#england player x reader

[astrids-blog333]

Perfect

Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: After an offhand comment makes your insecurity flare up, you try to brush it off—but Jude sees right through you. He wants to make sure you never doubt yourself again.

Warnings: angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, insecurity, self-esteem issues, cosmetic surgery (mentioned)

A/N: Sorry this is kinda short, someone requested this but I can't remember who I'm SO SORRY. This starts quite angsty but has a happy ending. I love Jude sm, and he's such a lil sweetheart in this.

WC: 1.5k

The stadium is buzzing, the stands are a sea of voices chanting Jude’s name, roaring every time he touches the ball. He moves with all precision and control in the world, turning defenders inside out in the most effortless way. You watch, breath caught and fingers curled around the edges of your seat.

He’s incredible. Then again, of course he is.

You barely notice the looks anymore, the way people recognise and glance at you, the quiet murmurs that follow whenever you walk through the stadium. Now it just feels like background noise. But some things are always harder to ignore.

Halftime comes, and you slip down to the VIP lounge, weaving through polished tables and conversations that hum beneath the clinking of glasses. You’re not paying attention, at least, you weren't until you heard your name.

“She’s sweet, but honestly, I thought Jude would be with someone… I don’t know. Prettier?”

The words stop you dead in your tracks, you heart stopping for a slip second.

You don’t turn, don’t react. Maybe you misheard.

“She’s not ugly,” another voice chimes in, as if that would soften the blow. “It's just… when you picture someone like Jude, you expect, I don't know… a model or something.”

You swallow.

It’s ridiculous how quickly something like that can sink its claws in. You try to ground yourself, but nothing stops the twisting in your stomach, the heat creeping up your neck. You don’t even know who said it. And if you're honest, you don’t want to.

Still, the words stick.

For the rest of the match, you feel it. The weight of those words pressing in, the way they curl around your thoughts no matter how hard you try to shake them, no matter what you try to distract yourself with.

Jude plays brilliantly, and you smile, you cheer, you do everything you’re supposed to. You try to be there for him, but it's hard when all you can do is think about those two words, how you should be 'someone prettier.'

By the time the final whistle blows, it’s still there, sitting heavy in your chest. And you already know, you’re not just going to be able to brush this one off.

The ride home was quiet. Of course, you fawned over Jude. Told him how amazing he was, and asked him questions about the match, but still, the atmosphere was off.

When you get home you beeline for the bathroom, locking the door as you sink down onto the floor. You dial a number, and press your phone to your ear, smiling slightly as your best friend’s voice crackles through the speaker.

“I swear, people are so obsessed with running their mouths,” she huffs. “You know it’s not true, right?”

You force a small chuckle as you pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “I mean… yeah, obviously. It’s just stupid. I don’t even really know why I care.”

“Because it was a nasty thing to say.” Her voice is sharp and protective. “I don’t care if they were just some randoms at the match to say that 'Jude deserves a prettier girl' like you’re not quite literally the most gorgeous person? It’s completely insane.”

Your stomach twists at the words, hearing them again. You swallow. “It’s not just that, though.”

There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, your gaze fixed on a spot on the wall. “I mean, I’ve looked. At, you know… options.” The admission leaves a strange weight in your chest. “Just small things. Little tweaks. Just enough so people don’t look at me and think...”

You don’t finish the sentence.

Your best friend exhales sharply. “Okay... no. Now, I’m not gonna tell you what to do with your own face, but you don’t need to change a single thing. And you know Jude would lose his mind if he heard you talking like this.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t hear it.” Your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “And he wouldn’t get it anyway, I mean, he's perfect, everyone thinks so.”

She starts to argue, but you barely register it, the words turning to static in your ears. The comment from earlier plays on a loop in your mind, digging under your skin, and settling deep in your chest.

Jude deserves a prettier girl.

You don’t hear the approaching footsteps. You don’t notice the presence in the doorway. You definitely don't notice Jude standing on the other side of the door.

And Jude does hear it. Every single word.

Jude steps into the room, his eyes fixating on the way you’re curled up on the couch, staring out of the window. The soft light of the afternoon sun catches on your face, casting shadows across your face, but there’s something distant in your gaze that he doesn’t miss. He pauses in the doorway, watching for a moment, before stepping forward into the room.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle but filled with concern.

You glance up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just really tired,” You reply, but the words fall flat, Jude doesn't belive you for a second. He’s been around you long enough to know when something’s off.

He steps closer, leaning against the armrest of the couch, his gaze soft.

“You sure? You’ve been kind of quiet since the match,” he adds, sitting down beside you, the space between you now shrinking.

You nod, but your heart isn’t in it. The conversation with your friend earlier still echoes in your mind, a cruel reminder of the words you had tried to push away. They keep coming back, like a bad song on repeat you couldn't get out of your head, and no matter how hard you try to shake them, they won’t stop.

He watches you for a moment longer, then he leans in slightly, his voice lowering. “Is it because of what you heard earlier? About… what you were thinking?”

You stiffen, startled that he knows, even though you hadn’t meant for him to overhear.

You look down, biting your lip.

The words you’ve been holding back finally spill out, though they come out quietly, almost too softly for him to hear. “I… I was talking to my friend about... surgery,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

There’s a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken things, before he shifts closer, closing the gap between you. He reaches out and gently tilts your chin up, his touch like a whisper against your skin.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” he asks, his voice low, the concern in his eyes sharpening, though his tone remains impossibly soft.

You don’t answer at first. The words catch in your throat, and before you can stop it, the tears start to gather in your eyes.

Jude doesn’t wait for you to say anything more. In one swift motion, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid you might break apart. His grip is firm, but tender, like he’s offering you something more than just comfort.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice steady and soothing. “You’re more than enough, alright? More than anyone could ever deserve.”

He holds you like that for a while, the outside world fades away, and at that moment, only you two exist. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat beneath your ear. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to fix it all at once.

He just lets you cry, just holds you.

When the tears start to fade, your insides finally calm, and he pulls back slightly, enough to look into your eyes. His thumb gently brushes away the last of your tears, his gaze filled with nothing but care.

“You don’t ever have to doubt yourself,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Not with me. You’re perfect, just as you are.”

"I love you, and only you. There is no part of you I would ever change. To me, you are the most beautiful thing in the world. Every morning, I look at you and wonder how I got so lucky. And every time I see you in the stands, you push me that little bit more—because knowing you're there means everything. Seeing you like this breaks my heart. My darling, you are absolutely perfect, okay?"

You nod slowly, the ache in your chest easing just a little.

Jude exhales softly, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as he pulls you even closer. His warmth surrounds you, steady and firm, like he’s trying to shield you from every cruel thought lingering in your mind.

“You believe me, yeah?” he murmurs against you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m trying.”

He leans back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Then I’ll keep telling you every day until you do.”

Yeah, you believe him.

[trentsgirl]

— 🤍 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

⟡ summary: you play a prank on your husband by asking him to step out of the room so you can change.

⟡ content(s): pure fluff, jude!dad!husband, quite brief, 400 words at most, so not proofread.

⟡ note: just a little scrabble, hope you enjoy. requests are open.

⟡ playing: idk tbh

⟡ masterlist.

FETCHING THE DRESS FROM THE CLOSET, you spun to face jude, who was sprawled out on the bed with little theo perched on his belly, attempting to wrestle with the buttons on his shirt, but failing miserably.

“babe, what do you think of this?” you inquired, showing off the fancy cocktail dress.

jude’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. he knew he’d be a complete idiot to suggest any other dress. even theo chimed in with a “pretty” comment, clearly a fan of the dress too.

“oh yeah, that’s the one,” jude nodded, his smug grin already giving away his stamp of approval.

with a suppressed smile, you playfully nibbled on your lip before requesting, “would you mind leaving so i could get changed?”

jude’s attention was initially occupied by theo, causing him to miss your question. however, as you repeated it, he snapped out of his daze and looked at you with a puzzled expression.

“what? why?” he raised an eyebrow in confusion.

you shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “no reason, i just prefer not to change in front of you.”

jude’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. had he done something to upset you? did he unknowingly cross a line? after all, you had never shown any hesitation about changing in front of him before. heck, you didn’t even mind walking naked around him .

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he pressed gently, careful not to startle theo with his tone.

once again, you shrugged indifferently. “i don’t know... i just don’t want you watching.”

jude couldn’t help but find this whole situation ridiculous, considering he had seen you naked countless times. nevertheless, if you wanted him to leave, he would comply. but he still wanted to understand why all of a sudden it was an issue for him to watch.

“uh, did i do something wrong?” he asked innocently, giving you those irresistible puppy eyes.

your heart melted, unable to bear witness to his adorable confusion and distress. you sighed, struggling to maintain your composure.

he let out a huff, “come on, love, i witnessed you giving birth. this is nothing compared to that!”

unable to hold it in any longer, you burst into laughter, causing theo to join in with quiet giggles, but still audible enough for both of you.

“i’m just messing with you!” you exclaimed, hint of mockery laced your voice. he responded by rolling his eyes, knowing he should have seen that coming.

“i didn’t expect of you to take it so seriously,” you added, giggling even more, which only annoyed jude further.

clearly, he didn’t appreciate your little prank.

“you’re so mean, you know that?” he retorted, his voice tinged with sarcasm. he glanced down at theo, shaking his head. “your mother is so mean.” he told him, dead serious.

“oh, stop that or he’ll end up believing you,”

“i’m stating nothing but the truth.”

it was your turn to roll your eyes.

[lorarri]

★ . . . 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 , 𝐉𝐁𝟓

summary , the daughter of lewis hamilton and a 3 time f1 world champion life is pretty great especially now that you have found a special someone

pairing , jude bellingham x fem! hamilton! redbull! f1 driver! reader

main masterlist | football masterlist

yourinstagram . 4hrs ago

seen by lewishamilton judebellingham 76,389,589 others

yourinstagram

liked by lewishamilton judebellingham 102,890,199 others

yourinstagram winter break photodump pt. 5

view comments

user my wife is a madrid...I don't know what to do with why self now

user stay away from my wifey mr. hey jude lookin ass

user MR BELLINGHAM WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user it couple is cookin ya'll

user love that mother is living her best life

user bae wake up Y/N posted a winter break photo dump

user OKAY BUT THAT LAST PIC EXCUSE ME?!?!?!

user madam who got you those flowers

user jude better be careful or papa hamilton gonna have his head if he even thinks about trying anything with his daughter

user why am I kinda living from the idea of these two being a couple

user are you dating jude?

user Y/N come home the kids miss you

user 4th wdc pending...

user so we all know who the guy in the last slide is right?

user love my soon to be parents

user the queen soft launching wasn't on my 2024 bingo card

view more comments

TRENTSKI

JUDITH

EXPLAIN YOUR SELF

JUDITH

huh?

RICE RICE BABY

did you really think you could sneek your way into Y/N Hamilton's ig dump and we wouldn't find out?

JUDITH

yes?

SANCHOOOO

SO YOU ADMIT IT

IT IS YOU

MEEK MEALS

glad you finally got together

I was getting sick and tired of you talking about her 24/7

JACK RABBIT

I'm surprised he even got the strength to talk to her

STAR BOY

right?

his brain normally turns to mush when ever her name is mentioned

proud of you bro

JUDITH

thx kyo

I always knew you were a real one

TRENTSKI

damn I see how it is then....

RICE RICE BABY

trents going dark lads

in his sad girl era

PHIL CHEESE STAKE

so wait who knows about you 2 being together?

SANCHOOOO

besides the entire intent after that photo dump?

MEEK MEALS

LMFAOOO

STAR BOY

tell lewis he's the goat

JUDITH

hahah funny

let us have our damatic soft launch

obvi you guys know

the only others that know are max, sebastian, and charles

I'll let lewis know when he figures out I'm dating his daughter this Saturday

JACK RABBIT

mate your fucked

TRENTSKI

DAMN

secret forbbiden romance

didn't know you were built like that jude

MEEK MEALS

what do you mean Lewis fucking Hamilton doesn't know you are dating HIS DAUGHTER

SANCHOOOO

pray for jude guys

these might be his last days with us

STAR BOY

he shall be missed

JACK RABBIT

dw jude I'll delete your search history of you stalking Y/N's ig and twitter

JUDITH

thanks guys...

wiss me luck

TRENTSKI

break a leg

RICE RICE BABY

don't die

MEEK MEALS

good luck

SANCHOOOO

you going to die

STAR BOY

what colour coffin do you want?

I'm thinking bright pink and rinestones

JACK RABBIT

do you need a get away driver?

PHIL CHEESE STAKE

before you die get me and ronnie a hat singed by Y/N and Lewis

JUDITH

I feel so loved rn

yourinstagram . 4hrs ago

seen by lewishamilton maxverstappen1 98,328,479 others

lewishamilton replied to your story!

he's a good lad

but if he hurt's you

winning a trohpy will be the last of his concern

okay dad I'll relay that message to him

good

also don't forget to use projection...

DAD OMG STOP

carlossainz55 replied to your story!

¡HALA MADRID!

maxverstappen1 replied to your story!

Christian is asking if Jude wants to come to the team dinner before the livery launch?

also if he hurts you I will run him over with our matching aston martins

landonorris replied to your story!

what does he smell like?

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: guyssss!!!! ur support means the world, the sun, the moon, the solar system to me like everything!!! some of the comments u leave got me feeling like Y/N fr, big mwahs for u all! I made this part a little longer as an apology for making you wait for so long!

Warnings: more fluff, Trent slowly starting to open up methinks, angst, pressure, high-stress environment, very slow burn

Word Count: 3.1k words (11 mins reading avg)

…

You were seated at your desk, carefully closing the backs of the picture frame. You smiled as you secured the last clip, the image now safely enclosed behind the glass. It was a small comfort, one you could look at during the demanding days.

Before you had the chance to prop it up on your new cabinet, Lee entered with a folder in hand. You left your frame face-down as you stood up, and rounded your desk to greet him.

"Saw your email. Everything okay?"

Lee gave you a quick, apologetic smile as he handed you the folder. "Yeah. Won't be able to make the Man United game this weekend."

He handed you a folder emblazoned with the Man United logo, stuffed with the players' reports.

You raised an eyebrow, more concerned than curious. "That's unlike you. What's come up?"

He leaned against the edge of your desk, folding his arms. "Got to attend a family thing, non-negotiable. But that's not the only reason I'm here."

His tone shifted, more serious now. "I need you to step in and travel with the squad as the on-hand psychologist."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me? But... I mean, I usually handle things from here. Are you sure?"

Lee nodded, his expression firm. "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't. You've been great with some of the boys so far, and they trust you. This game is going to be intense, and they'll need your support. Plus, it's good for them to have some consistency, especially with me out."

It all made sense, but the reality of it hit hard. You’d only been here for two months, barely building trust through a handful of sessions a week. Now, being thrown into the deep end at Old Trafford for an away game just felt like career suicide.

You bit your lip, the weight of the responsibility starting to settle in. The thought of traveling with the team, being there in the thick of it, was both exciting and daunting.

"I don't know, Lee. What if-" Your voice wavered, playing with the corners of the folder in your hand.

"You'll be fine," he interrupted, his tone reassuring. "You're more than capable. And look, I'll only be a phone call away if you need anything."

You hesitated for a moment, the nerves swirling in your stomach. But deep down, you knew this was a chance you couldn't pass up. Lee believed in you and it was inevitable at one point.

"Okay," you finally said, taking a deep breath. "Sure."

Lee's face broke into a wide grin. "Good. I'll let the gaffer know and I'll make sure everything's arranged for you."

You nodded, watching as he left. The thrill of the weekend was tempered by the gnawing anxiety that you weren't ready, that you were diving headfirst into something you couldn't fully control. Sure, some of the boys had warmed up to you but others were still keeping you at arm's length.

You scoffed to yourself, more like just the one. You were walking a fine line with him and the last thing you wanted was to make things worse. In the heat of the moment, a sentence, an expression, a word could tick someone off.

You couldn't continue your train of thoughts, the folder staring up at you, waiting to be opened. With a steadying breath, you took a seat at your desk again and finally opened it, beginning to read through the reports.

...

The squad and staff gathered at the training ground, the usual pre-match energy heightened by the knowledge that today’s destination was Old Trafford.

You stood off to the side, watching the players mill around as they waited for the coaches to arrive, the hum of conversation and laughter blending with the distant noise of fans outside the gates.

You were trying to keep your own nerves in check, running through mental notes on the players, when Curtis sauntered over, a relaxed smile on his face.

“Bit of a madhouse out there." He said, nodding toward the entrance where the sound of chanting fans was growing louder.

“Just a bit,” you replied with a smile, honestly grateful for the distraction.

He chuckled, giving you a once-over. “You look a little tense. First time heading into enemy territory got you rattled?”

You gave him a mock glare, though the truth behind his teasing made you sigh. “Maybe a little. It’s just.. a lot. Big game, and I’m still getting used to being around everyone, let alone on a match day.”

Curtis leaned against the wall beside you, his expression softening. “I get it. But you’ve been solid with us. We’re glad you’re here, even if some of us” - he raised an eyebrow - “aren’t great at showing it.”

You smirked, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

“Trent?”

He grinned. “Nah, Wataru." You nudged his shoulder with your hand, and Curtis pushed himself off of the wall. His attention was directed back to the team as Arne brought everyone together.

"You're gonna smash it, see you in Manny." He flashed you a smile before jogging back over.

You adjusted your backpack currently slung over your shoulder, glancing up but accidentally catching Trent's eye across the large entryway.

He was standing a little apart from the others, his posture relaxed but with an air of deliberate composure. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets, and his usual stoic expression was softened by a hint of curiosity.

His gaze lingered on you longer than usual, more intent and thoughtful.

You offered him a shy smile, unsure of what to expect in return. Almost immediately, his eyes darted away, his expression tightening as he turned his attention back to the team.

A tinge of disappointment settled in your chest, but you didn’t have time to linger on it as the coach pulled into the parking space out front.

“You’ve got this. You’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself, as if it were a mantra, following the backroom staff out of the training ground.

…

The first half had been tightly contested, with neither team managing to score, leaving the game deadlocked at 0-0.

