#striker x reader female | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

g1rld1ary · 3 days ago

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our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

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zombvic · 6 months ago

Text

THREE'S A PARTY (mason mount x reader)

summary : in which the beloved couple announce they're expecting a baby

face claim : noone in particular

notes : yall idk what to write.. this is more unserious than serious but we move on 😝💯 also don't u dare mention me adding lando cause 😴

pairings : mason mount x reader

Liked by masonmount, f1 & 3,992,002 others.

yourusename about to be the flyest baby out there.. TRUUUUST 🙏🏽🔥💯

View all 2,547 comments.

user HOLYFUCK

user wasn't on my bingo 2024 card omg 😭

masonmount drippiest baby out there 🗣🗣

- yourusername literally 😭🤞🏼

user they're gonna be the cutest parents i swr

user oh my gosh.. parents (LITERALLY)

user that baby has more shoes than me and ITS NOT EVEN BORN YET 🙅🏽‍♀️🙅🏽‍♀️🙅🏽‍♀️

user if it's a girl yall better name her chelsea 😇

- user even if it's a boy

cmpulisic crazy way to announce a baby mate

- masonmount stop hating 👎🏻

yourusername posted a new story.

Liked by chelseafc, masonmount & 1,002,485 others.

yourusename it's been a while chat! SO...... we had our daughter, alessía mount, a few months ago. she's indeed been the drippiest baby so far tho 😝☝🏽 anyways i missed u guys tbh

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user adopt me PLEASEEEEE

user ugh to be the daughter of mason mount and y/n .. a girl can dream

user he's so smitten im sobbing

mclaren cutest baby ever

user never wanted to be a baby so bad

user should've been called chelsea smh

- yourusename dw it's her middle name 😴

user imagine being the daughter of THE y/n and mason mount

user that baby is gonna be majestic when she grows up

landonorris ADORABLEEEE ☹️🙏🏻

chelseafc congrats you guys !!

user me when

Liked by chelseafc, cmpulisic & 4,772,485 others.

masonmount my little girl 💙☹️

View all 2,547 comments.

user parenting goals

user he loves that girl so much

user actually sobbing right now

- user literally im never getting over dad mase

yourusename watch it with the caption..

- masonmount wdym babe

- yourusername OUR**** ?????

cmpulisic where is my picture credit

- masonmount you took a single picture mate

- cmpulisic so what? that's a third of this post ☹️

yourusename who's the guy in the 2nd picture he's mad fit 😝💯

- masonmount he's got a kid with his girlfriend whom he loves very much

chelseafcw future striker for chelsea 🙌🏼

- yourusername future stargirl

- masonmount project messi but female ��🫡

did this while watching practice two for the monaco grand prix and omd the mclaren livery looked sexy bro 😴😴😴 should be the main one i SWEAR its so nice to watch

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leahsgirl · 1 month ago

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casual | alessia russo x female reader

was it casual when it turned into more than a one time thing?

this has been in my drafts since july and i’ve only just got round to finishing it. if youse have any requests let me know!

you’re trying (and failing) to listen to leah’s tactical breakdowns in the locker room when alessia scurries in, late again. that was her thing these days, along with avoiding you like the plague while at training.

no matter what you did to try and interact with the blonde she’d always have an excuse to get out of the situation. you tried to not let it get to you, but when you go from not speaking to her laying in your bed every week - it’s bound to have its effect.

you look at the striker whose now sat on the opposite end of the room next to lotte and you scoff, annoyed at how a single night two months ago can cause such a rift between you both.

you was at a club, a local one you and your teammates regularly visited when there was something to celebrate - the occasion this time being arsenal winning the conti-cup.

katie and kyra had gone up to the bar to get some drinks while you and the rest of the group found somewhere to sit.

you remember wedging yourself next to beth at the end of the booth, leaning back against the leather as you listened in on the girls conversations. it wasn’t long before the irish and aussie duo came back with a handful of drinks and everyone raised their glasses “to arsenal, and stina for the winning goal!”

the alcohol kept coming and the music was only getting louder, you were sipping at your cocktail that you didn’t bother finding out what it consisted of when there was a dip in the seat. you looked to your side to see alessia, her hair was messy and her cheeks were a dark shade of pink - something that always happened when she got a little tipsy.

“come dance me with meee.” she leant forward so her face was practically inches from yours. you just laughed, “mccabe not a good dancing partner?”

alessia shook her head “i’m third wheeling her and caitlin.” she pointed to the pair on the dance floor who seemed to be in their own world.

you sighed “lead the way russo.” you wasn’t the biggest fan of dancing but you weren’t particularly bad at it either. either way, seeing alessia’s smile when you agree is always worth it.

the dance floor was packed and it was hard to move without accidentally catching someone’s arm or torso. alessia moved with ease next to you, singing along to the music. “show me your moves y/n” she leant in and spoke down your ear. her breath was hot and was enough to send your stomach flipping.

the pair of you danced to the beat, lessi’s arms wrapping around your waist. it wasn’t unusual for youse to be touchy-feely like this - it was a normal occurrence in your relationship, hence why you don’t take much notice when she moves her hands lower, stopping at the small of your back.

“i need some air.” the blonde pointed to the door and grabbed your arm, leading you through the sea of people and out into the cold london weather.

“you okay less?” you ask concerned to the girl who is now leaning against the brick wall. she nods her head and it’s silent for a moment.

you’re about to say something when she speaks up first. “your ex girlfriend,” she says, her voice low. “i never liked her y’know.”

you raise an eyebrow, clearly amused and a little caught off guard. “i know you didn’t,” you reply softly, a smirk playing at your lips. “you weren’t exactly discreet about it.”

alessia looks at you then, her gaze more intense than usual “i’m better than her.” she says suddenly and you’re now confused.

before you can even respond, her hand reaches out and gently cups the back of your neck, she pulls you in and suddenly her lips are on yours.

you’re momentarily stunned, because what the fuck. alessia is kissing you, your best friend, your straight best friend for that matter. it’s enough to make your head spin.

almost instinctively you kiss back, your hand finding her waist as she kisses with more urgency. she’s the one to pull back and you take the opportunity to catch your breath. “your place?” she whispers so only you can hear, aware more people have come outside for a cigarette.

the rational part of you is screaming no, not to give in to her, it’s only going to bite you in the ass. but there’s also that one voice, the one that reminds you that you’ve been hopelessly crushing on the striker since being on the england youth team, the one that tells you she must want you too if she’s asking such thing.

you’re too intoxicated to listen to your moral conscience and so you nod your head and soon enough your in the back of a taxi going back to your apartment.

and that’s how the cycle started. she’d come knocking at your door, most of the times the scent of liquor clinging to her, you’d go to the bedroom and discard clothes, she’d whisper sweet nothings into your ear and kiss down your body like you’re fragile, as if each touch may break you, but much enough tenderness to make you ache for more.

then by morning she’d be gone.

no explanation, no trace that she was physically there a few hours before. almost like she couldn’t wait to get out.

it’s even worse when your at home aimlessly scrolling through your socials and you see clips of her being posted with her holding a drink in hand while sitting on a random guy’s lap whispering down his ear, or when she’s getting too close for comfort with a stranger in the dance floor. you’d always end up throwing your phone down next to you out of frustration, willing at the knots that formed in your stomach to just go away.

it wasn’t until around the fourth time you tried to talk to her about it but it didn’t work. she’d have an excuse or say ‘can we talk about it later?’ when in fact ‘later’ never came.

you’d be lying if you said you wasn’t hurting from the whole thing, alessia was your closest friend, clinging to each other like you was fused at the hip and now you hardly get a nod off the girl.

leah concluded her speech and you got up off the bench, starting to make your way to the pitch for warm up drills.

you’re split into two groups and you’re running with the ball. everything feels normal until you catch a glimpse of blonde hair charging towards you, and before you can react alessia slides in hard. her boot colliding with your leg instead of the ball and pain shoots through your ankle, sending you sprawling on the ground.

