#soccer club icons

[tokyicons]

do you think you could do some girl icons related to liverpool fc?

like/reblog if you use or save

follow @tokyicons for more

[swayziiwriter]

This is our family, Pedri & Gavi ❤️‍🩹

[iconsfinder]

[sinnerjannik]

kostas tsimikas icons

like/reblog if you save x

- requested!!

[crvgedits]

pablo vegetti icons

like se salvar

[pernillecfcw]

Too cold 🥶🎈

[nounoustouzy]

MANCHESTER CITY WALL CLOCK

Every second counts! An exciting and practical accent in any room, this unique high quality Wall Clock serves as a statement piece, creating a personalized environment.

.: Materials: 100% wood (frame), 100% plexiglass (face), 100% metal (mechanism) .: One size: 10" x 10" (25.4 x 25.4 cm) .: Pre-installed backside hook .: For indoor use .: Requires one AA battery (NOT included) .: Silent clock mechanism.

Get it now from here

[vitos-ordination-song]

Banana Fish could easily become GL. Ash is basically a female action star anyway. And Eiji is a baby girl

[lifestylebuz]

The Most Expensive Trophies in the World: A Look at the Most Coveted Prizes in Sports

Trophies are an essential part of sports. They serve as a tangible symbol of accomplishment and recognition for athletes and teams who have worked hard to achieve their goals. However, not all trophies are created equal. Some trophies are more than just a piece of metal or a shiny cup. They are works of art that represent the pinnacle of achievement in their respective fields. In this article, we…

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson was featured in Adidas’s documentary dubbed ‘Under The Tongue’ to celebrate the impact of the Predator sneakers on football on its 30th anniversary. The shoe brand teased snippets of the documentary on their Instagram on December 5, 2024.

Football and music fans were quick to spot the former One Direction star seated comfortably as he joined football stars and aficionados like David Beckham, Zinedine Zidane, Eniola Aluko and Jude Bellingham, amongst others, to pay homage to the legendary footwear.

Louis Tomlinson has been a lifelong fan of football and has never shied away from expressing his love for the game. Per the Yahoo! News report of July 1, 2024, the singer joined his favorite club, Doncaster Rovers, as a reserve player in 2013.

The Back To You hitmaker also launched his solo career with a video filmed around Doncaster which featured Louis Tomlinson on the pitch at the Keepmoat Stadium.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Louis Tomlinson Chile 🇨🇱 (@louischilensist91)

As one with a passion for football, like the others featured in the documentary, Louis Tomlinson explores the cultural significance of the Predator shoes and how they changed the trajectory of football.

The video sees Craig Johnston, the brain behind the iconic silhouette, recounting his journey from coaching children’s football in Australia to designing the soccer boots that graced the feet of football icons.

Pete Martin of SoccerBible, who is collaborating with Adidas on the documentary project also spoke about the legacy of the Predator and stated that it was an honor to make Under The Tongue alongside Keane Pearce Shaw.

He added:

"A boot with such personality too, not only does it mean so much to the culture of the game but it has been an unrivaled yet consistent giver of glory."

Nick Craggs, who is the Global Football General Manager of Adidas, explained the rationale behind the documentary and its impressive lineup of athletes and superstars:

“Predator changed the game. We know what it means to us all at Adidas but as we come to the end of its 30thanniversary we felt it was fitting to hear from those who played such a crucial role in cementing its place in football culture."

You can watch the 60-second trailer on Instagram at Adidas football to catch a glimpse of Louis Tomlinson and watch the full documentary on December 11, 2024, on the Adidas Football YouTube channel.

- Soapcentral, 5.12.2024

[brodygold]

The Brocess

You sat in the reception area, glancing around at the others. Your competition. Every one of you wanted to join the Golden Army, the elite sports club that had quickly become legendary. Invitations were rare, and you knew the journey to acceptance was grueling. But here you were, waiting for your interview after weeks of preparation. The stakes had never felt higher.

You had sent in your application, half-expecting to be ignored, but the Golden Army had replied within days. Their response was casual, almost cocky, inviting you to come in for an interview. “Just part of the brocess,” they said. You weren’t sure what to make of that.

Finally, the receptionist calls your name. Heart pounding, you rise and follow him through a gleaming corridor until you reach a door that looks like it belongs to royalty. As it swings open, the room beyond takes your breath away—gold everywhere. Gold walls, a golden desk, even the light had a warm, golden hue. And sitting behind that desk, wearing the coveted Golden Army jersey, was the man you had spoken with on the phone.

