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alittlebitofsainz · 6 months

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a place in this world - ch1

a dream come true. you, a race engineer in formula one, having built your way up through the ranks. sure, the 2020 season hadn’t exactly gone the way that everyone had expected, but this was your chance, your moment to prove to the world of racing what you and your driver, carlos, were made of. but carlos isn’t staying at mclaren forever, and eventually, you’ll have a decision to make…

pairing: carlos sainz x f! reader. slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers (please, from my own experience, don’t follow this pipeline)

info: reader lives in the uk due to working at mclaren, and is somewhat implied to be british. it is also implied that they listen to bbc radio 2 and support leicester city football club. this may or may not be because these things are true of me and I wasn’t planning on publishing this, sorry!

warnings: cursing, a lil’ bit of angst, very infrequent use of y/n, one (1) google translated spanish sentence, a dry british writing style xoxo a/n: hello! welcome to a little passion project I never thought I’d share with the internet. this will eventually become a sort of ‘choose your own adventure’ type series, where you can make decisions about your career that can eventually lead you to different teams and drivers. will be posting a masterlist soon with more info so bare with me! any feedback / comments are always welcome

Masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter One: … Ready for It?

it had started out like any other wednesday. except it hadn’t, not really. the nature of your job meant that there was no ‘any other wednesday’. most wednesdays meant that you were jetting off to some new country, your wide eyed face in the window seat, reflecting back off the pane of glass separating you from the dancing lights of some exciting new city, 5,000 feet below. race engineer to mclaren-renault formula one driver number 55, carlos sainz, wasn’t exactly what you had listed as what you wanted to be when you grew up, but you were far from disappointed that that’s what your linkedin profile now read, a metaphorical middle finger to everyone who’d said you’d never amount to anything in motorsports.

but by all accounts it had been a relatively uneventful wednesday in your life, in fact even more so than usual compared to the early morning check ins at Stansted airport that you’d grown accustomed to. this week was silverstone, your home race, if race engineers could call it that, and that meant no early mornings, no check ins, no flights, no decanting your liquids into tiny bottles and zipping them into a plastic bag to take through security. this wednesday was a stop at sainsburys to fill up the tank of your vw polo with petrol, and an 80 mile drive west towards silverstone circuit. the most exciting part of your morning was getting stuck in half an hour of traffic on the m25; you didn’t even need the dulcet tones of Richie Anderson on radio 2 to tell you there’d be traffic at Potters Bar. as a native southerner, you could just feel it in your bones.

still, only fifteen minutes late to track wasn’t too bad, considering your lengthy journey, and you were by far the last member of the team to arrive. you would’ve been even less late, but for the fact that you’d sat for the best part of five minutes in your car, engine off, staring at the notification on your phone. there were so many questions running around in your head, first and foremost of which was why on earth did dan from engineering have your number? but the second question, which was possibly the more important one, was why did carlos ask him for it? he said that it ‘might be useful to contact each other.’ if the current expression on your face could be summed up in a noise, it would be a very confused and very emphatic ‘huh?’.

sure, you and carlos interacted a lot during race weekends, that much was a given. you were forever catching up to discuss data, strategies, the car setup, the sandwich options at the hospitality, why the leicester city football team would beat real madrid in a fist fight. so okay, your conversations weren’t allstrictly work related, and you could’t deny that the two of you got on well and seemed to really understand each other, but that was all part of being a driver and race engineer duo; you had to be on the same wavelength. it was non-negotiable. but swapping phone numbers? you couldn’t imagine why the two of you would need to text or call each outside of work hours, and you had work phones for that. which led you to your third and fourth questions: number three, why did you suddenly feel so nervous and giddy with excitement when you re-read his message for the seventh time? (question three point five was why did you re-read his message seven times?) and number four, what the hell were you supposed to message back in reply?

you typed in a thumbs up emoji and then immediately deleted it. how fucking old were you, 65? what next, start talking to him about the cold war? no, you had to keep it fun and casual, not too overfamiliar but not too weirdly distant and cold. god, why was this so difficult? you felt like a schoolgirl with a teenage crush, constantly typing various replies and deleting them again, letter by letter. eventually you settled on a cool, calm and collected response, typing it out and shoving your phone into your pocket before you had time to overanalyse what you’d just sent. quickly gathering up your stuff from the boot of your car, you spammed the lock button on your car keys, just in case the first five times didn’t stick, and trotted off towards the entrance to the paddock.

as it was approaching the hour mark since he’d sent his text, carlos had been starting to worry that he’d overstepped an unwritten boundary. why had he even asked dan from engineering for her number in the first place? it just felt like something that he should have. lando had will’s number, he’d already asked him that. but once he’d sent the message he realised that he couldn’t really come up with an excuse as to why he’d needed it, why he couldn’t have waited until he’d seen her this weekend and ask for her number from herself. like a normal person. deep down he knew why, though he was in some sort of state of denial about it, and it was the same reason that he hadn’t asked for her number two weeks ago in Hungary, or at the previous race in Austria, or when he’d first met her at the start of the season.

he breathed a sigh of relief when her reply came through, 57 minutes after he’d sent his message. well, the first one that is. the second message came two minutes after the first; god, he couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget to include who he was at the end of the text the first time around.

but it didn’t matter now, because she’d replied, and her words on the screen made him smile to himself, her voice in his head as he read them through three, now four times over. his fingers hovered over the keypad, contemplating a reply. he checked the time - it wouldn’t be long until she arrived at track anyway and they could chat in person, so he closed the messages app on his phone and tucked it away in his pocket, deciding against committing any words to the everlasting aether which was the iPhone messages app.

it was nearing the end of a lengthy strategy department meeting when your phone went off, a few pair of eyes glancing your way as you apologised profusely, eyes scanning over the text before sheepishly putting your phone on do not disturb and placing it back on the table face down. shit, this meeting wouldn’t be finished for another ten minutes at least, and by that time all the bacon and brie toasties would be gone (everyone knew they were the best lunch option). worse still, you hated the fact that you had to leave carlos hanging; pausing the strategy meeting to send off a quick text was equivalent to a cardinal sin, even if it was to carlos sainz. your eyes were flicking increasingly often down to the time on your laptop, the seconds crawling by as the time approached one o’clock. it felt like whichever godlike entity governed the laws of time was toying with you; surely it wasn’t possible for time to move this slowly? the head of strategy wrapped the meeting at 13:04, and you were out of your seat like a rocket.

amy, one of the strategists, fell into step beside you as you paced it down the corridor.

“you’ve heard about the brie and bacon being back on?” she asked; you only had to reply with a grin to give her the answer that she needed. she eyed you up, as much as anyone power walking down a busy corridor could whilst still maintaining maximum straight line speed.

“everyone from strategy and engineering has been in meetings. so who’s your source?” came her second question. you picked up your pace, under the guise of trying to get to the canteen quicker.

she had a habit of taking just enough time to respond to carlos’ messages to keep him guessing whether she actually would respond at all. it wasn’t entirely her fault, carlos realised; she’d apologised for earlier, explaining that she was busy driving. of course she was, how could he be such an idiot? maybe a part of him was hoping that she’d been acting coy, teasing him by waiting, purposefully trying to keep him on the edge of his seat.

carlos saw her enter the canteen, watched with a small, self satisfied smirk as her face fell, the rattan shelf where the brie and bacon toasties had been, now depressingly empty. he left it just long enough so that she was forced to consider which disappointing option to go for instead, before finally calling her over.

“Y/N!” carlos called, watching as her head whipped round, and he had to stifle a laugh at her confusion. he waved her over.

“sorry, I was stuck in a meeting.” she sighed, her voice slightly breathless. had she ran here? he fought back the urge to tease her about it, shaking his head slightly.

