#and all of them like the same football team

[demonic0angel]

Prolonged ecto contamination can cause regenerative abilities. This is great when something important is stabbed or a limb is lost. But for other things, not so much.

“Daddy,” A five year old cried, “somethings wrong with mommy!”

Jason ran to his and his wifes room. He stopped by the door, taking in Jazz's tense still frame perched on the edge of their bed. She gazed at a small cylinder object cluched in her hands.

"Jazz?" Jason called.

She slowly lifted her gaze to him and turned the object around, revealing two pink lines.

"Is-is that an old one?" Jason stammered.

Jazz moved her head to side to side.

"Defective?"

"I've done ten of them, all the same."

But, but that couldn't be. Jason mentally floundered. After a failed vasectomy resulting in kid numer six and then a failed tube tying causeing baby number seven, Jazz had a hysterectomy.

Jason opened his mouth to address this but then remembered that their kids were in the room. It wouldn't be good for kids to witness their parents having a meltdown over a positive pregnancy test. Or discuss a possible lawsuit against a certain hospital and surgeon.

Switching gears, Jason called to his kids, "Come on tribe! To the living room for a movie."

"What about Mommy?" the five year old protested.

"Don't worry," Jason scooped up his kid and pecked her forehead. "Your dad got this," he said with way more confidence than he felt.

(OML I LITERALKY FUCKING ROLLED WHEN I SAW THIS ASK ASDFGHHKLLL THIS IS SO FUNNY BC IN MY ORIGINAL IDEAS ABIUT ANGER MANAGEMENT, THEY HAVE 5 KIDS)

Jazz stared at him blankly. Jason stared back. They both stared at each other. Then he admitted, “I don’t think I got this.”

Thank goodness their oldest, Elinor, was able to understand and distract all of her siblings. Now it was just Jason, Jazz, and their Ancient ghost dog alone to discuss what to do next.

Jazz continued staring at him, holding Shadow in her arms before she said, “Y’know, we could….”

“Don’t even start,” he said in exasperation. While he would always give her the choice, he knew that none of them would actually genuinely consider it.

She sighed. “I know. I want it anyways. It’s mine. It’s our baby.”

Her possessiveness was so cute. Jason reached over to hug her, squeezing her gently and placing his chin on her head. It was a bit difficult due to her height, but she hunched over to tuck herself into his arms, so it was a little easier.

“We’ll handle it. Together, like always. It’s not like we’re lacking in money anyways. And we have plenty of rooms and we can get help from our support groups. I can take another break from being Red Hood and you’ve never stopped your online therapy sessions, so I think we can do this.”

Jazz sighed, nodding before she suddenly groaned aloud and used a fist to hit Jason’s chest. Jason blinked. “What?”

“You know what my siblings call me?! They call Miss Weasley! At this rate, we’ll have a football team by the time we’re done!”

Jason tried not to laugh but a twitch must’ve alerted Jazz to his amusement because she looked up at him and glared. Shadow growled lightly on her lap. She scolded, “You’re giving the news to our families again. And I won’t stop Dan from trying to kill you this time.”

“Even if it makes you a single mother to 7 kids?” Jason asked idly.

Jazz paused and then she cursed softly. Jason snorted into her shoulder before Jazz then said, “I think after this, we’re using condoms again.”

Horrified, Jason lifted his head up and stared at her in disbelief and shocked horror. “What!”

“Jason! We have 7 kids now! Can I please get a break!”

Jason groaned, long and loud. Then he sighed, rubbing Jazz’s sides in faux sadness as he bemoaned, “Fine… since I love you so much… I’ll wear protection next time…”

Jazz pinched his cheek with a little narrowed eye stare and smile, shaking lightly but she said, “Thank you, dearest. We’ll handle this together, alright? It won’t be easy, but we’ve done this six times before, we can do this a seventh time. I think I should ask Dan how he does it…” she mumbled more plans to herself, as Jason just held her, closing his eyes.

If his past self was ever told that he’d have a wife and seven kids, he was sure that he’d probably snitch to the cops that someone was hallucinating.

Not that he’d ever trade this for the world, of course.

[loverangels]

coach!james x single mum!reader

series masterlist main

The whistle blew, and the hum of Saturday morning excitement filled the park. Kids were running around, kicking balls, giggling, and shouting to their friends, while parents mingled on the sidelines with coffee in hand. You were keeping an eye on your six-year-old son, Elliot, who was bouncing on his heels next to the rest of his football team, eagerly waiting for practice to begin.

“Mum!” Elliot called out, waving at you with the brightest grin. “Did you see me kick the ball earlier? It went so far!”

“I did!” you called back, smiling at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to crush it today, buddy!”

You loved this little park, and the fact that Elliot had a chance to be part of a team. He was too young to take it seriously, but his joy and determination made your heart swell. Plus, volunteering at the park gave you the perfect excuse to keep an eye on him without hovering too much.

As you adjusted the snacks on the table, you glanced back to find Elliot happily chatting with his teammates. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride watching him engage with the other kids, the same pride that made you pause and take a deeper breath of contentment. You’d built a life that was busy and full, and yet, the sight of your son thriving in this environment always made everything feel right.

It was then that you noticed him—James Potter, the team coach. He strolled onto the field, looking more effortless than anyone should. He wore a loose black hoodie, his messy hair perfectly complementing his casual attire. But what really caught your attention was how he moved with an easy confidence, shoulders squared, his dark eyes scanning the kids as they stretched, a soft but focused grin playing on his lips. There was something so genuine about him. He had an air of playfulness that could disarm even the most reserved, but also a depth, like he cared more than he let on.

His presence always had this effect on you, but today it felt stronger. Maybe it was the way the sunlight hit his messy hair or how his smile seemed effortlessly charming. You found yourself stealing a glance at him, unsure if he noticed, but your heart gave an unexpected flutter when his gaze briefly flicked toward you. He smiled, that grin that made his eyes twinkle with mischief, and you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you.

“Alright, team!” James shouted, clapping his hands to get the kids’ attention. “Who’s ready to show me what they’ve got today?”

The kids erupted in cheers, Elliot included. You couldn’t help but chuckle at their excitement—and at James, who somehow managed to look both effortlessly cool and completely chaotic at the same time. He just had that effect on people.

James bent down to Elliot’s level, holding up his hand for a high-five. “Elliot! You ready to score some goals today?”

“Yeah!” Elliot said, slapping James’s hand with all the strength his little body could muster.

“That’s what I like to hear,” James said, ruffling Elliot’s hair before turning his attention to the rest of the team.

You found yourself admiring the way he interacted with the kids. It was so natural, so warm. His patience and energy were impressive, and there was no denying that he had a way of drawing people in—especially the kids. It made you admire him more than you probably should, but you couldn’t help it. The way he was able to balance being fun with teaching them the right things—it was something rare. And that laugh of his? It was like music, an easy, carefree sound that made your heart skip a beat.