He looked up from his paperwork with a grin, almost like he knew this moment was a formality. “Sup, bro. Name’s Hades.”

You clear your throat, trying to mask your nerves. “Uh, hey. I’m here for the interview… hoping to join the Golden Army.”

Hades leaned back in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I figured. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want in, right?” He grabs a clipboard, twirling his pen between his fingers. “Let’s get you brocessed then. First question: Are you ready to boost your bros when they’re down?”

The question seemed easy enough, but there was a weight to it. Being part of the Golden Army wasn’t just about soccer—it was about the bond, the brotherhood. You’d heard stories of the lengths they went to for each other. This was more than a game.

“Yes, absolutely,” you reply with conviction. “I’ll be there for my bros.”

Hades jots something down, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Next question: What’s your favorite soccer position?”

You pause. The Golden Army is known for its skill on the field, and while you know your way around a soccer ball, you wonder if this is a trick question. Do they want players with specific talents? Or are they looking for someone flexible, willing to play where needed? Either way, honesty seems like the only path forward.

You answer truthfully, and Hades gives a slight nod, scribbling again. “Alright, noted.”

The interview stretches on, each question probing a different aspect of what it means to be part of this brotherhood—your loyalty, your drive, your passion for the game. Hades asks with an effortless confidence, like he’s already decided whether you’re in or not, and you’re just waiting for the verdict. Hours feel like minutes as the tension in the room builds. You feel his eyes on you, weighing every word.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Hades sets his pen down and folds his hands. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Congrats, bro. You’re in.”

The relief washes over you, and you exhale for the first time in what feels like hours. Hades stands, crossing the room to a golden closet and pulling out the iconic jersey. “Now, let’s get you suited up—and we’ve got to give you your new name.” He tosses the jersey toward you, and you catch it, your heart racing. The material feels heavier in your hands than you imagined, like it’s carrying the weight of every victory the Golden Army has earned.

As you pull the jersey over your head, the transformation feels real. Your arms and legs grow out, not too much but enough to make a difference on the soccer field. Your mind slows, focusing only on the golden army and your new bros. Hades is looking more and more attractive by the second. You’ll have to thank him in a special way later.

Hades grins as he looks you over. “Welcome to the Golden Army, bro. Practice starts soon. You’re gonna love it.”

You glance down at your new name and number stitched into the fabric. It’s official now. And as you head toward the field, any doubts you once had vanish. You’ve made the right choice. This was always where you were meant to be.

[u6is]

"you cut your hair but you used to live a blonded life"

part 1

warnings: profanities, drug-use

— kylian mbappé x reader: angst

The lights of the club swirled in a dizzying array of colours, casting shadows that danced with the music.

It was a typical Friday night in Paris.

Your friends had claimed a table in the corner, your laughter bubbling up like a geyser of joy. You clinked your glasses together, the sound of ice cubes chiming like a celebratory bell. The whiskey burned a warm path down your throat, loosening the grip of the week's tension.

There was something unique about tonight.

Through the throngs of partygoers, the VIP corner, a bastion of opulence in stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the main floor. It was where the elite came to play, cordoned off by velvet ropes and stern-faced bouncers. Inside, the football players were celebrating their latest victory, and the air around them charged with excitement.

They were the kings of the city for the night, and everyone knew it.

The strobe lights painted the room in brief snapshots of reality, a visual symphony that only made the music feel more alive. You felt like a bird released from its cage as you moved through the crowd, your movements fluid and unrestrained. Your arms stretched out, as if you could touch the stars above.

You are as unbound as a bird in flight, weightless and free.

Kylian Mbappe, the soccer star everyone talked about, stood in the VIP section, his eyes scanning the dance floor. His restlessness was palpable, even from afar. He craved the pulse of the city's nightlife, the unscripted moments that made each night unique.

He slipped out from the VIP section, a playful grin tugging at his lips, and vanished into the sea of faces. The whispers grew louder as people recognized him, but he was already lost in the rhythm, just another soul seeking the essence of the night.

Suddenly, a flash of color caught his eye.

You, with your hair dancing in untamed delight, your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the disco lights.

He felt the music in your soul.

He approached you with the same swiftness he used on the field, weaving through the tightly packed bodies as if they were mere obstacles. As he reached you, the music dropped to a whisper in your ears as he leaned in to be heard over the din. You felt a rush of excitement as you recognized him, but you played it cool, not wanting to reveal the racing of your heart.

You two spoke, completely absorbed in the sound of each other's voice. His eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment it felt like the whole club had stopped moving.

It was an ordinary Friday night in Paris, yet that night held a quiet magic all its own.