The only real highlight was Trent’s free kick from just outside the box - a powerful shot that flew high, curling away from the goal before soaring over the bar. The away fans held their breath in anticipation, only to exhale in disappointment as the ball missed its mark.

From the sidelines, you watched as Trent’s frustration grew more evident, his usual composure giving way to visible agitation.

Each missed opportunity seemed to fuel his irritation, and it was clear his emotions were beginning to take over.

You sighed as the referee jogged over after a hard tackle. The yellow card was raised high, and Trent’s reaction was a sharp scoff as he walked away, shooting a disdainful side-eye at the player he had just fouled.

The rival fans seized the moment, erupting in cheers and taunts that grew louder and more fervent.

Old Trafford lit up as the referees became hyper-aware of Trent, ready to penalise any further outbursts. Arne’s nervousness was palpable, and the backroom staff were on their feet, counting down to the halfway mark.

Trent was no longer just reacting to the game; he was actively seeking confrontations with the Man United players. His tackles were sharper, his verbal exchanges more heated.

The tension was building to a breaking point, but the halftime whistle blew just in time, bringing a collective sigh of relief from every member of Liverpool’s staff, whether at the training ground or in the stadium.

As you left your seat to head down the tunnel, Trent’s shoulder brushed against yours, his head lowered and skin glistening with sweat.

You noticed Arne watching him closely, his face a mask of concentration and concern, fully aware of how vital Trent was to the team’s strategy - and how disastrous a second yellow card could be.

...

As the halftime break drew to a near close, the tension in the dressing room was palpable. The players sat on the benches, catching their breath and nursing the aches of the first half.

Arne stood at the front, his arms crossed as he delivered his instructions, his tone firm but calm. You could see the focus in their eyes, the determination to turn the game around in the second half.

Just as he'd finished his tactical breakdown, he turned to you, walking over.

"I want you to say a few words," he said, his voice low.

"About?" You asked quietly, unaware of the boys' wandering eyes glancing between the two of you.

"Keeping their heads in the game. Any insights that might help them stay focused and.. you know, ease off the aggression."

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

The players' attention turned to you as you moved to the centre of the room, a mix of curiosity and expectation in their gazes. It was almost comical - this was the first time many of them were hearing you speak in a professional setting.

You cleared your throat, giving a quick glance to the clock hung on the wall.

You took a deep breath and began. “I know we don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. We need to ease off on the aggressiveness." Trent, who had been staring at the floor, lifted his head slightly, his eyes now locked on you.

"We’re here to play our best football, to get the result we want and then move on. Allowing anger is only gonna distract you and hurt our performance. When you feel it bubbling up, just walk away and refocus yourself." You made an effort to connect with each player as you spoke, though deep down, you hoped your words would resonate with one in particular.

"Focus on what you can control - your passing, your tackles, your game.” A smirk tugged at Trent's lips before his head dipped again.

You scanned the room, noticing nods of understanding. “If you see a teammate getting heated, help them out."

Another breath, "push them away from the fight, back off, and concentrate on our tactics, not on the referee’s decisions or the United players. Don’t sulk on what went wrong. Learn from it and move on, yeah?"

Arne gave you a nod of appreciation as you wrapped up your little speech. "Alright, let’s make this second half count," you finished, your voice carrying a tinge of determination.

Virgil clapped twice, rallying the team as they stood and prepared to exit the dressing room. “Let’s go!” As they began filing out, you moved to the side to let them pass.

Trent was among the last to leave.

"Write me up next time," he muttered as he walked by, leaning in just enough for you to hear.

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his lips before darting back up to meet his gaze. Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly composed yourself and responded.

"It was meant for everyone." You lied through your teeth.

He hummed in response, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice. "Sure," he said, not even glancing back as he walked out, leaving you with the undeniable sense that he knew exactly who your speech had been aimed at.

...

In the second half, Trent seemed lighter on his feet, more focused on the tactical aspects of the game and less caught up in the aggression that had marked his earlier play.

Liverpool had eventually secured a hard-fought 0-1 victory, with Salah scoring the winner from a beautifully timed assist by Trent. The away crowds erupted as the ball hit the back of the net, and the energy from that moment carried through until the final whistle.

As you watched him on the pitch, his frustration giving way to calm determination, you couldn’t help but wonder if your halftime words had played a part in that change.

Even a small part, that was more than enough to make you feel like you were on the right track.

The journey back to the training ground was a short one, the adrenaline from the win still buzzing among the team.

But by the time you arrived, the place had already started to empty out, with most of the team and staff having headed home to celebrate or rest.

The win had been sweet, but the quietness that greeted you at the training ground felt like a peaceful end to a very intense day.

You hadn’t intended to stay at the training ground as late as you did after returning, but with Kaia staying over at a friend’s house and the stack of unwritten reports waiting for your attention, you found yourself at your desk again.

The evening had unfolded into an unexpected work spell as you prepared for the upcoming sessions and tackled the never-ending paperwork.

The soft glow from your new office lamp created a cozy pool of light, the only sounds in the quiet room being the occasional rustle of papers and the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Starting to nurse a headache, you rubbed your eyes carefully as to not smudge your makeup.

The words of practising what you preached echoed in your mind, working for hours on end without a break was hardly the advice you’d give to anybody.

So, you eventually pushed away from your desk and decided to step outside your office for a walk.

The halls were quiet and mostly vacant as you strolled, letting your mind drift and find a moment of peace.

You made your way to the large glass windows that stretched across both the first and second floors, providing a panoramic view of the training grounds below.

The evening sky was transitioning into deep blues, with the last hints of daylight fading.

Yet your gaze was drawn to a solitary figure on the pitch, illuminated by the few remaining lights.

It was him.

Even from this distance, his form was unmistakable as he set up a line of balls and readied himself for another round of free kicks. Instantly, you were reminded of earlier - his powerful shot that had soared over the bar.

Seeing him out there, still working hard, your shoulders slumped in realisation.

The scene was almost surreal, marked by the quiet dedication of a player refusing to call it a day.

You stood there in complete silence, taking in the sight as if it were a scene from a film - each deliberate movement and focused effort holding your rapt attention.

It was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. Alone and immersed in his own world, completely absorbed in his craft without a care for the outside distractions.

Deciding to join him, you headed out of the building and towards the pitch. The evening air was crisp, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees.

You crossed your arms over your chest, maintaining a respectful distance as you approached. You hoped your presence would neither startle him nor prompt him to leave.

"Mind if I watch?" You asked, keeping your tone light and casual.

Trent glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned back to the pitch. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but no trace of annoyance.

"Suit yourself, psychologist," he replied, his voice steady. You nodded - guess that was good enough for you.

You watched as he rolled the first ball to his feet, his focus razor-sharp as he stopped it and took a few steps back.

The ball sailed through the air, curving beautifully into the top corner of the net. You couldn’t help but be impressed.

"That was perfect," you said, genuinely admiring his skill.

Trent shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just another shot."

"Give yourself more credit than that. It’s not easy," you countered. "I admire the dedication."

He glanced back at you. “Guess you’d know.”

“Sorry?” You asked, slightly confused.

Another shot.

“The picture in your office. You played once,” he remarked, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

You found yourself wondering when he had been in your office to notice the picture, then it clicked. He'd helped you assemble the cabinet where you later placed it.

He must've spotted it in one of the boxes.

You watched as he set up another ball, and somehow, in a way that only Trent could manage, that shot was even better than the last.

You scoffed lightly, dismissing the comparison. “Nowhere near your level, obviously. But you’re right, I guess I can imagine the passion. The pressure.”

You hoped your words were reaching him, echoing the sentiments he'd talked about in so many of his interviews.

He breathed out slowly. "So why psychology?" He asked, bending over to position the next ball.

"Because mental strength is just as important as physical ability," you explained. "I've seen talented players crumble under pressure, and others rise above it. The difference often comes down to how well they manage their minds."

Trent didn’t respond immediately. He set up another shot, this time, it hit the post with a loud thud.

Frustrated, he sighed.

You picked up the ball as it bounced near you, letting it roll between your hands before walking over to him. Once there, you dropped it to the ground, letting it settle by the side of your foot.

When he looked at you, his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it.

You felt a flutter in your chest, the kind that made your stomach dip slightly. Your fingers curled into your palms, a subconscious effort to ground yourself as the moment stretched on.

“I know I’m just a stranger,” you began gently, your tone careful and steady.

“But I’m not here to push you and you don’t have to share anything with me. I just want you to know that if you ever feel like talking, we can - no titles, just two people who might understand each other.”

You added with a slight smile. “You’ll never know unless you give it a shot.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider something. You would’ve traded anything in to know what was going through his mind at that moment.

But he shook his head, glancing out over the pitch. “I’m good for now.”

“Okay,” you replied, giving the ball a gentle nudge, just enough to pass it to him. With a nod, you stepped back and turned towards the building, heading inside.

Before entering, you turned around, surprised to find him already watching you. “Thanks for hearing me out, yeah?”

You offered him a final smile before disappearing inside.

Trent’s gaze lingered on your retreating figure for a moment longer before he returned to his practice, a slight shift in his expression as he continued his routine.

...

Part 6

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

Taglist: @trentwife @bluebreadenthusiast @julovesurmom @blubsberries @remmysthings @heyjudeb @keepitabuckxx @vivi-grace @hoddystark @hiireadstuff @trentione @missusstark @iamasimpingh0e @xxxstormyninixxx @lolawwww22 @myloveisforbellingham @purpleniight @bffrwme @mss-nthng @miniemonie2001 @severebelearthquake @fireofsoul5 @greasywall @livelovepasta @bigdikzaddy

[gavisimmaculaterizz]

feliz navidad. | JB5

jude bellingham x !fem model reader SMAU

summary: after being spotted with a famous model on a vacation for the holidays, jude bellingham decides to launch his relationship on christmas.. what a gift!

footballdrama.news

footballdrama.news what a shocker! jude bellingham is spotted out in england with famous model, y/n l/n! could they be in some sort of relationship?👀

liked by user432 and 40,000 others

user57 woahhh are they dating?

↳ user89 loll that’s what we r trying to find out

↳ user95 probably, i mean who wouldn’t wanna date y/n

camavinga 👀

↳ user490 WOAHH WHY ARE U HERE CAMA??

↳ user685 you def know something is going on..

y/nnn.l/nn

y/nnn.l/nn it’s gettin’ chilly out here ❄️⛄️🫶🏻

liked by judebellingham and 600,000 others

yourbestfriend con quien estas?😘😉😏 (who are you with)

↳ y/nnn.l/nn ya estas jodiendo conmigo😕🙄 (you're already fucking with me)

user123 who is that mannn???🫣

↳ user093 i think it’s jude bellingham have you seen the pictures?

vogue gorgeous 😍

liked by y/nnn.l/nn

camavinga who is that😂😂

↳ y/nnn.l/nn shut up.

judebellingham posted a story!

y/nnn.l/nn posted a story !

judebellingham

judebellingham christmas with my love <3 y/nnn.l/nn

liked by y/nnn.l/nn and 500,000 others

y/nnn.l/nn love you 💕

↳ judebellingham love you moreee

↳ kmbappe sick lovebirds 🤮

vinijr finally time you posted this, you couldn’t stop bothering me🙄

↳judebellingham stop exposing me

realmadrid felicidades jude 🤜🏻🤛🏻!

footballdrama.news so we were right 😳

↳ user592 guess soo 😨

user259 WHATTTT

user103 treat my y/n right because she needs to look good for the runway 😤

liked by y/nnn.l/nn

a/n: yall this lowkey has no plot and it’s short but whatever i was lowkey bored so i decided to make this😭😭 im on break rn so imma try to make sum more!! don’t hate this is like my first time making a smau soooo😭😭

[formulalfc]

Jude Bellingham+physical touch please 🤞🤍

i feel like he is super possessive over you and it really shines through his physical touch. when you're out together, he has you tucked into his side, arm over your shoulder letting everyone know who you belong to. he always finds a way to stand behind you as well, like he just presses his front up against your back at any chance he gets and wraps his arms around your waist. he's so much taller than you as well and so he just rests his head on top of yours, occasionally leaning down to your ear so he can take the piss out of someone. he is literally a man-child as well, he can only sleep if he is completely laid on top of you. thankfully you don't mind it cause this man literally crushes you with his full body weight.

inbox is open send me some ramble requests <3

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ a stubborn heart; 

                 marcus rashford ────── 

even as his body succumbs to illness, marcus’ pride refuses to let him rest, and it’s driving you to the brink of insanity.

⭑  wordcount : three thousand four hundred twenty-two.

⭑  notes : this felt fitting to post given the alleged reasonings behind his absence in the squad

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Marcus Rashford wasn’t one to admit defeat easily—especially not to something as mundane as the flu. The moment he stepped through the door that evening, the winter’s icy fingers still clinging to him, you noticed the change. His usual confident stride was reduced to a slow shuffle, his shoulders hunched as though bearing an unseen weight. His vibrant, glowing complexion had faded to a ghostly pallor, and the light in his eyes was dimmed.

"Marcus?" you had asked softly, your voice filled with concern.

"I'm just tired." he replied, waving off your worry with a wan smile that failed to reach his eyes.

You had coaxed him into eating something—a simple meal that he picked at without enthusiasm. Every second that passed deepened your concern, each morsel he left untouched amplifying the unease in your chest. Something wasn’t right. You watched head upstairs, his steps heavy and reluctant, his usual energy drained.

Determined, you stayed back, rummaging through the cabinets for medicine, knowing full well that he would be resistant to taking it.

However, as you ascended the stairs with the pills in hand, you found him already asleep, his body curled under the blankets like a child seeking shelter from the world. His lashes rested softly against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted as he breathed evenly. He looked so peaceful, so incredibly endearing in his vulnerability, that your heart clenched with affection.

You approached quietly, not wanting to disturb the serenity of his sleep. The sight of him like this, his guard completely down, made you want to protect him from everything, even the fever that had sapped his strength. You set the medicine on the nightstand, slid under the covers beside him, and gently pulled him into your embrace. His body, warm and pliant, fit perfectly against yours, and you held him close, as if you could give him your strength through every the close contact.

Through the night, the wind howled outside, a mournful, relentless sound that rattled the windows, but you barely noticed. Your thoughts were consumed by the memory of Marcus’s weak smile, the uncharacteristic frailty that had taken over him. Sleep had barely begun to take hold when the sound of a soft whimper yanked you back into wakefulness. You turned on the bedside lamp, the soft glow revealing Marcus, his face etched with discomfort, beads of sweat dotting his forehead like morning dew on grass.

“Marcus?” you whispered, your voice a mixture of worry and tenderness. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He flinched at your touch, his skin sizzling hot beneath your fingers.

His eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. “I’m fine, love,” he croaked, his voice rough, each word a struggle.

You shook your head, concern knitting your brow. “You are not fine.” you said firmly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. “Look at you. You’re burning up.”

You reached for the medicine you had set aside earlier. “Here, take this,” you whispered, helping him sit up slightly to swallow the pills. He grimaced but complied, leaning back against the pillows as you eased him down again.

“No arguments,” you said softly, tucking the blankets around him once more. “You need to rest.”

He sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured.

“Well, you’ve managed to do just that.” you replied with a pout, your voice softening with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As you made your way down, the house was still, the only sound was the soft hum of the heater working to keep the cold at bay. In the kitchen, you moved with efficiency, pulling out a small saucepan to prepare a simple tomato soup. The rhythmic bubbling of the broth was a soothing counterpoint to your racing thoughts. You stirred slowly as the rich aroma filled the air.

Back in the bedroom, Marcus lay where you had left him, his breathing shallow but steady. The sight of him so vulnerable tugged at your heart. Setting the bowl down gently on the nightstand, you sat beside him, brushing a hand over his forehead again.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I made you some soup. Think you can manage a few sips?” You couldn’t help the note of worry that crept into your voice. “I know you barely ate anything earlier.”

His eyes opened, clouded with fatigue but laced with gratitude. “You didn’t have to,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse, each word a strain.

“You’re right, I didn’t have to, but look at you.” you replied with a teasing lilt, lifting a spoonful to his lips. “You’re as stubborn as a mule.”

He groaned softly, the sound both endearing and pitiful. “You’re mean.” he mumbled the childlike insult, but there was no bite to his words. His eyes fluttered closed as you brushed your thumb gently across his cheek.

“Just eat.” you urged, smiling despite yourself.

He opened his mouth, accepting the offering with a small nod. You fed him slowly, each spoonful a small victory, a reminder of the strength that still lingered beneath the surface.

As the night stretched on, you stayed by his side, your touch a constant reassurance. You replaced the cool cloth on his forehead regularly, whispering soft words of comfort into the quiet room. The fever seemed to tighten its grip on him, but you remained his anchor, your presence a soothing balm against the waves of discomfort that washed over him.

Marcus murmured softly, incoherent words that you recognized as little complaints about how awful he felt. He clung to you, seeking solace in your embrace, his body curling against yours in search of comfort.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, drawing soothing circles in to his skin as he eased into your touch. “I’ve got you.”

Eventually, his murmurs faded, his body finally relaxing as sleep claimed him once more. He usually always wanted to look after you, your rock in moments of vulnerability. But tonight, the roles showed you both how important balance was, and it felt so right to care for him, to be his strength when he needed it.

As you watched his peaceful face in the dim light, your own eyes grew heavy. Wrapped around each other, you both drifted off, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

-

The next morning, Marcus looked marginally better, but his attempt to act normal was painfully transparent. The first thing you noticed was the faint rustling of the sheets as he tried to move quietly, the sound subtle but enough to stir you from a light sleep. His movements were sluggish, deliberate, as if each motion required immense effort. He shuffled around the room, pausing intermittently to cough into his elbow, the rasping sound echoing faintly in the otherwise silent morning.

You kept your eyes closed, feigning sleep, but your mind was alert, tracking every labored breath, every pause that punctuated his weak attempts to go about his day as though nothing was wrong. His stubbornness was endearing, infuriating, and deeply worrying all at once.