As the kids started their warm-ups, James glanced toward the sidelines—and caught your eye. His grin widened, a playful sparkle in his eyes, as he walked over to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his track pants.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and friendly. “You’re Elliot’s mum, right?”

“That’s me,” you replied, extending your hand, introducing your name “Nice to officially meet you."

“James,” he said, shaking your hand. His touch was firm but not too strong, the kind of handshake that made you feel at ease. “Though I guess the kids have already made that pretty obvious.”

You laughed, nodding. “Elliot talks about you all the time. He thinks you’re the coolest person alive.”

James looked genuinely flattered, scratching the back of his neck. He had a slight blush on his cheeks as he rubbed his jaw. "Well, I try. But honestly, he’s got some real talent. Left-footed striker, right?”

You blinked, surprised he’d noticed such a specific detail about your son. “Yeah, he is. How did you—?”

James shrugged, his grin turning a little sheepish. “I pay attention. Plus, he’s always practicing that footwork drill I showed him. Kid’s got dedication.”

Your heart warmed at the obvious care he had for the team—and for Elliot. It was clear that James had a genuine interest in the kids beyond just coaching them. And as you looked at him now, standing in front of you, his messy hair, crooked glasses, and easy grin, you realized just how attractive he was. Maybe it was his effortless confidence or the way he didn’t try too hard—either way, there was something magnetic about him that you couldn’t quite shake.

“That means a lot,” you said, the words slipping out without thinking. “Elliot’s been so excited to play ever since he joined.”

“Well, he’s got a great cheerleader,” James said, gesturing toward you.

“Cheerleader slash taxi driver slash snack provider,” you joked, smiling. “It’s a whole package deal.”

James laughed, the sound light and genuine, before adding, “Parent life, huh?”

“Pretty much,” you said, glancing back at Elliot, who was now trying to dribble the ball while another teammate chased him. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

James followed your gaze, his expression softening. “He’s a good kid. You’ve done a great job.”

The compliment hit you unexpectedly, and you felt your cheeks warm, though you did your best to keep your cool. “Thanks,” you said softly. It meant more than you expected. "He’s my world.”

James paused, as if considering saying something else. But before he could, one of the kids called out to him, interrupting the moment.

“Coach! Timmy keeps stealing the ball!”

James sighed dramatically, throwing you an apologetic smile. “Duty calls. But, uh... I’ll see you after practice?”

“Sure,” you said, your voice suddenly feeling softer. You watched as he jogged back onto the field, his energy infectious, and you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth inside. Maybe it was the way he made everything seem so easy. Or maybe it was how you were starting to really notice just how much you liked him.

@tallysnest @jamesweather @lovebyaphrodite @lovelydeepresedkid @trulyyoursniki @miliokumura3 @youcouldstartacult @rebookii @yrluvjane @maximumcantrix @ilarp7 @virtualbuni @youngz00 @avvaaaaaaa @littlelunatica @roseanneeee21 @nightfiress @jpottercore @sturdiii

(for anybody missing on the taglist I apologise Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you!!)

to be added to the taglist reply

[gpcwsl]

Hey! Could you maybe write something for Lia Wälti where r has a reputation as a fuckboy/womanizer since they have quite a few one-night stands that never lead to anything more. They always get teased by the team for that. R and Lia are close friends and always very close physically: cuddling on the couch, sleeping in the same bed during sleepovers, Lia sitting on r's lap etc. One night they are watching a movie or smth on the couch and Lia straight up asks r why they have never tried anything with her. R tells her it is because they don't want her to leave, and then explains that basically all anyone ever wanted from them was sex, and no one stuck around after they had that, that's why now r just sticks to casual hook-ups if anyone approches them, and never actually initiates that stuff first. And they don't care about some stranger leaving in the morning, but they do like Lia a lot, and her leaving would really hurt, so they never acted on their feelings. And then a fluffy confession from Lia's side? Sorry this is really long, you absolutly don't have to do it if you're not comfortable with it!

Warnings: swearing, short, suggestive, mentions of sex (brief) mentions of fuck-boy, mentions of one night stands, kissing, making out.

Lia Wälti x Reader

You’re Different, and I don’t know why.

MasterList

Relationship’s aren’t your thing. You think they are underrated, love is underrated. You were taught that way while growing up. Sure, maybe the reason why is because you never knew your dad since he left the minute your mum got pregnant - ever since then your mother had taught you to never fall in love. So you took that advise. Never been in a relationship before, but definitely slept with half the girls in your hometown.

You always did a really good job with trying to not let those one night stands get in the way of football. Ending things with the girl as soon as the sunrise starts to shine awake. Cutting off any excess to phone number, instagram, ext.

Two years ago, you left your hometown. With getting a bigger contact with a new team who has been pushing for you for some time now - Arsenal. You decided to step up your game. Even win more trophies. Leaving was easy. You had no relationship with any family member, then not fearing enough to even say goodbye either.

But, ever since joining Arsenal things have been different. Different as in, not that many one night stand - and that’s because of a girl. A girl. Breaking a promise to your mother, you seem to be drawn into this woman. You so badly wanted to push her away, but you can’t seem to have the courage to. Which was weird. You always had courage to do anything. You never felt any sort of guilt of even thinking of doing anything like that.

She was driving you crazing.

Right now, it’s after training. Everyone is all gathered in the changing rooms. Getting into their own clothes they walked in this morning. You sitting down in the bench, tying your lases on your trainers.

Kyra, with the same old smirk on her face, sits down next to you, nudging your shoulder. “Y/l/n, you been with cute ladies lately?”

You roll your eyes, now knowing everyone is now focused on you. “No.”

Kyra raises an eyebrow, looking around the room before speaking. “Really? Cause if I remember what miss McCabe said to me the other day was - on your first day with the team you tried to get with everyone.”

You look up, immediately making eye contact with Katie who immediately moves behind her girlfriend. “I didn’t say tha-“

You roll my eyes again, before shrugging my shoulders. “Okay, sure but I didn’t try to get with them. Just flirted before I didn’t anymore.”

“That’s true, she hasn’t flirted with us ever since then.” Leah confirms, nodding her head.

“Why did you stop?” Kyra asks. Your eyes shifted to Lia, who was looking at you, smiling softly knowing the answer. “No reason.”

You then stand up from the bench. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going home. Why don’t you nag to Alessia to who she kissed at last nights party.”

“What?!” - “For fuck sake, Y/n/n!”

With all the attention to Alessia. You look for Lia who is still looking at me. You nod my head for her to follow me. She easily sneaks past everyone who is still pestering Alessia.

As soon as you walk out the door; when you see Lia, you quickly grab her arm pulling her into a storage room. She lets out a yelp as you push her in. You quickly shut the door, locking it.

You turn around to see Lia smiling widely at you. Her hands on her hips. “Seriously? This is so high-school relationship material. Sneaking into the storage room?”

You shrug, smiling at her. “Can’t help myself. Haven’t kissed you for hours.” You mumble, taking only a small step forward to wrap your hands around her waist.