“don’t worry about it.” he replied, gesturing to the seat beside him as he spoke. her eyes lit up when her gaze fell on the plate on the table, in just the way he’d pictured in his head. god, he’d never get over the way the simple things pleased her, and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. over the past couple of months that he’d known her, carlos had learned that the little things really mattered, in a way that was almost rare in this environment. she looked upon a brie and bacon sandwich like it was the sun that shined, and if she’d have looked up at carlos in that moment, she’d have seen that he was looking at her in the exact same way.

“is that for me?”

“no.” carlos replied, deadpan. she shot him a look, her face screwed up in a pout that he’d grown more accustomed to the more he teased her like this. eventually he let out a soft chuckle, as a way to say I’m only joking, of course it’s for you, and she sat down in the seat next to him with a playful scowl, which only caused him to laugh more.

“thanks, carlos. you’re the best.” she told him through a mouthful of brie, bacon and toasted bread.

“I know.” he replied, a cheeky grin dancing across his face. “it was the last one as well.”

“amy’s gonna be pissed.” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her colleague was forced to settle for regular ham and cheese.

a podium finish to p13. was it worse to fail because of your own shortcomings or because of something that was out of your control? if you’d asked carlos sainz right now, he would think about it for a moment, and then tell you to vete a la mierda.*

his phone screen lighting up in the darkness was the only thing that brought his attention to how dark it had become in his hotel room. christ, how long had he been sat there, staring at the wall, trying to process how frustrated and angry and upset he was? he’d put his phone on silent, tired of all the commiseratory messages that had been coming through, but apparently his bedtime reminder didn’t obey the laws of do not disturb. sighing, he unlocked the device, and quickly scanned down the many notifications he had been ignoring for the past few hours. one stood out above all the rest, because of course it did. he felt guilt clutch him as he noticed the message from well over an hour ago. from her.not only guilty at the fact that he’d not seen her message, but for some reason guilty for perceiving that he’d let her down at her home race. it was stupid, he knew, to feel that way - it wasn’t his fault that his tyre had blown out with just a few laps to go, but he knew how excited she’d been for her first ever british gp, and it had all ended in disappointment. his fingers hovered over the keyboard at the bottom of his phone for a moment, a million different emotions whizzing round in his head, bouncing off the sides like a demented pinball machine. no wonder he had a headache. he drew in a sharp breath before typing out his reply.

*I’m hoping this means somewhat akin to ‘fuck off’

you’d almost forgotten that you’d sent carlos sainz a message of commiseration, which was shocking considering how long you’d been deliberating over it only a mere hour ago. you were back in your own bed in your hometown, seeing no need to stick around seeing as there would be no celebrations this weekend, and carlos had disappeared as soon as the team debrief had ended, making it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. which made it all the more surprising when you leaned over to your bedside table, bleary eyes blinking back sleep as your vision adjusted to the pitch black of your room, to pick up the phone which had woken you from your sleep.

your eyes blinked again against the harsh light of the phone, taking a moment to focus on the big bold numbers on your lockscreen. 01:03? who was texting you at this time? eyebrows knitted together in an increasingly deep frown, you scanned carlos’ message. as was becoming customary, you read it several times over, this time to check whether you’d read it right. why would he want to ring you, at this time of night as well? your mind started to reach for wild possibilities - was he in trouble? hurt? worse?

before he changed his mind, carlos hit the telephone symbol next to her contact details.

“Carlos, are you okay?” her voice came through almost immediately, sounding equal parts panicked yet somehow sleepy. shit, not only had he caused her to worry, he’d probably just woken her up in the middle of the night as well. what kind of dickhead rings a colleague that he’s only known for a few months at 1am? he cleared his throat.

“fuck, sorry, I woke you up.”

“don’t worry about it, I was awake.” she replied. a blatant lie, but carlos appreciated the attempt to make him feel better.

“can I help you with something?” she continued, still sounding concerned. he shook his head even though she couldn’t see.

“yes, no. fuck, I don’t know.” he growled at himself for being so confused, so confusing, for not even really knowing why he’d called her. was he going insane, or did he just hear a soft sigh on the other end of the line? he squeezed his eyes shut, collecting himself to try again, but she beat him to it.

“I’m sorry about today, carlos, it must be tough to deal with.”

sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. he dragged a hand down his face.

“yeah, I’m- it’s not great.” he stumbled over his words slightly, his voice catching in his throat. usually he’d be reluctant to show this vulnerability, embarrassed even, but something about the late hour combined with how oh-so-soft her voice was… it made him forget his pride for just that moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, feeling a ramble coming on but equally feeling powerless to stop it. “I know that it was a problem with the tyre, I know that it wasn’t my fault, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. and then there’s always a part of me that wonders whether there was anything that I could’ve done. like, maybe if I’d driven less aggressively or something, or changed the way I braked around a certain corner. I still feel like I’ve let myself down, let the team down, let you dow-“

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” her abrupt reply broke him from his monologue, stopping him in his tracks and allowing him to fill his lungs with air, not realising how out of breath he was becoming with his run-on sentences.

“what?” came his soft reply. he’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said the first time. but a part of him needed to hear it again.

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” she repeated, with the same clarity, the same sincerity, the same low tone that he’d never heard from her before that made her sound so wise beyond her years.

“you didn’t let anyone down. this wasn’t your fault. I know it doesn’t make it any less frustrating or easier to deal with - there’s nothing I can say that will change that. but please, please don’t blame yourself for any part of it.”

there was silence on both ends for a moment, before carlos let out a long sigh.

“I- yeah, I guess you’re right.” there was something still on his mind, something that one am carlosknew that one pm carlos would never want to talk about, least of all burden his race engineer with it. but that was all the more reason to say it now.

“I just feel so much pressure to perform, now that I have the ferrari contract.” his voice dropped even lower as he spoke, as if whispering it quietly enough could make it not be true. “I feel like I have to earn my place there, you know?”

“carlos, you were P-fucking-3.”

something about the way she stressed the syllables made carlos chuckle despite himself, and from the way she let out a small giggle on the other end of the phone, he guessed that that had been her intention all along.

“anyone can see that you’ve earned that seat at ferrari. you’ve proved that time and time again already. this isn’t about anyone else, this is about you, and what you believe you deserve. the only person you need to convince is yourself.”

carlos chuckled again, feeling some sort of playful nature already coming back to him. maybe he’d finally figured out why he wanted to call her in the middle of the night, maybe it was even the reason he wanted her number in the first place. maybe it was because he knew that no matter how crappy he was feeling, talking to her always seemed to turn the day around. she always seemed to make him smile.

“very inspirational.” he replied, his tone almost teasing over her ‘believing in yourself’ speech. the corners of his lips curved upwards as he could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end.

“this is what I get for trying to be nice.” she muttered, but her tone was light, reciprocating the teasing. carlos smiled, his first genuine smile in several hours. probably since the last time he’d seen her.

“thank you, really. talking to you it… it always puts me in a better mood.” carlos confessed, glad that this was a phone call so she couldn’t see the way his cheeks lit up a soft shade of pink.