“what the hell, less?!” you snap, taking laia’s hand to help you up, the anger bubbling to the surface.

for a moment you catch a slip in emotion from her, a slight furrow in her eyebrow before she’s back to hardly giving you the time of day “it was a clean tackle” she shrugged and ran back to her original position.

“russo, what was that about?!” jonas called from his position on the sideline not looking too pleased. alessia held her hands up in defence “went in too early my mistake.”

the swede shook his head, “be more careful, we don’t want more injuries.”

“what’s goin’ on with you two?” katie asked, appearing out of no where. you waved your hand in dismissal “god knows.”

the older woman looked between you both and hummed, not looking convinced. you can’t even blame her.

it wasn’t until everyone was getting into their retrospective cars about to head home that you was able to take your opportunity.

“alessia.” you hold up your hand for her to wait “can we talk?”

seeing that she didn’t really have any escape route other than to run you over (you’re glad she hadn’t gone that crazy yet) she sighed and leant an arm over her car door as she waited for you to get closer. “what’s up?”

“what’s up?” you mocked in disbelief. “what’s up is that you kiss me, come back to mine for sex” her eyes widened as you ranted, nervously turning her head in all directions to make sure no one was listening. “-make it into more than a one time thing, then ignore me like i don’t exist as well as nearly taking out my ankle.” you point to your foot where there is evident bruising and a small scrape. “it’s confusing.” you confess.

“it was a drunken mistake, i don’t get what’s confusing.”

you’re contemplating if she’s being for real right now because there’s no way she’s believing the words coming out her own mouth. “drunken mistake to the point it’s happened over ten times now?” you scoff at her comment. “listen alessia, i can’t keep doing this. it’s messing with my head, while it may be a drunken mistake to you each time, it actually means something to me and it’s clearly impacting us at work as well.” you feel a crack in the back of your throat and you’re annoyed at yourself for getting this emotional right now. “just figure out what you want before we both get hurt.”

you didn’t bother saying bye, you just turned back around and got into your own vehicle hoping she’d actually listen to you and take your advice.

it had been two weeks. well, two weeks and four days to be exact since yours and alessia’s carpark talk, and there had been absolutely no effort off the blonde to communicate with you. you stopped sort of hoping after a week, seeing how she was still giving you the cold shoulder.

one thing that did change though; she no longer rocked up to your place for a late night booty call.

you was at home, letting the warm water cascade over your body and giving you a temporary moment of relaxation. you was just so annoyed with yourself, if you never gave into her a couple of months ago all of this could of been avoided.

tilting your head back, you lathered the shampoo into your hair working through the knots and tangles. it’s fine you told yourself, if alessia’s decided she doesn’t want anything to do with you - you should move on too.

you hear a knock, only a quiet one but enough to kind of freak you out. this is why you hated showering when living alone - always a crippling fear someone’s out to murder you while you’re butt-naked.

maybe it’s just you hearing things, the insane heat and steam in the bathroom making you a little lightheaded. either way, you reasoned with yourself you should probably check it out and wrapped a towel around your body.

there was another knock so you know you’re not going crazy this time as you make it to the hallway. after a few twist and turns of your keys you opened the door ajar slightly.

“alessia?” the blonde was stood on the opposite side of the door sporting mismatched sweats, sunglasses and her hair that looked like its not been brushed in days.

“can i come in?” she sounded weak and your shoulders slumped involuntarily.

you opened the door just enough so she could squeeze in then closed it behind her. you saw how her eyes trailed down your body, a tiny smirk emerging. “nice outfit.”

for a second you forgot you was only in a towel and felt the blood rush up to your cheeks. “i was in the middle of showering.” you subconsciously crossed your arms across your chest. “what is it you want alessia? why are you here?”

the striker shifted her focus to her hands, fiddling with the rings and walked ahead of you so she was standing between your bedroom and living room.

“i’ve been thinking about what you said.” she turned around so she was facing you and moved the sunglasses so they was resting on her head instead. wait, had she been crying? “i’m sorry for being so awful to you.”

you let her continue, “i just- i’ve got all these feelings, feeling about you. and it’s scary y/n. i don’t know what to do with them, like i thought i was straight a few months back!” she said incredulously.

“and now?” you asked gently. you could see this was working her up.

“i don’t know.” she ran her hands through her hair. “i just like you and it terrifies me because i’ve already hurt you enough and most likely ruined our friendship.”

you placed your hand on her arm for comfort “you’ve not ruined our friendship less.” consoling the girl who now had tears welling.

“y/n i’ve been a dick to you.” she deadpanned and you couldn’t exactly disagree because she had been pretty rude.

“at least i know why now though. you’re confused i get it.”

alessia still couldn’t meet your gaze “i care about you, y/n. so much. but i don’t think i can keep pretending im ready for something i don’t understand. i thought maybe i could figure it out, but i don’t think im there yet.”

you stood there in silence for a moment, the reality of the situation sinking in. she wasn’t going to stay. she wasn’t going to fight for whatever it was youse had going on. and no matter how much you wanted her to, she wasn’t going to.

“okay.” you finally said, “if that’s what you believe.”

alessia let out a shaky breath, looking up at you “i’m sorry.”

without another word, alessia stepped forward, her hands gently cupping your face as she kissed you. her lips lingered on yours, soft and hesitant, like she didn’t want to let go but knew she had to.

you kissed her back, your hands resting lightly on her waist, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you. when she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“i’m sorry,” alessia whispered, her voice trembling. “i wish i could be what you need right now.”

you closed your eyes, ignoring the aching your chest was doing right now as you whispered back, "me too."

she pulled away completely then, taking a step back, her hands falling to her sides. for a brief moment, she hesitated, looking at you one last time before turning and walking toward the door.

as the door closed softly behind her, you stood there, feeling the sting of her absence, knowing that waiting for her wasn’t something you could do—not anymore.

the kiss had been a goodbye, even if neither of you had the heart to say the words out loud.

#woso #woso community #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #lionesses #england lionesses

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pitchsidestories · 21 hours ago

Text

together II Ewa Pajor x Lewandowski!Reader

masterlist I word count: 2924

a/n: dear readers, this is an angstier oneshot, so only read it when you're in the right headspace for a heavier story, take care. Little reminder that your feedback is always appreciated. 🫶🏻 🫶🏻

warnings: swearing, hints to an abusive relationship in reader's past

“Y/n? Is the dinner done? I don’t smell anything. Y/n?! You useless piece of shit.”

His curses and insults echoed around your flat in Warsaw. In a city that had to be almost completely rebuilt after the end of the Second World War, including the historic city centre, his world collapsed.

Your husband was horrified to discover that all your things were gone except for your wedding ring and a farewell letter, including the divorce papers, which you had left for him on the dining table.

With hands shaking with anger, he read what you had written.

Like your hometown, you would put your heart, which had shattered into many fragmented pieces, back together again and hopefully become happier than you were now. You had had enough of him, his unruliness and his violence, the man who convinced you that you weren't good enough, even though you had always been enough.

It was just a lie to keep you down, but that was over now.

It almost felt unreal for you to sit many kilometres away from your former husband in the guestroom of your brother’s grand house in Barcelona in front of a huge mirror.

In the reflection you could see said sibling stomp impatiently his feet. “Can you hurry up now?! I don’t have all night.”

“Just a second.”, you chuckled, applying your lipstick only fuelling the older man’s impatience.

