tee

So you were sat between Harry and Chris as everyone ate their meals and chatted amongst themselves. 

“You guys played a good game! Harry, I saw all those assists, nice of you to help the boys with their goals.” You gushed taking a bite of your food.

“Oh that was nothing. Honestly it felt like I was just playing about on the pitch with the lads, the only difference was that you weren’t right on the pitch screaming about my form.” He chuckled causing Chris to join in.

“Oh yes, Reader, the professional footballer who can’t even score a goal.” You shoved Chris for his comment making him groan.

“Hey, I’ve watched you guys play enough football over the years to learn a couple of things. Who wouldn’t start to pay attention to these things when they’re forced to watch football matches every season.” You went on.

“I thought you enjoyed those matches? Who else would I have taken anyways? A girl? Why when I have a partial one, right here.” Harry said, patting your head. This time it was his turn getting shoved.

“He’s not wrong. You might as well be our girlfriend with the amount of time we spend together. A polyamorous relationship is it?” Chris added.

“Gross, I would not date you or you, I have high standards.” You scoffed.

“Eh clearly not, you’ve been in relationships with knobs for the last ten years. We might as well all get married, we’re never finding ‘the one’.” Chris explained.

“They weren’t knobs.” You muttered, sipping your drink.

“Oh so it’s okay to just call you names and push you then?” Harry said beginning to get a little annoyed with your past relationships.

“Well no, but sometimes it’s fine.”

“Like when?” Chris laughed.

“In the bedroom.” You said, not staring up from your food. Chris and Harry exchanged looks then burst out laughing.

“Bollocks. You don’t like that stuff.” Harry scoffed.

“Who says?” You teased. Chris’ eyes widened. 

“I suppose you like spanking and being called a slut then?” Chris asked.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind it. Guys stop it, can we just eat.” You said getting slightly embarrassed with your face turning hot.

“I don’t believe it. I always thought you’d be boring in the bedroom. Missionary and that’s it, I bet it’s over in like five minutes.” Harry egged you on.

“You had severely underestimated me. I know how to please a man and I can be dirty.” You rebutted.

“Prove it then.” Harry pushed. Chris looked at him with his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed, mouthing a ‘mate what’ to him. Harry nodded him off. 

“What?” You asked. This was seriously not happening right now.

“Prove that you can be naughty in the bedroom. Come back with me and Chris and show us.” Harry said cockily, leaning back against the booth. You exchanged glances with Chris. 

“You cannot be serious.” You said in absolute disbelief. 

“Mate are you serious?” Chris added.

Harry looked at both of you unphased as if this was just some casual talk amongst friends.

“See, if you truly were adventurous, you would agree. Now we know.” Harry said smugly taking a large swig of his beer. 

“Okay fine, let’s go.” You said. Your heart was racing. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just bluffing, only calling it would show you the truth.

“Good let’s go.” Harry said standing up finishing the last of his drink. You stood up and followed behind Harry until you noticed Chris was still frozen in the seat.

“Wait is this actually happening then?” Chris asked dumbfounded.

Harry nodded. “Yep, c’mon mate.” He said his goodbyes to the rest of the boys and their missus as you trailed behind him, waving at everyone. Chris quickly stood up, his demeanor immediately changing, you could see he was clearly nervous and (just like you) still unsure if you three were actually about to go home and have a threesome.

The ride to Harry’s flat was quiet. There was no casual conversation as there usually was. Chris was tapping his fingers on his leg, still nervous and unsure if this was actually about to go down. Harry (whom you were seeing in an entirely different light) was calm and collected, a cockiness clouding around him as he just stared out the window, his hand dangerously close to your bare thigh since you had on a tight black dress with Chris and Harry’s number sewn on each side of the bottom ruffles of it.

You were a bit of both of them. You were nervous but Harry knows that you never back out of a bet. You had to prove you were right, even if it meant you had to fuck your friends just to prove a point.