“Morning, love,” Marcus said softly, his voice rough around the edges, straining to sound chipper. He leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “Go back to sleep. You were up all night taking care of me.”

The corners of your lips twitched in a half-smile as you groaned softly, your arms reaching up to loop around his neck. The warmth of his skin against your fingertips was feverish. “Morning,” you murmured, nuzzling into him, half-asleep. “Stay in bed,” you commanded gently, your voice still thick with sleep. “No training, no meetings—just rest. You need to stay inside all day, or you’ll get worse.”

Marcus’s lips curved into a small, rueful smile, one that you missed as you drifted back to sleep. He knew he should listen, that his body craved the rest you were insisting on, but his mind rebelled against the thought of missing practice. The team needed him, or at least that’s what he convinced himself.

With practiced ease, Marcus waited for your breathing to even out, signaling that sleep had reclaimed you. Carefully, he pried your arms away from his neck, each movement slow and gentle to avoid waking you. His body protested with every step, sluggish and heavy, but he ignored the mounting fatigue and the dull throb of his headache.

The footballer moved toward the wardrobe with a deliberate sluggishness, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for his gear. Dressing was a herculean effort; each piece of clothing felt heavier than it should, as if his body was reminding him with every motion that it needed to rest. His limbs felt encased in lead, the fever making his usually agile movements cumbersome and slow.

As he fastened his jacket, Marcus took a moment to steady himself, leaning against the edge of the dresser. The room swayed slightly, a dizzy spell washing over him, but he shook it off with a determined breath. He couldn’t afford to give in. Not yet.

With a sigh, Marcus grabbed a pen and a small piece of paper, his hand unsteady as he wrote a quick note: ‘At practice, will be home soon. I love you.’ The letters wavered slightly, but the message was clear and heartfelt. He carried the note to the kitchen and placed it on the fridge, securing it with a magnet in a spot he knew you'd see first.

Before heading out, Marcus paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up toward the bedroom. The thought of you resting so peacefully tugged at his heart, filling him with both tenderness and a tinge of guilt for leaving knowing it would upset you.

He lingered for a moment, taking in the stillness of the house, before turning away quietly. As he slipped out the door, he knew the inevitable lecture awaited him when he returned—one filled with worry, love, and your unwavering need to protect him, even from himself.

-

Hours slipped by unnoticed, the quiet of the room thickening around you. It wasn’t until the faint chill of the sheets brushed your fingers that something felt off.

You sat up, the sheets tangled around you, your mind still heavy with the haze of sleep. Something was wrong. It took a moment to register, but then it hit you like a slap—his side of the bed was empty. Completely empty. You reached out instinctively, your hand hovered for a moment, as if the touch could pull him back, but the bed lay still, untouched by his weight.

What the hell?

Your heart started pounding, the panic rising in your chest. No way he went off to the pitch. He was dreadfully ill a couple hours ago—trembling, barely able to breathe, his body a wreck of shivers. There was no way he’d just gotten up and left.

You shot out of bed, your pulse quickening with each passing second. 

Please no, please no.

You called his name, a desperate plea hanging in the air, hoping you were wrong—hoping he hadn’t dragged himself to training. Maybe, just maybe, he was downstairs, sipping on some water, looking for more medicine. Anything but leaving. The thought of him pushing his body further when he could barely stand the night before, made your stomach twist.

You stormed out of the room, frustration boiling over. This man is going to be the death of me ran through your head. You wanted to scream, grab him, shake him, force him to stay still, to let himself heal.

But above all, all you wanted was for him to be okay.

Your gaze shifted toward the kitchen, and there it was—the note, stark against the fridge door. You moved toward it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the words only made you groan in frustration. A mix of exasperation and worry curled in your stomach, the sharp contrast pulling you fully awake.

But Marcus was going to be home much sooner than you expected.

-

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last, when suddenly the sharp ring of your phone sliced through the silence. Your heart skipped a beat as the screen flashed with the name of someone from Manchester United’s medical staff. A wave of dread crept up your spine as you swiped to answer, already bracing for what you feared might be coming.

"Hello?" you answered, forcing your voice to sound steady, though it trembled at the edges.

"Hello, it’s Dr. Harris." the doctor’s calm voice came through, but it did nothing to ease the growing tightness in your chest. "Unfortunately, Marcus showed up to practice looking worse for wear. He could barely manage any of the drills before we decided to pull him. His fever's so high, he’s having trouble staying upright."

Your heart dropped, the worry you’d been suppressing all morning suddenly rushing to the surface. "Can you come pick him up since you’re his emergency contact?" Dr. Harris asked, his tone now laced with urgency.

Before you could respond, you heard the faint shuffle of someone else on the line, and then a new voice—someone from the medical staff—spoke up. "We’ve got him in the recovery room. He’s stable, but he’s worse for wear. Just get here as soon as you can."

You felt the blood drain from your face, a cruel panic gripping you as the pieces fell together. "I’ll be there soon." you said, already moving, your hands shaking as you grabbed your keys. You were furious with Marcus for ignoring everything you’d told him, but that fury felt distant now, overshadowed by the immediate need to reach him, to make sure he was okay.

You rushed to slip on your shoes, the cold air stinging your cheeks as you hurried out the door. The car seemed to drive itself as you tore through the streets, your mind a whirlwind of dread. 

Arriving at the training ground, you rushed toward the medical wing, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and urgency. The sterile scent of antiseptic hit you as you entered, a stark contrast to the usual lively atmosphere of the place. The sight of Marcus slumped in a chair, his normally vibrant skin pale and waxy, sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over you.

He looked up as you approached, his eyes glassy but softening with relief when they met yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmured weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper, the edges frayed with fatigue.

You shook your head, crouching down beside him, your hands instinctively finding his face. He was warm, too warm, the fever still clinging to him. “Marcus…” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you home.”

The ride back started off quiet—mostly because he looked too embarrassed to talk. The footballer sat slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window, the chill of the glass doing little to alleviate the heat radiating from his skin. The silence, however, didn’t last long. You couldn’t help but give him an earful, your concern translating into frustration.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles going white. "You could've spread whatever you’ve got to the whole team—and made someone else sick in the process."

"I didn't want to let the team down," he muttered, his voice thick with congestion, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"Marcus!" you shot back, the frustration clear in your tone, "Your teammates will be just fine without you in a training session. What they need is for you to get healthy, not to push yourself and risk being out even longer."

He sighed heavily, the sound thick with exhaustion. He didn't argue, though. You glanced at him, irritation starting to fade as you took in how miserable he looked. His eyes struggled to stay open, fluttering weakly.

"You’re going straight to bed when we get home," you said firmly, not giving him room for debate.

He nodded, a small, exhausted tilt of his head, but it was clear even that simple gesture took all his energy.

-

Back home, Marcus was worse than ever. His legs wobbled beneath him as you guided him inside, each step a monumental effort. By the time you helped him settle onto the cushions of your shared room, he was leaning heavily against you, his body surrendering to the fever’s relentless grip.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. The touch was tender, meant to soothe, but your words carried the weight of your concern.

He gave you a sheepish smile, one that barely lifted the corners of his lips. “Guess I am,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, each word labored.

You spent the rest of the day doting on him, a steady rhythm of care and devotion. The house was quiet, the only sounds were those of you moving around, fluffing pillows, and coaxing him to drink tea. Every time you pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, he sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut, momentarily free from the fever’s relentless assault.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” he mumbled at one point, his voice thick with gratitude, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“You’d probably be in worse shape.” you teased lightly, earning a quiet chuckle that rumbled from deep within his chest.

As evening rolled around, Marcus was still exhausted but slightly more alert. He shifted on the couch, his tired eyes following you as you moved around the living room, unable to tear his gaze away. Despite his weariness, you adored him, his love for you shining through the haze of his sickness.

“Come here,” he mumbled, holding out his hand toward you, a small, inviting smile gracing his lips. You sat beside him, and he immediately rested his head on your shoulder, his body relaxing against yours.

“Feeling better?” you asked toying with one of his curls.

“A little bit,” he admitted, though his pout told a different story, the downturn of his lips almost childlike in its sincerity. “But you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You laughed softly, the sound gentle and filled with affection. “Marcus, you’re sick.”

“So?” he grumbled, his pout deepening, his eyes glimmering with a mix of frustration and longing.

You sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple, the warmth of his skin brushing against your lips. “There. Happy?”

He groaned dramatically, a sound that was both adorable and pitiful. “That’s not a real kiss,” he complained, leaning in, his eyes locking onto yours with a soft plea. “Why can’t you kiss me on the lips?”

“Because, I’m not trying to catch whatever you’ve got,” you said, pulling away with a teasing smile, your laughter bubbling up despite the situation. “You’ll get all the kisses you want when you’re better.”

He huffed dramatically, the sound exasperated, his pout becoming more pronounced. “You’ve been close to me all day, so it shouldn’t matter,” he argued, though the energy behind his words was more of a soft plea than a genuine complaint.

You responded with a light smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “Nice try, but I’m still not risking it.”

Marcus pouted more, his expression a blend of charm and exasperation, the sight tugging at your heart even as you tried to remain firm. “Fine, kisses when I’m better,” he muttered, snuggling closer to you, his body fitting against yours as though he belonged there. “But I’m holding you to that.”

As the sun deepened, you remained by his side, your presence a constant source of comfort for him. His breathing evened out, the fever beginning to loosen its grip, and as the minutes ticked by, you felt him relax further, his body melting into yours as sleep claimed him once more.

The house was quiet, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence. You sat with Marcus in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, his body warm and heavy with sleep. The weight of his trust and the depth of his love wrapped around you, anchoring you in the moment.

You watched over him, your heart swelling with a profound sense of peace. He was safe, and you were together—that was all that mattered.

© gul4bjamoons 

[didishawn]

Love at First Massage (Jude Bellingham x reader)

Warnings: feet I guess (?)

Masterlist

It was Vinicius who recommended him the place, a nice, unknown, little massage parlour somewhere along the forgotten streets leading up to Plaza Mayor.

The first thing that caught his attention was how empty the place was, a bored looking lady in the reception table checking out her nails as the typical hallway music played on the background.

The sound of his steps got her attention, her eyes didn't widden -probably used to Vini and other players visiting the place-, but he could see recognition on her face as she nodded her head on greeting as he introduces himself, she stood up and leaded him up to the farthest away chair from the windows and told him to wait.

A small chair was next to his chair topped by some magazines, his face visible in one of them, he still couldn't understand spanish, but he guessed they were throwing praises at him for scoring in all La Liga matches since his debut.

"Hi, I am y/n, I am in charge of your massage today"

A voice, your voice, caught his attention, and he was hypnotised from the very first moment, truly believing that he had died and went to heaven.

He tried to greet you back, he truly did, but not a noise came out of his mouth and he missed his opportunity when you arched an eyebrow and got down to work, he was already barefoot, you put some cream in your hands and started.

It were not only, your face and your voice which were angel made, also your hands as Jude could quickly feel the sourness and tiredness slip away and his feet to feel like new.

You were not talkative, or maybe not just with him after he didn't even greet you back.

Jude cleared his throat, yet you didn't look up to him as he scratched his neck and searched for any reason to speak with you.

"Do you watch football?" he wanted to hit himself, why couldn't he think about anything else? You laughed.

"Is that an indirect way of asking whether I know you or don't?" you inquired, looking up to him, a teasing look on your eye "I do know who you are and I do watch football, but maybe my team of choice won't be of your liking, or maybe yes as everyone knows of those tweets of you recognising the real goat"

"I suppose that means you have also seen that school project in which I wrote what my dream team was"

"I did, my brother went crazy calling you an hypocrite for then going to Real Madrid in what he deems a money operation and nothing more"

"He sounds like a real fan"

"Ask Vinicius what happened the last time he came over and my brother just happened to be here. Also tell him he still owes me that money"

"So, you work in this massage parlour and as a side job you do bets with football players for the extra money?"

"Not everyone is offered like a hundred million euros, you do what you have to do, Bellingham"

So, you were beautiful, you were smart, you liked football and you were funny as well as great at massages.

Jude was already down hard, he even thought about purposely injuring himself to come back sooner.

The massage was entirely too short for his liking -it went on for over an hour, you didn't tell him how you were purposely slow to keep on chatting with him.

Turns out, Jude Bellingham wasn't just great at football, but also at mantianimg long conversations and making sure to keep eye contact even while you worked on his feet.

When you finished, Jude almost asked you to keep going, but he didn't want to seem desperate, but he did leave a special note with his phone number written down alongside a generous tip.

He couldn't help but laugh before asking you out on a date, when you sent him a photo of what you had spent your tip on.

You did look good in red and blue, but he bet you would look even better with his last name on your back.

[i9messi]

Stay — Mason Mount

You and Mason are supposed to be just friends but you suddenly kiss each other while both of you are drunk.

Word count — 1k

Warnings — alcohol, being drunk

a/n: should i write a second part? let me know!

mason's masterlist

You and Mason were friends, at least, that’s what you were supposed to be. For the rest of the world things were a little obvious, they could notice the looks you had and the chemistry you had with each other. You were always present at Chelsea games, supporting him, and he was there for you whenever you needed him in your own activities. You knew you could count on each other, always.

You ended up at a party with your friend, where you barely knew any people. You had started drinking a little too much, while Mason stood next to you with a glass of beer.

"Are you sure you should be putting something that shade into your body?"

Mason seemed skeptical of the neon color of the drink and you laughed, already feeling the effects of the drinks you had before. You approached him and put your head on his shoulder.

"I’m okay, sir. You should have more fun, you can go with your other friends if you want. There is no need to babysit me." At that point you were dragging the words.

"I'm not babysitting you, I'm having fun here."

It didn’t take Mason long to follow your steps, after a while you both laughed at anything and found it hard to stay standing casually. He was drunk too. You loved him so much that it was hard to pretend that man didn’t make you feel anything.

"Is it the alcohol or are your eyes always this pretty? You’re so handsome, Mase."

Mason smiled and you knew there was no turning back, you were openly flirting with him.

"Y'know wha- I’ve alway thought you were the prettiest person around. You’re really stunning, beautiful and gorgewous."

Seeing Mason drunk was like seeing Mason acting like a baby, his eyes were brighter and he was yelling at you, thinking you couldn't hear him. Not forgetting to mention that he hadn’t been able to say gorgeous properly. By that time, everyone within a few feet of you had heard what he had told you. You laughed and you couldn’t stop, Mason just started laughing too and complained that his belly hurt as a result of it.

Knowing that Mason thought you were pretty was a lot more than you could handle, you were one shot away from telling him the whole truth. You wanted him to be yours, like more than a friend.

"You’re being mean." He complained when you told him he was a baby and left you a kiss on the cheek.

"And you’re acting dumb."

"But you still love me if I’m dumb?"

"Dumb and all, I love you, Mase."

A group of people came up to Mason to talk to him, and as he presented himself to the so-called Chelsea fans, you grabbed another drink and drank it like water. That gave you even more courage.

"Hey, do you wanna play a game?" a stranger asked you two and you agreed.

You started playing ping pong with those strangers and ended up winning, making you celebrate and run to hug your friend. You didn’t know how it happened and where the idea came from, but in your way of celebrating the victory you got close to Mason and you suddenly kissed him on the lips. Mason was stunned, watching you walk away from him and acting like you hadn’t kissed him moments before.

Well, you were a little embarrassed but happy at the same time.

It was the first kiss, the first time you had kissed each other and he liked it too much. Mason was so happy that you kissed him, that he started smiling and brought his hands to his cheeks, unable to contain the emotion and smiles. He was so in love with you that at any moment he was able to confess his feelings. He was a drunk whose best friend had kissed his lips.

"Did you just kiss me?" he asked, still smiling.

"I need to pee!"

As much as you felt more confident with liquid reinforcement, also called alcohol, a little voice in your head kept reminding you that you were best friends. However, Mason was already imagining the ways in which he could tell you that you were the love of his life. Maybe he was the drunkest and clingy of the two.

When you came back from the bathroom, of course, backed by the footballer like a bodyguard, Mason started hugging you and leaving kisses on your cheeks.

"I love you, I really love you."

"I didn’t know you were a clingy drunk." you admitted, feeling your heartbeat.

"I’m not." Mason fended off your accusation, stumbling at his own feet.

However, when you came home in an Uber, he pushed you in because he said it was too late for you to go home alone. According to your friend, the best thing was to stay in the same house and take care of each other while you were in that state. You walked him to bed, because he could barely stand and needed you. Mason lay down and closed his eyes, while you went to get water in the fridge and then lay down on the couch.

You weren’t even lying alone on the couch for two minutes, you felt someone approaching you. Mason tried to make room on the couch but as he was very tall, he didn’t fit too well. You looked at him with a smile and hugged him, reducing the distance between you two, a little because you were going to give him space in the coach and a little because you wanted to keep him close.

"I want to stay with you all my life, at least tonight." Mason told you.

"Fine, clingy."

"I’m not... well, just a bit. I’m clingy because I love you."

You took his statement as if it was just something friends said, not knowing that Mason loved you much more than as friend.

It was going to be fun when tomorrow morning both realized about the kiss.

[norrisainz33]

Seeing Doubles - GR63

☆ summary: George Russell attends Wimbledon and meets the tennis it girl, Y/N

☆ pairing: gr63 x reader

☆ fc: none

☆ warnings: none

୨୧┈୨୧

liked by landonorris, y/nuser, mercedesamgf1 and 543,322 others

georgerussell63: always a pleasure watching tennis 🎾 Congrats to y/n on your first of many wins at Wimbledon!

view all 1,234 comments

user12: Y/N AND GEORGE CROSS OVER?! dreams do come true

user10: who is y/n

user12: only one of the best women’s tennis players in the WORLD! don’t disrespect my mother like that

user10: my bad @.user12

user2: BARK BARK BARK

user3: Prince of England 👑

landonorris: omg! I think i saw you there! *liked by georgerussell63

mercedesamgf1: that’s our driver 😍

user4: ok toto

liked by serenawilliams, georgerussell63, wimbledon, and 143,630 others

y/nuser: dreams do come true 🤍

view all 546 comments

user12: CONGRATS QUEEN

Wimbledon: Congratulations Y/N!