“Ugh.”, Robert rolled his eyes.

“Now we can go, idiot.”, you told him smirking.

“Excuse me? You wouldn’t even be going without this impatient idiot.”, he protested, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yes, and you wouldn’t even have a female plus one at your side because all your girls are sick.”, you reminded him, playfully hitting his upper arm with your purse.

“I’d rather not have that plus one be my own sister.”, the striker teased, rubbing the place you had hit before softly, pretending it hurt.

“Rude. I can stay here if you prefer that.”, you offered.

“No.”, the dark-haired man stated firmly.

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?”, you linked arms with your brother.

“Please.”, Robert sighed.

At the event which the Catalan club has initiated you were stunned by the amount of people attended it. Especially when your sibling had claimed that this was only the men and women’s football team.

“Wow, there are a lot of people here.”, you observed.

“Surprise?”, Robert smiled amusedly.

“Well, it’s a bit intimidating.”, you admitted nervously.

“Don’t pee yourself.”, he joked.

“Shut it. My husband is scarier than this.”, you replied, a cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought of him.

“Don’t bring him up right now.”, the striker begged. He planned the evening to be a distraction for you.

Catching the sight of something you changed the topic quickly. “Come on, time to see what the buffet has to offer.”

You dragged your bother along with you towards the food. While you studied all the different dishes, you completely missed that someone had approached your brother in the meantime.

“Oh hi.“, you heard a female voice say which caused you to look up immediately.

“Hi Ewa, great to see you again. Anything that caught your eye?”, your brother asked politely.

You frowned as you silently followed the conversation.

“The paella looks nice but oh man do I miss homemade pierogi.“, the woman smiled.

You might have been wrong but you were sure there was a slight sadness in her smile.

“Oh me too. But luckily my sister is here.“, Robert laughed, pointing towards you.

Your eyes widened, surprised that he pulled you into this conversation when all you wanted to do was grab some food.

“That gorgeous woman next to you is your sister?”, the woman that Robert introduced as Ewa exclaimed. She immediately blushed, seemingly shocked that the words had actually left her mouth.

Robert grimaced: “Yes?”

“Wow.“

You chuckled. It wasn’t everyday that people reacted that way upon meeting you. “Just to clarify, I can do more than cook pierogi and look pretty.“

“That’s impressive.“, Ewa laughed.

Robert interrupted the two of you: “Please, you’re quite impressive yourself, Ewa. I heard you’re already making a name for yourself at Barca femeni.“

She shyly tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear: “Well, I did score a few goals.“

“You did? That’s amazing.“, you commented, suddenly intrigued.

“Uhm yes.“

“Did you find it easy to settle in Barcelona?”, you asked.

Another smile flashed across her face: “Actually yes. With the help of my team mates.“

“Sounds like a perfect start.“

“It was.“

“My sister is new here too, you know.“, Robert said suddenly and you could tell from the look on his face that he was planning something.

Ewas face turned to him with curiosity: “She isn’t just here to visit?”

“No, she’ll stay here for a while actually.“, he confirmed, clearly suppressing a smirk.

“Oh great. I could show you some coffee shops. That’s what my teammates did too when I moved here.“, she suggested.

You tilted your head at her, studying her face: “You would?”

She nodded: “Sure, if you’re interested.“

“Yes, I love coffee.“

“Me too.“

There was a second of silence, just the two of you smiling at each other. Robert and the food faded into the background.

“Maybe we should exchange numbers so you can text me when you’re free?”, you suggested once your brain was no longer preoccupied with staring at her.

“Sure.“ She quickly pulled her phone from her pocket and offered it to you to type in your number. Right in time because she was quickly surrounded by her own teammates while your brother pulled you along to introduce you to too many people.

You had already forgotten their names when you got into the cab taking you back to your brothers house.

“Ewa and you…“, Robert said into the silence of the car.

You blinked at him innocently, playing dumb: “What about us?”

“You got a along well.”, he noted.

“Ewa’s very nice.”, you tried to brush his observation off.

“Nice?”, your brother raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”, you replied, trying to hide your blushed cheek with one hand, so Robert couldn’t see it. For your sibling you always have been an open book. Even in your darkest time when you tried to conceal how you really felt he saw right through your emotionless façade.

“I see.”, the striker smirked knowingly.

“You see what?”, you wanted to know in a curious tone.

“Oh nothing.”, your brother waved it off.

“Robert.”

“No.” After a pause the football player added smiling. “But she’s nice.”

“Yes, and she called me gorgeous.”, you remembered fondly.

“Of course you liked that.”, Robert said.

“I haven’t been called that for a while so yes it felt nice.”, you admitted. Unpleasant pictures you wish you could erase from your memory came back to the surface.

“You know what I think about your husband.”, your sibling hissed, his jaw tightened while he parked the car in front of the unlit house.

“I left him this time.. I’m not going back.”, you assured him. With a heavy heart you revealed the fading bruise around your neck to him.

When you closed your eyes, it brought you straight to the moment he did it, the second you thought you wouldn’t make it out here alive, luckily, he had to leave for his job and a good friend of yours helped you out of this situation. Bitterly you thought to yourself that not everyone had as much luck as you.

“He did it again?”, Robert asked, feeling the hot anger rise in him whilst he spoke.

“Yes.”, you confirmed quietly. Suddenly you were very tired from the day you experienced.

“And of course you’re not going back. I warned him the first time.”, he went on.

Once you stood in front of the guestroom door you turned your head around to face your brother. “Good night, Robbie.”

“Try to get some sleep.”, the footballer answered gently.

“You should too.”, you wore a sad smile on your lips before entering the generous bedroom where the scent of freshly washed linen filled up your nose and immediately calmed you down for the night.

A childish hope in you sparked that this might keep the bad nightmares at bay. Although you knew better than that.

You escaped the danger in person of your former husband and yet it would take some time to release the fear which has crept into your everyday life. Like your nieces when they were younger you would take baby steps to get your old confident self-back.

The nightstand lamp was on as you replayed the conversation with Ewa in your mind. You loved the way her catlike eyes lit up with excitement as she talked about the club, her teammates, the city and her love for the polish dish. It was the last thing you saw behind your eyes before you fell asleep.

Ewa was about to leave the Barcelona training grounds the next day, freshly showered and in clothes that took her hours to pick out.

With her bag in one hand, she waved goodbye to her teammates: “Sorry girls, I got to go. I’m meeting up with someone.“

Kika stopped walking next to her with a frown: “What? With who?”

“With a beautiful woman.“, Ewa admitted quietly, blushing slightly. Her skin prickled as if she had said something forbidden.

Ellie smiled at her with genuine happiness: “A date?”

“Uhm… well, I don’t know… Lewy might kill me if I’d ask her on a date.“

“Lewy?”, Kika echoed.

“Lewy as in Robert Lewandowski. He’s her brother.“, Ewa explained.

A quiet “Oh…“ escaped Kikas lips.

Ewa nodded in agreement to whatever was going through Kikas head: “Yes, exactly.“

“I think it’s worth a try.“, Ellie shrugged.

“You think so? Oh shit, I really got to go now. Otherwise I will be late.“, Ewa realized with a look at the clock on her phone screen. She hadn’t noticed how long they were standing in front of the gate talking.

She waved one last time and left.

“Have fun!”, Ellie called after her.

You were already waiting in front of the small café when Ewa arrived. She was three minutes late but smiling brightly as she caught sight of you.

“Ewa, hi.“, you greeted her and pulled her in for a quick hug.

“Hi.“

“Great to see you again.“, you said as you took her in. She looked cute in her jeans and a little cardigan. Her hair was still lightly wet and smelled like roses.