“Is that so?” Lia whispered, immediately wrapping her arms around your neck. “Well, we should do something about that, hey?”

You nod your head, pulling her closer to kiss her. The kiss was soft. Very different to other kisses you had with other girls.

You smile into the kiss - again, different to other girls that you never smiled while kissing before.

Lia change your life straight away.

First day at Arsenal. Kyra was right. You flirted with everyone - but as soon as your eyes founded Lia’s body you stopped. All your attention was on her and her only.

Lia pull away from the kiss. “Let me ask you something.” She says, looking up at you. - You nod your head, hands rubbing against her hips.

“Why haven’t you tried anything with me?”

You burrow your eyebrows, looking at her. “What you mean?”

“Like you were at your hometown. You choked up with every girl you found hot - and obviously you found me hot but, you didn’t try anything. You didn’t even flirt with me like you did with the others.” Lia rambled, her eyes staying in yours the whole time.

“Dunno. You’re different, and I don’t know why. I definitely thought about it but then hated myself. I could never do that to you.” You answered honestly.

“But, I’m not. I promise.” You state, holding her hands. Lia smiles, rubbing her thumb along your hand. “I know. I can tell how much you care about me. Just wanted to know.”

Lia then pulls you back into a kiss. You instantly kiss back, again smiling. “Let’s go home… I got something planned.” Lia mumbles, smirking.

“Oh yeah?” You mumble back, pulling away to see her smirk, smirking back. “What?”

“It’s a surprise.” Lia whispers, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Once the cost was clear she grabs your hand, pulling you with her to the exit.

You never been more grateful that you left your hometown to London.

[slinkythecoffeekid]

Chapter One || You Know What They Say About New Guys

Updates: Hi everyone, I'm back! I've been binge-watching Ted Lasso (because I was gifted some Apple+ for the holidays), and honestly, Jamie and Roy have been all over my reels and stuff, so I wanted to finally watch it. Let me tell you, I was inspired!

Chapter 1/? of the "Standing Again" pairings: unsure at the moment Rating: T for teens word count: 6.2k Warnings: mentions of injuries, anxious behavior, depressive episodes, swearing, self-esteem issues. Notes: pretty sure I made this GN, but if I missed something let me know

Synopsis:

You used to be a professional footballer. That was until you got injured with a torn ACL at the height of your career in the final match of a championship run. It's been three years since you've played competitively (let alone at all). You've been offered a job at AFC Richmond Football Club as their new nutritionist. Accepting the position to move on from your past, you find yourself dealing with one of the most chaotic teams in the Premier League in their day-to-day and your own healing from your past.

playlists are 10 songs per chapter!

“Well, Arlo, we have two minutes left of the ninety, and Man City is up one nil to Crystal Palace in this game.” 

“Yes, well, Chris, it comes down to how many shots on goal. Man City goalie number 13 (Y/N) (y/l/n) has battered down and blocked. They're on quite the defensive hot streak today.”

“The ball is with Sharpe, Sharpe passes to Blanchard, Blanchard to Weerden, and Weerden lines up for the shot! And- It's blocked by the goalkeeper! Another brilliant save by Man City's own (Y/N) (y/l/n)”

“Listen to the roar of that crowd! Crystal Palace won't have time to score another goal.”

“Not that it would help besides tying the game; excellent save on Man City's part.”

“Yes, well- Wait, somethings wrong on the pitch… it looks as if the goalkeeper is down.”

“Well, they are holding their eg in pain; perhaps they tore something.”

“Medical has come out to assist her off the pitch… They are taking them off the field on a stretcher.”

“ Hopefully, it's not too serious.”

The alarm next to your bed buzzes to life next to your bed, on the table it sits on, raising you to some form of alertness as you reach over and smack it before rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, and letting out a heavy sigh before looking back at the clock, 5:25 am—a routine you had set in you for long before now. With one last sigh, you kick the warm covers from your body and force yourself to brace the cold that is your new and albeit bland Richmond flat. You look around the room and check your phone for any new notifications. The same ones you have yet to clear from old friends and family, sending you hundreds of messages you'll never open.  There's no point in removing them, but it is far too late to respond to them. Dropping the phone back onto your bed, you head out of your room to your tiny kitchen. 

The entire flat was small and bland, much like your bedroom was; it's not like you moved many things into this place, just the basics of what you would need. It was meant to fit one person, and you are one person. Walking to the stove, you grab the kettle and fill it with water. Then, you walk to the fridge and grab an apple from the bottom. Taking a bite out of it, you look out the adjacent window. The city was dark because it was still so early in the morning. The street lights were still lit, causing a gentle fuzzy yellowish-orange glow on the rest of the world; it had rained the night before, so the reflection of the light bounced in the puddles and water droplets that hung off the windows. It was peaceful and quiet. You used to enjoy the quiet time of early morning; it let you get your thoughts together. You liked it less now; being alone with your thoughts leads to thinking about things you found unpleasant. 

Finishing your apple and tea, you head back into your room and to your wardrobe to get dressed. 

Getting dressed in plain black joggers and matching black shirt, you grab crisp white trainers and some socks before putting them on, grabbing your phone before walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull your hair up and out of your face, holding a white baseball cap to match your shoes. Checking the time, it was 6:07. Normally, you would leave for the Man City Club House at this point, but that was three years ago, and you couldn't kill the habit of wanting to be training early this morning. You may not be a pro footballer anymore, but you could still go for a jog, correct? You head out of your bathroom one last time, shutting off the lights as you go, grabbing your watch off the bedside table as you pass it to head towards your front door. At your front door, you hold the keys and work bag you'll need for this next chapter in your life. Slinging it over your back, you head outside, looking back at your new flat, and give it a rueful smile before locking the door and putting your headphones in to provide you with something to listen to on your morning run. 

I don't wanna let it pass through the pressure in my head

I don't want to marinate in it, in it again and again

And if I let it into me, I get a rod in there, and it's gonna ring through me again and again

Half of me is melting away. Half of me never goes away, away.

Your run takes you through all of Richmond; you've always felt the best way to visit a city was by planning a jogging course and taking that run every day. The only difference was Richmond was going to be your home now. You would have to change up your routes every so often. Still, that thought gave you something to be happy about as you smiled to yourself as you managed to jog into the car park of your new place of employment. AFC Richmond Football Club. Checking your watch, it was 8:05, which is still early for your first day. The car park was still pretty empty, with a few cars here and there, a grab bag of luxury and economy class type cars; knowing how male footballers are, you knew most of those sports cars belonged to team members. Heading inside, you head straight to your new boss's office. Jogging up the posh stairs, you stop to take your headphones out before the office door, smoothing your jumper and adjusting your hat. Taking a deep breath, shaking the jitters out. 