Adidas: Congrats y/n/n!

user13: peep george in the likes. what’s he doing here

user14: omg do you think they’re dating?

user16: chilllll they just met!

user12: MAMA Y PAPA

user16: alright @.user12 let’s get you to bed

georgerussell63: congrats y/n! impressive performance! 🎾🍓

y/nuser: thank you george! was wonderful meeting you 🏎️🍓

user12: AHHHHHHHH

f1gossip: GR63 seen leaving posh restaurant in London with Y/N Y/L/N after their supposed meeting at Wimbledon earlier in the week. New WAG alert?

view all 102 comments

user34: omg first date vibes??

user17: Y/N would make the best WAG trust

user40: she’s just using him for his fame smh

user17: be so serious rn she just won wimbledon she has no need for his “fame”

user12: they are going to get together just you wait

user14: i just hope she makes our Georgie happy

y/nuser posted to their story

view story replies:

y/bff: GIRL WHO IS THIS

y/n: heheh i’ll never tell 🤭

y/bff: DONT TELL ME ITS THE VROOM VROOM GUY

user12: LOOKS LIKE GEORGE TO ME

user14: GEORGEY/N SUPREMACY

user19: please give me one chance i beg

georgerussell63: no need to be nervous gorgeous 😉

y/n: such a charmer

georgerussell63: only for you

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, maxverstappen1, mercedesamgf1 and 51,436 others

y/nuser: alright guys - i get the hype now. thanks to mercedes for having me!

view all 867 comments

user13: tennis x f1 crossover! my favorite fr

mercedesamgf1: it was a pleasure having you y/n! You are welcome back any time 💙

y/nuser: i’ll definitely take you up on that 😉

landonorris: noooo come to mclaren instead

alex_albon: no williams

lilymhe: what alex said

y/nuser: @.lilymhe: ok fine maybe ill stop by the williams garage but only for you

lilymhe: YAY 💙

georgerussell63: @.alex_albon mate you’re supposed to be helping me seal the deal not steal her comment has been deleted by user

user54: DID ANYONE JUSY SEE GEORGES COMMENT

user67: WE SAW YOUR COMMENT GEORGE liked by y/nuser

user67: OMG Y/N LIKED. u a real one for that girly

liked by lewishamilton, y/nuser, y/bff/user, mercedesamgf1, and 650,150 others

georgerussell63: an unforgettable weekend! i am so proud of this team - thank you for everything. Now on to summer break ☀️

view all 1,456 comments

user19: CONGRATS GEORGIE

landonorris: had a good luck charm with ya this weekend huh? congrats mate

user18: lando what do you know

user12: he’s def talking about y/n

mercedesamgf1: congratulations George!

y/nuser: congrats george!

georgerussell63: thanks y/n! glad you were able to watch me win at your first race 😉

user22: oh he shooting his shot fr

user26: did yall see the shot of her smiling up at him while he was on the podium 😭

georgerussell63 added to their story

view story replies

alex_albon: so you got the girl or what?

georgerussell63: i don’t kiss and tell

alex_albon: yes you yabba dabba do

georgerussell63: 😔

georgerussell63: i did get the girl tho 🤭

y/nuser added to their story

view story replies

y/bff: you’re with him aren’t you

y/n: yes 🤍

y/bff: i can’t believe i lost my wife

y/n: you’ll always have me bb girl

georgerussell63: pic creds when

y/n: shhh this was the softest of soft launches

୨୧┈୨୧

☆ a/n: this is my first ever smau so please be nice!! had a lot of fun writing this. I was inspired by george's wimbledon fit today. likes and reblogs appreciated 🧡

☆ part 2 is definitely going to happen so stay tuned!!

୨୧┈୨୧

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[trentsgirl]

JUDE BELLINGHAM x fem!reader

synopsis: i have a request 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️ imagine reader and jude fighting and him leaving for training in the middle of the fight, then he comes back in the evening and reader is crying because her childhood dog died :( so he comforts her and all that cute fluffy stuff🥰 if you’re not comfortable writing this i totally understand ofc, i hope you have a great day my love

author note: thank you so much for the request. i apologize that it took me so long to publish, i had to take a break a bit. but i’m for now 🫶

playing: felt good about you by gracie abrams.

masterlist.

“YOURE IMPOSSIBLE, JUDE,” YOU SAY, your voice sharp as you fold your arms across your chest.

“yeah? and you’re overreacting, as always,” jude shoots back, standing in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. his tone is clipped, his dark eyes narrowed, and you can tell he’s trying to hold back more biting words.

“i’m overreacting?” you repeat, incredulous. “you’re the one who started this!”

jude lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “i don’t have time for this. i’m already late for training.”

“oh, so now it’s my fault you can’t manage your time?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he stares at you. you know he’s debating whether to argue further or just walk out. he glances at his phone and groans under his breath. “we’ll talk later,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before you can respond, he’s out the door, the sound of it shutting behind him echoing in your chest. you stand there, fuming, replaying the argument in your head and stewing in the frustration he left behind.

you don’t even remember what started the fight—something small, something stupid—but it escalated in the way that only arguments between two stubborn people can. now, you’re alone in the quiet apartment, the silence feeling louder than anything.

you sigh, grabbing your phone and collapsing onto the couch. you scroll mindlessly, hoping the distraction will help you cool down, but it doesn’t last long.

then your phone rings. it’s your mom.

“hey mam,” you answer, your voice still tinged with irritation from earlier.

“sweetheart…” your mam’s voice is soft, hesitant. that tone immediately puts you on edge.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

there’s a pause, and then she says it. “tux passed away this afternoon.”

you freeze. the words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. “what?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“he… he was old, honey. it was his time. he went peacefully, but i know how much he meant to you.”

you don’t hear much of what she says after that. the memories flood your mind—tux as a kitten, chasing your shoelaces, curling up on your lap during rainy days, purring so loud it felt like he was trying to comfort you. he’d been your companion through so much, and now he was gone.

tears spill down your cheeks before you even realize it. you manage to mumble a shaky goodbye to your mom before hanging up and curling into yourself on the couch, sobbing quietly into a throw pillow.

when jude comes home two hours later, you don’t even hear the door open. you’re in the bedroom now, curled up in bed with the lights dimmed, your tears soaking into the pillow.

“baby?” His voice carries through the apartment, but you don’t respond. “y/n?”

he steps into the bedroom a moment later, and his expression softens immediately when he sees you. “hey…” His gym bag drops to the floor as he crosses the room. “what’s going on? love, i’m sorry about the argument. i never meant—”

you shake your head, not trusting your voice to answer.

jude doesn’t hesitate. he sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the hair from your face. “talk to me,” he pleads, his voice lower now, filled with concern.

your lip trembles as you finally manage to get the words out. “tux… he died.”

the weight of your grief is palpable in the air between you, and jude doesn’t say anything for a moment. he just leans in, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. his embrace is warm, steady, and exactly what you need.

“i’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “i know how much you loved him.”

you cling to him, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie as you let yourself cry. he holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

after a while, your sobs begin to subside, and jude pulls back just enough to look at you. “have you eaten?”

you shake your head.

“okay,” he says gently. “stay here. i’ll be right back.”

he disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, the faint hum of the microwave, and the clinking of dishes. when he returns, he’s holding a tray with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, a bowl of popcorn, and a small plate of cookies.

jude sets the tray on the nightstand before sitting down beside you again. “here you go, love,” he says, handing you the mug first.

the warmth of it seeps into your hands, and you take a small sip. it’s sweet and comforting, the perfect antidote to the heaviness in your chest. “thank you,” you whisper.

jude smiles softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. “anything for you.”

he waits until you’re finished drinking, then helps you settle back against the pillows, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“remember when you showed me that picture of tux wearing that ridiculous santa hat?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

you manage a small laugh, the memory of tux glaring at you with the little red hat perched crookedly on his head flashing through your mind. “he hated that thing.”

“but he put up with it for you,” jude says, smiling. “that cat loved you so much.”

you nod, your chest tightening again, but this time the tears that fall feel a little less heavy.

jude pulls you closer against him. his fingers find their way into your hair, gently combing through the strands as he places soft kisses on your temple and cheek every few minutes.

and as you lie there in his arms, the ache in your chest begins to feel just a little bit lighter.

[pitchsidestories]

look at us now II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | part two I word count: 2689

summary: former lovers reunite at Arsenal.

author's note: hi, our first Renée Slegers fanfic, let us know your thoughts on it. As always this is purely fiction, enjoy. 🤍❤️

image sources

 “So, you hired another assistant coach without telling me?”, Renée asked incredulously, well aware that except for her, the room was full of very important looking men.

One of them nodded sternly: “You needed another one. We made the decision for you.”

Renée closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to protest. She was Arsenals new head coach after all.

With forced calmness, she asked: “Who is it?”

“You know her already.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She opened her mouth in order to ask what that was about to mean when you finally made your appearance. You had waited all morning in anticipation to surprise your former teammate with your presence.

“Hello Renée.”, you greeted her as you walked into the room.

Recognition flashed across her face, followed by genuine excitement. She got up from her chair, beaming: “You!”

Before you knew what was happening, she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a way too tight hug.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t strangle me, please! That would be sad first last workday at the Arsenal.”, you laughed.

“You’re so stupid! I missed you so much.”, Renée giggled but finally let go of you.

For a second, you stood there and took each other in and it almost felt like nothing had changed since you played together in Sweden.

“I missed you too but now every player and staff member are staring at us which is kind of awkward.”, you admitted, nodding towards the door where the first pairs of eyes tried to figure out who the newest addition to the team was.

“They’re just curious about you. Let me introduce you.”, Renée suggested, leading you out of the conference room.

You followed patiently.

“Renée, who’s that girl you almost couldn’t let go of?”, Beth asked, blinking innocently at you.

“That’s y/n. She’s the new assistant coach and we used to play together for Linköpings.”, Renée explained. You didn’t miss the slight hint of pride in her voice.

Your eyes found another Swede between the players.

“Actually, I played with Stina too.”, you added.

The striker smiled at you: “Good to see you again.”

“You too. And I can’t wait to get to know each of you.”, you said towards the crowd.

Renée turned to you: “You will love them.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Suddenly, your hand was in Renées as she dragged with her towards the football pitches. You could still feel the eyes of your new players on you as you followed Renée.

The eyes of Stina's teammates were expectantly drawn to her once the two of you had left the room.

An edgy laugh escaped the blonde’s lips: “What? Why are you all looking at me now?”

“Tell us!”, Beth commanded grinning.

The Swedish striker began to play nervously with her blonde hair: “Well what do you want to know?”

“About our new staff member and Renée of course!”, Leah replied thrilled.

Using the same excited tone as her, Beth added: “Obviously.”

“Not if she was a good baller or had a good sense and understanding of the game.”, Stinas eyes flashed in amusement.

“Actually.”, threw Kim in who was unlike the rest of the players indeed interested in that side of you.

The England captain clicked her tongue disapprovingly: “No, Kim.”

“We want the tea, Stina.”, Alessia told her.

She paused dramatically, during which everyone held their breath tensely, before admitting:” Yeah, they used to date.”

“When they were players or did, they continue to date once she became the head coach?”, Leah asked the forward curiously.

Stina cleared her throat and answered in a serious voice: “They ended it once Renée retired and took the coaching job in Rosengård.”

After this revelation the room fell silent for a second before Beth concluded with a heavy sigh:” Oh, that’s sad.”

“They seemed okay with it.”, the Swedish striker remarked.

Meanwhile Renée and you were walking along the training pitches, it was a cold day, but the golden afternoon sun warmed your faces. It was where you heard yourself say: “I’m glad that you don’t seem to mind that I took the job, Renée. Considering how things have ended between us in Malmö.”

“We mutually agreed to end this relationship.”, the Arsenal head coach remembered, while the smile disappeared from her face.

“True, it was the best solution at that time.”, you nodded.

Slowly, as the sunlight disappeared, the warmth returned to Renee's dark eyes, confessing:” I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Same. Nothing more.”, you agreed.

“That’s good.”, she observed.

At the end of your tour, you wished her goodbye:” So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”, Renée waved at you, her gaze following you until you were gone.

With a heavy heart the Dutch woman reminisced about all the wins and losses you had shared together in Sweden until her career ending injury put an end to it. Like a disco ball, Renée had put the shards that had caused the separation into each other to turn the pain into something bright.

She was content with her work, so love life wasn't a big issue until you came back into her life and made her wonder if maybe she should expect more from life.

The next day, you entered the training ground in a cheerful mood. “Good morning, Stina!”, you greeted your former teammate warmly.

“Morning.”, Stina beamed brightly back at you.

There was no time for small talk as Kelly Smith approached you: “Y/n?”

“Yes?”, you asked surprised. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe that you were working with her. Not only was she a legendary player for England but also for the whole of womens football.

She still smiled politely at you: “I think Renée is looking for you.”

You nodded once: “I’m coming.”

Renée was already on the pitch, one foot on a ball and her arms folded over her chest as she waited for the players to arrive.

You caught her eye from the other side of the field and smiled at her.

For a split second, Renée lost her balance on the ball, stumbling forward but catching herself quickly.

It all went by so fast, you had no time to worry about her.

“You’re good?”, you called out to her, teasing.

You had the feeling that somewhere behind you, Kelly was holding back laughter.

Renées cheeks had turned a slightly darker colour: “Yeah, of course.”

“Kelly said you wanted to see me?”, you said as you finally crossed the pitch.

“I do.”

You leaned forward, whispering: “I saw the dinner invitation in the locker room.”

The corners of Renées mouth quirked up: “Good. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Will Kelly and the boys join us too?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Somehow your brain stopped working in that exact moment. You weren’t prepared for you and her. You had been thinking of nice little staff dinner where you had the opportunity to get to know everyone better. Being alone with Renée made your heart race a little.

Hesitantly, you accepted the invitation: “Alright… I guess I’ll go back to work.”

“Okay.”, Renée nodded.

Luckily, the players entered the pitch at that moment.

Beth who had caught the end of your conversation, stared at Renée with hopeful eyes: “Is that a date?”

“No.”, the head coach replied matter-of-factly.

Victoria elbowed Beth in the side: “Stop seeing things, Beffy.”

“I don’t”, the winger protested.

Kim rolled her eyes: “Yes, you do. You’re delusional.”

“You will see.”, Beth said full of confidence before Renée sent them to warm up.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself in a tiny but charming restaurant that night.

“The dinner is so delicious, Renée.”, you said, taking a sip of your wine.

She smiled at you almost shyly: “Glad you like it.”

“Next time we should bring the whole team and staff here.”

Her face turned a bit more serious: “Yes, we should. But first I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“About something specific?”

“No, just to catch up.”, Renée explained whose cheeks were slightly reddish in colour, you weren’t sure whether it was the wine or her nervousness. 

Instead of looking into her curious dark chocolate brown eyes, you stared at the wine glass in front of you as you confessing: ”I left Sweden because I needed a change.”

“A change?”, she repeated your words in a sincerely interested tone.

For a moment, you paused while the waitress lit the candle in the centre of the table, the flickering light made the conversation even more intimate: “To heal from heartbreak. What about you? What did I miss?”

“Not much. I tried to focus on football after leaving Rosengård.“, the football coach admitted casually. Whilst Renée undid her low hair bun so that her dark brown hair fell in waves over her shoulders.

With an amused smile on your lips, you remarked in disbelief:” That doesn’t sound like the fun Renée I knew from Linköping.”

Memories of her with a big cigar in her mouth and a ridiculous hat after winning the Swedish league came to your mind.

“Hey, I’m still fun.”, protested the Dutch woman, pointing her fork at you.

You cleared your throat and replied more seriously:” Yes, the players seem to think that too.”

“I take that as a compliment.”, she responded happily.

“You should, they’re really great to work with so far.”, you acknowledged.

Her radiant grin was infectious:” I think they like you too.”

“Only Beth is a bit annoying with..”, you began, thinking about the huge interest the English striker had in your private lives.

Renée waved your worries off:” Yes, I know. But that’s just how she’s, she only has good intentions.”

“I guess that’s true. I mean would be crazy if you still would have -.. , right?”, you started to ramble.  

She lifted an eyebrow at you: “Would have what?”

“Feelings after a mutual breakup.”, you finished your previous sentence flustered.

The brunette spoke your name gently.

“Yes?”, you glanced at her expectantly.

Fiercely and passionately, Renée continued: “Of course I do. I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t have feelings for you anymore, I broke up with you because I suddenly was your coach, and it was wrong to date a player.”

Afterwards, there was a dramatic silence at the table. “Well, I’m not a player anymore.”, you said matter-of-factly.

“I’m aware of that.”, she answered with a wistful smile.

Slightly sheepishly, you asked her:” Was that why you wanted a dinner with me alone first?”

“To see if we could get back together? No. I wanted to know how you’re, what you’ve been up to?”, the football coach tried to be professional again.

“Now you know.”

“I do.”, Renée confirmed, playing with the idea to order some dessert for both of you as it was a speciality of this restaurant.

Much to her disappointment though, you stood up:” Thank you for the dinner, it was a nice catching up.”

“Yes, I agree.”, the brunette waved at the waitress, signalling that she was ready to pay for the two of you.

The first game of the year and also the first game in your new job was against Crystal Palace a few days later. To your delight, the girls played great, winning the game 5:0 and building their confidence in this first game.

“Great win, girls.”, you clapped your hands as the referee blew the final whistle.

Renée appeared on your side.

“That’s exactly what we wanted to see.”, she agreed.

“Oh yes, well done everyone.”, you smiled and handed out water bottles to the players. They high-fived you, done but happy while Renée said a few words to the players.

Happily you watched as the players rightfully celebrated their win until an elbow to your side made you look up.

Renée was grinning at you: “Good job from you too.”

“From me? I didn’t do much yet.”, you said, feeling heat rise into your cheeks.

“You did everything I expect from my assistant coach. Arsenal made the right decision, we’re a good team.”, Renée said softly.

You nodded, smiling gently at her: “Yes, we are.”