“Good to see you too.“

With all pleasantries exchanged, you walked inside the coffeeshop and straight towards the counter. Turning towards Ewa, you asked: “What coffee can I get for you?”

“A cappuccino please.“, she replied politely, appearing positively surprised by the fact that you wanted to order for her.

“Okay.“ You gave her a nod and turned back to the barista while she took a seat at a table close to the window.

You took the spot across from her, with two coffees in hand and slid one over to her: “Here you go.“

“Thank you.“, she smiled at you gratefully and took a sip.

“You’re welcome.“

You both sat there in silence for a moment, just enjoying your coffee and a little unsure about what to do next.

“So? How’s Barcelona?”, Ewa asked suddenly.

“I love it so far.“, you answered truthfully. Even though your brother was always busy, he had taken some time out of his day to show you around and you immediately understood why he never wanted to leave again.

Ewa nodded understandingly: “It’s pretty nice, right?”

“Yes, the weather is perfect.”, you replied.

“Yeah, I like that the most too.”, the forward admitted with a huge smile on her lips.

“Besides the football I guess.”, you mused.

“That’s pretty nice too.”, she admitted, one hand placed to her heated cheek.

“Maybe I should see you play at some point.”, you thought out loud, realizing her blush only intensified under your gaze.

“You’re always welcome at our games.”, Ewa remarked happily.

“That’s sweet of you.”, you muttered immensely grateful for her kindness and open-mindedness.

“I mean it. We’re always glad to have some spectators.”, she added beaming.

“I’ll be coming. Promise.”, you assured her.

“But you don’t have to.”, the striker ran nervously a hand through her now fully dried hair.

“I want to go though.”, you stated.

“Okay, of course.”, she cleared her throat.

“Of course? You still sound surprised.”, you lifted an eyebrow.

“No, I uhm… I just can’t wait for you to come and watch us.”, Ewa confessed.

“When’s your next home game?”, you asked.

“Saturday. I can get you a ticket if you’d like.”, the football player offered.

“Yes, please.”, you affirmed delighted.

“I’m taking care of it.”, she hummed.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you for wanting to come.”, the Polish women’s national team captain waved it off.

Agreeing to this almost felt forbidden, the glances you had exchanged with her during the coffee shop felt unholy.

Back in your home country you rarely saw this intimacy between two women, even if it was only in their eyes.

Here in Barcelona, you noticed that female couples were holding hands as they walked by like they weren’t afraid of other people seeing that. You admired their bravery.

Maybe Ewa was a bit shy, still the striker made clear that she very much wanted to see you again.

On Saturday the banter was on a high in the team’s changing room.

“So, she’s coming to our game today?”, Kika wiggled her dark eyebrows.

“She’s.”, Ewa confirmed.

“And you both like each other.”, Ellie observed smirking.

“Maybe we do.” A nervous laughter came from the Polish striker’s mouth.

You had seen enough football games in your lifetime to recognize that Ewa was a fantastic player. Amazed, you watched the woman and her team play.

After the match was officially over, she immediately went to find you in the stands, still a little out of breath she turned up in front of you.

“Ewa, fantastic came.”, you congratulated her.

“Thank you.”, Ewa grinned.

“I loved watching it.”, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

The football players eyes softened slightly: “You did?”

“Yes… also on your free day I’ve my brothers home to myself so you could come over to try my pierogi.“, you suggested, trying to sound as casual as possible and not like you persuaded your brother to help with your plan.

“You will make us pierogi?”, Ewa asked excitedly.

“Jep.“, you confirmed with a single nod which caused the football player to beam at you.

You could get used to that face.

A few days later, you welcomed Ewa into your brothers luxurious house. With your clothes already covered in flour, you led her to the unnecessarily huge kitchen where you had already started preparing the polish dumplings.

Once the first serving was done, you turned to Ewa who watched with careful eyes as you filled and closed the edges of the dough: “Do you want to try them?”

She nodded: “Yes please.“

You plated a few with melted butter and a dab of sour cream on the side and pushed the plate towards Ewa.

She took a bite, chewing with her eyes closed.

“And? What do you think of them?”, you asked curiously.

“Wow. They’re so good. They almost taste like the ones at home.“, the football player confirmed.

You blushed slightly. You knew everyone made theirs a bit differently so to hear they tasted like home was one of the biggest compliments you could get.

“They’re amazing.“

“Just like you.“ You paused, horrified. You didn’t know why you had said that. “Shit, I mean…“

“You mean?”, Ewa repeated, trying to coax you into explaining.

“Please forget it… I never said that to a woman. Maybe I only thought it back in Poland.“

An icy shiver ran down your spine, thinking about the situation back at home where even the thought felt forbidden.

You suddenly felt Ewas hand on yours, her thumb gently rubbing over the back of your hand: “Hey, you can say that here. I feel the same way about you.“

“But you don’t know me… not fully yet. My hus-… ex-husband, the thought I was worthless.“

Your eyes met across the table. Neither of you pulled her hand back.

“I don’t have to know what he thought about you. I only care about what I know about you.“, Ewa said, her voice was soft and quiet but she sounded sure about it.

“And what do you know?”

The corners of her mouth quirked up slightly: “That you’re very sweet and I like you lot.“

Biting your lip, you admitted: “I think the same about you to be honest…“

“See, we want the same thing.“

“Looks like we do.“

“Would it be okay if I…?”

“Yes.“, you replied before she even finished her question but from the way her gaze lowered towards your lips, you knew what she was about to ask.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you.“

She frowned: “You didn’t even know what I wanted to say.”

“Please, go on.“

“Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?”, Ewa finally finished her question.

You nodded with a smile: “Very okay.“

She leaned over the counter to you and kissed you. It was gentle, warm and comforting like the pierogi that lay forgotten in front of you. It had been a long time since anything had felt so right.

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adascore · 9 months ago

Text

The Awarded Silence

pairings: alexia putellas x lyonnais!reader / lucy bronze x lyonnais!reader / mary earps x lyonnais!reader / sarina wiegman x lyonnais!reader + mapi and ingrid cameos!

warnings: very awkward. angst. swearing.

author's note: lucy meddling with her two captains... nothing good can come of that, can it? hope you all enjoy this third part! also I’m aware the gif is not the right award ceremony, but couldn’t find a better gif.

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

•••••••

With the end of a season also came the prestigious award shows, something both Y/N and Alexia were all too familiar with. Although it was different this time around; it would be the first time they would actually go up against each other in the big categories.

It was clear to everyone who would be walking away with each one of them. Not only had Y/N walked away with both the European Championship and the Champions League title, she'd been named the MVP of both those tournaments. Some of the media were trying to hype it up as another competition between them, but even Alexia was aware she had no chance of walking away with anything as long as Y/N was nominated for it as well.

First one up had been the UEFA Women's Player of the Year, which Y/N had taken home, alongside Sarina who had won for Women's Coach of the Year.

That was followed up by the Ballon d'Or. It was a big deal as they were the clear frontrunners, and whoever won would become the first player to win the accolade for a second time. Again, Y/N made history and had accepted the gold award. Alexia hadn't gone to the ceremony, citing illness as the reason why.

The England captain had been upset by her absence, she hadn't seen nor spoken with Alexia in months and had hoped the ceremony in France would have been an opportunity to catch up. She'd smiled when the midfielder sent her a congratulatory message, along with a shout-out on her Instagram story- stating how she was deserving of the award.

It would take a few more months before they'd see each other, at ‘The Best FIFA Football Awards' in Paris. Along with being nominated for Best Women's Player, they would both be featured in the Women's World 11.

The first interaction came when they were hastily put next to each other as they received their trophies. As the cameras clicked, Y/N and Alexia exchanged smiles that masked the tension between them.