Were you nervous? Fuck yes, you were, are, and probably will be for a while. This wasn't just some new club owner; you could handle the old men who owned some clubs. This is Rebbeca Fucking Welton. One of four women in a position of high power in football, a gorgeous woman who could ruin your career and take your husband, and you'd apologize to her. Her divorce didn’t change your view of her, and you wanted to impress her; besides, she hand-picked you to be the new nutritionist for the team. Though you still were quite unclear as to why she had picked you. Sure, you knew football; you played all your life, your brothers played too, and your dad- well, you didn't like thinking about your dad and football. Even after your injury, you still tried to be present in football, became a registered dietitian, and worked for several footballers independently. Maybe word of mouth hit Rebecca's ears, and she felt the team needed someone to keep them on a decent diet? Who the hell knows? 

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh before shaking the jitters out of your whole body. Then, knocking on the ajar door before you, you hear a clear voice, like the Bells of London, chime out, “Come in.”

Stepping into the office, you look around; it's a posh office, very sleek and minimalist, the windows overlooking the pitch, but what really caught your attention was none other than Rebecca Welton, with her platinum blonde hair and her perfect work suit she wore in charcoal grey and her strong jawline. There also is another person sitting in a chair across from her. The man who had been all over the news, Ted Lasso, looked like what you’d seen on the table, with a warm smile that reached his eyes and definitely reminded you of an uncle in the best way possible. Your focus was broken when Rebecca raised an eyebrow and called out to you once more.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Her concern was polite, but it didn't matter; you kept your boss waiting for your response.

“Sorry, I was just observing; you have a lovely taste in decor.” You chuckle awkwardly, rocking back on your heels ever so slightly, hands jammed into your pockets and balled up as you let out an awkward “so…”

Sensing the absolute thick fog of anxiety, Ted slapped both of his knees with a midwestern ‘welp’ and stood up and turned to you with the happy smile he seemed to always be wearing before speaking to you. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay, I do have to head downstairs and make sure everyone makes it in, but later, you should come to my office. Come in and know me better, man!” Ted tried to imitate a British accent towards the end of his sentence. Still, it failed as he couldn't beat his own Kansas accent, tipping an imaginary hat as he got up and headed towards the door. 

“Alright, ghost of Christmas present,” you retorted just before he got out of sight. All you could hear was “Yes! They got it!” before a loud ow and what sounded like possibly running downstairs to catch himself or the tumbling of a body. Honestly, you were unsure you wanted to tell the difference for this coach.

You sat across from Rebecca, who, unfortunately, or fortunately, was enjoying the biscuits that Ted had brought her since it was ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ time. Clearing her face and desk of any crumbs, she clears her throat and ensures she has finished her biscuits before speaking. She smiles at you ever so gently. “I'm so glad you accepted the invitation (Y/N). Our PR mastermind has been trying to get me to hire a ‘life coach’ for the team, but none of them know football the way you do, dear.” she stands, “did you want anything to drink?” she asks you as she walks to get tea for herself.

“Yes, please,” you realize you hadn't had too much to drink after your run, as the last time you stopped to get water was a while ago; yes, you had your water bottle, but you drained that of its contents a while ago. Looking at the bookshelf behind Rebecca's desk brought a small smile to your lips, seeing all her achievements on the shelves and the books. Looking over your shoulder as she offers you a glass of water, you provide a soft “thank you” and take a sip before speaking. “I've seen Keeley on Instagram and Twitter, and  I have seen the team's social media presence since she took over, and I’ll admit she's done wonderfully.” You give a kind smile before clearing your throat, “So you want me as the dietitian for the team? Do you have a list of things for me to keep in mind or-” 

“Oh nononono, as this is a newer addition to our clubhouse, I feel it most important for you to get to know the boys and learn about them yourself. Of course, I understand setting up diets for twenty people is quite a lot. Still, you'll have the coaching staff to help you, and hopefully, the team will be quite flexible to help you, and you’ll have Leslie to help you with anything you need as well.” She gestures to the door where one Lesslie Higgins, who wears a brown tweed suit and a tan and maroon striped tie with a beige button-up shirt, makes himself visible to you, enters the room, and offers a hand to shake. 

Shaking your hand, he politely smiles at you before looking at Rebecca. “I can show her to her office if you do not mind.” 

Rebecca shakes her head as she returns to looking at some information on her computer. " That would be lovely, Lesslie. The team should be out on the pitch now as it is.” She looks so incredibly focused on her work that she doesn't even notice when you and Higgins exit the office and head down the stairs together. 

Higgins gives you a detailed tour of the clubhouse and the team's history over the years, looking at the history of the clubhouse and nodding as Higgins imparts you with many tidbits of obscure soccer knowledge you'd pocket in a mental file somewhere for a rainy day. Higgins also showed you where everything was, from the locker rooms and medical rooms to the training room, the bathrooms, and even the copy room. He showed you everything you would need for your job in great detail. The only thing you two had missed on your tour was the pitch. However, you didn't mind too profoundly. Your tour ended with Higgins holding the door handle to one last room, and he cleared his throat before adjusting his tie with his free hand. This concerned you, and you raised an eyebrow, watching this jovial older man seem nervous about opening a door that you assumed was an office or corridor. 

“Right- before we go in, I must warn you that Keeley, ah yes, the sweet woman she is, might have gone a tad overboard when making sure you had everything you would need to feel comfortable. If she did, please don't hesitate to ask us to remove or exchange items."He had yet to look back at you as he fumbled with his key ring before unlocking the door to this space; when he did, he slipped in, shutting the door in your face. But not before reopening it for you with a nervous smile. Letting you step inside to the ample space. 

The space you had stepped into was a large state-of-the-art kitchen. It reminds you a lot of the ones from the American Hells Kitchen. The floor was nonstick sleet linoleum, and the light grey walls and the counters were all stainless steel. Still, they had built-in appliances; this kitchen had not one, not two, but three fridges, and you assumed equal freezer space. And you had suddenly become a woman who had five ovens in your kitchen. If it wasn't for the fact that this was your workspace, you'd just be living in your new office. Then you noticed all the kitchen gadgets linked up on your counter space, blenders, stand mixers, hand mixers, hell, even a bread maker, all in a neat row on your counters. Could you even call them yours? The semantics of the matter would have to wait as you finally cracked a small but visible smile. Walking through the kitchen and checking every cabinet for its contents. Whoever came before you was organized, but you knew this setup wouldn't work for you. You pull a notebook from a small compartment in your backpack that sits at the small of your back and a pen from the same pocket and start writing down notes about the kitchen. Engrossed in your work, you had failed to notice Lesslie leaving and leaving the key with you. 

After looking everything over in your kitchen space, you decide to head to your actual office; it was a small room right off the kitchen, with a window to see into the kitchen. It had a desk, bookshelves, and a desktop for you to use, not personalized to your taste but standard practice, and that was fine enough for you. You set your backpack down in the chair and open it, pulling out your things. You had cookbooks and recipe cards to put up on the shelves, cords to plug in so you didn't steal your home chargers, and the small but important things to get through the day. But the most important things you'd brought from home were two picture frames that you put on either side of your computer. 