It began so swiftly, your bond with him, like a spark that caught fire. What started with a simple meeting at a party spiralled into something more, something fast.

One moment, you were in the stands of a grand stadium, cheering for him, his invitation still ringing in your ears.

The next, you found yourself in the warmth of his arms, tucked away in the peace of his home, just you and him, lost in the stillness.

The bond grew stronger with each shared experience. In the quiet moments, you'd catch glimpses of his vulnerability, a side the world didn't get to see behind the glitz and glamour of his soccer career. He spoke of his love for the sport, his fears, his dreams, and the weight of expectations that sat upon his shoulders like a crown. You, in turn, revealed your passions, the dreams that kept you awake at night, and the fear of not making a difference. Together, you found solace in the understanding that everyone had their battles, even those who seemed invincible on the field.

"I want to dye my hair white."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his spontaneity.

"White?" you repeated, trying to picture his iconic buzz cut in such a stark color. He nodded eagerly, a childlike excitement lighting up his face.

"Yeah, like the moon. It'll be perfect for the next game."

The following evening, he arrived at your small apartment, a stark contrast to the opulent mansions he was used to. He brought with him a box of hair dye and a determination that was contagious. You led him to the bathroom, which was a cozy space filled with the scent of your favorite lavender candles and the faint sound of the neighbor's television. As you mixed the solution, the anticipation grew. The air was thick with playful tension as he perched on the edge of a stool, you nestled between his legs.

You painted the dye onto his buzz cut with a gentle touch, each stroke a silent promise of support. He leaned back into your touch, his eyes closed, a contented smile playing on his lips as the conversation flowed like a river between you.

He spoke of the pressure to perform, the weight of the nation's hopes and dreams, and you shared your fear of being forgotten in the hustle of the city. The strokes grew slower as you both lost yourself in the comfort of the moment, the world outside fading away.

The laughter grew louder as you accidentally smudged some of the dye on his forehead, creating a streak that looked like a rebellious warrior's paint. He playfully grabbed the brush, threatening to return the favour. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and the sweetness of your shared laughter as you danced around the bathroom, dodging his playful swipes.

Each kiss stolen felt like a victory, a secret shared only by the two of you in the sanctuary of your little apartment.

The game came and went, a blur of excitement and nerves as Kylian took to the field with his new white hair. The crowd erupted when he scored, the flashes from cameras creating a constellation around him.

Days later, the vacation invite came, a simple text message that felt like a ticket to the stars.

"I've got a week off, and I want to spend it with you," he wrote.

"How does a getaway to the Maldives sound?" Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the tropical paradise.

A week in the sun with the man who had captured your heart, it was like a dream you hadn't even dared to dream.

You replied with an enthusiastic "Yes!" before you could overthink it, your thumbs dancing across the screen.

The Maldives was a world away from the cobblestone streets of Paris, a place of azure waters and endless skies, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.

The private jet, the endless horizon outside the windows, it was all so surreal. Kylian sat beside you, his hand in yours, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as if to reassure you that this wasn't just a fleeting dream.

The resort was a symphony of bungalows floating on the water, a serene sanctuary that whispered secrets of tranquility to the soul. Each step closer to your destination felt like a step closer to paradise, a place where the chaos of the world was a distant memory.

As you stepped onto the pristine white sand of the Maldivian beach, the heat of the sun kissed your skin, and the scent of the ocean filled your lungs with a salty embrace.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes reflecting the same excitement and disbelief.

"This is all for us," he said, gesturing to the horizon. "A whole week of just us and the sea."

He took your hand, leading you to your private bungalow, the gentle sway of the wooden walkway beneath your feet. The moment you stepped inside, your breath was stolen by the sight of the vast expanse of turquoise water beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was adorned with tropical flowers, a romantic gesture that made your heart swell.

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange, you found yourself drawn to the beach. The warm sand felt like a lover's caress beneath your feet as you made your way to the water's edge. He followed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Without a word, you both waded into the warm embrace of the ocean. The waves kissed your legs, beckoning you further. He pulled you closer, his hands resting gently at your waist, the water rising to your chests.

Your foreheads met, the only barrier between the silent whispers of your thoughts. The horizon was a canvas of light, the setting sun a fiery ball of passion that mirrored the intensity of the moment. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore served as a gentle soundtrack, a natural symphony that drowned out the noise of the world. The salty kiss of the ocean spray mingled with the sweetness of his breath as you both floated in the embrace of the sea.

For the first time, he broke the silence with the words you'd hoped to hear.

"I love you."