“Come on, let the girls celebrate.”, Renée said, nodding in the direction of the sidelines so your players could have the pitch to themselves.

You didn’t follow immediately. Instead, you pointed to a few reporters that stood on the side, waiting for their first interviews. “The media already calls for you.”

“On my way.”, Renée winked and disappeared into the direction of the cameras.

Just when you were wondering when exactly she became so comfortable giving interviews, Leah stepped into your field of vision.

“Leah? Shouldn’t you celebrate with your teammates?”, you asked jokingly.

She shrugged with a smile: “I was about to. It’s not everyday that you score a goal as a defender.”

“I know. That’s why you need to enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”, you laughed.

Leah pushed you gently towards the rest of the team: “Celebrate with us!”

There was no way you could decline now, so you agreed and followed along: “Alright.”

A few minutes of jumping and hugging several players later, Renée found you on the pitch again.

Her eyes glowed with amusement: “Did they manage to get you to celebrate with them?”

“I couldn’t say no to that.”, you admitted

“Of course not.”, Renée laughed.

“See?”

She winked at you: “Enjoy your first win.”

You toasted to her with a random water bottle that somehow had ended up in your hand: “To many more wins.”

“Yes, please.”, she laughed.

“Y/n! Come with us!”, Beth interrupted your conversation and waved you over.

“Where are we going?”, you asked.

“It’s a surprise.”, Mariona replied instead of Beth, smiling excitedly.

It was already night when you got home and when you saw Renée's number light up on your mobile phone, you held your breath for a moment, although you didn't know exactly why.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”, she apologized quietly as you answered her call.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips: “No, I was still awake, the Arsenal players can stay in pubs forever let me tell you that.

“Oh, I know, they did that to me too once.”, the Dutch woman remembered fondly.

“Kim and I left at the same time.” Teasingly you added:” So did you call me because you have come up with a masterplan against Chelsea or is it something else?”

“It’s something else. There’s something I need to talk about with you”, Renée admitted.

Your heart began to race: “Sure.”

“I kind of miss what we had back when.”, the head coach confessed.

The moment she said that you caught yourself reminiscing about memories of the past “Me too. We had some good parties with the team back then too.”

“Y/n.. I meant us. You and me.”, Renée clarified.

You felt the hope rise in you: “Do you think we could start again?”

“I don’t know, would you even like that? Or would you rather want to keep it professional.”, she began to nervously ramble.

You had heard yourself thinking out loud: “Pretty sure both can work this time.”

“Yes, but I want to know what you want.”

“I want to be with you. Renée, you’re an idiot, why are you standing outside in the cold?!”, you whispered into the phone, your eyes wandering off to the window where you noticed her in flesh and blood under the golden glow of the streetlamp light.

“In case that you say yes. What did you expect me to do? Go back to bed?”, Renée questioned with a warm laugh.  

Soon you got up to go to the front door: “Wait, I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks.”, she replied relived.

“You look like you’re freezing, come inside.”, you observed while you let her inside.

The brunette thanked you once more, kissing you, her icy lips melting on yours as the door closed behind the two of you.

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟔

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: 700 followers is insaneeee and sm more than i acc thought id ever get so thank you so much! f1 and/or football fans, i love u all so much ugh ALSO if ur wondering why this chapter is longer than my lifespan it’s bcos u guys deserve it for being so patient and accept it as my dearest apology xxx

Warnings: a lot of fluff actually, casual banter, a lot of coffee mentions for some fkn reason lmfao, swearing probably

Word Count: 4.9k words (18 mins reading avg)

...

You push open the door to the training pitch, the cool breeze brushing against your face as you step outside, searching for Wataru.

The headache that’s been plaguing you all morning tightens its grip, and the fresh scent of the grass seems almost too intense. You rub your forehead, trying to ease the tension while scanning the field.

Across the pitch, Trent catches your eye, his movements fluid and graceful as he makes a pass. The ball connects with his boot in a way that’s almost poetic, the sound sharp and precise.

What usually feels like music to your ears now drives another spike of pain through your already throbbing head. You wince, pressing your fingers more firmly against your temples.

Finally, you spot Wataru near the edge of the pitch, zipping up his jacket while observing the players. As you approach, he looks up, concern immediately crossing his face as he takes in your weary appearance.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greets, his voice laced with worry. “Rough start?”

You manage a tired smile that feels more like a grimace. “Yeah, not the best morning. Overslept, skipped breakfast, and now this headache won’t quit.”

Wataru nods, his concern deepening. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. We can cancel if you need.”

Leaning against the wall beside him, you try to relieve some of the pressure on your aching body. “Thanks, but I’ll be alright. Just.. not exactly firing on all cylinders this morning.”

A quiet settles over you as you both watch the players go through their drills.

Trent sends a perfect cross into the box, and you can’t help but remark, “at least someone’s got their energy today.”

The usual lively atmosphere - the rhythmic thud of the ball, the shouts of encouragement, the bursts of laughter - feels like an assault on your senses. Each kick sends another ripple of pain through your skull, deepening the throbbing.

Wataru notices the way your shoulders tense with each sharp noise and is about to speak when you take a deep breath, pushing off the wall and forcing steadiness into your voice.

“I’ll be upstairs,” you say softly. “When you’re ready to start, just let me know.”

He nods, understanding clear in his eyes. “Take your time, Y/N. No rush.”

You offer a grateful smile before turning to head back inside. Each step is a conscious effort to stay composed. The quiet of the training centre seems more inviting than ever, a much-needed refuge from the relentless pounding in your head.

...

"Long night?" Trent remarked as he spotted Wataru holding two cups of coffee. His brows furrowed in mild surprise, though his tone remained light as he gestured toward the cups.

Wataru chuckled and shook his head. “Not for me. One of these is for Y/N.”

Trent’s expression shifted slightly, his brows relaxing as he nodded. “Oh.”

“She mentioned she skipped breakfast,” Wataru explained, “so I thought coffee might help.”

Trent glanced at the black coffee in Wataru’s hand, steam rising from the cup. His face remained neutral, but there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips before he spoke again.

“She doesn’t drink it black,” Trent said matter-of-factly.

Wataru blinked in surprise, glancing down at one of the cups. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Trent replied, trying to sound casual. He looked away, his voice quiet but with a slight edge.

“You might want to add some milk and a bit of sweetener. I’ve never seen her drink it.. like that.”

“Ah, thanks,” Wataru said, giving him a nod as the coffee machine hummed in the background.

Trent responded with a curt nod of his own, the awkwardness of the moment settling over him.

As he waited for the machine to finish, he rubbed the back of his neck, obviously trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that’d crept up on him.

Finally, he poured himself a cup, his movements deliberate but distracted.

He never assumed he knew your coffee preferences, but the fact that he actually did only disturbed him.

Wataru exited the canteen, but Trent remained standing in his place, staring down at his cup. The liquid swirling as he gave it a half-hearted stir, his mind lost in thought.

He’d been trying to keep his distance from you, aiming to stay focused on his own routines. You were just another face at the training centre, someone there to do a job like everyone else.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

So why had he noticed how you took your coffee? Why did it matter to him?

The thought nagged at him, making him feel off balance. He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like that he was starting to notice these little things about you, almost as if he was beginning to care. It made him feel uneasy, like he was losing his grip on the boundaries he’d set for himself.

He shook his head, wiping the bottom of the spoon on the rim of his cup before setting it down on the tray.

The nagging sensation in his chest made him feel vulnerable, and Trent Alexander-Arnold wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable. He was supposed to be focused, dedicated, with his head in the game and his heart firmly off the field.

He took a sip of his coffee, the bitter taste barely registering as he tried to shake off the uncomfortable thought.

The truth was, he’d been noticing you for a while now.

The way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the determination with which you threw yourself into your work - it was hard to ignore.

And he’d been trying to push those thoughts away, shoving them into the back of his mind where they couldn’t distract him.

But every now and then, they crept back in, uninvited and unwelcome.

He let out a deep breath and finally decided to move. He followed the same route Wataru had taken just a few minutes earlier.

As he stepped out of the canteen, he saw his teammate engaged in conversation with one of the backroom staff, overhearing snatches of words like "reschedule" and "now."

His attention drifted as he passed by, noticing Ibou absorbed in what looked like cricket highlights playing on the TV. Yet his mind was still clouded, so much so that he barely noticed when his name was called.

“Trent!” The voice cut through the haze, pulling him back to the present. He turned to see Wataru waving him over, his expression a mix of urgency and apology.

He hesitated for a moment before walking over, his footsteps heavy. “What’s up?” He asked, aiming to sound casual.

Wataru glanced at the staff member, then back at him. “I’ve got to go see Arne,” he said, his voice low. “Can you do me a favour?”

Trent raised an eyebrow, half-expecting to be asked to cover a training session or run an errand. “Depends,” he said slowly.

He saw Wataru’s gaze shift to the coffee cups in his hands, and he felt his stomach sink. A chorus of silent ‘no no no’s’ echoed in his mind, ignored by whatever higher powers may've been listening.

Wataru hesitated for a moment, a conflicted look on his face, before finally holding one of the cups out to him. “Do you mind taking this up to Y/N for me?”

Trent hesitated, frowning. “Can’t someone else do it?”

The faces of the two men standing opposite him twisted into mild confusion, as if that was the last response they expected.

"It won’t take you long."

His eyes flickered over. He clenched his jaw, not wanting to get involved. The last thing he needed was to play delivery boy, especially for you.

He was about to refuse again when he saw the concern in Wataru’s eyes. With a resigned sigh, he took the cup.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Wataru’s face broke into a grateful but meek smile. He hurried off, leaving Trent to stare down at the cup in his hand, feeling a mix of irritation and something else he couldn’t quite name.

He headed toward the stairs, his steps slow, each one weighed down by the internal debate raging in his head.

He could just throw it out.

The thought crossed his mind almost immediately.

Dump the coffee and be done with it. You’d never know. And then he wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing you.

But then again, Wataru would find out. He’d ask you about the coffee later, and if it never made it to you, Trent would have to come up with some kind of excuse.

Wataru might be easygoing, but he wasn’t dumb. Trent didn’t need anyone questioning him, especially over something as trivial as a cup of coffee.

He gripped the cup tighter, feeling the warmth seep through the paper. It’d be so easy to turn around, head back to the kitchen, and pour it down the sink.

Out of sight, out of mind.

He could almost picture it - the splash of tan liquid spinning down the drain, washing his hands of this whole situation.

But then there was the part of him that knew better, the part that had been growing louder lately. The part that remembered the way you looked this morning, rubbing your temples, the pain etched across your face.

He made his way down the hallway, taking the stairs one at a time until he stood outside your door.

He hesitated, he hated this strange, unfamiliar urge to do something nice for someone here. And for you, of all people.

It was annoying, unsettling.

Realising both hands were full, he resorted to tapping the toe of his trainer against the wooden door, three quick thuds echoing through the corridor.

Silence.

He clicked his tongue in frustration and tried again, tapping harder.

Still nothing.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he muttered, irritation lacing his words.

As he stood there, a familiar figure sauntered down the corridor. Harvey noticed Trent’s growing agitation and, with a smirk, made his way over to investigate.

“What are you doing?” Harvey asked, his accented voice dripping with amusement. His eyes shifted from Trent’s face to the coffee cups, then to the trainer tapping rhythmically against the door.

“I’m knocking, genius,” Trent replied, his voice edged with sarcasm. He let out a sigh through his nose, tipping his head back slightly as Harvey's eyes flickered between him and the door.

“Since when do you ever knock?” Harvey questioned, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

Trent’s mouth opened to retort, but nothing came out. He hated to admit it, but he was right. He never knocked.

A beat of silence passed before Trent jerked his chin toward the door. “Get the door for me, yeah?”

Harvey grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “I kinda wanna see how long you’ll keep this up,” he teased, his tone light.

Trent shot him a glare, though the corners of his mouth twitched with reluctant amusement.

“Alright, alright. Keep your hair on.” Harvey chuckled, relenting. He stepped forward, pressing down on the handle and pushing the door open.

Trent manoeuvred through the doorway, using the back of his shoulder to nudge it open the rest of the way, careful not to spill the coffee. He cast a sidelong glance at his friend, who leaned against the door frame with a smirk.

“See? Was that so hard?” Harvey quipped, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Trent muttered, rolling his eyes.

He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. Everything in your office looked untouched, as if you'd entered and gone straight to your desk. You were slumped over, head resting in one hand, elbow propped up on the wooden surface.

Either you’d fallen asleep, or...

“Is she dead?” Harvey asked.

"Here's hoping.” Trent mumbled in response.

He took a step closer, clearing his throat softly, but you remained oblivious.

Trent’s gaze flickered around the room, his usual composure faltering as he took in your dishevelled state. Despite his attempts to remain detached, seeing you like this stirred something deep within him that he couldn’t quite ignore.

With a sigh, he shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the unease that had settled over him. He carefully placed the coffee on the desk beside you, his movements deliberate.

Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers barely grazing your shirt as if testing the waters.

When you remained unresponsive, he mustered the courage to place his full hand on your shoulder and gave you a gentle shake.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “I’ve got your coffee.”

You stirred, lifting your head and blinking groggily. He removed his hand, straightening his back.

“Trent?” You mumbled, still half-asleep. The smell of the coffee faintly registered in your mind. “You didn’t have to..”

He shrugged, attempting to sound casual. “Wataru asked me to bring it up. And, well..” He glanced at you, feeling an unfamiliar tug of something he couldn’t quite name. “I figured you might need it.”

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. “Thanks. I really do.”

As he was about to leave, he noticed the pile of paperwork cluttered next to your computer, the chaos suggesting you’d been battling through it despite your headache.

“I, uh..” His voice faltered slightly. “Need any help with that?“

You were about to reply when Harvey’s voice cut in, disbelief evident in his tone. “You’re offering to help?”

Trent shifted uncomfortably, his back still turned to Harvey as he rolled his eyes. You caught the movement and chuckled softly.

“Not offering. Just—” He turned to see Harvey’s amused expression and added hastily, “—just making sure she's not swamped. Is that a crime?”

Harvey shrugged, crossing his arms. “Not at all. Just didn’t think you had it in you.”

Trent picked up half of the stack, maybe more, his actions earnest but guarded.

You watched him with a mix of gratitude and surprise, taking a sip of the coffee and feeling the soothing warmth begin to ease your headache.

Harvey raised an eyebrow, still leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see the day Trent Alexander-Arnold played the hero.”

Trent’s lips curled into a slight smile, his cheeks reddening as he held up a stack of papers toward Harvey. “Want to help?”

Harvey raised his hands in mock surrender, pushing himself off the doorframe. “I’ll leave you two to it. Have fun, lovebirds.”

As he departed, your cheeks warmed slightly, but you quickly shifted your focus to your inbox. An email from Arne caught your eye at the top, informing you that your session with Wataru had been rescheduled.

You exhaled, thinking, I slept through it anyway.

Trent, meanwhile, had sunk onto the couch, peeling off the top sheet of the document. He placed the remaining papers neatly on the cabinet beside him and studied the single sheet in his hand with a skeptical frown.

The bold black text at the top seemed to glare back at him: "For Liverpool FC Staff Only."

He paused, his fingers grazing the corner of the page. "I can read these, right?"

You glanced over, a small smile touching your lips as you met his gaze. “Yeah, they're just things I need to acknowledge I've read,” you said with a casual shrug, your voice carrying a hint of nonchalance.

Trent tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he flipped the document over. “Seems a bit counter-productive, though,” he remarked.

“Not really. I never actually read them,” you explained nonchalantly.

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “And here I thought you were all about dedication to your job,” he said, his voice trailing off with a mocking edge.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, picking up your coffee cup again after dragging the stack of remaining papers closer.

“I am dedicated,” you replied with a hint of a smile, “but finance just doesn’t interest me. I skim.”

He hummed, his eyes scanning the text.

You paused before starting on your work, glancing over at Trent. “Anything important, just make sure you tell me.”

Trent looked up, his expression blank but his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What if I want to skim read?”

You smiled, shaking your head as you turned your attention back to the papers. “Shut up, Trent.”

His gaze lingered on you, a smirk playing at his lips as he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He finally looked away, his smile widening just slightly.

...

The soft shuffle of papers and the occasional scratch of your pen had become a rhythmic background noise in the room.

Your headache had lessened thanks to the coffee and the company, but the stack of paperwork in front of you still felt like an endless mountain.

As you reached the final couple of documents, you heard Trent stand up from the couch.

You looked over just in time to see him stretching his arms above his head, the motion causing his shirt to lift slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin beneath.

You swallowed, instinctively folding your lips inwards as your eyes lingered for a moment too long.

He was an athlete, after all, so naturally, he was fit, as any athlete would be. But seeing it up close stirred something in you that you quickly tried to dismiss.

He caught your glance, and instead of saying anything, Trent poked his tongue into his cheek, clearly holding back a remark.

His lips pressed together in a restrained smirk, like he was biting back a teasing comment. He didn’t want to overstep, especially in the middle of a setting like this one, and God forbid he came across like he’d noticed too much.

Your face grew warm, and you immediately redirected your attention back to the papers in front of you, pretending to scan over the same paragraph you had just read.

But the words on the page were a blur, the previous focus you had was gone, and all you could feel was your heart beating a little too fast, a bit too aware of his presence nearby.

He placed the now neatly organised stack of papers he had been working on back onto your desk. “These just need your signature now,” he said, his voice casual, but you could sense a hint of satisfaction.

You raised an eyebrow. “You finished all of them?”

He nodded, unfazed. He pulled out a folded A4 paper from his pocket.

“I made a note.. of everything that was important.” His fingers unfolded the paper to reveal messy, scribbled handwriting - a far cry from the neat, printed reports you were used to seeing.

But the gesture behind it was unexpectedly sweet.

You stared at the paper in his hand for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Trent, ever the enigma, had actually taken the time to make sure you didn’t miss anything crucial. His expression was calm, neutral even, but you knew deep down this was one of those moments he’d never let you thank him for.

“Thanks, Trent. That’s.. really thoughtful of you.” The words felt too light, not enough to fully express your gratitude, but you also knew him well enough to recognise that overpraising him would probably make him uncomfortable.