The photo on the left was from your childhood, and you and your two siblings were in the photo. Both of them are in their secondary school kits and taller than you. You stood in the middle of them with a broad, slightly toothless grin. All three of you holding a football in your hands. Your kit was covered in dirt and grass stains, as were theirs; it was the first day that all three of you had a game, and your parents couldn't have been any prouder. Your sibling's numbers are their favorite numbers; yours is 13. The other photo to the right was from your debut season. You played as a goalkeeper sub for Man City in your debut year, number 13, and it's still your number. You had come to thrive with 13 as your number; people found it unlucky. Unlucky thirteen people used to say, but that was until they watched you play. It became fast learning that Man City's opponent was unlucky if you played keeper. 

Reminiscing, you failed to notice that anyone was in the kitchen as it was closed off to the rest of the world, but jumped violently at the knocking at the doorframe, “jesus-fucking-shit!” you turn to see who was at your door. Still, it was none other than the coach Ted Lasso, his eyes wide with panic, probably from scaring him by scaring you.

“I didn't mean to startle you there. (y/n) thought you heard me, though if you swear that much, I'm sure you and Roy will make fast friends.” He smiles at you. His recovery was smooth enough to make things less awkward. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to your office. 

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, come in!” quickly trying to steal your racing heart, you drop your bag to the floor and sit down in the chair across from Ted, who looks like a labrador looking at his owner with a treat. Calming yourself, you sigh and put on a polite smile. " Hello, Coach Ted. What can I do for you?” you ask him to settle into your chair.

Ted gave a soft ‘oof’  as he let himself fall into the chair across from you and crossed his right knee over his left, holding it in his hands and looking off into the distance before looking back over at you with that Ted Lasso smile you've learned well from the internet, “well first off I wanted to come down and say hello and introduce myself again before you are fed to the wolves. so please just call me Ted” he chuckles at his own little joke before continuing, “secondly I wanted to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of you, you jumped so high I thought you might be a cat!” 

The concern made you laugh; you'd think he'd seen them jump from being startled, or maybe it was the goalkeeper phenomenon that all goalkeepers jumped in strange ways to protect their goals. Still, you shake your head in response, “I'm fine, Coach Lasso- I mean Ted, I'm sure this won't be the last time I get startled in my corner of the world. And I appreciate the concern about meeting the players, but I'm sure I will be just fine.” 

Ted makes the face that can best be described as the dad equivalent of ‘OK, bud, if you're sure’ before setting both his feet on the ground, smacking his knees aggressively, and hoisting himself up and out of the chair. " Welp, if you're sure about that, how bout we go for a walk so you can meet them?” He heads towards the door and holds it open for you. 

You sigh, forcing yourself out of your chair. It's not that it was comfortable, but it gave you the relief of being off your feet for the first time in a few hours. “Sure, why not?” you head out the door, following Ted towards the locker room. Ted stops you outside the locker room before stepping in and returns a few moments later to find you looking at your phone. He waves to catch your attention before waving you in with the excitement of a toddler. You roll your eyes and pocket your phone before walking into the locker room where every team member is sitting in their locker cubbies; most decent, a few people topless, but no one was in a towel. You walk to the center, where the other coaches stand in a line and wait. 

“Now, alright, everyone. This is (in) they’re joining us as the team's new dietitian, like Jenni Craig but better. So you guys need to let her know all your diet things so they can help you be the best you can be. Do you all understand?” Ted introduced you to the team, but they just seemed more confused by who Jenny Craig was, and honestly, you were a bit too. 

A coach to Ted's side, with a beard and wearing polarized sunglasses leaned into Ted's side. " They don't have Jenni Craigs, Atkins maybe.” With that comment, everyone on the team nodded and let out a collective ‘ah’ of agreement. 

However, you did hear a scoff to your right; in the number 9 cubby sat a man who was probably, if not your age, definitely younger than you. The name above 9 was Tartt. Oh yeah, you knew who this was, Jamie Tartt; he used to play for Man City, was on loan, got shipped back, and then shipped right back to Richmond. You had never met him personally. However, you'd heard from others that he was less than delightful to deal with on a good day. However, that scoff was short-lived when a man standing near him smacked him upside the back of his head. Eliciting a hiss and an “ow, what was that for?” 

The man was fit, physically muscular, had a black beard and bushy eyebrows, and wore a coach polo. You knew immediately this was Roy Fucking Kent; you’d have been stupid if you didn't know who this man was or if he was born in the last five to six years. And you were neither of those things. He was not having any of the young striker's behavior and glared down at Jamie, “shut it, Tartt,” he snapped at Jamie before turning his attention back to you. Still, his stoic, frowning face stayed the same. 

Ted looked at you and gestured to the team, “Do you have anything you want to add? Anything at all?”

You shrug and look around the room, taking in each of the team members' faces. You'd memorize them eventually, but that wasn't the point of today. Clear your throat and readjust your shoulders, squaring them back and holding your chin high. Confidence is key when dealing with people you don't know or need to convince. “Names (y/n), I'm your new diet coach; I need an updated diet form; I'll send that out in an email by tomorrow morning; I need it by Wednesday to do orders. It's simple, I need your allergies, preferences, and restrictions. If anything changes, please try to tell me as soon as possible. I don't make a habit of killing my clients.” You knew it wasn't the most admirable introduction, but you were not the nicest woman either. You think briefly before remembering something important, turning to the coaches. “Kitchen is off limits to the team now if it wasn't before; if you need something from the kitchen, message me.” with that, you head for the door. “Cheers,” you wave before walking out of the locker room. 

The locker room sits in stunned silence before everyone turns to Ted, and an amalgamation of voices hits Ted like a load of bricks before he raises his hand and raises his voice, “Hey! One voice at a time, I'm not the Complaint whisperer; that's Nate's job. Now, what's got all your ducks out of their rows?” 

“They seem like a very knowledgeable coach; where did Ms Welton find her?” Sam asked with a raised hand so that he would be noticed.

“Probably the internet; that is how most people get hired in this economy,” Jan states from beside Sam. The others around him nodded in agreement, but a few tried to shush him. 

“they seem fucking cheery, but as happy as granddad over there, fit though, ain’t they?” Jamie snickered, leaning back into his cubbyhole. He and a few others close by laughed at his comments as well.

Standing next to Coach Beard and Nate, Roy frowned before Ted smiled at the team, “Welp, you heard them. Ensure you promptly respond to their email, or you might end up on the menu.” His words fell on primarily deft ears, and with that, the coaches walked into the office. Roy shut the door behind them, and the locker room returned to its chaotic, chatty atmosphere behind them. 

Ted plopped himself right down into his chair and stretched his arms up in the air before looking at the three other coaches, who looked right back at him with a dumbfounded look; all Ted could ask was… “What?”