You three arrived at Harry’s flat. You went up the lift, trailed behind the boys all the way to the door and as Harry unlocked it, reality set in and you prepped yourself.

The first few seconds were awkward but the tension that was building all the way here soon broke. 

Chris and Harry sat on the couch as you sat in between them, mimicking the seating arrangement at the party. 

“Go on then.” Harry egged you on again. This was the straw that broke the camels back.

You smashed your lips to Harry’s without warning. He kissed you back immediately, pulling you over his lap, gripping onto your waist. You could feel the lump in his shorts as you straddled him.

His lips were soft, softer than you’d expect. You kissed him roughly making sure to get your point across. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging on it earning a small moan from him allowing you just enough space to slip your tongue in establishing dominance. 

That’d quickly change when he pushed you off of him, pulling down his short and boxers revealing his massive throbbing cock. You gasped at the sight, you’ve never seen his member before (you didn’t expect it to be that big).

He grabbed the back of your head pushing your face onto his cock. “Open.” He growled. You nodded, opening your mouth wide enough to take him in. He shoved your head onto his cock roughly making you gag as the tip hit the back of your throat.

“C’mon Chris join in.” Harry said with a chuckle as he balled up your hair in his fist using you as his personal fleshlight. Your head was pushed back and forth on his fat cock, every motion shoving him deeper as your spit accumulated in your mouth leaking down your chin.

“Fuckin’ hell Reader, didn’t expect your mouth to feel so fucking good.” Harry groaned as he pushed faster.

Chris watched, a hard on of his own in his pants. “She’s got fucking hands Chris.” Harry motioned for Chris to get his dick out already. Chris pulled down his pants and boxers in one go.

“C’mon love, you can work two of them can’t you? Little whores probably a pro at handling this many dicks.” Harry chuckled tilting his head back in satisfaction. You hallowed your cheeks, swirling around his cock in a type of reply. He shuttered at you reply pulling your head back so you could see Chris. 

You looked down and saw Chris’ veiny cock up and eager for your touch with a dribble of precum already leaking out of him. You wrapped your manicured nails around him (the nails that also carried their numbers on them) and began pumping using his precum lube. 

Harry smirked at how he could use you however he wanted and you had to listen. 

“Take him in your mouth.” Harry ordered. He grabbed your hips angling your body so that you were on all fours on the cock, your head near Chris’ cock and you ass up. 

Harry kneeled behind you lifting up your dress over your back revealing your soaked panties. His fingers trailed your pussy lips feeling the wetness that was seeping through. “Chris, she’s already fucking wet the slag.” He chucked as his fingers found the hem of your panties, pulling them down to reveal your glistening heat.

His fingers ran down your ass to your clit making you shudder at his touch. You subconsciously pushed yourself against his finger, lustful for his touch making him pull away. “Ah, go on and suck on the cock you’ve got and I’ll do this for you.” He said. 

You placed your lips around Chris’ pink tip, using the pad of your tongue to lick up the rest of his precum then fully taking him in your mouth. “Fuck.” He groaned, throwing his head back as your tongue swirled around his cock. You bobbed your head up and down slowly trying to take as much of him into your mouth as you could.

Harry lined up to your entrance, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing his tip along your folds making you moan and push up against him again.

“Ah, I told you to focus on your job.” He warned in a stern voice. You rolled your eyes as you kept sucking Chris off but you struggled to focus on Chris with Harry running his fat tip across your folds, teasing you when you desperately wanted his dick inside you.

You felt Chris twitch in your mouth as he felt himself about to release into your mouth. In that moment, Harry fully rammed into your cunt, his balls rubbing against your clit. 

Chris’ filled up your mouth but the pressure of Harry’s cock made your brain fog. Chris’ liquid spilled out of your mouth, running down your chin as you gripped onto the fabric of the couch. 

“Fughhgk” You said as your walls closed in on Harry’s veiny cock. Harry gripped your hips as he thrusted into harder, deeper picking up his speed. 