“anytime, carlos.”

when they eventually hung up the call, carlos felt lighter than he had in weeks, like she’d melted all his problems away with her soft voice and warm heart. he slept easy that night. meanwhile, she was now wide awake.

you groaned when the sound of your phone pinging dragged you from your admittedly tumultuous sleep. it had been difficult to drift off again after that call with carlos, a million thoughts buzzing around your brain like a swarm of bees on cocaine. you felt bad for carlos, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep you awake on its own. there was another feeling there; if you were to flip through an oxford english dictionary until you found a word that summed it up you might settle for ‘intrigued’.

you were intrigued that carlos that had decided to ring you of all people last night; surely he had family, or at the very least close friends, that he would rather turn to? but you were also intrigued by your own reaction - why were you feeling so warm and fuzzy that carlos had chosen you, the knowledge that when he was feeling low you were the one he wanted to hear on the other end of the line creating some sort of feeling in your heart, like someone was squeezing it not-quite-too tightly?

it was these questions, and an incessant amount of bin lorries driving past at 5am, that kept you from falling back asleep, and were the reason that you were grumbling now, as you reached over to pick up your phone. the grumbling ceased the moment you read the message and saw who it was from, replaced by a softly murmured ‘oh’, and that strange feeling in your chest again.

as always feedback and comments are welcomed with massive appreciation and open arms! a second part is written and will be out soonish! much love, Katie x

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #f1 fic #f1 imagine

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rainingmbappe · 6 months

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Saw someone say, "Watch fake football fans support leverkusen now " ?? Have you ever thought about how teams like barca, madrid, man u, city, liverpool, arsenal, Milan, juve, bayern got their following?? By being at the bottom of the league or by being the top club for when those fans started watching the sport??? I'm not saying that eveyone supports the top club of their time, but that's true for the majority of international fans especially. Literally, all my friends who started watching football say, 10 years ago, support barca or madrid or city. Almost all of my dad's friends support man u or chelsea or liverpool. Why are we acting like that's not how football has worked since forever??? And this is especially true for newer football fans. There's always gonna be people who support Leicester or Luton because that's their culture but for international fans, it's literally the most natural thing to gravitate towards the best club when they start to get into the sport. Be nicer and think before saying dumb shit

#they're not glory hunters they're literally new?????#its so stupid to me #football #bayer leverkusen #bayer 04 leverkusen

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oh-saints · 2 years

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steward

ben never thought he'd be mistaken as a steward of the stamford bridge.

ben chilwell x student!OC

word count: 7.0k

tw: nothing

note: ben's all-black prada photoshoot still haunts me down to this day... might as well write something out of it. but as usual, not beta-read bcs i'm simply too sleepy to do so.

benjamin chilwell thought he could handle kids because he loved them—the idea of pure, untainted creature two human beings could magically create together, the joy he’d feel whenever surrounded by them. james maddison wouldn’t have trusted the life of his son cruz to ben’s hands if it wasn’t the case.

but to throw ben into an almost full-day with approximately three dozen of children, whom all are curious and creative with their questions addressed to him surely changed his perspective of having a set of twins—he wished they wouldn’t feel the loneliness he felt as the only child in a household.

or maybe, what was turning different was his perspective of how the club he got to call his relatively new home. how could the club throw him into a pool of enthusiastic chelsea junior members all by his own? a number of staffs were present, of course, to guide the group throughout the special tour of the stamford bridge, but it wasn’t like they could help him in answering the endless question marks thrown at him.

if ben didn’t know it was part of chelsea junior christmas programme, he would’ve disappeared down the tunnel until the tour was over, trying to call for any back-up available so he wouldn’t be so alone and tired during special ‘kicking’ sessions—the club so lightly put it. ben could feel himself walking towards somewhere quiet, unable to bring himself to drive home yet, for there was little to none of his energy left. before he could put some brain into his feet, he’d sat in the nearest spectator seat, just slightly behind the player’s box.

he’d never been in the bridge, or any other stadium in general, when the curtains had been drawn but he thought he should pay some more visits during this time of hour. the lights were now tamed down to match the sun setting on the background, warmer to his eyes just the way he liked his bedside lamp, but what he liked the most was the silence around the building.

no matter how much he liked going out with his friends as the effect of being the only child, he couldn’t shy away from the fact that he enjoyed tranquillity whenever he possibly could. recent years, especially, after he had emerged under the limelight of a buzzing stadium, resulting in putting him under the hot seat of public scrutiny whatever he does, whenever he goes.

“hello?”

was he really having a rough time after such a hectic, soul-sucking day that he was starting to hear things? or was stamford bridge so old that the horror stories were starting to become true?

“sir—”

the slight tap on ben’s shoulder was enough to make the footballer jolted in his seat, immediately standing as if a lightning had just struck him.

maybe he was very much lost in his thoughts that he’d indeed been struck by lightning before his brain could comprehend anything and this lady in front of him was an angel sent by god to take him away from the surface of the earth. otherwise, it wouldn’t explain why there was someone else, presumably general public judging by her attire, could be wandering at this hour, on this side of the stadium. every activity on the ground had stopped before the sun went down and not everyone had the access to roam around the grandiose fortress.

“i’m so sorry, i don’t mean to surprise you or anything—”

“‘was fine,” she looked absolutely apologetic that ben couldn’t help but fix his posture. “can i help you with anything?”

at his question, the woman’s eyes lit up, now glimmering with hope. deep inside, ben sighed because he’d seen that kind of look every so often. it brought him back to reality that he is ben chilwell, leicester city’s former number 3 and chelsea’s current number 21, and sometimes some people went to extra lengths to interact with him.

“ah, yes, there is, actually,” seeing that the lady rummaged through the pockets of her coat, ben was already putting his hands inside his jacket, ready to pose with the lady. “do you have any old iphone cable?”

what?

“i need to charge my phone,” realizing ben had accidentally made a slip of tongue, he zipped his mouth shut. “but i left my charging kit at home, which i know isn’t wise when your phone’s super old.”

is this some kind of prank? surely pick-up lines these days are better than that.

“i know it sounds weird, but i came here with a friend of mine, a massive chelsea fan,” the woman was smarter than he gave her credits for, she perceptively showed her visitor id at ben’s implied hesitance. “we were supposed to take a tour, but i fell out of it because i had to take a work call. when i tried to call her to ask where she is, my phone ran out of power.”

ben’s stance relaxed a little bit more when he noticed she held no hidden agenda towards him. (don’t ask him how, but ben had somehow mastered this kind of art.) “okay, so you’re, like, lost?”

“i wouldn’t be asking you if i wasn’t, would i?” ben was perplexed at her clipped tone—just as when he was lowering his guard to warm up to her—but he took a once-over to her again and still, he only saw a no non-sense look coming off her. she was transparent, clear as day, and he liked the fresh breath of air already.

“what do you think i am? a steward?”

“are you not?”

ben was meaning to break the ice at first, but he involuntarily shot a look at her as she responded to him, this time seriously so with his are-you-kidding-look. the other person only replied his unspoken question with a confused pair of eyebrows before darting her eyes down at his attire and ben couldn’t help but look down as well.

all black: his prada black puffer jacket on top of his black dinner trousers.

the two pairs of eyes searched for one another; one was asking for confirmation as she was confused, the other was staring back, baffled but amused at the same time. that got to be the second-best thing he heard this year after the champions league winner announcement.

“yeah, you can say that,” oh, scratch the word ‘like’ from his previous statement. ben loved her already. “why don’t we get inside first, hm? warm ourselves up with a cuppa or chocolate or something while we wait for your phone to get to at least 15%?”

“sounds lovely.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“i’m still amazed that phone still works.”

for some unbeknownst reason to ben, one of his teammates still owned a very old iphone he now used as some sort of an ipod, using it purely to listen to his pre-match playlist. ben kind of remembered it because he found it funny but cool at the same time—he couldn’t recall the ages before apple music or spotify existed—but he’d never felt more grateful that his brain capability to memorise things wasn’t as short as dory’s from finding nemo.

“apple’s not letting this legend die anytime soon with all the IOS upgrade, it seems,” ben tried to lead scarlett—the woman he now took under his wing—on to his portion of locker room, to see if she caught on anything, but the woman remained unfazed with her surrounding and sat where ben gestured her to sit, eager to plug in her phone to the nearest power source. “i hope they keep doing that, though, because sure as hell this broke arse of a student couldn’t afford a better one yet.”

“so, you’re still a student?”

scarlett fumbled around with the tangled cable before she could successfully connect the electronic device to its source of power. “i think the term ‘a part-time student, full-time part-timer’ fits better.”

ben was grateful that the dressing room was empty. imagine if mason was lurking somewhere nearby and the younger lad overheard the way ben laughed naturally around a stranger he only came to know less than fifteen minutes ago, mason would’ve definitely flipped at how peculiar the scene was.

“we have a multitasking queen right here, ladies and gentleman,” ben turned his body towards the fridge for the canned drinks he stored specifically for his post-game routine. “what are you studying?”