“That's all we get. What?” Beard asked, putting his sunglasses on top of his hat. The boss hires a new person, and all we get is a what?” he asked before crossing his arms in his chair, leaning back as far as it would let him before falling backward out of it.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you guys. I just met ‘em this morning in Becca's office before practice. They seem like nice kids to me, honestly. Oh, but don't sneak up on them. When I spooked them earlier, they looked like Shaggy and Scooby getting ready to run away from a scary monster.” Ted looked to Nate and Roy for their input. Roy scowled like usual, and Nate nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Of fucking course they are- are you fucking stupid?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his free hand out to stop Ted from responding, “Don't answer that. I already know the answer to that. Thats, (y/n) fucking (y/l/n)” seeing the deer in headlights look both coach Beard and Ted are giving him he lets out an exasperated sigh looking to Nate for some sort of assistance on this explanation. 

“Oh-ah yes! Um, (y/f/n) they used to play for Man City about three years ago, but they retired due to a torn ACL at a finals match a few years ago and used to be an all-star goalkeeper. Also called unlucky 13 for a time,” Nate jumped onto the shelf behind him and crossed his arms, “a bit surprising that Ms. Welton would try hiring them even for a dietitian position.”

Ted's eyebrows rose at the mention of your former nickname, “because of their injury or before that?” curiosity in his eyes.

“Before that,” Everyone else in the room responded in unison. 

“But it's not all that surprising; we've been missing someone to ensure everyone can eat healthy; young boys like that will eat whatever they want. Especially if they aren't being monitored,” Beard said, looking back into the locker room where the team, now unattended by the adults, was mucking about. 

Ted nodded before getting up, “Welp, I will see you gents on the field, but I've been summoned for girl time in the office.” He pushed in his chair, waving his phone around as if to show them the text, “Now, if you'll excuse me.” With that, Ted left the coach's office, leaving the other three coaches confused and shaking their heads in disbelief. 

Ted headed down the halls and bounded up the stairs before knocking at Rebecca's office, peeking his head around to make sure that people were inside, with his goofy smile, “knock knock.” 

Rebecca looked up from the sofa she and Keeley were both sitting on, looking at something on Keeley's laptop, and she waved Ted in quite frantically, “Keeley, put that away. We will watch those later."

Keeley whines in annoyance, “Fineeee, but I want to watch more of them when we are done.” She closes her laptop, turning to Ted with a smile on her face. " Morning, Ted! What did you think of them? I think they are pretty stellar!” She is now leaning forward, her arms propped up on the arm of the sofa and her chin resting on the back of her palms.

Rebecca lets out a small chuckle, seeing Keeley's excitement about your employment, before clearing her throat: " Yes, that is why I brought you up here. I wanted to ask your opinion on (y/n). Based on my very little interaction, I don't fully understand them even if Higgins also gave me a report of his own.”  She adjusts to sit with one leg over the other, expecting Ted's praise or lack thereof. 

Ted nodded before leaning forward in the armchair, in that deep-thinking sitting position he was well known to do before looking between the two women in the room. “Welp, they seem straight to the point, I think they’re just not comfortable yet. If we give them a few weeks, they will be busier than a bee in spring and sweeter than the honey from it.” 

His analogy was lost on the two women sitting across from him before Rebecca cleared her throat, “Right, yes, well… with that in mind. I wanted to discuss something with you, Ted, and Keeley. I would also like your input on the matter.”  Rebecca had this glint in her eye, where she had something purely devilish up her sleeve.

Keeley looks over, adjusting herself to fully face Rebbeca, and nods thoughtfully, or as seriously as she can manage: " Absolutely, what are you thinking?”  before smiling, seeing how serious Rebecca looked.

Ted nods, gesturing towards the space in front of them. “Floors yours, boss,” he gave her an encouraging smile. 

Rebecca smiles a devious smile. “What I am proposing doesn't leave this office until we are ready to put it into motion.”

You had spent your entire afternoon doing tedious paperwork, sending out the survey email to the team, looking at cookbooks former staff had left behind,  and double-checking the incoming order that would be arriving on Wednesday. Your afternoon was peaceful, being able to be by yourself and acclimate to your new environment. During your time in the kitchen, you found it was basically soundproof, so you could listen to whatever you wanted, and no one would know or even care. You had your music turned up for most of the day and listened to anything that could and would keep you distracted from thinking. 

Finishing up your daily task list, you check the 5:30, a respectable time to leave work. Grabbing your bag, pack away anything you need to take home, like notebooks and order information. You look at the two pictures on your desk as you zip up your backpack and nod to them both. Standing up and putting on your backpack, you head out of your office and ensure the kitchen and office lights are off before locking the door behind you. You head towards the door and car park before you hear your name being called from overhead. 

“(y/n)!” Standing there was Keeley, waving frantically and smiling. " Where are you goin’?” she asks as she runs down the stairs that lead to Rebecca's office. You hadn't ever met Keeley in person, but you'd seen her on Instagram and knew that she and Jamie Tartt dated at one point, but anyone in football knew that. You were not expecting Keeley to hug you very aggressively, much like a koala holding onto a tree.

You tense at the contact but relax quickly and return the hug, albeit awkwardly. “Hello, Keeley. Is this how you greet everyone you meet for the first time?” You blow her hair slightly out of your face, your voice strained from the hug. 

She quickly lets go of the hug but still tightly gripping your shoulders and smiles, “No, but I've been so excited to meet you, but your office was locked, so…” she pouts slightly at the fact you had unknowingly locked her out. “No biggie, though! If you don't mind me saying love, your fucking fit! Your parents must be fucking gorgeous!” 

You let out an awkward chuckle, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks. I'll be sure to inform my dad you said so. Sure, he loves that.” Sarcastically, you roll your eyes. " But to answer you, I'm heading home for the night. I have a lot of research to do.” You manage to get yourself out of Keeley's grip somehow. 

“That's perfect! I'm heading home too! Did you drive? If not, I can give you a lift!”

You put your hands up, shaking them in a no gesture, “I didn't drive, but there's no need; my flat isn't too far from here.” it wasn't a lie; yes, your run was two hours, but that was nothing for you, and moreover, on purpose. Besides, the sun was still up, so there was no excuse for needing a ride. However, the pout on Keeley's face tugged at your moral compass, “Tell you what? If it ever rains, I'll let you drive me.”

Keeley's eyes lit up excitedly, and she let out a little squeal before hugging you again. “Oh, that sounds grand! You'll have to give me your number, or I'll message you on Instagram. You have one of those, right? " She started digging through her bag, looking for her phone. Once she found it, she began to type. 

You nod, “It's (y/n)unlucky13.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly. When was the last time you said that out loud? 

Keeley hums in response before tapping a button: " And done! I followed you, so now I can message you!” She looks at you and offers her arm to link with your own to walk outside. “Shall we then? Get our last glimpse of the boys on the pitch?” 

You instinctively link arms with her and walk outside the car park lined up to the pitch. The two of you walk to the fence and watch the team doing the last bit of practice for the day. Keeley watched with the same eagerness as a small kid. Looking over at her, you smile before returning to the field. Your arms crossed, resting on the fence, and your head resting atop them, you watch in personal silence. You study the field, watch the goal, and look at everyone's movement. It wasn't long before the team headed towards the dugout for the end of their days. You stretch and let out a groan of relief from your stretch. 