“You like it like that huh? You like being a filthy fucking slut being used like this. Fucking take it.” Harry said, balling your hair in his fist pulling you up so you were against him. 

“Go on Chris fucking milk the bitch.” Harry said. Chris kneeled in front of you cupping your breast taking it in your mouth, his tongue sucked your nipple while his other hand roamed down finding your clit. You were on overload as he massaged your clit while Harry fucked you hard.

“Mmh, too much.” You stammered gripping Harry’s hips behind you. “Harder?” He teased. You closed your eyes letting all the moans pour out of you as he held your stomach pushing you onto his cock even harder. 

Chris spit on your tits, sucking on them and pulling away letting a string of saliva trail from his mouth to your nipple. You felt your legs begin to shake and they knew you were close. That’s why Harry pulled out. Chris stood up and Harry pushed you forward onto the couch. You fell forward with a groan.

You held yourself up with your elbows. “Can’t let you come yet princess.” Harry growled. 

He sat on the lounge chair across from the couch, grabbing his cock and rubbing himself. “Eat her out Chris.” He ordered. Chris kneeled between your legs, smashing his mouth onto your heat, beginning to suck hard. The feeling was so intense, so good, you couldn’t handle it. 

You tried closing your legs but Chris pushed them open. Harry stood up, wanking himself off and aiming his cock at your face. 

“You like being dirty huh love.” He teased as he released himself on your face. You opened your mouth catching him in your mouth. “I didn’t even have to tell her, she did it herself.” Harry laughed, placing his thumb on your bottom lip aiming directly in your mouth.

Chris was doing wonders on your cunt, his tongue repeatedly ramming your g-spot making you wince at the pleasure. “Fuck Cchri-ss.” You hissed, gripping onto the couch cushions. 

“Shut up.” Harry said shoving his dick back in your mouth fucking your facing. You choked on his cock, tears welling up in your eyes. Chris’ tongue finally pushed you over the edge as you felt yourself shudder with your release. 

Chris licked up all your juices trailing his tongue along your folds making sure to lick you up clean. “Fuck you taste so good.” He moaned. Harry pulled his cock out catching some of your release on his fingers, you watched as he brought them up to his lips, licking them clean. 

“You’re right. I’m surprised something so dirty can taste so good.” Harry laughed. 

Chris and Harry hovered over you like you were just some exhibit.

“Right, stand up.” Harry ordered. You stood up, standing in between them. You watched as they angled themselves just right then both of them slipped into your ass and cunt at the same time. 

Your brain shut off for a second at the overstimulation. Both of their thickness filing each other and smashing into you repeatedly. It felt insanely good, your body was tingling, you were moaning like a pornstar. Harry was fucking you from behind while Chris from the front. 

Harry grabbed your neck, his large hand making your neck seem so small. He held you against him as he thrusted into you, his member feeling so good inside your asshole. The pressure from both holes being filled felt heavenly. You could barely hold yourself up. 

Chris noticed and held your hips steady as he got off just by watching your reacting. You were sweaty, your hair sticking to your forehead, your head tilted back as Harry’s hand covered your neck. Your tits were pressing against his chest but still jiggled with every thrust into you. 

Chris felt his cock twitch as he released his load into you, sputtering but still trying to fill you up. Harry felt his own release and came soon after, pulling out of you leaving a mixture of their liquids spilling out of you and down your legs.

You felt weak in the knees as they pulled you onto the couch. You pussy sore but you felt amazing. You were in a haze of euphoria as the boys took a seat beside you. Nothing was said as you took a moment to all catch your breath. 

“Did that really just happen?” Chris asked, breaking the silence. 

“You know what, I’ll never doubt you again.” Harry told you. You threw him a glare, raising your eyebrows. 

“I told you.”

GREED — george clarke

> pairings: player george x uninterested girl.