They hung in the air, suspended in the warmth of the moment, echoing the rhythm of the waves. Your heart raced, a crescendo of emotions crashing over you like the tide. The world around you seemed to still, the very fabric of reality bending to the power of those three little words. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but found only the truth reflected back at you.

You felt the warmth of his love like the sun on your skin, a gentle reminder of the bond that had grown between you amidst the chaos of the city.

His confession was a soft melody in the symphony of the waves, a declaration that resonated through every fibre of your being.

"I love you, too, Kylian." You murmured your voice a tremulous whisper that seemed too small to hold the weight of your feelings.

His smile grew brighter, lighting up his entire face, as if the stars had descended to kiss him.

The days in the Maldives passed in a blur of bliss. Each sunrise painted a new picture of beauty, a backdrop for your burgeoning love. As you watched the sunsets melt into the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of pinks and purples that stained the sky. The nights were filled with stargazing, the constellations above whispering ancient secrets as you lay entwined in the soft embrace of the beach. The world had shrunk to the two of you, and everything else was just noise.

But eventually, the vacation had to end. You both returned to the city, to the bustling streets of Paris that seemed so much more alive with the vibrancy of your newfound love. Kylian's schedule picked up again, training sessions and games taking up the bulk of his days, but the nights remained yours.

His touch was a gentle reminder of the warmth of the sun you had left behind, his whispers in the dark a sweet symphony that lulled you to sleep. You watched him from the stands, his white hair a beacon of light as he ruled the soccer field, his every move a declaration of his love for the game.

The parties grew grander, the crowds more suffocating. His teammates' laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses became the soundtrack of your life together. Each night was a passionate dance, a celebration of victory and friendship that swirled around you like a tornado of glamour.

Kylian was adamant about keeping your relationship a secret.

His smile was for everyone, but his love was for you alone.

He'd sneak glances at you from across the room, his eyes speaking a language that no one else could understand. You felt like the keeper of a precious stone, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, cherished only by the two of you.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, the bars of the cage grew heavier. Each time you watched him leave for training or a game, a pang of sadness gripped your heart.

You were a spectator in his world, a silent cheerleader whose love could only be whispered in the shadows.

The night of the Ligue 1 final, the tension was palpable, a living creature that breathed in the air of the stadium. You watched from the VIP section, your heart racing with every step he took on the field. The crowd was a sea of noise, a symphony of hope and passion. And there, in the stands, were his parents, proud and stoic, watching their son play the game that had made him a star.

When the final whistle blew and his team emerged victorious, you felt the urge to celebrate with him, to share in the joy of his triumph. Yet, when you approached his parents to introduce yourself, Kylian's mother looked you up and down, her eyes cold and assessing, her smile forced. It was a look that spoke volumes without a single word.

You felt like an outsider, a mere shadow in the glaring spotlight of their family's success. Kylian was swept away in a tide of congratulations, leaving you to navigate the social current alone.

The sting of his mother's dismissal remained with you long after the game, a bitter taste that lingered like an unfortunate aftertaste. When you brought it up, Kylian was just apologetic but firm.

"They just need time," he'd say, his eyes full of hope and a hint of desperation. "They're protective."

Same thing happened, the excuses grew old, and the distance between you and your friends grew wider. Each time you suggested Kylian meet them, he'd find a way out. Training, games, press conferences, and the endless string of responsibilities that came with his stardom. The walls of his world grew higher, and you found yourself feeling like you were the only one making sacrifices.

The quiet moments of your solitude grew into a crescendo of doubt.

Was this really what you wanted? To be the hidden lover of a man whose every move was public property?

The silence in the car was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city outside. Kylian's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched in a way that spoke of his own internal war. You knew he felt it too, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"You never told them, did you?" you finally said, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You never told your parents about us." The anger simmered just below the surface, a pot ready to boil over at any moment. Kylian's grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he didn't look at you.

He had, in fact, spoken of you to his parents. But his mother, with a dismissive shrug, simply urged him to stay focused on his game, reminding him of all they had sacrificed for his success. To her, your bond was fleeting, a mere ripple in the tide of his life—nothing more than a momentary distraction.

"What does it matter?" he replied, his voice gruff with frustration. "They'll come around."

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "What matters is that I'm not some secret you hide from the world! It's like I don't even exist outside of these stolen moments." The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory.

He sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving the road. "You know it's not like that."

But you didn't know. You felt like a shadow in his life, a secret to be kept hidden from the glaring lights of the world. The anger grew hotter, a fire in your chest that threatened to consume you. "Then tell me what it's like," you demanded. "Make me understand why I can't be a part of your fucking life without hiding!"