As expected, he shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit of needing me for this stuff.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and refreshing. “I’ll try not to.”

There was a beat of silence before he shoved the note toward you, his eyes finally meeting yours for a brief second. "Make sure you check my notes, though. My handwriting’s a bit shit.”

You took the note from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment.

“I’ll make sure to decipher it,” you teased lightly, glancing down at the paper covered in hurried scrawls.

As Trent turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at you. “Take it easy, Y/N. Can’t have you passing out on us.”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, as you fiddled with the paper between your fingers. The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a deep breath.

The room suddenly felt quieter, emptier, but your mind wasn’t letting go. You pressed your lips together, trying to focus on the documents in front of you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him - his quiet gestures, the sarcastic remarks, the infuriating smirks.

It was maddening how easily he got under your skin, how a simple glance could set your pulse racing.

Then, the memory played again in your mind, torturously vivid - the door shutting, the way he'd looked at you before leaving.

But then it hit you. Y/N.

Your mouth parted, breath hitching as the realisation dawned. He’d said your name.

For the first time, it wasn’t “psychologist.” It was your actual name.

Since you’d started here, you hadn't noticed how much that label created a barrier, a distance. Now, the memory of him saying your name replayed on a loop, breaking through that invisible wall.

You hadn’t realised how much you wanted to hear it from him.

Until now.

...

You were making your way down the hallway towards the cafeteria when you saw Wataru walking towards you. You exchanged polite smiles, a small gesture of recognition, as you passed by each other.

But something made you pause, and you turned back, calling after him.

“Wataru!” You said, a grateful grin crossing your face. He turned around, his eyes curious.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you added, your voice light with appreciation.

Wataru's smile widened as he slowed his pace. “Did Trent bring it up?” He asked, shifting his weight where he stood.

“Yeah, he did,” you confirmed.

“How’s the headache?” He asked, a soft concern in his tone.

“Gone,” you replied, your hand instinctively reaching up to run over the skin on your forehead. “Thanks to you.”

Wataru nodded, clearly pleased.

You studied him for a moment, your curiousity getting the best of you. You tilted your head ever so slightly and asked, “how did you know how I liked it? My coffee, I mean?”

He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard for a moment, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t,” he said plainly, his expression easy.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your lips parting as you waited for him to explain further.

Wataru chuckled again and leaned in slightly, a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “Trent told me. Said you didn’t like it plain.”

Your heart skipped a beat, surprise flickering across your face. “Really?” You asked, your voice mellow with disbelief. “I didn’t know he knew that.”

Wataru smiled, watching the realisation dawn on you. “He’s an attentive boy,” he added with a nod, his tone thoughtful.

You blinked, processing his words. “Yeah,” you breathily replied, your brows lifting in agreement.

“Guess he is.”

...

Trent finished zipping up his thin jacket with a final click, the sound resonating softly as he shut the door to the vacant computer room behind him. He patted his pockets, making sure he had everything.

Across the hallway, you were locking your office door, your focus intent as you fumbled with the key.

Your eyes met at the exact same moment - yours lifting from the office door just as Trent’s eyes drifted from the closed computer room.

“Hey,” you greeted, a small, tired smile curving your lips.

Trent’s gaze flickered to your lips before settling back on your eyes, a subtle shift in his expression. “Hey,” he replied, his tone soft and casual, with an undertone of something more.

The corridor felt oddly intimate, the quiet hum of the lights and distant echoes were all you could hear. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, gently clearing your throat.

Trent massaged the back of his shoulder, having had to stare at a computer for a number of hours, a gesture that revealed his own weariness.

“Long day?” He asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Yeah.” You nodded, briefly looking down before meeting his eyes again. “Caught up on some stuff with Wataru. And you?”

“Same,” Trent said with a small shrug, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. “Online seminar ran late.”

You stood there for a moment as the hallway seemed to close in around you, your small smiles communicating a quiet understanding.

“You heading out now?” Trent asked gently, his voice almost hesitant as if not wanting to break the moment.

“Yeah, just heading home. I'm assuming you're the same.” You replied, shifting your bag once more.

“Yep,” Trent said, his eyes meeting yours.

"Walk with me?" You tilted your head to the end of the hallway where the stairs led downstairs.

He looked over, swallowing as he nodded his head. "Sure."

You both turned, your shoulders grazing ever so slightly as you walked in what felt like a comfortable silence together, descending the stairs.

You walked side by side toward the building’s exit. Brian, stationed by the manually operated door on the same wall as the now-locked automatic ones, gave it a gentle push open.

"See you tomorrow, Brian." You expressed with a genuine smile, giving him a small wave.

"See you, love. Have a good night, son." He replied warmly.

"You too." Trent added.

He stepped aside though as he turned slightly, his body angled to give you clear passage. With a subtle sweep of his hand, he motioned for you to go ahead before him.

You slipped past, your back brushed lightly against his chest, the brief contact making your stomach flip in an instant.

The sensation caught you off guard, sending a jolt of warmth through your body. You felt like a schoolgirl again, every accidental touch with a crush igniting a fire in your limbs.

Crush? You blinked, shaking the thought out of your head quickly. Nope, nope. That’s not it.

You exhaled quietly, trying to steady yourself, looking back as Trent caught up beside you.

A brisk gust of wind whipped around you both. Instinctively, you tucked the loose strands of hair that had escaped your bun behind your ear, crossing your arms over your chest to keep warm.

Trent shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his breath visible in the cold air.

“Getting colder,” you commented.

“No shit,” Trent agreed, his voice a bit strained against the chill. “Summer ended quick.”

"You can talk, you weren’t even in the country," you teased, giving him a sidelong glance.

Trent didn’t miss a beat, replying almost instantly, "you didn’t even work here then, how would you know?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated, the words not quite forming in time. Trent noticed and grinned, his smugness unmistakable.

“Someone stalking my Insta?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the grin threatening to break out. “Please. You think you’re that interesting?”

Trent shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Can’t blame ya. I mean, half the world’s got eyes on me.”

“Half the world, huh?” You shot back, arching a brow. “I didn’t realise your four friends counted as ‘half the world' now.”

He chuckled, tucking his chin deeper into his jacket. “Still more friends than you’ve got.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you replied smoothly, flashing a grin. “I’ve got friends, too. Just.. a bit more exclusive.”

“Exclusive, eh?” Trent said, his tone mock-serious.

"Mhm," you trailed off, smiling.

As you walked, your mind wandered back to earlier in the day, remembering how he’d said your name. It was brief, almost casual, but it had stuck with you. It had felt different, personal.

And now, it replayed in your head, over and over.

Without fully realising it, you broke the silence. “You said my name.”

Trent’s steps slowed as he processed your words, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “What?”

You looked down, cheeks flushed from the cold - or maybe something else. “When you left my office earlier, you called me by my name.”

Trent pressed his bottom lip up to his top as he thought back. “Pretty sure I’ve said your name before.”

“Not to me,” you said, glancing up at him with a hopeful look.

He tilted his head. “And why’s that so important?”

“Because.. it is,” you admitted, a hint of vulnerability slipping through. “To me, it is.”

Trent's muscles relaxed as his eyes roved over your features. “The bar's in hell, huh?”

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine, cutting through the chill. You nudged his arm with your hand.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest to trap the heat.

You finally approached Trent’s car, and he turned to you with a nod before pressing the unlock button on his keys.

You watched as he walked closer to his car door and opened it. The quiet of the evening was interrupted by your voice, again.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said, raising your voice slightly to cut through the wind.

Trent's lips twitched, biting his bottom one to hold back from taking any credit. “I didn’t make your coffee.”

“Don’t lie, Trent. It doesn’t suit you." You remarked, scrunching your nose and shaking your head.

For a moment, his eyes stayed on you, lingering with a soft intensity. You held his gaze, feeling an unspoken connection. The seconds stretched on as you both seemed to take in the moment, your heart racing slightly in the charged silence.

Trent eventually looked away, fiddling with the keys in his hand.

“Get out of the way before I run you over." He quipped, his voice lighthearted.

“Charming,” you retorted.

Trent shook his head, getting into his car.

You began walking towards the pedestrian gate, hearing the engine of his car start up as you turned to give him one last glance before starting your short walk home.

...

Part 7

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

Taglist: @trentwife @bluebreadenthusiast @julovesurmom @blubsberries @remmysthings @heyjudeb @keepitabuckxx @vivi-grace @hoddystark @hiireadstuff @trentione @missusstark @iamasimpingh0e @xxxstormyninixxx @lolawwww22 @myloveisforbellingham @purpleniight @bffrwme @mss-nthng @miniemonie2001 @severebelearthquake @fireofsoul5 @greasywall @livelovepasta @bigdikzaddy @witchhkitty222 @mountsgirlsblog

[enwoso]

Could you write something maybe about Lucy Bronze having a younger sister that plays for Arsenal and she’s been dating Katie McCabe for a while but hasn’t told Lucy because she’s very overprotective and because of Lucy and Katie’s unspoken “rivalry” . Then at lionesses camp Lucy finds out by accident and they are playing Ireland next so the match is all a bit of chaos but the it all turns out fine and Katie and Lucy both just tease reader together?

Your work is amazing by the way!!

GAME OF HEARTS | katie mccabe x bronze!reader

masterlist

"i'm really gonna miss ya" katie spoke softly as the two of you soaked up your last morning together before you both went off on international camp.

you wrapped up in the warmth of katie's arms as every so often she peppered kisses along your collarbone, your eyes still closed as you hummed along to her words every so often to show you were listening.

"babe, i'll see you in four days" you rasped out as you moved slightly to turning so that you were facing the irish women as you could feel her chest rise up and down as you lay on it.

the two of you due to play each other in the upcoming fixtures, england travelling to ireland for the game. you being a little upset having to play against your girlfriend but it was only for 90' and then you could go back to being in your little love bubble.

"still- am i not allowed to miss my gorgeous, funny, beautiful, sexy girlfriend?" katie said with a her signature grin on her face as you opened your eyes, staring right back at the girl.

"your such a sap-" you whispered as she placed a kiss to your cheek, playfully rolling her eyes at your comment.

"yeah but only for you, and plus you love it little bronze" katie teased as now it was your turn to roll your eyes as she knew how much the nickname wound you up, lucy of course being the one who so proudly began the trend of calling you by that it was now something majority called you at international camps as well as by some of the girls at club level.

"oh actually" you paused for a second to let out a yawn, as katie moved a strand of hair from the side of your face tucking it behind your ear.

"please can we knock it down a level when it comes to my sister when we play against each other on tuesday" you pleaded, as a small glint in your eyes as you tried to convince the girl knowing the chaos which occurs in the league when the two come face to face.

you know it's just what happens when two very passionate players bump heads but you heard both versions of the story and adding fuel to that fire by telling your older sister that you were dating her arch nemesis may not go very well with a tray of cakes and a nice chat to say the least.

a sigh left katie's lips she understood why you were asking cause at the end of the day lucy was your older sister — someone you looked up to dearly and someone who protected you at all costs and she herself would do anything for any one of her sisters but katie also had a goal and that was to win.

"baby, i love ya but that's like askin' me to wear a tottenham shirt" katie grimaced at the thought of that even happening, it sending a slight shiver down your own spine.

—

being lucy's younger sister definitely came with its perks, like when lucy was first making her debuts you got to meet all the cool footballing idols you watched growing up and to be totally honest you were still able to do it now.

but on the other hand, she was still your sister. fiercely protective, sometimes too protective, and of course you always had your disagreements as well as the fact lucy knew all the ways to get under your skin. she was the typical big sister.

but when it came to football? she always had an opinion. especially when it involved arsenal and a certain player from there too. which just of course happened to be your girlfriend — katie.

the two of you had been together for just over seven months. you were keeping things quiet, it was a secret by no means you just hadn't exactly admitted to being in a relationship with the irish girl.

and as for your excuse for not telling lucy, well it just had never came up in a conversation.

so as camp rolled around and the upcoming friendly against ireland loomed in the next few days, you knew you had to be careful. but keeping secrets while sharing the same pitch as your sister, that was proving to be harder than you thought.

as you sat with a few teammates in the lounge area, scrolling through your phone and trying to mind your own business as lucy strode in.

her arrival as always was impossible to ignore, her energy filling the space effortlessly and her voice carried above the casual chatter.

"oi, y/n" lucy called out, waving something on her phone in the air a slight mischievous glint in her eye, "what's this, then?"

you glanced up, already dreading whatever was coming, knowing she loved to find some thing to take the mick out of you for.

lucy flopped down next to you as she thrusted her phone into your hands. it was a video posted by katie, to her story captioned 'reminiscing🩷', reliving a moment from a festival she'd gone to in the summer, you recognising it immediately as you were there two.

"i.. what am i looking at?"

"just wait"

just as the words left lucy's lips, the video flipped as the camera had been turned to face katie and that when your eyes went a little wider and your cheeks definitely went a little redder.

there was you, your arms wrapped around her waist as you head rested on her shoulder a lovesick smile on your face as you sung along to the music as katie had a massive smile on her face.

lucy squinted at you as you lowered her phone keeping it still in your hands, as her brow furrowed. "care to explain why you're looking at katie mccabe like she's just won you the world cup?"

your stomach lurched, you were usually so careful but this was clear as day as you scrambled to downplay it. "come on luce, you know we're close at club level your just being dramatic. we're just teammates"

lucy tilted her head, clearly not convinced, "a teammate thing?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "that's not the ‘teammate' look. that's the 'i fancy you' look"

you opened your mouth to try and protest but nothing came out. your brain working overtime trying to figure out how to talk your way out of this when leah wandered into the room.

spotting lucy's phones in your hand, glancing at your panicked face and grinned knowingly. "oh has she found out then?" leah said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "took you long enough!"

lucy's eyes darted between you and leah, "found out what?"

"leah, shut up" you hissed shooting her a warning glare.

leah just completely ignoring you as she continued, "about katie, it's not exactly a secret anymore y/n. everyone with eyes can see there something going on between the two of you and i don't mean by just watching that small video on instagram-"

lucy's expression shifted from teasing to something more serious, as she leaned back slightly her arms crossed. "wait you and katie? that's.. actually a thing. i though they were just silly tiktok rumours?"

you hesitated, fiddling nervously with the hem of your hoodie. "yeah" you admitted not daring to look at your sisters gaze. "it's been a while, i didn't tell you because well — i didn't want to make thing weird. you and katie don't exactly.. get along"

lucy stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable before she let out a sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing. "weird? y/n i know i might be protective but i'm not a monster and that's just match banter. if she makes you happy then that's all that matters."

you blinked, slightly surprised at her sudden acceptance, "really, your okay with it?"

lucy smirked as she nodded, "yeah, but don't think i'm going easy on her when we play against ireland. she's still getting crunched in the tackles-"

you let out a small groan, "lucy!" as a chorus of laughter came from your sister, "i'm kidding.. well maybe." she whispered at the end but you still heard.

you laughed along, the weight suddenly lifting from your chest, as leah who had been watching the entire exchange with an amused grin, chimed in clapping her two hands together, "well that went better than expected!"

lucy raised an eyebrow at her, "don't think you're off the hook either williamson, if you knew and didn't tell me, your just as bad as her!"

leah held up her hands in mock surrender, "hey i figured it out myself, and plus it ain't my business and it was way more fun watchin' y/n squirm!"

you groaned as you buried your face in your hands as lucy and leah shared a laugh at your expense. but despite their teasing you couldn't help but feel relieved.

—

the match had ended in ireland, and the tensions from the ninety minute game between the players had melted away into the usual camaraderie of the post game routine.

players from both teams chatting, swapping shirts and taking photo as they celebrated another memorable clash as england had won, securing there space in the euros in switzerland.

katie and lucy were stood near the center circle, locking into a playful debate. from a distance you could see katie gesturing animatedly whilst lucy stood with her arms crossed, her signature smirk firmly on her lips.

curiosity and a little apprehension pulled you towards them, "what's going on here?" you as as you approached.

"oh just discussing which side of london is superior" katie said with a cheeky grin, titling her head slightly towards lucy. "you know london is better red, i'm sure you agree"

lucy scoffed, rolling her eyes, "please mccabe, london is blue on a whole different level."

"yeah yeah," katie said with a dramatic wave of her hand, "you guys are ok, i'll give you that but people who have a good sense of football know which is the better side of london"

lucy smirked, leaning forward slightly. "shame you picked the wrong side of it then."

katie gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror, "the wrong side? you mean the side which had trophies and the history to back it up?"

you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose knowing the two of them well enough to know neither of them were going to back down, "you two realise you're both ridiculous, right?"

ignoring you, katie pulled her phone out of her pocket. "we should document this moment, don't you think" she waved lucy closer, "cmon bronze, let's get a picture. and maybe one day you'll see the light and come to the proper side of london"

lucy rolled her eyes but stepped in next to katie, you stood awkwardly nearby as katie held out her phone for a selfie the pair throwing exaggerated smiles.

right as the photo snapped, katie nudged lucy with her elbow and said, "awe that's a cute photo to. shame you play for the wrong side of london."

lucy snorted, glancing at the photo, "your lucky i don't delete this right now."

katie grinned, "it's fine, just caption it: 'the day bronze met greatness!'"

lucy laughed, shaking her head, "greatness? that's rich coming from someone who can't even make it past the quarterfinals in the champions league-"

katie gasped, turning to you, "babe you better defend me and the club now or i'm tellin' everyone you still steal my hoodies!"

you threw your hands up in exasperation a small laugh coming from your lips, "oh no don't drag me into this. you both know where my loyalty's lie."

"your sisters impossible, you know that? she doesn't appreciate brilliance." katie leaned against you dramatically sighing.

lucy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself, "brilliance? that's what they call it these days?"

katie tolled her eyes playfully as you just laughed, following the two of them as they both started to walk towards the tunnel. along with other players starting to make their way of the pitch.

katie had that familiar glint in her eye, the one that softened your heart no matter how chaotic the game had been.