> with such a large following, george clarke was on the radar of many girls. his charisma and charm easily manipulated them into falling for him so he had them right where he wanted them. this was too easy, so much so that it was almost boring to him. it was something that came absolutely natural to him - until he set his eyes on you. a girl who wasn't so malleable and who he was completely unable to read. quite frankly this was terrifying, yet even more enticing. it was no secret that he loved a challenge, loved the chase and more importantly, the victory.

WRATH — arthurtv

> trope: good old enemies to lovers.

> working as influencers in such close proximity to one another meant you and arthur were bound to cross paths - you just didn't anticipate to clash the moment you collaborated. your goals were too different, your ideas for the long term were poles apart - the partnership just wasn't viable. everything begins to change when you are invited to work together again, and arthur unexpectedly admits his regrets to you.

ENVY — arthur hill

> pairings: yearning arthur x ex girlfriend.

> turbulent breakups were your specialty, while they were not so good for your mental health, they were absolutely brilliant for your music career. having found success practically overnight after pouring your emotions into a song you thought you would release as a one off, you were preparing to release a full album. honestly, the process of writing it had been healing and you were finally in a place to celebrate your success fully with a party. even if arthur, who had been listening to your music and keeping up with your life, found his way onto the guest list, right?

LUST — arthurtv

> pairings: yearning arthur x somewhat oblivious reader.

> arthur didn't know it was possible to be addicted to someone until he met you. he craved your touch - hungered for it really. every time you walked into the room, he felt compelled to move towards you, to feel you, to be close to you. the temptation you carried was something he didn't believe he was strong enough to continue resisting.

GLUTTONY — chrismd

> pairings: hard working chris x neglected girlfriend.

> being the girlfriend of a successful youtuber was a dream - a comfortable life, and both of you were able to pursue the careers you loved. but sometimes the pressure of social media meant chris had to work harder and harder, dedicating hours upon hours to perfecting work, curating edits and planning future endeavours. you admired his work ethic, of course, but with work consuming all of his time, where did that leave you?

SLOTH — willne

> pairings: nonchalant will x yearning reader.

> inconsistency - apparently your favourite trait in a man. after months of hanging on, waiting for will to step up and be a proper boyfriend, praying for just one bouquet of flowers, you snap. sense had slapped you in the face and turned your idea of him completely upside down, you were done with delusion and ready to move onto bigger, better things. you had finally let go, so why couldn't will?

Will had been pacing since eight in the morning. 

Not nervously pacing – no, he insisted it was warming up his legs early – but every time he circled past the mirror in your hotel room, his eyes flicked to you. 

Checking. Watching. Thinking. 

It was subtle enough that you might’ve missed it if you didn’t know him as well as you did. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, finishing your hair. “You haven’t sat down for more than two seconds.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” he said, immediately tripping over the strap of his kit bag. 

You raised an eyebrow.

“Very convincing.”

Will sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I just- today’s big. And there’s pressure. And cameras. And millions of people are watching.”

“Yeah,” you said, teasing, “they’ll all be judging your footwork, babe.  Better not mess up.” 

He shot you a glare. 

“Don’t joke! I’m already-” He cut himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. 

But you already caught it. 

“You’re nervous,” you said softly. “Like really nervous.”

“I’m not-”

Another sigh. Defeated this time. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You stepped closer, resting your hands on his chest. “Why? It’s only for charity. Think of it as some fun, you’ll just be with your mates playing a game.” 

He hesitated. Eyes darting away.

Then quietly, “Because you’ll be watching.” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” He threw his hands up, embarrassed, “…You’ve never seen me play properly. Not in front of an audience. And I know it’s stupid, but I want to do well. I want you ot be proud of me.” 

Your chest warmed. 

“Will,” you said, “I’m already proud of you.” 

He deflated in the best way – shoulders dropping, tension leaving him all at once. 

And then he noticed what you were wearing. 

His jersey.

Not just any jersey – his for today’s match, with his name and number printed on the back. 

A perfect fit. 