Kylian's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his breathing was shallow.

"I am at the peak of my career!"

His voice was sharp, frustration cutting through every word. "I told you about this whole privacy thing," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "And you agreed! You said you were fucking fine with it!" The tension in the air was almost tangible, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not with your parents, at least!" you shot back, your voice rising as anger flared within you. The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharp and unyielding, matching the tension that filled the car. You stood your ground, meeting his fiery gaze, unwilling to back down from the storm brewing between you.

His voice rose, laced with frustration he couldn’t contain. "God, you’re so damn clingy sometimes," he snapped, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can’t just drop everything for you, alright? I have a career to think about—I don’t need you acting like a stupid bitch about it."

"Stupid what?" you interrupted, your voice rising as you turned to him, disbelief flashing in your eyes.

"Yeah, you heard me," he shot back without thinking, his frustration spilling over. "Stupid ass bitch."

Your breath caught, his words hitting harder than anything he’d ever said to you before. "Stop the car," you said, your voice shaking with anger.

"Stop the car!"

"Yeah, I’ll stop the fucking car!" he barked, slamming on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt by the side of the road.

Without hesitation, you flung the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, slamming it shut behind you. The sound echoed, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He sat there, gripping the steering wheel, his heart sinking as the weight of his words crashed down on him.

Realization hit like a tidal wave, and he threw the car into drive, creeping slowly to match your pace as you stormed down the street.

He kept the car rolling beside you. “You’re really gonna walk out on the car like that?"

You didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him. “Fuck you!” you shouted, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“Come on, babe,” he called out, his voice softer now, laced with regret. “I can’t leave you like this. Let me take you home.”

You stopped in your tracks, turned to face him, your eyes blazing. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed, each word sharp and cutting. “I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

He stopped the car, watching helplessly as you walked away into the dark, your words echoing in his mind. He sat there, paralyzed by regret, knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who truly mattered.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, the only light the flicker of the streetlamp outside your window, casting shadows on the walls like a silent movie of your tumultuous thoughts. His words echoed through the empty space, a symphony of doubt and anger that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. How could he treat you like this?

The realization hit you like a cold shower.

The man who swept you away under the dance floor's glow,

Who held you close in quiet rooms, where whispers grow,

Who heard your first "I love you" by the Maldives’ gentle tide,

Was absent in the leathered luxury where his ego would abide.

Now, stats and numbers steal his tongue, your dreams left unsaid, a stranger in the driver's seat, where your heart once led.

Kylian had become a star, and in doing so, had forgotten the gravity of the simple moments that had brought you together.

The quiet moments of shared laughter had been drowned out by the roar of the stadium, and the gentle strokes of his hand had been replaced by the firm grip of his ambition.

Kylian blamed himself. He let his anger consume him, a wildfire burning through reason and restraint. When he finally told his mother about you, he hoped for understanding, maybe even support. Instead, her words cut deep, embedding themselves in his mind like code in a machine. From that moment, he felt programmed to meet her expectations.

Be the best, Kylian.

Her voice echoed endlessly in his head. It wasn’t a choice anymore; it was his identity, the role he was born to play. The weight of their pride, the legacy, bore down on him, suffocating his own desires.

He wasn’t just Kylian; he was their Kylian, the greatest thing they had ever created, and he couldn’t let them down.

But in trying to be perfect for them, he wondered if he was losing the parts of himself that mattered most. The parts that belonged to you.

Weeks turned into months, and the silence between you and Kylian grew louder. The only bridge between you now was his messages, desperate and pleading.

"I’m sorry, baby. Can we talk? Please?"

Your replies were short, distant.

"I can’t. I’m busy."

Winning Ligue 1, another trophy to add to his collection. But the victory was hollow.

The nights were the worst—endless hours spent scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, smiling again, surrounded by friends. That radiant face he had first seen in the club, now only a memory behind a screen. Not in his arms. Not his anymore.

"I’ll never mess up again, I swear. Just… call me."

Your reply came, cold and final.

"We’re over. Stop contacting me."

His thumb hovered over the screen, disbelief washing over him. He dialed your number, hands trembling, but each ring dragged into silence. No answer.

"Did you block me!?" he typed, panic seeping into his words.

Still nothing.

"Answer me!"

But his words only reached the empty void of delivered.

That’s when the rage bubbled to the surface. His fists clenched as the realization struck like a thunderbolt—you were gone. Truly gone. The medals and trophies that lined his shelves seemed to mock him now. All lost in the suffocating shadow of his parents’ expectations.