''I think it would be difficult for anyone to beat this team.'' Lucy grinned, speaking into the microphone that was attached to her cheek.

The women received another applause and made their way off the stage, handing over their trophies that would be handed back to them at the end of the ceremony.

A few winners later, Kylian took the stage to present ‘The Best FIFA Women's Player' award. They showed a pleasant montage of Alexia, Y/N and Alex- a compilation of their season's highlights.

Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She knew the PSG player would call out her name, but you never knew if they wanted to stir up some controversy.

The England captain was sat on the first row, meanwhile some of her teammates and fellow female players were scattered in the other rows. Alex sat right behind her, while Alexia sat on the other side of the room with her Barcelona teammates.

The room hushed as Kylian unfolded the envelope. ''And the Best FIFA Women's Player is… Y/N Y/L.''

Applause erupted, and Y/N nervously got up from her seat. On the pitch, the striker was confident, but making speeches in front of a full room filled with people in power and fellow players, was not something she had gotten used to.

The Brit turned around and reached her hand out for Alex to take, a silent sign of respect for the season the American had had. She would have done the same if Alexia had been seated there, but walking to the other side of the room would have taken too much time.

Y/N carefully walked up the stairs, trying not to fall as she was wearing heels. Kylian noticed, and made his way over to offer his arm to her. She smiled, and accepted, holding onto the striker's arm.

He congratulated her, pressing three celebratory kisses on her cheek. ''Félicitations, Championne.'' (''Congratulations, Champion.'') Kylian said.

''Merci.'' (''Thank you.'') Y/N grinned, and she took her place at the microphone.

''Uh, thank you so much to all the people that voted. It's a big compliment to have your fellow players and coaches vote for you, so thank you so much.'' She started off, her voice a bit shaky as her eyes darted around the room.

''I, also, quickly want to acknowledge Alex and Alexia. It's an honour to be nominated alongside you, and I want to thank you for all the contributions you have made so far and for the great football we get to see from you. Thank you.'' Y/N glanced at both of them, giving them a nod as the crowd applauded them.

The camera panned to both women. The American striker mouthed a ''Thank you'' to the younger player, once teammates at Lyon. Alexia clapped, but maintained a composed facade.

She had also clapped when the Brit's name was announced, concealing any type of disappointment she felt. While she had anticipated the outcome, the sight of Y/N claiming the award instead of her was something hard to swallow- in the same way it had been hard to watch her rival lift the Champions League trophy the previous year.

Her applause was genuine, and deep inside she knew that Y/N deserved it more than her, but Alexia would never admit that out loud. As the striker continued her speech, the midfielder struggled with being happy for her colleague, while dealing with her own unspoken desire for recognition.

Lucy, seated beside Alexia, offered her a knowing smile. The Barcelona defender had seen it from close by, how everything was a competition for them. She'd noticed it at her new club, where the lost finals against Lyon served as reminders for the team to do better, and to not let that happen again. She'd noticed it in her England teammate, and how tense she had been before the friendly against Spain.

On the other side sat Mapi, concerned over how her friend was handling it. ''It's okay, Ale.'' She whispered in their native language.

''I know, it's just an award.'' Alexia replied, not taking her eyes off Y/N.

The Spanish defender dropped it, giving Ingrid a look before focusing on the winner as well.

''… cause I couldn't have done it without them. Uh, yeah, congratulations to all the other winners as well. Thank you.'' Y/N concluded.

The audience applauded one last time, and she got off the stage. She hid her face in embarrassment as Mary whistled loudly, feeling hot as her friend hyped her up.

After was seemed like forever, the ceremony was done.

Most attendees got up from their seats, but didn't leave the main hall as they walked over to catch up with people they knew or to get to know other people.

Y/N got up after about a minute, deciding to go talk to Christiane and Wendie, her Lyon teammates. However, the universe or someone called Lucy Bronze had better ideas.

''Hey, Captain.'' She heard the defender greeting her.

As the striker turned around, she was met with a surprise. There stood Lucy, accompanied by none other than Alexia Putellas. The Brit wore a smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

''Hi, Bronzey.'' Y/N responded, slightly caught off guard.

The English internationals shared a hug, Lucy whispering a congratulations in her ear. ''Thanks, you too.''

As the two parted, Y/N's eyes fell on an awkwardly standing Alexia.

''Y/N, meet Alexia. Alexia, this is Y/N.'' Lucy said, her eyes darting between the pair.

The two captains exchanged an uneasy glance. ''Uh, yeah, we know each other, Luce.'' The striker stated, feeling very uncomfortable with the situation.

Lucy chuckled, completely unfazed by the discomfort she had purposely created. ''Oh, I know. It's just that fans online were saying that they wanted me to have you guys become friends, so I'm just keeping my promise to them.''

Y/N and Alexia forcibly grinned at the admission, both aware of what people said about them on social media. The latter cleared her throat. ''Uh, congratulations again. You really deserve it.''

The Lyon player nodded, a somewhat more genuine smile appearing. ''Thanks, I appreciate. You as well, with the, uh, World 11.''

''Thank you.''

Another pause hung in the air, the atmosphere thick with awkwardness. It was as if their shared teammate had conspired to make this encounter as uncomfortable as possible.

''Oh, there's Sarina, excuse me, ladies.'' Lucy swiftly escaped, using their Dutch coach as part of her scheme.

That left the players facing each other. The tension was uncomfortable, and neither seemed eager to break the silence that had settled between them.

After a moment, Y/N was the first to give in. ''So, how is your knee doing?'' She asked, noticing the Spaniard was no longer holding onto her crutches.

Alexia's eyes briefly flickered towards Lucy, who was signing with her hands to keep going. ''Uh, good. Yeah, if everything goes to plan, I should be ready by the end of the season.'' She replied, a small smile present.

''So… World Cup ready then?''

The Catalan shifted on her feet at the mention of the tournament. ''That's delicate right now.''

''Oh, how, uh, is that situation going at the moment?'' Y/N had momentarily forgotten about the mutiny going on in the Spanish national team. She knew Alexia supported the girls that had made themselves unavailable, but they'd never had any conversations about it.

Alexia shrugged her shoulders. ''It's being worked on, it's… a lot.'' From the way she was speaking, her colleague could sense it wasn't a topic the midfielder wanted to happily chat about.

''I understand. I just want to say that a lot of people are behind you guys, and want to see change happen,'' Y/N softly spoke, ''me included.''

''Thank you.'' Alexia sounded genuinely grateful for her words.

Y/N has been a huge advocate for women's football ever since she became a professional player, so her acknowledging the Las 15's stance meant more to Alexia than she could express.

''Sorry, could I get a picture of you two?'' One of the official FIFA photographers interjected, pointing at the two of them.

The pair shared a look, seemingly asking without words if the other was okay with it. They nodded at each other, and hesitantly put their hands on one another's back, posing for the camera.

''Thank you.'' The man thanked them, walking over to another group of players.

''It was nice talking to you. I'm, uh, gonna see what my teammates are up to.'' Y/N politely excused herself. The conversation was turning out more bearable than how it started, but she still wanted nothing more than to leave.

''Same. Um, good luck with your matches, and maybe we see each other in the semifinals?'' Alexia hinted at a potential Champions League clash.

The Lyon striker chuckled. ''We'll see, Putellas. Have a nice night.''

As Y/N made her way to her teammates, Alexia watched her departure with mixed emotions. Yes, she was happy that they'd had a conversation. But, it was frustrating that there still seemed to be a wall between them, and a big one at that.

What was it that always held them back from truly opening up to one another?

''You know she's going to kill you once she's finished with that conversation, right?'' Mary said to her fellow Lioness, subtly taking a glimpse at Alexia and Y/N.