"i'm goin' to go catch up the ma team," katie said as she reached out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind you ear.

her touch was gentle and calm unlike her totally opposite persona on the field. a smile lingering on your face despite the lingering adrenaline from the match.

she leaned in, pressing a quick but soft kiss to your lips as she whispered, "i love you."

you heart swelled as you whispered it back, "i love you, too"

katie turned as she waved to your older sister as she star tee d to walk away, "see you soon bronze! don't miss me too much!"

lucy just shook her head muttering something under her breath as katie disappeared towards the irish team.

"what was that?" you asked an eyebrow raising as you turned to her.

lucy huffed, crossing her arms, "i said i don't think i’ll ever get used to that."

you laughed nudging your older sisters shoulder playfully, "you'll have to she's not going anywhere luce!"

katie fully disappearing in the tunnel as she turned a corner as lucy tuned to you with a grin, but it wasn't the usually teasing one.

"i like her." she said pausing for effect, "but she's still completely wrong about london."

you laughed shaking your head, "i don't think she's ever going to stop trying to convince you and it's two against one. london is red."

"your both wrong.." lucy said with a smirk, "but besides that i think she's good for you." you smiled softly "thanks, luce."

lucy clapped you on the shoulder, her usual teasing grin returning. "now come on. let's go find some post-match food before mccabe comes back and starts another argument."

you laughed, following her into the tunnel, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief. katie and lucy might still have their friendly battles, but they were your battles now, filled with teasing and love from the two most important people in your life.

[formulalfc]

trent who can’t go a minute without slapping your ass

literally, whenever your ass is in front of him he can't help but slap it, biting it lips as it jiggles at him. you roll your eyes and act annoyed but secretly love it, a feeling of giddiness running through you every time. will fully give a cheeky squeeze when he's walking past you as well and press a kiss to your cheek. he accidentally does it in front of your mum and dad once and your dad has a very serious conversation with him afterwards.

inbox is open send me some ramble requests <3

[samkerrworshipper]

lights are on, but nobody’s home

barca femeni x reader

it’s unedited. i’m not sorry about it, if it puts u off then soz icbf. this fic has been in my drafts since october so it was about time i finished it! combined to fics lol to get it done and its a fast paced very vague mess but have fun :) loved the idea not the execution!

warnings: kinda angsty?

Red cards exist in the game for a reason. You don’t deny that. Red cards are needed to keep people safe, to set a boundary between safe and unsafe play. But there had been something so undeniably unfair about yours.

You’d hurt somebody, you weren’t going to lie about that. It had been unintentional, but a risk you’d taken had ended up with the world’s best player being stretchered off the pitch, and for just that, you deserved a yellow. But a red, for a tackle that was mostly legal, seemed ridiculous. Tackles happened. As a defensive midfielder, it was your job to get the ball off attackers, it was your responsibility to make sure that you stopped the ball from being kicked in the direction of your keeper or down the field to another player. It was what cemented your spot in the English midfield; you weren’t just a good attacker; you were ferocious in defence. You averaged at least 5 tackles per game; it was the most crucial part of your game; it was fundamentally what made you a good footballer.

Arguing with the ref and using some particularly vulgar language definitely didn’t help your case but in your defence it hadn’t been a red cardable offence. It was all pointless though, the card had already been raised and pointed in your direction, you’d been booked, in a friendly of all games.

It was bad, you’d know that from the moment your cleats had stepped over the line, the incessant booing being directed towards you as you walked past Sarina the grim frown etched into the details of her face was enough of a sign. You were in a bad situation, but you’d just put your team in an even worse situation with a one less player on the field to continue the fight in the world cup final rematch. It wasn’t good, it was your job to make sure that your team was in the best situation to achieve success on the pitch and you’d jeopardised that. What you hadn’t realised was that action wasn’t only jeopardising your team, it was jeopardising you as a whole.

It had begun from the moment you’d gotten back to your hotel room later that night. Your teammates had focused all of their energy on trying to lift your spirits, with the game ending in a 1-1 draw, everyone was happy. The England team was your second family, and considering you didn’t play in the WSL like the vast majority of them, national team time was valuable to you. You sat next to Beth on the ride back to the hotel, happy to listen to her non-stop talking as a distraction for the disappointment that had settled inside of you. At team dinner, you sat sandwiched in between Grace and Ella; most dinners spent on your normal table, you struggled to get a word in, but it was the constant surrounding buzz that kept you out of your head and specifically off of your phone, and you were more grateful than usual that you had that. By the time you’d even made it to your room and gone through your nighttime routine, you still hadn’t checked your phone. It was only as you began to prepare yourself to get into bed that you headed towards your bag to fish it out. You climbed into bed, finally opening your phone for the first time, and instead of it having a handful of messages from your family and a sprinkle of Instagram notifications, there were thousands. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, newsforums, both English and Spanish; as you scrolled down the list, it only got bigger. All of it was the same, about how you’d ‘intentionally’ injured your own club teammate to benefit your national team, how you were malicious, how you had played beyond the line of safe play, how you deserved to be penalised, how you had ruined sportsmanship. It was never-ending, and the more that you read, the worse it got. You felt like a shell of yourself as your eyes scanned the different words; you completely dissociated it all. It felt like you were reading about somebody else, like there was absolutely no possibility that the sentences you were absorbing could possibly be about you. There was so much falsity behind all of it that it was hard to understand it. You’d played the same you always did, you hadn’t played dangerously, you’d played within the rules as you always did. Beyond that, you’d visited Aitana in the change rooms after the game, desperate to apologise and make sure that you hadn’t done any damage or hurt her in any way. Your play hadn’t been malicious, there hadn’t been any ill intention or hatred fueled behind it, even though every single article or post was making it seem that way. Aitana had come off after the clash purely as a caution, when you’d gone to see her, all she was dealing with was a little bit of inflammation. By the time you were both back in Barcelona, she’d be as good as new. Even after watching the replays, it was clear to anybody with eyes that all you were doing was fighting for the ball, the same as every other 1-on-1 battle throughout the game. Yet as soon as a spotlighted player got injured, it was suddenly a different story being told.

Normally you would shake it off, in general, you were the kind of person who didn’t get bothered by much, You were a bubbly and happy person, you were the kind of teammate who was always smiling and trying to make other people laugh. Usually, if you had a teammate who was in the same situation as you were now, you would be the one picking them up and trying to help them shake off all of this. It wasn’t normally a struggle for you to overcome a little bit of hate, but there was something so shattering about this. Whilst you still believed deep down that you’d done nothing wrong, it was hard to convince yourself of that when there were so many people who were telling you otherwise.

You weren’t the kind of person who regularly fell into the mind numbing action of doom scrolling, you weren’t big on social media in general, it was something you had to do because of your job but not much else beyond that. Yet right now it felt impossible to deviate away from it, every time you saw your name pop up again somewhere you were drawn to another dark place of the internet where you kept reading until you were mentioned or tagged in another post and your phone lit up with a new piece of media.

It was never ending, it just kept coming, and the longer you indulged in it, the sicker you started to feel. Had you done something wrong? Were you truly as malicious as everyone wrote? Were you the bad person they were painting you to be?

It was impossible to not consider that potentially everyone else was right, maybe you were the problem.

It was a good day to be roomed with Lucy, she’d been in bed before you’d even made it up to the room and asleep whilst you’d been showering. If the sounds of snoring were anything to go off of then she was long gone, which made you feel more secure as you muffled a sob into your pillow. It was going to be fine, by the time morning rolled around it would be forgotten. Or at least that was what you thought.

The convenience of playing your games in Spain was that unlike majority of your teammates, you were able to sleep in the following morning instead of flying back to their club teams. Lucy was gone long before you woke up, something you were specifically grateful for because whilst Lucy was mostly oblivious, you weren’t sure if you would have been able to hide your red eyes and puffy face. You hadn’t had much sleep, but even in the few hours that you had managed to get, the notifiations on your phone had only multiplied significantly. Every second your phone lit up again, and for the sake of your own brain you chose to switch it off completely. If you stayed in the shower a little longer because you got so lost thinking about it all that your feet started to go numb from the water pressure there was nobody around to say anything about it. If you happened to space out halfway through your skincare and accidentally spill half of your serum down the sink it was nothing a bit of water from the sink couldn’t fix. Every time you thought you’d forgotten about it all, like you’d drifted away from everything you’d read and then suddenly it all came back to you like some sick fever dream. It was the same words that kept circulating, and every time it came back to you it was impossible to just let it go.

You were half way dressed when your door was knocked on. It was what woke you up to the fact that you had absolutely no idea what time it was or how long you’d spent spaced out and in your brain.

You weren’t shocked to find Keira waiting outside your door, looking significantly more put together then you were.

“Mate, I’ve texted you about 30 times. The taxis here to take us to the airport.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten that you were taking a group taxi instead of leaving the hotel individually.

“Give me five minutes, I slept in and forgot to pack up last night.”

Keira cut you off before you continued your ramble of excuses.

“I’ll help you pack up, you focus on getting dressed and sorting yourself out, okay?”

Keira wasn’t your closest friend, she was one of the few people on the Barcelona team that spoke fluent english which grouped the two of you together. She was also one of your idols coming through as the youngest midfielder in the English and Barcelona squad. But personality wise the two of you didn’t jell, you were too energetic and a little bit too immature to buddy up with her. It didn’t change the fact that she was basically an older sister to you. She wasn’t exactly the person you’d go to for relationship advice or confess your troubling thoughts to. But she was the person you could rely on to help you in any situation without asking questions, and this really was an extension of that.

Keira made quick work of packing up your things from around your room whilst you finished getting dressed and putting your hair in a messy bun.

By the time you’d made yourself look just enough presentable for the public eye Keira was done, all of your bags piled together at your hotel room door.

“I found your phone at the bottom of your bag, looks like you might want to charge it before the drive.”

Right now, your phone felt like a block of dynamite, balancing in Keira’s hand, ready to explode at any second.

“No, I just turned it off.”

You didn’t really think about how odd your words could sound until they’d left your mouth, and Keira’s eyebrows were raising quickly.

“You just turned it off?”

It’s an unusual behaviour for you, one that Keira has clearly picked up on by the tone in her voice. Your phone is practically an extension of you, the team didn’t joke about you having square eyes for nothing. Always getting people to film tiktoks or do stupid challenges.

“Yes?”

You actively observe all of the cogs in Keira’s brain turning, she looks like she has a lot to say, but then she glances down at her watch and it’s clear that the fact that you are running well behind time takes priority.

“Let’s go, the taxi is waiting.”

Keira practically pushed you out of the hotel room, all of your bags in her hands and ushering you straight towards the elevator.

As she’d said, the taxi is waiting in front of the lobby, the driver looks particularly ticked off as he waits outside the drivers side door, his foot tapping and a cigarette hanging halfway out of his mouth. Keira loads your suitcase into the boot of the car whilst you take your backpack off of her and hop into the back of the car, Keira follows and sits down across from you.

The first five minutes of the ride are silent, Keira flicks through her phone whilst you stare out the tinted window and pretend that you can see the things passing by.

“You can talk to me you know? I know we’re not exactly the closest, but I’m here for you.”

You don’t bother to look in Keira’s direction, you keep your eyes and facial expression schooled and focused on the window.

“Anything the media writes is bullshit, you ought to just ignore it.”

You wished you could have ignored it last night, when theoretically you were at your most vulnerable. Maybe if you hadn’t of read so much when you were already in a bad mindset it wouldn’t have imprinted so much, regardless it has and you can’t just ignore it.

“Kei, I’m fine. When have I ever cared what the papers write about me?”

Now, right now is when you care. It’s a fair statement though, you’ve never been affected when tabloids have written far worse things about you, when you came out and for months there was homophobic slander everywhere you looked. In the past it hadn’t been based off of facts, it had all been fictitious. But now that there is just a inkling of truth behind what’s being written it feels far more real and you aren’t sure how to get past that.

“I’m just saying that there isn’t anything wrong with being affected by it. Especially after last night, there’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

This is the trouble between you and Keira, she’s a lot more frank. In your opinion it’s a thing that comes with age, whilst she’s very happy to admit when she’s going through a hard time you’d rather cover it up with jokes and pretend that it doesn’t actually bother you. The trouble with your approach is that it only works for so long before people start to see you fraying at the edges or you completely break down from the pressure.

“Just mad I hurt your bestfriend, huh?”

The only response you get from Keira is a loud exhale, the same a mother would when her child makes a immature joke at a immature time. Immaturity is your coping mechanism, because by default people tend to be put off by it, they naturally gravitate away from it. Furthermore they gravitate away from whatever conversation or confrontation they were going to have.

“I’m not mad, I’m concerned for you and how something like this can affect a persons career.”

It’s too many feelings, to much concern, too much. You don’t deserve it and you definitely do not want it.

“I’m fine, we play football, it’s part of it all.”

You still haven’t looked at Keira but you could make an educated guess and assume that she looks deflated. It’s another reason that out of Keira and Lucy you’d always gotten along better with Lucy, you didn’t care to admit it but she knew how to get to the bottom of all of your weird cues and knew what was right and wrong to say. Keira’s too smart for her own good, and it doesn’t work on you, it never has. She’s all you have at Barca now though, besides Roebs, whose been too focused on her rehab and getting back on the pitch to be much of a friend.

“Hate shouldn’t be part of it. If you need to talk about the fact that some part of it is clearly bothering you then I’m here, anybody else on the team is here. Okay?”

You nod purely for the sake of ending the conversation, you can’ even figure out how you feel about it all, let alone trying to rationalise it with Keira. You’re upset, yet you can’t quite get to the bottom of it. You’ve never been upset before when your actions have ended in somebody else getting injured, it’s a rare occurence and when it happens you feel a little bit of guilt but usually it fades. Injury is part of the game, it happens all the time right in front of your eyes. You suppose Aitana isn’t actually injured though, she’s sore and has a low grade ankle sprain but it’s nowhere near the same as her tearing her acl or breaking a bone because of you. You just feel drained, it’s odd, you put it down to the fact that you hardly got any sleep last night but you have this underlying feeling that it’s somehow more than that, yet you have no explanation for it.

After a long break of silence Keira and yourself fall into a fairly bland conversation about the upcoming fixtures and winter break plans. It’s so evident that there is tension in every word each of you speak, like you’re both a few syllables away from saying something that neither of you want to.

Luckily Keira is a lot more cautious than most people, unlike most of you friends or teammates in general she can control herself to a respectable level and can stop herself from word vomiting emotion fueled spieles.

By the time the driver pulls up in front of your apartment building not much has been said at all, but the overarching feeling is tense, it doesn’t feel good and the mixture of it with the everything else is making you feel sick. Keira gives you a hug after helping you unload your luggage and then leaves you. You know that outwardly you’re presenting that you want to be left alone yet everything in you is being used to stop yourself from clinging onto Keira and asking her to stay with you.

Your week is a lot of the same feelings. You have two days to yourself before training starts again and the two days are spent in bed. If you aren’t scrolling on your phone andreading every single thing that has your name mentioned then you are sleeping, or crying, or lying in bed thinking about it all. Every text from one of your teammates is left unopened, none of it matters when every single waking moment of your life is being spent thinking about the moment over and over again. It’s not just your career, not just the fact that you’re going to have to sit out in the next fixture and potentially tarnish your relationship with Sarina. You hurt Aitana, you hurt your ownt teammate. Your own actions had caused harm to somebody that you cared about. Every article, tiktok, post they were all painting you in some kind of negative light, like you were a demon hiding behind smiles. It was hard not to consider the truth behind it all, had you done what you did with malicious intent?

By the time training finally rolled around you were feeling even worse than you had a couple of days ago. Even though you’d been sleeping for hours a day there wer ebig eye bags under your eyes, you were pale and looked like you were sick. It was noticed by your teammates almost immediately, you weren’t even fully dressed in the change rooms before Pina was punching on you, talking rapidly in Catalan that you didn’t remotely understand.

“Chica, you missed our games night last night. To busy sleeping off the four goals you scored over the break, no? You need to leave some goals for other people.”

You shook Pina off as quickly as you could, you had a focus for the day and that was getting all of this over with. You had a game in three days, a game that you couldn’t ruin for your team again.

“Estas bien?”

You finish pulling your training top on and sit down on the bench in front of your locker.

“Estoy Bien.”

You focus on getting a sock on each of your feet and then your boots.

“Chica?”

There is concern laced in Pina’s voice, she’s still standing in front of you. Almost everybody else has made their way out onto the pitch, leaving the two of you and a couple of stragglers behind.

“You don’t look so good chica, are you feeling okay?”

Your boots are easy enough to lace up, once you’re done you reach behind you for your jacket, not quite sure if it’s warm enough to train in just your shirt.

“Estoy Bien. Vale?”

Before Pina can ask much more, you begin to walk towards the doors of the locker room. It’s breezy enough outside that you choose to put your jumper on, as do most of your teammates.

Aitana is doing individual training, because of her ankle. Pere says that it’s precautionary.

If you weren’t already feeling like you were on the brink of vomiting then now it’s the only thing you can feel. You feel ill, you feel completely absorbed by the sickness pooled at the bottom of your stomach. When Pere asks if you’re feeling alright you can’t say no, because you have no reason to feel as badly as you do. But it’s all the words, they’re spinning around in your head, every article, every single word.

It shows on the pitch, every decision, every pass, every shot, every tackle is helf back. You’re fearufl and it shows.

When training finally does finish, and Aitana is still working by herself with one of the coaches on another pitch you feel like it’s almost your breaking point. Until Pere pulls you over again and lets you know that you’ll be starting for the match on the weekend as a replacement for Aitana.

That’s your breaking point. You have nothing to say, nothing to think. You feel like a zombie as you walk towards the locker room. You sabotaged your teammate for your own good.

As soon as the team list is out that’s the only thing people will be saying, You don’t even want to think about what people will think when they see the photos of Aitana training by herself with her ankle all taped up. Whilst you were out on the pitch with all of your teammates. What was just starting to get better for you was only bound to relapse with the new information.