Keeley smiles, “Well (y/n), have a safe walk home.” She heads to her car, but before leaving, she rolls her window down, “See you tomorrow (y/n)! Send me your coffee order!” And with that, she is gone.

You stood there incredibly dumbfounded; how could someone make such fast friends with everyone? Was she now your friend? Actually, you liked the sound of that. You missed being surrounded by peppy people. You adjust your backpack and start your trek home for the night. Richmond in the evenings was not too much different from the morning. You passed children coming home from school, passing footballs as they went. Couples walking hand in hand, young and old. Parents running errands with their children. It reminded you of before. When you did this before in Manchester. You shake your head to force the thoughts out and return to your flat at around 6. You unlock your door, remove your shoes, and set your bag on the kitchen table.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you looked down to see a text from Coach Ted. You don't remember giving him your number, but you opened the message. 

Ted Lasso

Hey Doc! Well, actually, you're not a doctor, are you? Calling you chef seems odd, too. I'm going to stick with Doc. Anyway, we are glad to have you. I think you'll work wonders for the team. Have a good night!

You reread the message repeatedly, whipping your eyes as tears rose, and put your phone back in your pockets. You decided you had no energy to cook, so you ordered some takeout. You worked on building a new diet regimen while eating your own meals into the late night hours. You looked over your phone, unlocked it, and decided not to leave Ted on read. 

Thanks, Coach Ted; if you're gonna call me Doc, I'm calling you Coach. 

You press send, clean up your food, and put your work back into your backpack, only to hear another ding from your phone. 

Ted Lasso

Alright, Doc, have a good night!

You smiled, looking at the time. It was after 10, which was late, even by your standards. You shut the lights off in the kitchen and head to your room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt before brushing your teeth and brushing your hair from your hat hairstyle. Walk out and stare out the window before crawling into your bed, plugging in your phone, and watching. You check your phone one last time for the night and open Instagram to send Keeley a DM. 

Hey, here's my order. 

You attach a photo of your preferred drink and its modifications so it's easier to order in person. You put your phone down on the bedside table, missing the heart reaction Keeley gave your message. Hunkering down in your blankets, you let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in a while, you felt your shoulders relax, your jaw unclench, and your muscles unclench. You drifted into a restful sleep for the first time in over three years. 

Moving to Richmond may be good for you.

[aluminia]

Apparently not everyone is used to seeing a priest strolling down the street whenever they go out. Which yeah, makes sense actually I just can't imagine being surprised to see a priest

[jamietwat]

Jamie and Roy spending ridiculous amounts of time together and Phoebe knowing about it definitely means that Jamie’s around Phoebe a lot more in the off-season when she’s off school and Roy’s off work but still being Jamie’s personal trainer for free (and she definitely likes bossing Jamie around just as much as Roy does and finds the ridiculous shit Roy makes him do hilarious)

And you know that thing where kids love to randomly go watch this, I can do a somersault or want to see me do a cartwheel? and then you just have to awkwardly stand there and be like wow whether they actually can do them or not (and sometimes several times in a row have to try to think of something new to say the fifth time they do the exact same thing and then look to you for a reaction)

I’m just saying at some point they’re in some park and Phoebe definitely pulls a look how good I’m getting at cart wheels, Uncle Roy! around Jamie at some point and while Roy just stands there like 🧍‍♂️ and gives compliments that gradually get more and more deadpan and debates turning it into saying how much more impressive that is than anything Jamie’s done all morning but he doesn’t because he’s 90% sure that would just lead to Jamie getting all indignant and competitive and proving he can cartwheel too as if Roy isn’t already annoyingly aware of that from when he was dying trying to keep up with Jamie in Amsterdam while he was cartwheeling and practically skipping

But obviously Roy not saying anything doesn’t matter anyway and Jamie turns it into being like watch this to Phoebe and cartwheeling too and turning to Roy after like well go on, tell me how good I am at that too

Roy deadpans somehow it’s far less impressive watching a grown man cartwheel for attention. It’s just sad, really

But Jamie isn’t offended at all and just shoots Roy an obnoxious smirk and insists you’re just saying that because you know you couldn’t do one. Even trying would probably end with you needing a hip replacement or something

But before Roy can even properly argue or say something bitchy back, Jamie’s turning back to Phoebe with a how about this then? But even though it’s her he asks, it’s Roy he looks to the moment he finishes running a few steps and doing a one-handed cartwheel

And Jamie’s like well now are you impressed??? And god, Roy resents that he is and he could make a dig about how useless of a skill it was as an adult and how that wouldn’t accomplish anything on the pitch and he’d just look like one of the kids that picks flowers on the pitch instead of playing or even paying attention to where the ball is, but instead he rolls his eyes and says yeah okay

And Jamie beams but he doesn’t have time to properly gloat and give Roy shit because Phoebe’s already bossing him around telling him that he has to teach her how to do that too

[cassmouse]

Do we think Lars watches the Euros

Imagine him singing Football's Coming Home or shouting during the penalties I am in tears right now lmfaooooo

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

tbh that last ask reminded me...

[randompiggy]

oh my god???? aotearoa oh my god

first ever world cup win. finally earning it as world cup hosts, in front of the biggest ever football crowd in their country’s history, against fucking norway. norway who are starting a fucking ballon d’or winner, who are one of only 4 countries to ever win the world cup, and who are ranked 14 places higher than them. holy shit, the ferns

[kyogos]

The real reason I support more than one football club is so i can be extra depressed all the time

[alxclaremont]

had to witness oscar do promo for the t*xas l*nghorns, my school lost TERRIBLY in football for the second weekend in a row, and mclaren was fucking stupid as usual. horrible terrible bad weekend to be a sports fan

[tenrose]

Well I've watched enough sport for the next ten years...

[luci-hemwin-evanson]

I honestly think I have a problem

Bc every time

Every

Single

Fckng

Timw

That I feel like rewatching Glee

I end up watching the same fckng episode

Which episode is that?