Lucy smirked, her eyes barely leaving her two captains. ''Who? Y/N or Alexia?'' She laughed.

''Both.'' Sarina and Mary chorused, laughing now as well.

''Nah, they'll have to work together for that. Never gonna happen.'' She continued joking.

The England coach shook her head. ''Why are you doing this again?''

''Because I wanna have fun, and although I am happy with my little trophy, this show is super boring. Just want to spice things up,'' Lucy explained, ''besides, fans will love it. The Queens of football talking together. La Reina and La Reine.''

Sarina and Mary exchanged skeptical glances, unsure of how either players would react. ''I'm not so sure Y/N will appreciate your idea of fun.'' Mary commented.

''Oh, what could go wrong?'' The defender genuinely did not see the problem. ''See, they're even taking a picture together.'' Lucy pointed out, seeing the pair in front of the photographer.

After the picture, Y/N gracefully excused herself and began walking towards where Lucy, Mary, and Sarina were standing. She joined the trio with a forced smile, attempting to suppress any visible signs of annoyance.

''Nice reunion there?'' Sarina tried to lighten her captain up, noticing her gloomy expression.

''We talked.'' She answered. It wasn't a proper response, more like a factual statement.

Y/N wasn't sparing Lucy a glance, the defender, however, remained unfazed. ''That's nice.''

''Congrats, by the way, darling. No one deserves this more than you.'' Mary tried to deflect, not a fan of the tension. Sarina smiled at the reminder of all the awards her team collected. ''Yeah, congratulations.''

''Thank you, you too, Mearps. You almost made me cry with your speech. Sarina, you didn't make me cry, but yours was really nice as well.'' She turned to her coach, managing to still make a teasing comment.

Sarina laughed. ''Well, thank you.''

''Uh, I'm gonna say hi to my, uh, other teammates.'' Y/N nodded her head towards where Wendie and Christiane were standing with some of the Lyon staff.

She then glanced at Lucy. ''Or you want to set that up for me as well?'' She sarcastically chuckled.

''Hey, come on. I thought you guys were friends now.'' Lucy said, a lame attempt at defending herself.

''Who said that?'' Y/N frowned.

''Jill.'' The defender retorted.

''What a source,'' the captain scoffed, ''we're not friends, and I don't need you to make us friends.''

''How bad was that conversation that you're this pissed at me?'' Lucy asked, not expecting her friend to be this irritated over her actions.

''Just don't do that ever again. It was fucking embarrassing.'' With that, she made her way over to her Lyon teammates.

Mary and Sarina slowly glanced back to Lucy, whose smirk had been practically smacked off of her face.''What could go wrong, aye, Bronzey?''

On the other side of the room, Alexia carefully walked over to Mapi and Ingrid after Y/N excused herself from the conversation.

''You look like you need alcohol.'' The Spanish defender noted, taking in her friend's expression.

Alexia sighed, smoothing her hair down. ''Neither of us enjoyed that.''

''Lucia really did you dirty there.'' Mapi responded, glancing to where her teammate was speaking with the England camp.

Ingrid offered a sympathetic smile. ''I think she had good intentions, she meant it well.'' She chimed in.

The Barcelona captain nodded. ''I know, but it was so awkward.'' Alexia grimaced, cringing at the reminder of how the two football stars had just uneasily stood in front of one another.

''You'll be fine,'' Mapi caressed her back, ''one day you'll be able to laugh about this, trust me.''

Alexia gave her an unimpressed look. ''I'd rather not.''

The defender glanced at her girlfriend. ''So oblivious.'' She whispered to Ingrid.

''What was that?''

''Nothing.''

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas fic #alexia putellas x reader #lucy bronze x reader

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crystalofmoon19 · 7 months ago

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Shaving Knife - Human! Striker x Female Human! Reader

Summary: You noticed that Striker was shaving his beard with a knife and you wanted to help him shave. This is a human version of Striker.

Word count: 681

Note: This One-Shot was inspired by a drawing by @HollowRavenwood on Twitter of human Striker and Stella, here is the link: https://twitter.com/HollowRavenwood/status/1730110541363130504

You woke up from your bed stretching your body, and wanted to look for the warmth of your boyfriend, but he didn't seem to be anywhere; so with an annoyed snort, you made your bed and decided to go to your bathroom.

It was there where you found Striker, who was shaving his beard with his knife, you were surprised to see your boyfriend doing that. But you decided to just watch him silently until Striker pays attention to you.

“Morning, darlin’.” .- He said without taking his eyes off the bathroom mirror.

"Good morning, sweetie." .- You hugged your boyfriend from behind, which made him smile and his cheeks blush. He put the knife down for a moment and shook your hair.

“Looks like someone woke up in a good mood.”

You just smiled in response to your boyfriend and your gaze went to Striker's knife.

“Isn't that the knife you use for your work?”

“That's my shaving knife, sugarcube.”

Now that you thought about it, it made sense that someone like Striker would use a knife to shave instead of a razor, he was from Texas after all; In addition, Striker was the one who had worked the most of the two, and having so much experience skinning things, perhaps it seemed normal to him to use a knife for everything, such as opening cans or also to shave his beard.

That or maybe it was an old western cowboy custom, you really weren't sure.

But you respect that Striker does things his way, so you just hugged him for a while, until a brilliant idea occurred to you.

"My love."

“Mmmhh?”

“Do you want me to help you shave?”

Your question caught Striker so off guard that he almost cut his face with his knife, before you could do anything, Striker had already moved his knife away from his face to look at you with his wide eyes.

“You want to do what?”

“I said I’d like to help you shave.”

“No way, sweetheart.”

"Come on! I know how to handle a knife, and I promise to go slowly so as not to cut you.”

“I dunno, darlin’.”

“Come on, Striker, please.”

“No, sugah.”

“Please, Strikey~”

With the sweetness of your voice you made Striker slowly give in to you, but what marked the turning point was when he saw you with your pleading eyes and you caressed him with your soft hands.

“Fine, darlin’. I’ll let you shave, just try to go slow.”

“I will, my love, trust me.”

With a sigh, Striker handed you his knife so you could do your job, with that he sat on the toilet and you began by slowly shaving his beard with his knife.

You decided to shave his beard first and then slowly cut his mustache. You could feel Striker tense up a little at this, so when you finished cutting his mustache you gave him a kiss on his forehead and this made him calm down a little; which you took advantage of to continue shaving his beard carefully.

When you finished shaving him, you left the knife in the sink and made Striker look at himself in the mirror.

“What do you think, my love?”

“Damn, darlin’, you made me incredible."

“I'm glad to know you liked it.”

"I loved it. Thank you so much, sweetheart."

You smiled warmly at your boyfriend, your cheeks turning pink as you tidied your hair.

“Would you like breakfast, Striker?”

“Yeah, I think I'm a little hungry.”

“Alright, I think we can eat some reheated food from yesterday and…”

Before you could say another word, Striker had already wrapped his strong arms around you, touching your hips and kissed your neck, now your cheeks were red and you bit your lip.

“It seems like someone is hungry for me.”

“I'm always hungry for you, sweetheart.”

“And I will always be happy to feed you.~”

With this you gave Striker a kiss and he happily reciprocated and you two decided to have a little fun in the shower before starting your day.

#helluva boss #helluva boss striker #striker #striker helluva boss #striker x reader #striker x reader female #helluva boss striker x reader #helluva boss x reader #human striker #striker human #one-shot #fluff

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theyanderespecialist · 11 months ago

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I love your work can I get a yandere striker x female moxxie reader headcannons please

This one will be done, sometimes soon!