Kylian slammed the phone onto his desk with force, the ache in his chest unbearable. No victory could fill the void you left behind.

And as your presence faded further into the past, he realized the cost of trying to be perfect. It was too high. He had lost you. Forever.

The party lights flickered, reflecting Kylian’s distorted thoughts as he drove recklessly through the streets. Fueled by anger and a dangerous cocktail of drugs, his mind spiraled into chaos. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see past the image burned into his mind—you, smiling in someone else’s arms.

While scrolling through your friend’s Instagram story, he spotted you with a man, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, and you were smiling.

That picture had pushed him over the edge, and now, nothing else mattered.

Parking haphazardly outside the party, he stormed in, his eyes darting frantically through the crowd. And then he saw you—ascending the stairs with the man from the photo. His fists clenched, his pulse pounding as he watched from the shadows. When you reappeared alone, heading to the bar, he seized his chance.

He approached swiftly, his grip firm on your arm.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

“I’m trying to talk to you, but you blocked me. Why would you do that?” His words were sharp, almost desperate.

You yanked your arm free. “I blocked you because we’re done, Kylian. There’s nothing to talk about.”

But he didn’t back down. “Did you fuck him?” His tone was cold, accusatory.

“What?” You stared at him, stunned.

“You heard me. That guy upstairs. Did you fuck him?”

The confusion on your face deepened. “Who—Alex? Are you serious? He’s one of my best friends. He’s gay.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice rose, disbelief clouding his judgment.

“It’s not! And the drinks I was getting? They’re for my friends. You’d know that if you ever bothered to ask or get to know them!” Your frustration boiled over.

“You only care about yourself!” you added, your voice trembling.

“I only care about myself?” His anger flared, but you didn’t wait for his retort. Turning on your heel, you started to walk away.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” he growled, grabbing your arm again, pulling you into an empty room.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Kylian’s grip loosened for a moment, his expression flickering between fury and regret. “Baby, just listen to me. Please,” he pleaded, his hands shifting to your shoulders.

“I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell my friends. I’ll tell the world. I don’t care. Just come back to me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No,” you sobbed. “I can’t. Look at you!”

You saw it in his eyes—bloodshot, clouded, a haze of intoxication stealing the clarity they once held.

"You think I want a life with you? Just look at yourself!" Tears streamed down your face as your voice cracked with emotion.

“What do you mean, look at me?” His anger reignited, his voice sharp and cutting. “I’m here, aren’t I? I'm here for you, bitch."

Your gaze met his, hollow and disbelieving. “Stop calling me that!"

His anger surged again, and before he could stop himself, words he didn’t mean escaped his lips.

“You’re such a selfish bitch!”

Your slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling. You didn’t wait for his reaction; you pulled away, trembling, your tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” you choked, your voice filled with fear and heartbreak.

Something shifted in Kylian’s eyes then—realization, maybe. His hands fell to his sides, his body frozen in place as you stepped back, wiping the tears from your face.

As you walked away, his chest felt hollow, his world unravelling. As the drug coursed through his veins, it claimed his body in a haze of surrender, weaving a spell that blurred the line between control and chaos.

He watched you disappear into the crowd, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. For the first time, he saw it clearly—you weren’t just leaving. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

—

Years passed, but time never dulled the weight of his regret.

When you left, he stripped himself of the colors you gave him. The bright white streaks that once danced through his hair—your touch, your light—faded like the ghost of a dream. He dyed it back to black, the shade of before, as if erasing every trace of you could silence the ache.

Kylian had it all—his name immortalized in football, his dream club in Madrid awaiting his arrival. Yet, in the silence of his nights, the triumphs felt hollow.

Sometimes, when the ache grew unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, in Germany now—living the dream you used to whisper to him about, the life he should’ve supported. A home and a man who held you the way he never could. A picture-perfect, framed in a happiness he no longer dared to imagine for himself.

But it was the Maldives photo that truly broke him. It stayed tucked away, a relic of the love he lost. In it, you stared straight at him, your eyes warm and alive, as if seeing straight into his soul. He could barely look at it without choking on the memory of the first “I love you” whispered under that endless sky.

On the loneliest nights, when the roar of the crowd faded and his medals gleamed like mocking ghosts, he clutched that photo and prayed.

Not for forgiveness—he didn’t deserve that—but for you. For your happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, for you to haunt him.

"Come out and haunt me."

Lying alone in his cold, empty room, he whispered those same words into the void, hoping they might somehow reach you.