“the major that promises an easy job-seeking opportunity after graduation, of course,” scarlett let out a sigh of relief when her phone lit up, signalling the cable did indeed work its magic. not only was her phone old, it was also sensitive. she mentally took note to start saving for a new phone. “i’m an mba candidate.”

“you certainly don’t look the age of someone’s on mba pursuit.”

“i know, they said i’m forever old.”

ben couldn’t hide his look of incredulous surprise. “who said that?”

“a lot of people,” scarlett shrugged nonchalantly but eyes roamed around the room. “i don’t have time to bother, though, unless they’re the ones who put food on my table.”

based on her answer, ben could pull off a conclusion that it wasn’t because scarlett deliberately didn’t know him—she didn’t have time to know him. she was too busy to juggle around her hectic schedule to realize the buzz happening around her.

it then ticked ben, why he felt familiar around scarlett. she resembled him, one way or another, several years ago. an ordinary boy who was busy trying to figure out how to juggle cricket and football—as if choosing one wasn’t an option—because he badly wanted to earn the best of both worlds.

“that’s a right mindset, right there,” ben handed gestured scarlett to choose his choice of drink or a bottle of evian; the woman chose the latter. “but i was meaning to say that you look so young. isn’t an mba candidate required to have five years of working experience?”

“i’ve been legit working, although part-time due to my status as student, since god knows when, so i think they took that into consideration,” ben sat down beside her, and scarlett was silently surprised at how she didn’t find herself awkward towards everything ben did. other times, she’d shrug off anyone who touched this side of her surface, but with ben—she wanted to answer his questions honestly, no more dodging; she wanted him to know. “besides, what’s the use of befriending the professor’s daughter if you can’t pull of some strings for your application?”

ben’s laughter rang around the empty room once more. he appreciated her brutal honesty and had to agree to a certain extent; networking is one of life skills. “is it the same friend who left you behind today?”

“excellent guess, senor,” scarlett nodded with a smile that reminded ben of a child on a playground, legs dangling over the edge of the swing, swinging them back and forth with amazement the gravity hadn’t swallowed them up yet. “let’s say her dragging me to come here was a payback for that opportunity. it still feels weird to be here, though.”

“why, because you’re not a football fan?”

scarlett shot ben a look of disbelief, silently asking ‘how do you know?’ through her eyes. ben thought he loved being around with mason for his expressive eyes—he needn’t exert extra energy to figure the midfielder out—but certainly it was because he hadn’t discovered scarlett’s.

“well, that’s one,” the short-haired woman shook her head, still in disbelief. “my dad’s a huge arsenal fan, i feel like i’m committing a sin of betrayal.”

coming from an arsenal family on top of these all? what is this woman, a pandora box of surprise? “you should’ve gone to the sunday mass instead of coming here.”

this time, it was scarlett’s melodious laugh booming throughout the room. “perhaps i got lost here because of that, should confess my sin tomorrow then.”

as promised, ben guided her through tunnels and hallways to get their choice for cup of while waiting for her phone to be brought to life, as well as giving scarlett a tour she never had the chance to complete.

maybe more than the usual tour because ben showed her almost every room she wanted to know, as long as he had the access for it. “my friend must’ve used all of her luck when my phone’s dead because if else, i would be recording this and shove it to her face that i got an insider tour.”

this wasn’t the first time ben laughed without constraints around scarlett. the choice of words she used on her comments was always on point—just the kind of joke he liked—that if it wasn’t because of her straight face, he would’ve thought she was lowkey flirting with him.

oh, how much ben wished she was flirting with him instead. scarlett was the personification of sunshine, an absolute joy to be around with—the fact that she had no clue of who ben is surely gave her a brownie point. he had long forgotten how it felt to talk to a woman without having to put up a wall—he’d spend the entire time talking too busy to figuring out if the woman was genuinely interested in him or his money—and how exhilarating a conversation could naturally shift to two-sided banters.

ben was slowly inclined to think maybe it was him who used up all of his luck when he decided to give this sort of fanfiction-like encounter a go.

“can i ask you a question?” ben put her cup of hot chocolate in front of scarlett as he sat down across the woman. “why the name scarlett, though?”

scarlett let out a muffled sound of appreciation as the hot liquid warmed her up against the bad weather outside. “why not?”

ben grinned, her reply always put him on checkmate position. “i’m genuinely curious because i can’t recall anyone named scarlett other than scarlett johansson.”

“as you know, my dad’s an arsenal fan, but he didn’t want to name me after something that screamed very arsenal. naming me something along ‘the gunner’ or something would be hideous, no?” while scarlett remained indifferent when speaking, ben almost spat on his cup of tea at her. “but he couldn’t name me red nor white, so he chose scarlet instead. it happened to be the shade of the jersey the year i was born.”

“i take it your dad’s funny guy?”

“how’d you know?” scarlett’s eyes went wild in disbelief, mouth agape. “okay, you’re officially a psychic.”

“i think you inherit his sense of humour.”

“oh no, you sound like my friends who think i belong to a circus, along with the clowns—”

cough, cough.

scarlett stood up in panic at her new friend and tried to soothe the choking effect by patting his back gently. “you good?”

it was safe to say that ben should definitely stay away from any drinkable liquid whenever scarlett was around him. both for his own sake of living and for his image. “clown, oh my god!”

scarlett regained her seating back, although her body language screamed that she was still worried about ben. “well, my friends call me ‘the clown’ because i’m the one cracking jokes here and there. do you need some napkins?”

ben gladly took the gesture, eager to clean himself up a bit after such an embarrassing stint. “well, your friends must’ve got lost in whatever parade they went to because there’s no clown that looks as pretty as you.”

for the first time throughout their time together, there was no banter coming from scarlett. ben looked up to the woman, who seemed to be taken aback at his comment, and he wondered in panic if he said it too direct that it caused her discomfort.

ben was about to correct himself when he noticed her cheeks blossomed with a slight tinge of scarlet, unmistakable even against the yellow light creeping in from the stadium.

“nah, i think i know why you’re named scarlett,” ben sat back, smiling in pure joy at the endearing sight unravelled before him. “it suits you perfectly.”

as if ben’s previous comment didn’t fluster her to the bone, the beautiful man had to add some more into the mix, complete with that gentle look he threw at her. scarlett had to save herself from going flushed down the toilet—pun intended—so all she could manage to reply was, “i hope you keep in mind there’s also this woman named scarlet witch, so you better watch out.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“where on this bloody mother of earth have you been, sky evans!”

the front door hadn’t been entirely closed when the voice of abigail, her best friend, boomed through her flat. remind her again to never hide her spare key under the unused mails she intentionally stacked on her mailbox downstairs.

“you have no right to ask me that when you’re the one who left me behind.”

“you can’t be contacted! how am i supposed to know you’re still inside the bridge or that stupid professor of yours ran over your arse?”

“for god’s sake, abby, turn down your voice, will you?” scarlett was never a fan of screams in the first place, but after spending the evening with ben’s calm and peaceful voice, her head was banging in all the wrong places. “my phone’s dead and i was waiting for you on the player’s box, thought you’d find me easily there, but you didn’t, did you?”

by the way abby didn’t retaliate, scarlett knew she’d hit bull’s eye.

“you could’ve at least tried to flip stamford bridge upside and down to search for me, or announced over the speakers that you lost your friend or something, as embarrassing as that sounds but it could’ve worked,” scarlett pulled out her phone to text ben as promised, informing him she made it home safely. “if it wasn’t because of the fact i haven’t seen you in two years, i would’ve thrown you out already.”

“how did you get out of the bridge?”

“i asked around,” scarlett’s phone pinged with a new message from ben. wow, that was fast. “a steward was there to help, thankfully. he got me a charging kit, i think it belonged to a player who’s still using ipod, and waited until my phone’s back on. he offered me a ride home but i refused—”

“you didn’t!”