A perfect sight. 

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. 

“You-you’re wearing my shirt?”

You smiled. “Of course I am. Got to support my favourite player.”

His ears turned pink. He was done for. 

“I’m going to play out of my mind today,” he muttered, flustered, grabbing his bag. “You’ve essentially given me superpowers. This isn’t fair to the other team.” 

You laughed. “Okay, superhero. Let’s go.” 

At the stadium, the energy was ridiculous – crowds screaming, commentators warming up, players running drills across the pitch. 

Will jogged with the team, but his eyes kept drifting up to the stands every time he thought no one noticed. 

You and a cluster of his friends had seats halfway up, perfectly visible from the pitch. 

Whenever he caught sight of the flash of your jersey, he straightened. Ran faster. Focused harder. 

Chris nudged him during stretching 

“You good?”

“Yep.”

“You look like you’re searching for someone.”

“Nope.”

Chris looked up, spotted you immediately, and smirked. 

“Ah. Makes sense.”

Will groaned. “Don’t.”

He played out of his mind. 

Fast footwork, quick passes, surprisingly good defence – the kind that had the commentators going:

“WillNE looking unexpectedly confident today...”

“Has he been practising?”

“Or maybe he’s trying to impress someone?”

He clearly heard that one. He pretended he didn’t.

Every time something good happened - a shot on target, a successful interception - he glanced up at you.

And your cheers, loudest in your little balcony group, made his grin stretch ear to ear.

At halftime, he jogged toward the tunnel but slowed just long enough to call out to the stands:

“YOU OKAY?”

You shouted back, cupping your hands around your mouth:

“YOU’RE DOING AMAZING!”

He looked like that alone could make him win the game.

He didn’t score - but he made the decisive assist.

And when the whistle blew, and the crowd went wild, Will was searching instantly. 

It only took him ten seconds to spot you running down the stairs through fans and staff.

You reached him just as he stepped off the pitch, flushed, sweaty, hair a mess, completely glowing.

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly your feet nearly left the ground.

“I did well?” he mumbled into your neck.

“You did incredible.”

He pulled back, eyes shining, chest heaving.

“Was it-” he swallowed, embarrassed. “Was it good? Did I look good?”

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “You looked so good it was unreal.”

Will let out a shaky breath, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“That’s all I wanted,” he whispered.

“Not the win?”

“No.”

“Not the cheers?”

“No.”

“Not impressing literally thousands of people online.” 

He shook his head. 

“Just you.” 

Your heart flipped. 

You kissed him – quick and soft – and his smile afterwards was stupidly, unfairly beautiful. 

“Also,” he added, tugging his jersey where it hung on you, “I think the shirt brought good luck.”

You laughed, breathless. “I’ll make sure to wear it next time.” 

He kissed your cheek, then your temple. 

“There better be a next time,” he murmured. “Having you in the stands felt like I could do anything.”

You held his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. 

“I’ll always be in the stands for you.” 

He melted. Actually melted. 

“God,” he whispered, “I’m so gone for you.” 

The roar of the crowd at Wembley Stadium buzzed in your ears like a live wire, a relentless hum that seemed to vibrate through your bones. The sea of red-and-white scarves and kits blurred into a kaleidoscope of motion, a living, breathing entity pulsating with anticipation. You stood slightly apart from the others, your fingers absently tugging at the hem of your custom #LENNEY 2 jersey. Beneath it, the long-sleeved shirt you’d layered clung to your skin, its fabric thin and breathable but still trapping a faint warmth against your arms. The jersey itself was softer than you’d expected, the material sliding easily over the shirt’s sleeves, but the combination did little to settle the restless flutter in your chest.

The VIP box was a sensory overload—popcorn kernels scattered on the floor, their buttery scent mingling with the sharp tang of expensive perfume wafting from the women nearby. The mix was as chaotic as your nerves, a strange cocktail of comfort and unease. Below, the YouTube Allstars were a whirl of pre-match energy, their movements sharp and purposeful. Some stretched, their muscles rippling under their kits, while others laughed, tossing balls in casual arcs that belied the tension building in the stadium. But your eyes tracked only one person.