Haunt him with the sound of your laughter. With the light in your eyes. With the love he destroyed but never stopped yearning for.

But they didn’t. They never would. Because you were gone, and he was alone.

Because even in the echo of his greatest victories, it was your absence that screamed the loudest. And he knew—he would carry that hollow ache, that haunting memory of you, for the rest of his days.

this fic is deeply inspired by Waves (2019), directed by Trey Edward Shults.

the film brings me a sense of comfort, and the inspiration to write this story about kylian is exactly what i needed 😣

part 2

[swayziiwriter]

Pablo Gavi FC Barcelona

[extranenas]

well the Olympics just ended, but what do you think about a kylian mbappe scenario where he's dating someone who is an athlete who is competing in the Olympics

miss let down

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

genre: angst to fluff

plot: you always wanted to be the greatest- the girl who always wanted to be the best of the best- but when you finally get to prove yourself to the world in track- you failed miserably in your eyes…

extra: again for the sake of the story, reader was born in the us just so we have an idea of like what team she is and such (citizen ship wise yk actual ethnicity not specified) lowkey i had to make up some french players for the storyline😭😭😭

masterlist

august 3rd 2024 would be the death of you. the biggest day in your entire life and what you worked up to for… 4 years…? spending that time for a good 10 seconds of your life that meant too much.

something that would determine if you really what you thought you were.

you were going against huge names- your teammate sha’carri richardson who was the fastest woman in the world and the famous jamaican runners who were known for dominating that iconic red and white track.

and then there was just you- a girl who managed to pass through the trials and made the 2024 olympic team. crazy thing how the biggest celebrator of your accomplishment was your boyfriend though.

throwing a small party for you and everything because of making the team while usually its you celebrating him cause of well… hes probably becoming the best right now winning soccers biggest trophy at only 18, getting into probably one of the biggest- if not the hugest club in the world, and breaking records on records.

and you were over here competing against his national teams track team before finals on his countries on soil (which you hope he didnt take too personally)

you dont even really remember how you two met cause it was such a blur. it went by so fast!

“everyone knows that track is so much easier than football ky. its like… common knowledge! i mean come on- they just run around in circles for like… 20 seconds or whatever.”

“dont say that man… i mean if you tried it would you actually… complete it?”

“nah.”

“then why- ok dude.”

a then 19 year old kylian got up from the pitch he sat on. they currently were preparing for the upcoming world cup the year following and of course, an ambitious kylian wanted to touch that golden trophy.

he walked around the pitch and saw the players he seen every day just talking or laying down after a day of rough practice in that summer heat france was known for- other than pastries and such. he soon stopped by and went onto his phone in which one of his younger friends went up to him and did what kylian did.

“did you hear? about that united states team being in france right now.”

“what, what for?”

“some track tour or whatever- look.”

he soon shoved the phone in kylians hand which showed the news headline saying what he said.

“where are they training?”

“here dude!”

“what? here? they cant find somewhere else or…”

“no. theyre gonna be on the whole other side though so im guessing its fine man. i dont know.”

kylians eyebrow raised- sharing a centre with a track team? that doesnt make much sense.

-

the day came where the track runners finally arrived and got to the field where they started condition. of course those two being the curious men they were- decided they wanted to go see the team. they constantly bickered on whether or not they should go- even with the reminder if they did and they got caught snooping- 250 push ups would be needed for about 2 days.

and they still went.

they saw the team and were somewhat disappointed on what they saw.

“wheres all the running? this is bullshit dude! i thought they would like- i dont know run cause theyre apparently the best or whatever… those damn americ-“

kylian immediately stopped him and went quiet.

“i hear someone man. shut up real quick.”

they nodded and turned around to see a girl in the track uniform standing and looking at them.

“who are you guys?”

that day was probably one of the greatest ever for kylian- meeting the love of his life cause he got caught snooping. now he watched her grow into a professional and is now running on the track to win a gold medal.

he sat in the crowd with a shirt of her face on it with a huge smile- waiting for the signal so the girls could start running

finally it rung out- and all you saw was 11 girls blasting off and running for their damn life for a 100m race. one of them being immediately spotted cause of her hair kylian helped choose out before she left.

she ran for her life- going ahead of nieta before running behind again- soon regaining speed and going back up.

8 seconds past by until 9 hit… then 10. finally someone hit first. and it wasnt ___… she still ran and got 3rd place. stopping as she crossed the finish line with a frown as tears welled up in her eyes.

‘bronze? i got bronze?’

kylian noticed- immediately keeping it in mind.

she walked out of the stadium after receiving that bronze medal- headphones in with a defeated look before getting tackled by kylian.