“i did,” scarlett shot a look to shut abby down. “if you’re worried about my love life because i refused a very friendly offer, worry not. i’m going out with him after the game on saturday.”

abigail ran from her spot to see the phone screen scarlett was showing her, before shrieking in pure elation and happiness that her plain-jane friend had smoothly scored a date.

good to hear you’re home safe because i just remembered we haven’t really toured the dressing room. there’s a home game on saturday, come to the bridge?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

when ben called to tell she’d be placed at the box, scarlett wasn’t expecting the private box.

as much as she wasn’t a fan of football herself, despite coming from a very football-centred family, she knew this type of hospitality wasn’t one she could afford herself. heck, her dad would’ve flipped upside down if he found out she could indulge in this kind of luxury, one he could only dream of. no, scratch that—he would’ve erased her from the family registry the moment he found out she was given these privileges at the stadium that hosted none other than arsenal’s very own london rival.

had ben briefed her the complete experience, she would’ve brought abigail along, no matter how much she was still upset that her best friend left her behind in this very place a week ago. it was such a waste to have these padded seats on such a spacious private box all by herself, not to mention the fine-dining pre-match cuisine to devour. abigail would love to join the crowd to sing along the chants as well—probably more like screaming on top of her lungs for scarlett’s standard—like a true blues she is, without having to be reprimanded by her overprotective father.

but she didn’t think a mere steward like ben could afford this as well, frankly.

none of this grandiosity made sense to her if it came from ben, unless—

unless if he was either well-connected or he was downplaying his job.

he could be one of the owners—no, no. as far as her general knowledge went and as long as her memory didn’t fail her, chelsea’s owner is a russian oil tycoon. that left her option down to concluding that ben was well-connected because he was part of the board. board these days tended to have a young representative amongst them for strategic reasons.

“miss evans,”

at the call of her name, scarlett turned around to the waiting staff dedicated to cater her needs for the day. it felt really weird having someone to call anytime you need them, she was very much used to doing everything on her own.

“the game is starting,” the staff informed, and the line-up announcement on the background brought scarlett back to reality. “mr. chilwell wishes you to wear this for the game.”

mr. chilwell? scarlett recalled she had never interacted with someone of that surname. the latest she enclosed her private data was to ben, saying he needed her full name to be registered to the reception up front for this particular day.

despite being lowkey scared that her identity had been compromised to a wrong party, who could be wanting her dead, scarlett accepted the satin blue box from the staff. inside, she identified chelsea’s signature blue home kit showing the name chilwell and the number 21 on the back, another box, and a paper folded neatly in two. being a curious person she is, she opened the smaller box first, only to find a new set of charging kit for her old iphone.

scarlett laughed at their internal jokes, speechless at the same time at the fact ben slipped in one essential thing she most likely forgot to bring on daily basis. during the week she got to know the male, scarlett found him as a very thoughtful guy, always remembering what she threw here and there—that she sometimes forgot she’d once said so—so that he didn’t cross the line when interacting with her.

Hey, you,

I’m sorry I can’t be there in person to give you these stuffs, but I hope this letter finds you well—at least as an appropriate substitute, but perhaps as a proper apology letter too, if you may.

Knowing how smart and quick-witted you are, I’m sure you have caught on a lot of things by now, especially the fact that I’m not supposed to be the friendly staff who took you on a private tour on Sunday. You weren’t wrong to assume I work here; your guess was actually spot on—it’s just I never bothered to correct you. Not because I think you’re easy to fool, but because it completely slipped off my mind to do that. You made time and space seem so easy to be forgotten and I couldn’t recall when was the last time I enjoyed one’s pleasant company so effortlessly.

Nonetheless, I’m sorry.

But I do hope that after reading this, you’d stay.

For the post-match meals served at the box, for the post-match buffet in the dressing room, for the big game, for the fun we could have after the game and beyond the Bridge. For me, perhaps—may the God align the moon and stars in the sky.

Should you decide the otherwise, please utilize the charging kit well to support your phone in documenting today from various angle of the Bridge. My mind will rest in peace knowing you’d gone home with an ocean of photos from this once-in-a-lifetime experience to show off to Abigail’s face and gone home safely without having your battery dead.

Should you decide to stay, though… please enjoy the game as much as I enjoy our banter, and wave me from your seat every time I come close to where you are. Can’t wait to see how much you can gulp down the food from our dressing room buffet.

All the love,

Benny

okay, so ben was indeed not who she’d thought he would be.

she laughed to herself, imagining what ben’s expression would look like if he was in front of her, telling this little information of himself in person. the male would’ve been flustered inside, the tinge of red across his cheeks would’ve cracked the cold composure he was trying to gather on the surface.

scarlett laughed to herself, remembering a past occurrence where she mocked abigail for stating she’d marry someone out of her league—“a prince would be ideal but i’d settle for a chelsea footballer too”, she said then—as they watched kate middleton descended from her bridal car. this, more or less, was scarlett’s version of ‘out of her league’—surely spending time with a hotshot c-level personnel from a very lucrative industry was beyond her imagination, as someone who was brought up by a working-class family on the suburbs of london.

and she laughed to herself because never in a million years would she have thought she’d be in a scene straight from what those teen lit stories published; jitters and all the butterflies flying out of the zoo kind of stuffs when she realised that she felt the same way as ben. he made it a piece of cake for her to warm up to a stranger, something that frankly never happened to her before as long as she’d lived (due to having little to no time to socialise with her peers because work was always waiting by the door). scarlett was sure ben had sprinkled magic here and there when they were alone that she’d forget the fact that in reality, they both belonged to a totally different world with a vast ocean standing between them.

but if ben was one of the higher-ups, why couldn’t she join her in the box?

scarlett was about to ask ben’s whereabout to the staff behind her when the announcer’s voice boomed throughout the stamford bridge, announcing chelsea’s starting eleven for the afternoon.

“assisting antonio rudiger on our left wing,” it declared. “we have our number 21, ben chilwell!”

the big screen on the other stands showed the face of ben, showing the back of his blue kit—the exact someone like she was holding in her hands now—with the name ben chilwell and his signature 21 number on his right. scarlett looked down to the pitch and there he was, unmistakably so on her peripheral vision; jumping up and down on the left wing, starting his engine before the referee blew the whistle.

had someone just poured scarlett a bucket of water?

if the people on the box beside hers paid attention to scarlett, it was guaranteed they’d call for help, seeing how frozen and helpless she had become. her face was also turning to be the kind of pale that wasn’t caused by the usual london weather on november—yep, splashed by endless ice cubes would be the only reasonable explanation.

or perhaps, the urge to vomit was becoming too unbearable for her to hold it in.

oh, or maybe it was due to the fact that her head was spinning, unable to come into final conclusion that this was reality. being involved with c-level sounded more plausible than this since she’s the TA to one of the most famous LSE professors. this was turning into something no longer belonged to teen lit anymore—this was straight out of fairy tale.

benny—the sweet, easy-going benny she got to know the past week—is, in fact, a football player.

the joke was now on her.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“this way, miss evans,”

the waiting staff from her earlier time at the box was guiding the way to the familiar tunnel scarlett knew oh-so-well leading to the dressing room, instead of ben this time. but unlike last sunday when she was very relaxed under ben’s care, scarlett was visibly nervous this time.

everything looked the same—everything is the same—but it wasn’t at all at the same time.

“please wait here, miss evans,” the staff said, after manoeuvring both of them amidst the masses of people flocking the tunnel. scarlett could feel her mild anxiety attack towards overly crowded place creeping in, she should’ve told ben the real reason she wasn’t a fan of loud, packed surroundings. “mr. chilwell should be here any moment now, he’s just finishing up his media duty.”

scarlett didn’t know what else to do than muttered okay under her breath, her hands were involuntarily picking against each other due to the uncontainable jitters on her nerves. she also wondered why, she didn’t even feel this fidgety when she had to undergo all of her previous important life events.