All of the girls notice your shift in behaviour. It’s Pina though who approaches Alexia on your third day of training back. Aitana is still training individually, purely for precaution and preservation. There are more important games then the one coming on the weekend and it’s not worth aggravating the small injury. It doesn’t feel like that to you though, and it’s been abundantly clear to everybody that something is up with you.

“Alexia, can I talk to you for a second?”

Alexia’s been talking to Irene about ….. for at least ten minutes and whilst Pina has no interest in interrupting it’s getting boring waiting around for a conversation to end that’s clearly dragging.

Alexia looks so care free, and Pina asking to talk to her shouldn’t change that, but the look that’s on her face changes Alexia’s demeanour almost immediately.

“What’s up?”

Pina looks at Irene awkwardly, like she’s not sure if the information she’s about to share with Alexia is for Irene’s ears. Irene seems to get the message, farewelling the two of them before heading off.

“I’m worried about y/n.”

Alexia’s silently been wondering whether to approach the subject. She’d thouyght about asking Keira is something had happened on England camp, considering that your particularly filthy mood had seemed to start afterwards. It was out of character for you, and originally Alexia had thought it was all part of some sort of prank plot. But as the last couple of days had passed it had become drastically clear that there was something else wrong. She’d thought it would be smarter to give you the benefit of the doubt, everyone had bad weeks. Alexia wasn’t aware of any relationships you were in but she wouldn’t have been shocked if your mood had been due to a breakup or something of similar origin.

“Ale, she’s been acting strange. She comes in everyday and hardly talks to anybody, she doesn’t joke around with use like she normally does, she hasn’t been answering our groupchat, she’s been avoiding all of our plans to hang out. Out on the pitch she’s been cautious but so unphased and she won’t talk to me or Ona or Patri or Kika or Esmee and I don’t know what to do anymore. Somethings really wrong, normally she’s so happy, I mean everyones noticed that the locker room has been more quiet. I thought it was going to pass, but she’s seemed really upset, like somethings really wrong and what’s happening on the internet can’t be helping it.”

The problem is that Alexia doesn’t disagree with anything that Pina is saying, she can’t dismiss any of it as overreaction because whether it’s been conscious or not she has noticed all of the things that she’s being told. She hadn’t yet pieced it all together as one thing but now that all the puzzle pieces are being laid out in front of her it seems impossible to ignore that it’s all coming together.

“On the internet? De qúe estás hablando?”

Alexia is the first to admit that she’s not exactly the best with technology, sure she’s got all the social media apps and Olga is constantly trying to teach her the ways of all of them but it doesn’t particularly interest her. She finds it easier to look at them as another means of work, it’s how she makes money, posting about football and endorsements. Otherwise she finds enjoyment in places besides her phone. Does it keep her slightly out of the loop? Yes. Does she have younger teammates to keep her up to date? Also yes.

“All the stuff about Aitana. I haven’t read into it much, but I know it’s not good. The media have been slaughtering her for that red card. She punishes herself enough after a bad tackle or pass, I can’t imagine what a red card would do.”

Alexia makes a mental note to look into it later but for now she knows that she needs to deescalate. Because if Pina is telling Alexia now then it’s not long before it blows up within the team.

“Okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow after the game, if she’s still off I’ll talk to her. I’ll have a chat with Keira and ask if anything asked on camp, bueno? Whatever it is Pina, it can be fixed, all problems can be fixed. I’m sure it’s just been a rough week with all the travel and games, not everybody can adjust well, mixed with the recent fixtures it would be expected that everyone is feeling a bit more exhausted.”

It’s the rationalisation that seems to calm Pina down more, which was ultimately Alexia’s end goal. She can deal with you tomorrow but for now it’s crucial that she stops this from escalating within the team. When things spread it all becomes more drama and it’s not good, distractions are not what everybody needs leading into the next fixtures.

Alexia honestly forgets about the conversation completely. Between organising dinner the night before, stretching, spending quality time with her girlfriend and generally just getting herself game ready and in a good head space. She woke up feeling rested and prepared for the game ahead.

You however, were quite simply a mess. You’d hardly slept in over a week now, if you did sleep you woke up in a sweat after a particularly brutal nightmare, you were hardly eating because you always felt so nauseous from the anxiety and your performance on the football pitch had been dismaying.

Alexia, and your teammates, weren’t noticing the smaller things. You lived in your own apartment, in your own building. Nobody was aware of everything that was contributing to all the things that were beginning to show.

Alexia, hyper vigilant after Pina’s admission decided that she’d try and find you before everyone hopped on the bus to head to the opposing stadium, yet you were nowhere to be found. As everyone loaded onto the bus she almost missed you. Usually, you sat at the back, with the younger girls. Normally, Alexia gravitated somewhere in the middle of the bus, she was too old to be singing or messing around at the back but she liked to still be kept in the mix.

It was why she almost missed you, hunched into a seat almost at the very front of the bus.

“Chica?”

The way your whole body darted upwards as soon as you heard Alexia was another concerning thing that she was adding to a mental list.

“Capi.”

You pull your headphones off as a courtesy, but the reintroduction to the sounds of earth and the environment around you brings you right back to everything you’ve been feeling.

“Are you waiting for Kika or Vicky?”

Alexia feels like she already knows your answer, but she’s hanging on to a thread of hope that whatever Pina is feeling isn’t as bad as it seems.

“No, I need some sleep and it’s impossible to get any back there without somebody sticking something in my mouth or posting videos of me with my mouth half open.”

Alexia laughs, it’s the exact reason she can’t sit up the back anymore, it’s too much stupidity in a concentrated space.

“Ah, normally you’re more than happy to terrorize the rest of us, normalmente eres la reina de los estupidas.”

When your face doesn’t even respond slightly to Alexia and you have no witty comeback about her being boring or something else it’s another clear sign that something is up, she just can’t quite pin point what.

You’ve tuned out from her though, and as much as she is worried and thrown off, the bus is not a place to make a scene, specifically before a match. You will not take well to Alexia interrogating you and potentially causing any kind of emotional distress.

So, even though it pains her to do so, she walks on, she leaves you in the sinking ship you’re currently n in, taking on more and more water as every minute passes.

You’re at a point where you can admit to yourself that you are in no way fit to play.

You don’t want to be on the pitch, the fans don’t want you on the pitch, your teammates musn’t want you on the pitch, Pere wouldn’t have you on the pitch if Aitana was available and when you think about it the whole footballing world doesn’t want you on the pitch.

You flinch when you walk out to warm up and are met with boos, the Spanish fans are unlike all other fans, their passion is palpable and when one person starts booing everybody follows suit. It’s not even Barcelona fans, which is undecidedly worse and better. The overall impression is that you’ve aggravated the Spanish people.

It takes your teammates a couple of seconds to catch on to who it is the anger is being directed at but once they do it’s a domino affect of everybody turning to you, and then turning to each other and back to you. You try your best to not let it affect you, you’ve been booed before and have dealt with many angry fans, but when it starts to echo from the away side of the stands you honestly question if you’ve pushed yourself a little bit too hard.

Alexia regrets her decision not to say something to you when she sees the complete fear in your eyes as you look around at the crowd, who are vehemently booing you. It’s not a good feeling on any day to clearly have a crowd so against you but when you’re clearly off kilter as it is it’s clear that it all throws you off even more.

Before Alexia can think about it, she’s beelining straight to Keira.

“What happened on camp?”

Keira is just as thrown off by what is occurring as everyone else.

“England camp?”

It’s clear in the bewilderment in Keira’s face that she’s not understood what Alexia’s asking.

“With y/n, did something happen that nobody knows about?”

The booing finally comes to an end, but it doesn’t change the overall energy in which a whole crowd is sending your way.

“She was fine all camp, being an idiot with grace and beth and being her usual self. All the other games she was fine, and then after the Spain game, after the red card, she’s just been acting different. It’s like G at Man City all over again.”

Alexia understands everything that Keira’s saying, until the last sentence. Her English is pretty good, hger understanding is almost perfect, speaking less so but the last few words completely surpass her level of interpretation.

“G? Man City?”

Alexia notices you in the corner of her eye doing shooting practice, every time you miss and echo of cheers erupts.

“Georgia? Stanway? A couple of years ago, when she was young she got a stupid red card, it wasn’t pretty not dissimilar to the challenge on Aitana. Big mess with the media, got some really nasty messages.”

She doesn’t remember the moment itself, but she does remember reading something about it a couple of years ago.

“Gracias.”

You’re red hot with rage already, the crowd has you amped up. When Pere questions you in the locker room about your state of mind, you are quite literally in a blinding fury. It the kind of sadness fueled anger, youa re literally ripping apart at the seams and instead of actually feeling all of the innate anguish you are experiencing you turn it into anger.

“Why the fuck did you go to Pere and tell him I wasn’t ready to play.”

The tunnel is the only time you’ve been able to talk to Alexia, she’d been so held up with the pep talk, then talking to Pere, then giving inspiration to everybody else. But now that you have the opportunity you can’t ignore it.

Alexia’s eyes are ahead, you’re stuck standing behind her but she can hear you perfectly clear.

“After the game.”

It had taken enough effort for you to convince Pere that you were fine. You were begging for a starting spot that you didn’t even want, a spot that is actually making you feel sick to your stomach. It’s the doubt though, you doubted yourself in that stupid tackle that got you the card, so if you doubted yourself what was to stop everybody else from doubting you?

“No, what makes you think that you can talk to our coach about my game fitness without even talking to me? Do you have any respect for me at all?”

Alexia turns around, and it makes you feel slightly validated and slightly less like you’re about to punch her in the head.

“It’s not about your fitness.”

The punching in the head feeling returns pretty quickly.

“Not about my fitness? What the fuck else is it then? Just because I don’t act like a dickhead on the bus and decide to take a nap?”

Alexia gives you on final look before turning around, the look on her face only adds to your sickeningly consuming anger.

You go onto the pitch angry, which isn’t good for anything. Every time the ball lands at your feet, boos echo out. Every time you get tackled, which is fairly frequently because the opposition has chosen you as the punching bag for the game, cheers erupt. The game is easy enough, 90 percent of possession is with Barcelona, with you spot in the midfield the ball comes to you every few seconds. It’s mostly fine, for the first ten or so minutes. Until the tackles start to get rougher, and you’re mad, and the crowd is loud and everything feels so incredibly wrong.

It’s working you up at a fast rate, then the ball lands at your feet for the 50th time in the match already, and without even looking up at your defender, who three seconds before was standing right in front of you, her studs are placing themselves directly into your calf. It’s not a comfortable feeling, to put it lightly. You manage to clear the ball before you’re on your back, clutching at your leg and trying your best to breathe as the crowd cries out, your opponent mutters something aggressively in spanish and your teammates argue with the referee.

It’s all too much. Your just angry, and upset. Not even at your defender or at the tackle, just at all of it. You think in a roundabout way that this is all karma, that this is your punishment for whatever you did to anger everyone and yourself. You’re tired and fed up and want it all to go away.

You want to sink into the grass of the pitch and just disappear, it would make your life so much easier if in this moment you could just disappear and not face any of the stuff that is happening.

Then there are hands on you and you’re reminded that it’s nowhere near that easy.

“Estas bien? Necesitas la medica?”

You force yourself to stand up, push through, get it over with. You need to prove everybody wrong.

Whether you can see it or not, you are spinning out. Everybody else can see it, you’re frantic, timid and shaken. Patri is the one to put her hands on your shoulders and steady you before you try to return to play.

“You need to go off.”

Twenty minutes have passed, you aren’t going to force a sub when it is unnecessary.

“I’m fine.”

Patri shakes her head, in the same way Irene or Marta would when they are being tough.

“You are not okay, and you need to go off before something worse than that happens.”

You shake Patri off, and when she tries to come back you give her a shove.

“I’m fucking fine. I know when I can and cannot play.”

Like every other attempt that’s been made to try and stop you, she just frowns and walks away. The ref gives you a once over before allowing the game to return to play.

It’s not fine, nothing is fine. Your defender continuously gets away with dangerous tackles that should be continous yellow cards, the crowd is getting to you with every passing second. By gods grace three goals are scored in a few minutes, not only does it silence the opposition it puts you at ease a little bit. For the most part, you’re doing okay, or as okay as possible.

Until it gets to a corner.

There is two minutes of stoppage time, which have well and truly been used up. The corner is going to be the last play and it’s impact is not super important but the pressure is still there. You end up sandwiched between the two centre backs, and for whatever reason when the boot releases off of Patri’s foot from the corner instead of running to make room like you’re supposed to, you are yanked directly to the ground, with two boots stepping directly onto your legs.

It’s not agony, it’s definitely not good but you’re spending more time trying to not cry and collect air then focusing on everything else.

You can’t breathe, and you physically can’t stop the sob that leaves your mouth, it’s pathetic but it’s been building and you can’t stop it.

You don’t bother with listening to the call, or letting your teammates help you up or worrying about the play. The whistle has blown and you have one mission, to go anywhere away from people. You force yourself to stand up even though your back hurts from falling flat on it and your thighs hurt from being stomped on, and walk off.

Pere and the bench are still waiting in the dug out, normally you’d hug or talk or anything but right now the only thing on your mind is getting away, because if you don’t then what is now only tears is going to turn into a full panic attack. You’re working simply off of pure instinct, you have the shutters on and the only thing you are focusing on is your end goal and getting there. When you get to the changing rooms it’s empty, you bee line straight through to the bathroom and lock yourself in a stall before you actually let yourself think beyond the orders that have been set out in your mind.

Like everyone had said, you aren’t ready. You are living with the knowledge that because of your actions, your stupid actions you are being given a spot and opportunity that you didn’t deserve, you got it purely based off of the fact that you injured one of your teammates. Now you can’t even live up to the expectation of being a replacement.

The feeling that was initially what you had thought to be anxiety sickness builds up and all of a sudden you’re grateful your in the bathroom because within a couple of seconds you are kneeled on the floor letting your whole stomach contents out. It’s not a good feeling, you’ve been slowly descending towards rock bottom for days now but you’ve come to the realisation that this is it, this is your lowest point. Every time you think about the pitch you subsequently think about the crowd which leads you to think about everything happening inside your phone and then the sick feeling is back full force. The you think about Aitana, her ankle, her spot, her training, everything. All of that combined and all you can do is cry, it’s the only emotional outlet that you have enough energy for. You’d love to be able to punch something or throw something but you don’t have the energy, you’re running off of no sleep, hardly any food and now the fatigue of playing a half of football.

“Chica, can you open the door?”

Truthfully there are not many people you want to see in this moment or really ever again but Alexia might be at the top of the list. You’d been a little bit star struck when you’d gotten to Barcelona, you were an up and coming and to be on a roster with the best midfielders in the world was something you were in awe of. You were still slightly in awe of the fact that you were sharing a bench with two ballon d’or winners.

“I’m fine.”

You force yourself to stay as silent as possible even though it’s hard with the constant sobs building up inside of your chest.

“Please open the door.”

You’re at rock bottom and even if you try to swim out you’re going to need some help at some stage you suppose.

As soon as you open the door there is a resounding gasp, you close your eyes to keep a little bit of your inner peace whilst Alexia steps into the stall and locks the door behind her. There is just enough room for her to squeeze down on the floor next to you so she does without any hesitation.

“I don’t need you telling me that you were right to question me playing and that it was a bad idea, I’m already aware.”

You’re not sore from the match and yet everything hurts, you actually feel like your limbs are slowly being ripped off of your body and everything is being split open.

“I wasn’t going to say that, I was going to ask if you’re okay.”

It’s a complicated question.

“Physically yes.”

Your eyes are still closed, if you look at Alexia then suddenly this all becomes a whole lot more real.

“Mentally, emotionally?”

Just the question is enough to essentially demuzzle you, everything you were doing to stop yourself from crying out fails, and you start sobbing, in the loudest and ugliest way possible.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Alexia bunches up jext to you, slings an arm around your shoulders and brings you in closer.

“Don’t apologise when you didn’t do anything wrong, even if everyone else is making it seem like you did.”

Deep down you do believe you did something wrong, you don’t exactly know what but you must have, you must have done something because why else would all of this have happened.

“I hurt Aitana, I took her spot, I sabotaged her.”

The crying is cathartic, you’ve been crying for days but in an unemotionally detached way to expel some of the depression instead of actually feeling it.

“No you didn’t. You mis-timed a tackle that ended in a very minor injury. Football is a game of injuries, it happens. I don’t care what you’ve read online or what you’ve heard, the facts are simple. Anyone on our team or the england team can tell you that. Nobody blames you for what happened, not even Aitana. So you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

It’s easier to blame yourself you think.

“Everybody hates me, all I’m getting are messages about how I deserve to die and how people wish I’m never able to have kids or that I get injured as payback.”

Alexia’s deep breath makes you feel queasy all over again.

“What we’re going to do is delete all of your social media apps for the next few weeks, nothing is going to make people stop being putas, si? So for your own sake you’re going to delete all of them, turn all of your comments off, turn your messages off. There is nothing more important then your peace of mind, once that’s gone then this happens. You deserve better than this, you deserve to feel better than this. You also deserve to have fun and enjoy being a part of this team, nobody thinks you sabotaged Aitana, nobody blames you. You are just as welcome here as you were before the break, you are just as valued here as you were before the break. This stupid situation is not worth your health, si?”

You wipe away some of your tears, even though they’re still coming and nod.

“You deserve better, and until people realise that we need to focus on making sure that you know that.”

You feel specifically worthless, and it’s completely your own doing.

“Now, we need to get up before my legs go to sleep and my old body is stuck on the floor in here. Not everybody has young bones like you kids.”

You flush whatever parts of your stomach decided they wanted to resurface and force yourself to stand up, but as you do so the realisation that you are midway through a match comes back and all off a sudden you feel the need to sit down again.

“I told Pere to take you off for the rest of the game, I was coming off anyway, managing minutes. You can get dressed or shower, or do whatever you need to do and then we’lltalk a bit more about how we can turn this around. I’m serious when I say that the main focus is you right now and supporting you.”

You ignore the fact that nothing was ever mentioned about Alexia managing minutes and just accept that it’s a pointless argument and you don’t exactly mind her company right now. It’s nice to know that there is somebody shining a light for you at the end of the tunnel.