Will stood near the sideline, his back to the stands as he jogged on the spot, his own red-and-white kit clinging to his frame. Even from here, you could see the way his shoulders shook with a laugh at something Harry said, his easy confidence radiating like sunlight. You’d memorised that posture—the way he rolled his neck before big moments, the habit of tugging his sleeves over his knuckles. But today, every detail felt magnified. Would he spot you before the match? Would he even look up?

“Stop fidgeting,” Talia hissed, swatting your hand away from the jersey’s hem. Her smirk was all mischief, her gold hoops catching the stadium lights as she leaned in. “If you crease it, he’ll think you nicked it off a mannequin.”

“Or that you’ve been stress-cuddling it in secret all week,” Freya added, arching a perfectly groomed brow. She’d swapped her usual designer dresses for Sidemen merch today, though hers was artfully cropped and paired with heeled boots. “Which, let’s be honest, you probably did.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “I did not. I’m not the one who still sleeps in Josh’s sixth-form hoodie.”

Freya gasped, clutching her chest in mock offence, as Faith snorted, adjusting Olive on her hip. The toddler reached chubby fists towards the colourful crowd, babbling excitedly. “Don’t drag me into this,” Faith said, bouncing Olive gently. “But for the record, Ethan still has the first note I ever wrote him tucked in his phone case. Lads are sentimental creatures. Prepare for waterworks.”

You smiled at Faith, your oldest mate. The two of you had been inseparable since her family moved next door when you were kids. You’d spent countless afternoons in her back garden, dreaming about the future and giggling over crushes. When she started dating Ethan, you’d been sceptical at first—what if he didn’t like you? What if things got weird? But Ethan had welcomed you into their world with open arms, and it wasn’t long before you were hanging about with the Sidemen crew.

That’s how you met Will.

You remembered the first time Faith dragged you to one of their group outings. You’d been nervous, feeling like an outsider among the tight-knit group, but Will had noticed you sitting quietly in the corner. He’d plonked down next to you with a grin, handing you a drink and launching into a story about the time he and Simon got lost in Amsterdam. By the end of the night, your cheeks hurt from laughing, and you’d forgotten all about being nervous.

Talia leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that somehow carried over the growing buzz of the crowd. “Or other reactions,” she said, her eyebrows waggling like she was sharing the juiciest of secrets. Her grin was sharp, knowing, and it made your stomach flip.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire. “It’s just a kit,” you lied, your voice pitching higher than you intended. The words sounded weak even to your own ears, and the way Talia’s smirk widened told you she wasn’t buying it.

“Just a kit?” Freya echoed, incredulous. “You had it custom-stitched in two days when the online shop sold out. Travelled to Manchester to beg the kit manager in person. That’s not ‘just’ anything, love. That’s a declaration of war.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. Instead, you shot a nervous glance towards the pitch, where Will was still turned away, his focus on Chris as they mock-tackled each other. The sight of him—carefree, grinning, utterly in his element—made your stomach swoop in a way that was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

Talia followed your gaze, her teasing expression softening just a fraction. “He’s going to love it,” she said, her voice sincere for once. “And when he scores today, he’ll point straight at this box. You’ll see.”

“He’d better,” Faith chimed in, her tone dry as she dug through her bag for Olive’s snack. The toddler was perched on her hip, gnawing on the ear of her stuffed bear, completely oblivious to the conversation. “Or I’m revoking his uncle privileges.”

A sudden cheer erupted from the crowd as the Allstars began dispersing to their positions. Your eyes snapped back to the pitch, where Will was now walking backwards towards the centre circle, his head tilted as he squinted up at the stands. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. Could he see you? You froze, torn between waving like a prat and ducking behind Freya to hide.