“you must be benji’s girl,” a voice came up from behind, startling her in her place. “scarlett evans, no?”

the way benji’s girl rolled down his tongue did wonders to her. not because he was handsome—although deep down scarlett admitted chelsea’s number 19 had the looks to kill for—but because of the way it sent her shivers and warmth down her body at the same time.

“i actually don’t know how benny thinks about it,” and she wasn’t lying. it hadn’t occurred her what benny might be telling his friends about her, or if he tells anything in general. “but yeah, i’m scarlett. nice to meet you, mount.”

“i thought you don’t know balls?” mason pulled out a surprised face. “or has benji fed me with lies?”

“i just watched one so i can say i’ve shed this whole virgin to football status,” with that, mason immediately figured out why his mighty best friend had fallen down to the pedestal. “congratulations for the hattrick, by the way.”

laughter subdued now but mason was still smiling. “well, thank you—”

“oi, mount!” and there was the voice they both were so familiar with. “don’t you scare her off!”

“oh, bugger off, chilwell,” the younger footballer groaned as soon as his left winger pulled scarlett closer to him, playing along the skit. “why must you always have the best girl to date?”

if mason didn’t know the whole saga of chilwell getting bewitched, he would be in a state of shock at the fact that his best friend had already moulded his body perfectly to match scarlett’s. the benji he knew by far had only been this affectionate with his dog—even his parents couldn’t be on par with his furry companion.

“because they only deserve the best,” scarlett was hoping—god, please let it be true, she prayed inside—that she wasn’t hallucinating when she felt benny pecked the side of her head lightly. “now run along, child.”

“alright, alright, dad,” mason faked a disappointed sigh before turning to scarlett. “call me when benji deserts you, love.”

at the younger’s teasing, ben stepped up and ready to chase the laughing midfielder down the tunnel. he halted his steps when he felt a hand tugging his gently, all while laughing at the funny interaction laid before her. he reckoned it reminded her of her own friendship with abigail, he couldn’t help but smile at the resemblance.

as well as how dashing she looked—blue and his name on the back surely fitted her to a T. but most of all, she stood in front of him, in flesh and blood, unwavering even when mason caught her off guard.

“you’re here,” ben didn’t think twice as he embraced her tightly, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair, such a welcoming smell against the reek of the boys’ sweats. “you stayed.”

her voice muffled against the padded jacket he was wearing. “where do you think i’m going?”

“could’ve beaten me running down the left flank, you never know.”

“well, hate to break it to you but i think i’m better at staying, especially—” scarlett pulled away and ben was giddy already on a very subconscious level, he didn’t even know what she’d be saying! “when food’s involved.”

ben laughed, his body warm from head to toe from the feelings he contained inside of him he felt he could combust. he pulled her towards him again, swaying her with him left and right.

scarlett joined in his contagious laugh, her wrecking nerves long forgotten. her understanding about the concept of space became blurry whenever ben’s involved, she’d usually mind when her ex-boyfriend initiated such an intimate act of PDA. ben’s blatant adoration towards her blinded everything else in front of her. “that was a superb game, benny. or should i say, ben chilwell?”

“you’re not mad at me?”

“for what? for making me like a fool who doesn’t know who you are?” another wiggling eyebrow and ben wondered how there could be anyone beating emilia clarke’s signature eyebrows. “i thought you enjoy fooling around with me?”

“that i do,” his brain seemed to go into a havoc around scarlett—he was already tracing her luxury of having a naturally good-looking set of eyebrows with the tip of his index finger. “please stay forever, scarlett evans.”

“for you, i would, benjamin chilwell.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“will you come to the next match?”

both ben and scarlett were walking hand in hand towards her flat, slower than turtle because they didn’t want this day to end. ben even parked somewhere relatively far on a usual day, moreover a chilly night—pun intended—like this.

it had been very close to be described as a lovely evening by far; ben introducing—showing off, per mason mount’s standard—scarlett to his teammates and everyone he practically knew around the ground, living up to his words by showing her the infamous dressing room buffet, taking her around for the post-game glowing pitch.

all without hands straying far from each other’s, as if they couldn’t have it enough between them. if they weren’t holding hands, ben’s hand would be flying over the small part of scarlett’s back or scarlett would close the distance to shuffle closer to ben. everything felt like a series of something overdue and not something that only took off within a couple of hours ago.

scarlett broke a part for a minute to wrap herself tighter with ben’s jacket he so kindly had draped over her as the night fell deeper. “if you promise you won’t get me the private box again.”

“why, i thought you’re not a fan of boisterous place?”

“you could’ve gotten me the worst seat on the stadium and i would’ve come anyway, because i was seriously thinking we’d watch the match with me on the stands and you guarding nearby,” noticing scarlett was rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself, ben stepped up to add some more warmth. “but it turns out to be something i enjoy being around, the atmosphere was okay.”

ben raised his eyebrow, mockingly questioning her statement.

scarlett rolled her eyes at his response, turning her body around. “though had you told me you’re on the team—first team at that as well, mind you!”

ben gently pulled the sulking scarlett towards him before she could walk away from their conversation. “what’d you do?”

“well…” scarlett still wasn’t looking at him in the eyes so ben slid his hands to conjoin hers. it worked, with a bonus of gentle smile for him. “i would’ve come anyway, for you.”

“was it too much for you?” ben couldn’t contain his happiness, her words whispered against the cold warmed up ben from head to toe. “because if it’s too much, i can—”

what was that?

“no, it was perfect,” ben was trained to face the ball head-on under a millisecond without being fazed at all but it took him scarlett’s second time placing a feathery peck on his check—this time slightly above his growing beard—to be able to sink reality in. “thank you, chilwell.”

ben could feel his cheeks burning. was this santa’s early gift for ben for having been such a very good and patient boy last week, when he was tested to face an abundance of energetic chelsea junior?

at the cute sight, scarlett laughed. “just remind me to bring abigail to the next game, but that is if you want me to be ther—”

in all honesty, ben didn’t know what came over him at that moment. he grabbed a hold of scarlett’s face and planted a kiss on her soft, plush lips. she tasted sweet, sweeter than the victory chelsea bagged this afternoon, but felt like the sweetest combination with his contribution of a goal to the big win. this couldn’t have been reality, could it?

ben pulled apart, but he was addicted to the forbidden fruit.

the sight of scarlett peacefully closing her eyes—content clearly drawn across her face—and lips gaping lightly and cheeks flushed endearingly that certainly wasn’t because of the cold weather was enough to make he, ben chilwell, one almighty to that “the bachelor” series were nothing but a bundle of bullshit, was now falling in love with the speed of a lightning. he couldn’t even believe he could contain love as big as what he felt towards this woman in his arms, small and safely tucked against the cold air of november.

so, he made himself believe and took the dive himself, his lips finding hers accurately again like his strike for the past four matches.

“i’d love you to have you on every game,” ben rested his forehead against hers gently when he once again pulled away, and scarlett slowly opened her eyes at the slight pressure. nothing was more beautiful than the combination between the sweet smile breaking into her face and those clear eyes opening only to reflect the stars above—a reminder there was endless silent witnesses hovering over them. “more than anything,”

scarlett shuffled closer to ben, resting her hands comfortably on his waist, as he continued. “nothing compares than looking up to the stands and see you’re there, supporting me even though you’d prefer somewhere else quieter, wearing my kit—”

“technically, this is not yours; this is a new kit, specialised for me. it’s just got your number on it.”

ben chuckled at her retaliation; her comment and timing were never not impeccable. “i’ll give you one of my personal treasures then, the champions league final kit i wore.”

scarlett gave him a playful disgusted look. “have you washed that?”

“deary me, woman,” ben whispered against her lips, before closing the distance completely. “you should feel lucky i love you.”