#coming soon #helluva boss #female moxxie #moxxie reader #moxxie helluva boss #striker #striker x reader #striker helluva boss #yandere #yandere striker

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totaly-obsessed · 9 months ago

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Nerves

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader navigates the uncertainties of her career, academic studies, and the pressures of her first senior England camp, finding solace and comfort in her relationship

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As a female football player your future career was not guaranteed - one wrong step and all this could be over. Your dream and passion since childhood days could be over.

Anxious as you were, you decided to do something on the side, educate yourself further, and so that it wasn’t as far off from your day job, you had started to study sports science two years ago. The choice of study had been made quickly, after all, you couldn't imagine a life away from the pitch.

Alessia, your girlfriend, stood fully behind you - ready to drive you to the few in-person lectures you had. The blonde would do anything for you. Washing dishes, doing the laundry, sweeping, cooking? One little smile from you and the housework-allergic striker turned into a housewife.

Being called up to your first-ever senior England camp had not been in the plans. Sure it was always something you thought about, especially when Less left for the camps, but you never thought that you would make it this far.

Your girlfriend however had a feeling that you would join her this time - and she was proven right when Sarina called you. The blonde jumped up and down in celebration, pulling you up with her. But once she saw the tears streaming down your face, you were in her strong arms, ready to dry them with her sweater.

The weeks leading up to camp were anything but relaxing - one exam after the other. And they wouldn’t stop for a couple of days either.

Alessia had been watching you wear yourself thin, most days were filled with practice, media, recovery, and games. Nights were spent studying methods to reduce the risk of sports injuries and strategies for rehabilitating injuries when they occur as well as analyzing the social and cultural aspects of sports participation, organization, governance, and marketing.

If the half-Italian was honest, she didn't understand most of the things you were reading about. Making one flashcard after the other in desperate attempts to get it in your head as she watched the circles under your eyes darken.

The day you left for camp she had been hopeful that things would change from now on. You were out of the comfort of your home, confronted with new and old acquaintances and friends.

But of course, it didn't go as planned.

“Are you sure that you even have a girlfriend, Less?”

You had barricaded yourself in your room for the third evening in a row, trying to prepare for the last exam as well as you possibly could.

“We’ve been over this Tooney, just a few more days!”

The following Monday Alessia had woken you up early, shaking you softly as a paper stuck to your cheek. You had fallen asleep on the desk, and by the look of the untouched bed, this probably wasn't the first time either.

“Buongiorno amore mio, è ora di svegliarsi!” Time to wake up? No that couldn't be.

But a glance at the watch on the wall confirmed your girlfriend's words, you really had to get up now. “Thanks, Lessi.”

A soft peck on the lips later and your girlfriend was willing to help you get ready, or rather gather your things and pack your bag while you were in the bathroom.

The car ride to your Uni had been peaceful. Just you and Alessia. It hadn't been like that for a while as you were always studying.

“I’m sorry for being a shit girlfriend lately, Less.”

The blonde's head snapped over so fast that you couldn't even blink. “Don’t you dare say that! You’ve been such a good student, and after this, I won’t let you go that easily.”

“Less, eyes on the road!” your clumsy girlfriend had filled with sudden rage at your guilt, headed straight towards a tree on the side of the road.

“Whoops.”

Alessia could see an immediate difference in you when you sat down in her car again. You felt happier. Not a single word was lost in regard to the exam when it had been all you could talk about before.

While you felt freer you still looked and were incredibly tired, something even Tooney could see, who had been excited to get your lively person back. She missed her go-to person when Less was boring and wouldn’t run around like a crazy person with her.

So when you refused to play darts with her, clinging to your girlfriend on a couch, she was incredibly disappointed.

“C’mon, I just got you back - play with me before you go back to fucking London!” But the brunette's whining just earned her a shove from her best friend.

“Leave us alone Ella.”

A whisper went through the room, everyone quietly watching as they glared at each other while you snuggled deeper into Lessi’s neck, desperate to sleep.

“No fair! You have her all the time!” She looked like a little kid whose toy had been taken away. And in a way it had been.

“I don’t care Ell-”

“Okay, off Ella!” It was Mary who pulled the angry chihuahua off Alessia's legs and now pointed up at the stairs, “You two, upstairs!”

The blonde didn’t hesitate and stood up, careful not to jostle you too much as she made her way up the stairs. Ella could only watch, mouth wide open, as you waved her goodbye, your head resting on your girlfriend's shoulder.

“You brat!”

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader

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writerr-loverr · 2 months ago

Text

helluva boss.

crimson knolastname headcanons. (x fem! reader)

blue. (submissive! yandere! striker x dominant! fem! reader)

#fanfic #fanfiction #helluva boss #helluva boss fanfiction #crimson knolastname #helluva boss crimson #x reader #helluva striker #striker helluva boss #fem reader #female reader

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cobaltperun · 5 months ago

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omg wait , if possible could you do a tara x amber to tara x reader , soccer!au with like r and amber being on the soccer team together and competing against each other to make tara fall for one of them but tara chooses amber first but amber like ,, betrays her or cheats on her and that’s when tara realizes she always loved r and they end up together

Sweep 'er off Her Feet

Tara Carpenter x female reader (Request)

Masterlist

Word count: 2.3k

Soccer has been your passion since you were a child, you spent hours chasing ball back then, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could one day play at least for a school team. It wasn’t that you weren’t good, you definitely put in effort to get good, but the issue was Woodsboro, there just weren’t enough girls interested in soccer in your primary and middle school.

So, when you started high school and realized there was an actual soccer team you jumped at the opportunity. Easily filling in any position that was empty at the moment. There was one position you exceled at more than the others though. Sweeper. You could play offensive as well, but there was something inherently appealing in the idea of defending your goal, being the last line of defense before the goalkeeper and the opposing team. Waiting and reacting, making sure your team didn’t have to catch up to the other team, and could instead focus on taking the lead.

And you were damn good at it. And Woodsboro high school team quickly became one of the top high school teams in the local competitions. You had a mean combo. You’d do your part as the sweeper, pass the ball forward to your team’s striker, Amber Freeman, and she was one hell of a striker.

The two of you just pulled that combo off, winning another game just in the nick of time and you were celebrating, cheering with the students from your school that came to see you all.

“That was amazing!” Tara exclaimed from the stands as you and Amber stopped near her.

“The mastery of yours truly,” Amber bragged, being the one who scored the goal.

Tara laughed. “Don’t take all the credit, Y/N’s pass was great as well,” she remarked, winking at you as you grabbed a towel and began wiping the sweat off your face.

Amber rolled her eyes and jokingly smacked you on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, hear that? You’ve got a fan,” she teased causing you to glare at her.

It wasn’t a secret that you had a crush on Tara, but the thing was, Amber was also interested in her. “Easy there, Freeman, you’re turning green,” you shoved her back.

Amber scoffed and turned her attention to Tara. “I am really grateful you take notice of our sweeper. It’s such a boring position I was worried no one would realize she was on the field,” she offered Tara a confident smirk.

“Boring?” well sure, it wasn’t exactly the most exciting position, but it wasn’t boring!

Tara lightly scratched her cheek and looked away, chuckling a bit uncomfortably.

“Wait, really?” you had to ask her.

“A bit,” she held up her fingers and smiled apologetically, but the look in her eyes told you she was only teasing you. Actually teasing, without any harm meant by it, unlike Amber whose teasing always held at least a hint of malice within it.

You turned to the side dramatically. “The betrayal!” you overreacted with raised fists and grinned when Tara laughed.

~X~

This dynamic continued, Tara would always be there on your matches, she would always cheer the loudest, and the three of you would always chat after the game ended. And you slowly got closer, your friend groups merging and eventually it wasn’t just chats after the matches. It was study sleepovers, hanging out, going to the movies together.