“amour! you did so good!”

“stop ky… im tired.”

“but its true! you did great- i mean bronze at your first olympics? who else can do that?”

“carri’ got silver on hers kylian! its her first too! i wanted gold not bronze- i worked too hard for just bronze!”

kylians face fell as he got quiet, immediately hugging her.

“you still did great amour- i don’t understand why you feel other wise. i get losing is hard but its inevitable! you need loses to win ___ trust me.”

“yea you say that cause you lost the world cup two years ago even though you won it already.”

“youre missing the point here.”

“sorry.”

“look all im saying is that you shouldnt be so hard on yourself cause you didnt get what you exactly wanted- you still ran- you still placed- be proud ___! you worked too hard for this.”

she looked at him with a small smile, finally taking in her win.

“do you want to wear it then?”

“yes- definitely.”

she laughed as she placed the medal around his neck- finding solace in this situation.

[sinnerjannik]

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[melodiousoblivionao3]

Letter from Yael to Gotham FC fans just sent out via email below the cut. A lot of it sounds like exactly what my theories have been which is that it was a highly competitive environment with a lot of talent and that can create some issues. They’re clearly aware of them and I appreciate the transparency in writing this letter. We’ll see how it all goes!

“As I sit in Spain, with our team now beginning preseason, I’m reflecting on the highs and lows of the past year, and I’m aware of the outside narratives surrounding our roster moves. One of the most challenging aspects of my job is seeing these external perspectives contrast with the deep confidence and belief we have in what we’re building at Gotham FC.

I want to share my reflections with you because your support makes everything we do possible. We see you and we hear you, and I want you to know that our commitment to excellence—on and off the field—remains stronger than ever.

Last year was a landmark season for us. We set attendance records, earned our best-ever regular season finish and hosted our first-ever home playoff match. We made history as the first NWSL team to visit the White House and reached the CONCACAF Champions Cup semifinals.

In just a few short years, the NWSL has transformed from trying to demonstrate its proof of concept to securing hundreds of millions of dollars in expansion fees and media deals and introducing big-name investors. This new landscape, shaped by a historic collective bargaining agreement that established full free agency, has pushed all NWSL clubs to adjust to embrace new opportunities. At Gotham FC, the ethos is simple: Always building, never finished.

Heading into 2024, we took seriously our ambition to constantly improve, and with feedback from players and staff, we took action. We strengthened our roster with world-class talent, improved our training facilities, hired a performance dietician and chef and invested in medical, performance and operational support. Yet much like owning a home, building an organization is an ongoing process. No matter what you work on or upgrade, there is always the next project. Throughout the year, based on our assessment, we determined a need to (1) better articulate our club’s philosophy and values to players and staff; (2) further support players and staff to navigate a fiercely competitive environment; and (3) continue to refine our team mentality.

Our goal was never to form a “super team” but to establish Gotham FC as a perennial title contender, positioning the club to one day be an iconic global sports franchise that plays attractive, entertaining soccer. We fully understand our journey won’t always follow a straight path, and we are realistic about the time, fortitude and effort required to achieve our goals. It calls for comfort with the uncomfortable. It calls for hard decisions. It calls for living with missteps. And it calls for constant evaluation.

This offseason brought changes to the roster and staff as we work to transition from a team with moments of success to a club with a sustainable, winning culture. We recognize not every player’s journey will align perfectly with our club’s path. Some will thrive and grow with us for years while others may desire to move on to other opportunities. Sometimes we’ll decide to move in a different direction, too. This is the nature of professional sports.

We have a lot of belief in our 2025 team. At training camp here in Spain, we have our top three goalscorers back from 2024, and we’ve added a Ballon d’Or nominee. We have three Olympic gold medalists, four World Cup champions, a European champion and UEFA Champions League winner. The reigning NWSL Goalkeeper of the Year is back, as are our two players who just received their first U.S. Women’s National Team call-ups. We added consistent top NWSL performers, one of the most exciting players from the U20 World Cup and some of the very best in the college game last year.

I know this offseason has been a time of uncertainty for our fans, and I want you to know we’ve worked tirelessly to build a team you’ll be excited to stand behind in 2025 and every season after. And we aren’t done yet. Our mission is clear: Reaching Gotham FC’s potential as one of the best clubs in the world.

We’ve made significant strides, but we can’t reach that level without your unwavering support. We’re excited to welcome you back to Sports Illustrated Stadium, starting with our home opener on March 23, and we look forward to seeing you rally around a team and a club we’re confident will make you proud!”