But then Ethan called his name, tossing him a water bottle, and Will turned away, laughing as he fumbled the catch. The moment passed, and you exhaled sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath.

“Heart attack avoided,” Talia teased, fanning you with a match programme she’d nicked from somewhere. Her grin was back, full force, and you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks were still burning.

“Give it time,” Freya said, her tone light but her eyes glinting with mischief. “The match hasn’t even started.”

You groaned, leaning back against the railing as the players took their positions. The tension in the air was palpable, the crowd’s energy building to a fever pitch. But even as the referee blew the whistle and the game began, your mind kept drifting back to the kit, to the way Will had laughed as he caught the water bottle, to the promise of what might come next.

The match hung on a knife-edge. 88th minute. 8-8. The Allstars surged forward, their attacks sharp and desperate, every pass and tackle charged with the kind of urgency that made your chest tighten. Your nails dug into the railing of the VIP box as you watched Will track back, his movements slower now, his legs heavy but still pushing. The Sidemen FC’s defence was in shambles—xQc stranded halfway up the pitch after a botched clearance, the goal gaping wide and vulnerable.

Your breath caught in your throat as George pounced.

The ball rocketed off his foot, a thunderous strike from the edge of the box, screaming towards the open net. The crowd rose as one, a collective gasp tearing through Wembley, the sound raw and primal. Your heart stopped. The world narrowed to that ball, arcing through the air.

Then Will moved.

He lunged, a full-stretch dive from inside the goal line, his body parallel to the grass as he hurled himself headfirst towards the ball. Time slowed—or maybe it was just your mind, struggling to process what you were seeing. The blur of the stadium lights, the deafening roar of the crowd, the sharp crack of his forehead connecting with the shot. The ball ricocheted skyward, spinning harmlessly out of play.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Absolute, deafening silence.

Then chaos.

“UNBELIEVABLE! WILL LENNEY WITH A GOAL-LINE HEADER—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” the commentator bellowed.

You were on your feet before your brain could even process it. Your arms shot out wide, fingers splayed, as if you could somehow reach down and touch the chaos unfolding on the pitch. A scream tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered, joining the tidal wave of noise crashing around you. “YES! YES! YES!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The world had narrowed to one thing: Will.

Spinning on your heel, you nearly lost your balance, but you didn’t care. Your hands flew out, pointing wildly towards the pitch, your eyes wide and frantic as they locked onto the girls. “DID YOU SEE THAT?! DID YOU SEE HIM?!” Your voice was hoarse, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, but your expression said it all.

Freya was bent double, her laughter ringing out like a bell. She clutched her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for air. “We saw it, love! The whole stadium saw it!” Her words were punctuated by another peal of laughter, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Talia’s hands were on you in an instant, gripping your shoulders with a force that made you stumble. She shook you like a ragdoll, her dark curls bouncing wildly as she screamed in your face, “HE’S MENTAL! ABSOLUTELY MENTAL!” Her eyes were wide, her grin manic, and for a moment, you thought she might actually shake you apart.

Faith stood a little apart, holding Olive in her arms. She just shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. “That man’s going to give you a heart attack one day,” she said, her voice dry but her eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then the jumbotron flickered.

There you were, frozen in time—arms outstretched, your #LENNEY 2 kit blazing across your shoulders, your face alight with a joy so pure it was almost blinding. The crowd’s roar shifted, morphing into a collective “AWWWW” as the screen split. On one side, Will lay sprawled on the pitch, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and grass stains. On the other, you stood, your eyes glistening with pride, your smile so wide it hurt.

Will squinted up at the screen, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. For a heartbeat, he just stared, his lips parting in surprise. Then, with a sudden burst of laughter, he slapped the grass, his shoulders shaking as he rolled onto his back. “OH MY DAYS!” he mouthed, his grin widening as he blew you an exaggerated kiss. The Allstars swarmed him, yanking him upright, their laughter mingling with the commentators’ cackles.