“damn it, i really should’ve pulled up my courage to confess my sins yesterday,” scarlett groaned at the loss of ben’s lips and the stubble she could feel under her fingertips as the footballer retreated. “i feel like it’s piling up. first, i went to the bridge behind my dad’s back. then, i kissed the enemy. now, i’m dating him. does the church take instalment on owning up my sins?”

ben threw his head, laughing loudly at—now officially and reciprocally—his girlfriend.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

it hadn’t been a full ten seconds for scarlett to lean her head against the back of the door, smiling widely as she tried to sink in whatever happened today—maybe more so in regards to what went down the last fifteen minutes—when abigail’s voice shockingly shattered her train of thoughts. “who was that?”

“oh, for fuck’s sake, abby!” scarlett was genuinely startled, jumping at where she stood. “i didn’t tell you where my spare key is so you could be a creep!”

“well, i wouldn’t be if i didn’t just see you snog off someone who has the face of ben chilwell!”

only when scarlett refused to say anything, did abigail realize the seriousness of this whole situation. “wait, i thought you went out with someone working for chelsea?”

“well, technically, ben works for chelsea, doesn’t he?”

jaw dropped, done. voice box silenced from screeching, done. now, abigail was sporting bulging eyes. “no fucking way.”

scarlett loved abigail’s disbelief reaction, and she loved it more when she could rile her up. so she did, by pulling out her phone and showed her the receipts—a photo mason had ever so kindly taken of them, pressed a tad bit awkwardly in a small space along the packed tunnel and another photo ben himself took to imitate their first meeting in stamford bridge (it’s a shame we never got to take a picture that day, he said). “yes fucking way.”

“so, you’re telling me that you went out with bloody ben chilwell and yet you didn’t tell me anything about your date?!”

“in my defence, abigail peters,” scarlett regained the possession of her phone, now reminded that she wanted to text ben the first place but was distracted by her best friend’s unprecedented presence in her flat. “i didn’t know who he is until the game started, okay?”

tell me when you got home safe xx, sent. “you didn’t know he’s the ben chilwell?” the short-haired nodded to once more confirm her friend’s clarificatory question. “what on bloody earth… i thought you went to oxford!”

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell fic #ben chilwell fanfic #ben chilwell fluff #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell one shot #ben chilwell x you #ben chilwell imagines #ben chilwell blurb #oh-saints writes

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sixfoottwo0119 · 2 years

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Column Vivianne Miedema | That full playing calendar is just a shame

Columnist Vivianne Miedema thinks the full playing calendar is a disgrace. She sees many top players drop out due to injuries. “We are in a world that goes on and on and there are few players who say anything about it. I do.”

Karim Benzema, Sadio Mane, Paul Pogba, N'Golo Kante. All top players that we now have to miss at the World Cup due to injuries. Injuries are also common in women's football. My partner Beth Mead has been out for months and will miss next summer's World Cup. My teammate Leah Williamson at Arsenal has also been out for a long time with an injury.

It's all no coincidence. Sure, injuries are sometimes unstoppable, but I see a worrying pattern. The playing calendar for both the women and the men is simply too full. Actually, it's just a shame. We are in a world that goes on and on and there are few players who say anything about it. I do. We go completely crazy with the tax on football players. I can already draw out some of the reactions to this column, you know. We have the best profession in the world, we earn a lot of money and we don't have to complain. Just play football.

“For the past six, seven years, I've been going practically non-stop. That will pay off.”

But it doesn't work that way for me. I really enjoy football and I feel privileged. But that doesn't mean we should ignore our health. At the beginning of this month I deliberately took a step back. I felt that my body and mind were ready for a rest. For people who do not work in top sport, that will sound strange. People who do work in our world will understand it better. But many players don't feel that freedom to stand up for themselves or just want to continue in their tunnel.

The schedule in which we train, play and have obligations from the club is killer. Last year, with the Olympic Games, I had two weeks off. That's pretty extreme. For the past six, seven years, I've been going practically non-stop. That will pay off. If you don’t have a mental rest, the risk of injury is also greater.

National coach Andries Jonker has had an eye for this important subject during the last period with international practice matches. He deliberately did not call me and other internationals. I have also started the item at my club Arsenal. My coach Jonas Eidevall was initially surprised by my request, but soon found that I was right. I spent a large part of the European Championship last summer in my hotel room with corona. After that, the preparation for the season started almost immediately. I went through in one go and I paid the price for that. I had to get out and went to Australia in those two weeks. Away from football. In that period I missed one game, against Leicester City.

Football players need much better protection. Many coaches and agents look out for their own interests. I do understand that trainers have to win matches and therefore want to line up their best players. But to what extent does result take precedence over the safety of a player? And a good agent also looks at the long term, but unfortunately the practice is different. We now have only thirteen fit players at Arsenal. I hope one day we'll realize that it's all way too crazy right now.

#viv miedema #vivianne miedema #arsenal ladies #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #arsenal #awfc #dutch #nedwnt #ons oranje #oranjeleeuwinnen #karim benzema #meadema #beth mead #woso soccer #woso community #wosoedit #woso

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world-of-wales · 10 months

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CATHERINE'S STYLE FILES - 2018

28 NOVEMBER 2018 || The Duchess of Cambridge along with Prince William visited Leicester City Football Club to pay tribute to those who were tragically killed in the helicopter crash at the King Power Stadium.

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ginandoldlace · 5 months

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SGT HOOPER + PC QUARTERMAIN (QGM) •

On the 27th October 2018 a helicopter containing 4 people, and it’s pilot crashed just after take-off from LEICESTER CITY FOOTBALL CLUB.

Just after the final whistle at the LEICESTER V WEST HAM fixture Police officers SGT Mike HOOPER and PC Steve QUARTERMAIN were on-duty and after seeing the aircraft drop out of the sky they both ran towards the crash site in the car park of the KING POWER stadium.

Both officers without thought for their own safety made valiant attempts to rescue the 5 people inside the burning wreckage. Both officers suffered burns & smoke inhalation, despite their efforts & injuries sustained all five people on board tragically died.

For their efforts that evening SGT Mike HOOPER and PC Steve QUARTERMAIN were awarded the Queens Gallantry Medal and won the National Police Bravery Awards.

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thepastisalreadywritten · 8 months

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Looking Up

Queen Elizabeth II visits Hong Kong, 21 October 1986.

📷: John Shelley Collection / Avalon / Getty Images

Prince Charles visits Saint Petersburg, Russia, 19 May 1994.

📷: Tim Graham Photo Library via Getty Images

Prince William visits Leicester City Football Club's King Power Stadium to pay tribute to those people killed, including club owner Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha, in the helicopter crash of October 27 on 28 November 2018 in Leicester, England.

📷: Max Mumby / Indigo / Getty Images

Prince George from the balcony of Buckingham Palace during the Trooping the Colour parade on 17 June 2017 in London, England.

📷: Chris Jackson / Getty Images

💜👑💙

#Queen Elizabeth II #King Charles III #Prince William #Prince George #British Royal Family #Prince Charles

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44hive · 11 months

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leicester city football club i will forever be a hater

#also i’m abt ti start cussing out wsl refs as well they’re so bad

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masochistartt · 5 months

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i don’t follow football what happened with chelsea?

okay strap in bc this chelsea season has been. definitely. Something!!

let's start with last season as a little catch up. chelsea (one of the 6 biggest clubs in the premier league) finished twelfth on the table (out of 20). it was their first season under new ownership, and they went through four (4) managers in the 38-game season. finishing in twelfth made it the club's lowest season since 1993-94, where they finished 14th. because of their 12th place finish, this (23/24, current season) is the first season since 2016-17 that they didn't compete in europe (champions league, europa league, europa conference league).

so. not a great year for the boys in blue.

this summer. chelsea spent ~£435 million on new players. that's the most a single club has ever spent during a single transfer window in premier league history. these transfers included moises caicedo (a defensive midfielder from brighton for £100 million (plus bonuses)), nicolas jackson (a striker from villarreal for £32 million), christopher nkunku (a striker from rb leipzig for £52 million), and cole palmer (an attacking midfielder from manchester city for £40 million plus bonuses) (more on this later.)

