'll find a balance that works for both of us, because you're my world, Y/N."

[todayisafridaynight]

Funny thing: i was under the impression that minedai is a rather larger ship. Like, if you were to ask me, I'd say it's like the second/third biggest one after kazumaji, and now you're telling me it's small? Was i living in a lie all this time??? Who wrote all those fics on ao3 then?

relative to other rgg pairings and excluding any that don't involve kiryu or majima, it is probably the second largest pairing. though considering most general art and works consist majorly of the first two, it's weird to acknowledge sometimes

[mr-independent]

you know, its not brought up in fics often but ted is extremely well read. he doesnt brag about it, but hes read everything from f scott fitzgerald's b sides to ayn rand's doorstoppers to the sixteen book Ender series, etc etc etc. Ted reads about as much as we see Beard reading (which. in my head is a trait that was passed on, a new focus to sharpen the mind and keep him out of trouble and his mind off drugs, something Ted offered up as a coping mechanism for when his own dad died, a way to have fun and adventure and escape without ending up in jail like Ted himself had a handful of times before, scaring the bejeezus out of his ma.)

this turned into a mini fic and i lost my train of thought but point is, Ted reads So Much and more people need to pick up on this in fics please and thank you.

[carpthecarp]

I loveeee when fic writers add little details about dicks heritage

[lightningandfireinmybones]

Oh I fear I’m falling into the rabbit hole of international pop star and star athlete romance!!!

Apply a valaemond lens,,, I am SICK

[tododeku-or-bust]

I am really enjoying Bump and Run again, reading it. Tell me why I was about to be like "it's a shame people ain't really mess with it like that", then I went to check the kudos and it's 304 people. When them people get there lmao? 😭 And somebody left a really nice message in their bookmark too 😭 I'm so happy

[space-coupe]

I took this screenshot in November 2019