Tara was important to you, so important you feared telling her about your crush on her would ruin your friendship in some way, so you remained silent.

You should have spoken up.

~X~

Tara, after finishing her last classes headed toward the soccer field where you had your practice before another big game. She watched you, practicing your long passes, each time sending the ball with incredible precision. It was no wonder Amber had an easy time, you would pass the ball to her on the perfect spot to make the path to the goal as easy as possible.

And then there was Amber, the polar opposite of you, just passing time on the field. That was the thing with Amber, she was pure talent, monstrously talented, she barely practiced. And there was a time she thought you were the same, but as she got to know the two of you she learnt you spent hours practicing, simply out of your love for soccer, and so you were arguably a much better soccer player than Amber, your position just wasn’t as prominent. Tara admired you for that, for the constant effort and dedication.

“Hey, Tara,” Amber saw her and came up to her, that charming, a bit seductive smile on her face.

“Amber, hi,” Tara replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at the black-haired girl. She had a bit of a crush on Amber, and she was glad whenever she got to have a proper conversation.

“You know, there’s a party at one of my teammates’ place tomorrow night, I was wondering if you’d like to come as my date?” Amber asked her directly, without a hint of doubt in her voice or posture. In Amber’s eyes the answer was obvious.

And Tara had to agree, the answer really was obvious. “Of course, I’d love to go with you,” she replied, blushing as Amber pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the lips, thought she quickly kissed the team striker back.

~X~

A month later you still occasionally sulked that Amber ended up asking Tara out. But, you refused to show it in front of Tara, the two of you still hung out, you still spent enough time together due to hanging out in the same group. And much like with anything else in her life, Amber remained assertive, feeling the need to show that Tara was her girlfriend.

Who did Amber think you were? Someone who would wreck a relationship?

Hell no!

And Tara looked fairly happy with Amber, so you definitely weren’t going to interfere in any way.

You could still sulk though. So, here you were, at a party after winning local tournament. It was loud, there was some alcohol, though you really never found appeal in it. So even though plenty of people around you drunk you went for a coca cola instead.

“You know, if you wanted to get the girl, your position really doesn’t make you instantly noticeable. No one notices defenders until they either fuck it up, or really create a miracle,” Liv, one of your teammates, pointed out.

You rolled your eyes at that and took a sip of your drink. “Yeah, well, being a sweeper has grown on me, I don’t feel like switching just yet.”

But before Amber could reply both of you saw Tara rushing outside.

“Was Tara crying?” Liv asked as you jumped to your feet.

“She was,” you ran after Tara, worried about what could have happened to cause such a reaction from usually composed girl.

~X~ About ten minutes earlier ~X~

She thought her relationship with Amber was going strong, she thought Amber liked her, wanted to have a steady relationship with her. She didn’t think Amber would leave her alone during a party she wasn’t really feeling like coming to anyway. Yes, your team won the competition, but Tara had a test tomorrow and she didn’t feel like spending the night in a loud, smoke and alcohol filled place.

She was looking for Amber all over the huge house, hoping to find her and let her know she was leaving. She did not think she would see Amber in a bed, naked, riding a guy that looked several years older than her.

“Amber?” she managed to say the girl’s name, stopping her movements for a few moments. But instead of stopping, or looking ashamed Amber just continued on, aware that Tara was there and Tara felt sick.

She ran out of the room and slammed the doors closed behind her. She leaned against the wall, her eyes wide and her breathing so rapid she had to use her inhaler to calm down. Yet the tears still fell down her cheeks. A part of her hoped Amber would come out, explain herself, but deep down Tara knew two things. First that no matter what Amber said it wouldn’t change the fact that she chose to cheat on Tara, and the second that, as much as it hurt to admit it, Tara understood Amber wouldn’t be coming out, and so she ran down the stairs, still crying and only wishing to leave the damn party.

She ran outside, the air suddenly feeling rather cold. “Tara!” she heard your voice and stopped. You must have seen her crying, or at least rushing to leave, and you got worried. You got worried and Amber cheated on her, how ridiculous was this situation? She wiped her tears, but they kept falling as you caught up with her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, what happened? Should I get Amber?” you asked, because of course you would. Why wouldn’t you assume that Amber and Tara were still fine, and that Amber would be able to fix this.

Tara shook her head and without thinking about it she just blurted out what she saw. “I saw her cheating on me,” she sobbed, watching as you went from concerned to shocked, to angry and then you turned around, seething and heading toward the house and somehow Tara realized you were likely going to go in and confront Amber about her affair.

Or was Tara the affair? How long did that last? Tara would probably never know.

“Y/N, wait!” she cried out, going after you and grabbing your forearm. You stopped, but you still looked toward the front doors, still ready to get into a fight. “It’s not worth it,” she told you softly.

“But thanks, it means a lot,” she managed a small smile.

“It’s worth it to me,” you argued, but you finally turned around and for a moment raised your hands toward Tara, as if to hug her, but you dropped them. Unsure if that was what Tara wanted when that was exactly what she needed, just to be held and comforted for a moment. So, seeing the initial intention, Tara just stepped forward and hugged you, letting the tears flow freely as you hugged her. “You’ll find someone better,” you assured her while rubbing circles on her back.

“That was my first relationship,” Tara confessed, and she liked Amber. She didn’t think her first relationship would be the one she stays in for the rest of her life, but she didn’t think it would end like this.

“Next one will be better,” your words did little to make her pain lesser, but she did find some comfort in them, in the thoughts of future. And what your words failed to do your presence and touch accomplished.

~X~

About a month and a half later you found yourself in front of Tara’s house, gathering courage to finally confess your feelings, or at the very least ask her out. A lot has happened since that night, mainly you and Amber still having a falling out, and it was damn lucky that you were done with high school, because soccer would be awful if you had to keep playing together.

Tara moved on, it took a bit of a time and a hell of a lot of support from you and the rest of your friends, but she moved on. You just hoped she didn’t decide soccer players in general were no longer a plausible option for her.

Just as you thought that Tara opened her front doors and hugged you. “Hey there, sweeper,” she teased you as the two of you pulled away.

“Hey there, cheerleader,” you teased back as she let you inside her house and led her to her room. You had a movie night planned and you were just a bit early, as usual. Tara wasn’t a cheerleader, hell, you didn’t have cheerleaders, but Liv once joked that since Tara cheered the loudest, she was the leader in cheering, hence, a cheerleader. “What are we watching tonight?” you asked.

“No idea. Mindy is choosing, so probably a horror,” Tara told you. You were sitting at her table and watching curiously as she circled around you and hugged you from behind. “Maybe I should hold your hand, since you can’t handle horror,” she suggested only half joking.

“Sure. Though I’d like it if you held my hand more often than that,” you blurted out, much more confidently than you thought you would.

Tara’s eyes widened as she looked at you. “Y/N?” you swore there was a hint of hopefulness in her eyes.

“Would you go out with me?” you asked softly, a bit worried about her response and making things awkward, but fine with whatever she decides.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” she hugged you tighter and leaned in, kissing you gently. “I thought you’d never ask, and I would have to ask you out instead tonight,” she teased as you grinned like a fool.

“And why didn’t you ask me out?” you nudged her, twisting in your seat so you could hug her back.

Tara adorably tapped her chin with her finger and looked toward the ceiling. “I guess I was too scared it might ruin our friendship,” she admitted, and you laughed.

“Same! I didn’t think you would like me back!” you confessed, feeling much lighter now.

Her eyes shone brightly, she looked happy, happier than she’s been in a long time. “I guess you swept me off my feet, my sweeper,” she laughed, kissing you once more. And you couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy.

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