transfers out included césar azpilicueta, a defender who was their captain since 2019 (who lead them to winning the champions league in 2021), mateo kovačić, mason mount, kai havertz, and christian pulisic (all champions league winners, all played in the final in 2021, havertz scoring the only goal in the game)

these new transfers in are all young. of the 12 new signings, two were born in 1997 one was born in 1998 and one was born in 1999, but the rest are 2000s babies (2 in '01, 1 in '02, 4 in '04, and 1 in '05). so there's a severe lack of experience on this team (ben chilwell is 27, raheem sterling is 29, and thiago silva is 39 – 12 of their 29 players are u21). the average age on the team is 23 (their goalies are the oldest at 27 on average, defenders at 24, midfielders at 21, and forwards at 22).

because azpilicueta left the club, you need a new captain. they found theirs in chelsea academy boy reece james, a 24-year-old defender. his vice captains are ben chilwell, the 27-year-old left back signed from leicester city in 2020, conor gallagher, a 24-year-old central midfielder also from chelsea's academy, and thiago silva, the 39-year-old signed from psg in 2020.

and because of the managerial disasters of last season, they need a new manager. they bring on mauricio pochettino, former manager of spurs and psg (where he lead the team to the ligue 1 title).

welcome to chelsea. let's start the season.

their first match was at home against liverpool. liverpool scored first, in the 18th minute, but chelsea tied it up before the half, the first goal from new signee axel disasi. the second half is mostly uneventful, but oops, captain reece james has to be substituted off with a hamstring injury. he is now out until october (it is august).

their next match is away against west ham. ben chilwell takes the captain's armband. it's the 7th minute. west ham scores. chelsea pulls one back in the 28th minute, 1 all. west ham picks up three yellow cards in the first half. in the second half, west ham scores again. then, the hammers go down a man for a second yellow card, chelsea is now playing 11 against 10. they cannot turn it around. not only do they not turn it around, they concede another goal. chelsea loses 3-1. it is week 2 of the premier league season, and chelsea is fifteenth on the table.

they beat newly promoted luton town week 3 and rise to 10th place.

meanwhile, chelsea is competing in the league cup. that's going well so far - a 2-1 win against fourth tier afc wimbledon (phil dunster's team!) in august right after beating luton town - maybe things are turning around! (things are not turning around.)

then they face a loss, a draw, and another loss to nottingham forest, bournemouth, and aston villa (a game in which malo gusto picks up a straight red card and is now unable to play the next few games).

let's... let's check in on the league cup. we need something good for these boys after this hell they've faced in september. they've drawn fellow premiership club brighton & hove albion at home in the third round. they win! 1-0, thanks to a goal in the 50th minute from new signee nicolas jackson. but in the 7th minute of stoppage time at the end of the game, ben chilwell (their captain, with reece james still out injured), is fouled and has to come off with a hamstring injury. but also oops, chelsea's already used all their substitution windows - they have to finish the game with 10 men. luckily, they see it out and move on to the next round.

reece james is still injured. ben chilwell is now injured. conor gallagher, time to step up.

happy october, chelsea. their first two premier league draws of the month are against fulham (who finished 10th on the table in 22/23) and newly promoted burnley. chelsea win both. they are 11th on the table after both results. and! reece james is back! they draw 2-2 at home against arsenal, and rise to 10th on the table. their last match in october is against brentford, who finished 9th on the table last season, and were 13th going into this match. they lose 0-2.

november starts big with a league cup win against championship side blackburn and a 1-4 win at tottenham (all four goals are scored by new signees - a penalty from cole palmer, and a hat trick from nicolas jackson) after the win against tottenham, they are taking slutty, slutty locker room pictures.

let's pause here to talk about fouls, yeah? chelsea has not gone a single game this season without picking up a booking. 1 is the minimum so far, against brentford, 2 against luton, and the rest have had 3+. they have been booked with 35 yellow cards and one red card as of week eleven of the premier league season.

november ends with a draw against manchester city (10th on the table, 22 points, 5 more yellow cards), a loss to newcastle (10th on the table, 22 points, 5 yellow cards & a 6th that becomes a red card for reece james).

december - a win against brighton (10th on the table, 25 points, 4 yellow cards & a 5th that becomes a red card for conor gallagher before halftime) and then two losses in a row (a 2-1 loss at manchester united - chelsea's first league game of the season without a booking. cole palmer scores the only goal - and then a 2-0 loss at everton that drops them to 12th on the table, 2 more bookings. reece james is injured again and has to get surgery for his hamstring). they win against newly promoted, bottom of the table sheffield united (with another booking), and return to tenth on the table.

league cup break! they draw newcastle united 1-1 in the quarterfinals. the game goes to penalties. chelsea wins 4-2 on penalties. four more yellow cards are picked up in this game. chelsea moves on to play middlesbrough in the two-legged semifinals in january. we'll return to this.

back to the prem.

on christmas eve, they play away at wolves and lose 2-1. christopher nkunku scores in the 96th minute. chelsea picks up 6 more yellow cards.

they end 2023 and start 2024 on a three game winning streak (against crystal palace, luton town, and fulham). in these three games, they pick up 3, 2, and 5 yellow cards. after the win against fulham, they raise to 9th on the table, the highest they've been all season.

they lose spectacularly to liverpool to end january, 4-1, picking up 4 yellow cards in the process. this drops them back to 10th on the table.

meanwhile, they've played both legs of that league cup semifinal i mentioned, winning 6-2 on aggregate. chelsea's going to the final! maybe they will win a trophy this season! who're they playing in that final at the end of february? oh. oh, it's liverpool? okay.

the fa cup's going on now too ! they beat championship side preston north end 4-0, and then draw aston villa 0-0 at home - this will go to a replay the first week of february. only one yellow card across these two games, well done, chelsea.

first they've got a prem match to play against wolves. they allow wolves player matheus cunha to score a hat trick on them. oops. final result 2-4, 3 more yellow cards, 11th on the table with a goal difference of -1 (they've let 1 more goal past them than they've scored all season).

i know what you're saying. chelsea needs a good run here. and they get it! after losing to wolves, they don't lose another premier league game until today, april 23. we will get back to this. they win against crystal palace, newcastle united, manchester united, and everton (the everton game, they win 6-0. we will get back to this.) they draw against manchester city, brentford, and sheffield united (you know, the bottom of the table team who has no chance of staying in the prem next year).

they also win their fa cup ties against aston villa (replay) and championship sides leeds united and leicester city. they face manchester city in the semi finals. they lose. they also lose that league cup final to liverpool. a trophyless season for chelsea. they also still haven't figured out that premier league yellow card problem.

so let's talk about The Everton Game. cole palmer scored his second hat trick in two games and this one's brilliant. seriously watch the highlights it's amazing. chelsea is awarded a penalty in the 64th minute. all hell breaks loose on that pitch, roy kent vs jamie tartt style. here's a clip. for context, madueke was the one fouled for the penalty, palmer is the designated penalty taker. pochettino clearly hadn't made that clear to his players. you cannot fight on the pitch like that. you. you just.... you can't do that. palmer takes the penalty, his fourth goal of the night, he is in the golden boot (top scorer in the league) race.

what happened today, then? chelsea gets absolutely spanked 5-0 at arsenal. palmer was not playing today - he's sick. kai havertz who left chelsea for arsenal this summer scored 2. here's a sign a child held up in the crowd today. they're currently 9th on the table after 32 of 38 games have been played. the state of the club is a disaster. i'm genuinely intrigued to see what happens next year because.....it can't go on like this.

cole palmer leads the club in goals, assists, chances created, shots per game, key passes, through balls per game, xg, motm awards, & penalties.

thiago silva is leaving this summer.

nothing else is known. chelsea goes to aston villa on saturday. the league continues.

#there's a cut bc this got way too long sorry bestie you unleashed my sports autism

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