The freaking Michael Jackson episode

WHAT DOES THAT EPISODE HAVE THAT IT MAKES IT HAVE A CHOKEHOLD ON MEEE

I like Michael's music but i'm not a fan of him to say the episode has meaning beyond a Glee episode

it's not like theres much plot wise either, if you think about it... It's like a filler ep

If it's not that

It's the SATURDAY NIGHT episode 😩

I can't think of any other episode

[28dayslater]

I think part of what people who don’t like sports don’t get about it is the permanence of it, I can say this bc it used to be me lol. You’re a fan of a tv show, it’s a huge part of your life, you’ve met all your friends in that fandom- five years later it ends, your interest wanes bc there’ll never be another episode and you're running out of things to talk about it. You’re a massive fan of a band, ten years later they split up, you still listen to them but they’ll never make new music again, there's no concerts to go to. The youngest player on my team is 17. He’s got probably 15 or so years before he retires and no one who’s on the team right now is still playing football. Players all gone, manager’s gone, full ship of Theseus. The club will still be there. Stadium's still in the same place on the high road, they're still playing every week, local lads are still coming through the academy, the same fans who have been going to games since they were little kids are still there. And in fifty years time it'll still be there. It's not the same as loving something that ends

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[pucksandpower]

Seeing Color

Lando Norris x soulmate!Reader

Summary: the average person goes their whole life without seeing so much as a drop of color, so safe to say you’re quite surprised when the sky suddenly turns blue while you’re covering Formula 1 for the first time

The sky’s a muted gray, just like every other day of your life, as you stand in the bustling paddock of Silverstone, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

This isn’t what you signed up for. Football’s your thing — sweaty players, goals, and post-match interviews in rain-soaked stadiums. But motorsport? Formula 1? It’s a different beast altogether.

“Just one race,” your supervisor had assured you. “It’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a pro.”

Easy for them to say. The paddock is a maze of garages, team colors (which are a uniform grayscale for you, of course), and a cacophony of sounds that’s more overwhelming than a packed Premier League stadium.

You’ve been briefed on the basics — Max Verstappen’s the reigning champ, Lewis Hamilton’s the legend, and Lando Norris, the homegrown young talent, just secured P2.

P2. The words feel alien, even though you repeat them to yourself over and over, willing them to become familiar. Podium finish, second place. You’ve got this.

But the truth is, you don’t. Not really. And it’s showing as you fumble with your notes, trying to prepare for the post-race interviews. Your heart’s racing faster than any of the cars on the track.

“Hey, you alright there?”

The voice comes from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. You turn around and see a young man — not too tall, with curly hair, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. You recognize him immediately, even in black and white.

Lando Norris.

“Yeah, just-” You scramble for professionalism, straightening your back and offering what you hope is a confident smile. “Just getting ready for the interviews.”

Lando’s eyes flicker down to the notes in your hand. “First time covering F1?”

Your smile falters. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles softly, and for a moment, it’s as if the world around you narrows down to just the two of you standing there in the paddock, the sounds and chaos fading into the background.

“A little,” he admits, leaning casually against the wall, as if he’s got all the time in the world. “But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. There’s something about his easygoing manner that puts you at ease, just for a moment. “I appreciate that.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, right?” He asks, and you’re caught off guard that he knows your name.

“That’s me,” you reply, slipping into the role of interviewer as best as you can. “Congratulations on P2, by the way. How was the race for you?”

He glances at you, and for a brief second, his expression changes. It’s subtle — almost imperceptible — but it’s there. Something shifts in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Thanks,” he says, but the word comes out softer than you expect. There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation, before he continues. “The race was … it was intense. But honestly? Standing here right now … it feels like something else is happening.”

You frown slightly, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

Lando looks at you again, more intently this time, and you’re acutely aware of the way your pulse is thumping in your ears. “Look around,” he murmurs, his voice low, as if he’s sharing a secret. “Do you see anything different?”

You blink, confused. You glance around, expecting to see the same monotone world you’ve always known, the same dull shades of gray. But instead … you see it. A soft glow in the distance, a faint tinge of color in the sky.

It’s … blue.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. “What …”

Lando steps closer, his expression as bewildered as yours. “You see it too, don’t you?”

“I-I don’t understand,” you stammer, your heart racing even faster now. “This can’t be real. I’ve never seen color before.”

“Neither have I,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But … I’m seeing it now. Because of you.”

The air around you feels electric, charged with something you can’t quite name. Your eyes lock onto his, and suddenly, the world isn’t gray anymore. It’s alive with hues and shades that you’ve only ever imagined. His eyes, a stunning shade of fluid green, meet yours with the same wonder.

“This can’t be real,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. You’re trying to make sense of the impossible, of the vivid blues and greens and reds that are slowly seeping into your vision, like the world is waking up from a long sleep.

Lando reaches out, his hand hovering near yours, not quite touching. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that’s startling — like he’s just as unsure of what’s happening as you are. “I think …” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard before trying again. “I think it’s because we’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” You echo, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. You’ve heard the stories, the myths — how the world is black and white until you meet the person you’re meant to be with.

But it’s just that, isn’t it? A myth? A fairytale? With over 8 billion people on Earth, the chances of actually meeting your fated match are slim-to-none. Most of the population has grown to accept that they will never see anything other than black and white.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s what they say, right? You don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. But I never thought it’d actually happen. Not like this.”

You’re silent for a moment, trying to process it all. The colors, the implications, the fact that this person — this stranger — is suddenly supposed to mean everything to you. It’s overwhelming.

“I don’t even know you,” you whisper, voicing your fears. “How can we be soulmates if we don’t even know each other?”

Lando’s smile is small, almost shy. “I guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

The words are simple, but they carry a weight that you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. But when he looks at you like that, with such sincerity, you find yourself nodding.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “I guess we will.”

He takes a step closer, and this time, his hand does brush against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel it in every nerve, every inch of your being. It’s like the world has shifted on its axis, and you’re standing at the center of something much bigger than yourself.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando’s voice is quiet, almost tentative.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s such a simple thing, and yet, in this moment, it feels like the most important question in the world. You look around, taking in the colors that are now flooding your vision — the vibrant greens of the trees in the distance, the deep blues of the sky, the bright reds and yellows of the cars and team logos.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels right. “I’ve never had a favorite color before.”

Lando smiles, a real smile this time, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Pretty sure I’m legally obligated to say mine’s papaya,” he laughs, and you notice it for the first time — the vibrant hue of his team’s colors, standing out against the grayscale world you’ve known until now. “I think you’ll like it.”

You smile back at him, feeling the connection between you deepening with every passing second. It’s terrifying, and exhilarating, and everything in between.

“I think I might,” you say, and the words are full of a promise that you’re not sure you fully understand yet, but that feels right nonetheless.

For a moment, the world falls away, and it’s just the two of you, standing there in a kaleidoscope of color that’s bursting into life all around you. The roar of the engines, the clamor of the crowd — it all fades into the background as you look at each other, truly seeing each other for the first time.

“So … what happens now?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s hand tightens around yours, and there’s a steadiness in his gaze that grounds you. “We take it one step at a time,” he says. “We get to know each other. And we see where this goes.”

The simplicity of his words is comforting. There’s no grand declaration, no rush to figure everything out. Just a promise to take things as they come, to let whatever this is between you grow naturally, in its own time.

“I’d like that,” you say, and you mean it.

He grins, that boyish charm back in full force, and you can’t help but smile in return. “Good,” he says. “Because I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

There’s a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip a beat, and for the first time since this whole whirlwind began, you find yourself excited about the future — about the possibility of what’s to come.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think we are.”

And as you stand there, hand-in-hand with Lando Norris, surrounded by the vibrant colors of a world that’s finally come to life, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were always meant to be.