“Someone’s got a fan,” one of them teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Fan? That’s his girlfriend,” the other corrected, his tone smug. “Rumour has it she’s the reason he’s playing like a man possessed!”

“Possessed? Nah, mate—that’s love.”

Freya’s whistle cut through the noise, sharp and piercing, right in your ear. “If he dies tonight, at least he’ll die famous,” she said, her tone light but her eyes dancing with mischief.

“He’s already famous,” you shot back, your cheeks flaming as you tried to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“Not for football,” Talia snorted, her lips quirking into a smirk.

The pitch was alive with motion, players shifting into position like pieces on a chessboard, their movements sharp and deliberate. Will jogged backward, his boots digging into the turf with each step, his eyes darting up to the jumbotron every few seconds. The massive screen still flashed the split image—him, sprawled on the grass moments ago, and you, frozen in mid-celebration, your joy radiating even through the pixels. His grin, once wide and cocky, softened at the edges, the bravado melting into something quieter, more personal.

He tapped two fingers to his lips, a quick, almost unconscious gesture, before pressing them to his chest—right over the name on his kit. LENNEY. His eyes flicked to the VIP box, locking onto yours for a heartbeat. Yours, he mouthed, the word silent but unmistakable. Then he turned away, his focus snapping back to the game, but the ghost of that private smile lingered.

“Gross,” Talia said, her voice cutting through the moment like a knife. She swatted your arm, the sharp smack making you yelp and jerk away. “Save the eye sex for after we win,” she added, her tone dripping with mock disdain, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Freya, never one to miss an opportunity, let out an exaggerated gasp and fake-swooned into Faith’s shoulder. Her hand flew to her forehead, her fingers splayed dramatically as she tilted her head back. “He’s peacocking,” she declared, her voice lilting with theatrical flair. “Look at him. Absolute showman. Can’t help himself.”

Faith adjusted Olive on her hip, “He’s concussed,” Faith said flatly, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her. “That’s the only explanation for… whatever that was.” She gestured vaguely towards the pitch, where Will was now crouched slightly, his eyes scanning the field as the Allstars began to huddle.

But before he joined them, Will glanced up at the VIP box one last time. You couldn’t help yourself—you mimed blowing him a kiss, your fingers brushing your lips before flicking them towards him with a playful smirk. His reaction was immediate and absurd. He clutched his heart, staggering back as if you’d physically struck him, his face contorted in mock agony. The exaggerated drama of it made you laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably despite the tension in the air.

Faith rolled her eyes, but the effort to keep her expression neutral was clearly a struggle. Her lips twitched, and she shook her head, muttering under her breath, “You two are disgusting.”

“Disgustingly sweet,” you shot back, your voice sing-song and teasing, though your grin was genuine. The tension of the shoot-out was building, the crowd’s energy shifting to a low, anticipatory hum. The whistle blew, sharp and piercing, snapping the stadium back into focus. Will straightened, his expression shifting from playful to intense in an instant.

The game was on.

The final whistle blew, and the Allstars erupted—a tangle of sweat-drenched hugs and victory chants. Will collapsed onto his knees, chest heaving, before Chris yanked him upright to join the team’s lap of honour. His eyes scanned the stands, lingering on the VIP box as he jogged, waving half-heartedly at the crowd.

“He’s coming up here, isn’t he?” Talia said, watching Will duck out of the team huddle and bolt for the tunnel.

“Twenty quid says he face-plants on the stairs,” Faith replied, shielding Olive’s eyes playfully.

You barely heard them. Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stadium doors swung open—

And there he was.

Will, still in his grass-stained kit, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed from the game. He skidded to a halt in front of you, breathless and grinning like he’d scored a last-minute winner. The VIP section fell silent, phones snapping photos as he vaulted the barrier.

“You,” he said, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at your jersey, “are a menace.”

“Me?” You arched a brow, fighting a smile. “You’re the one who blew a kiss to 90,000 people.”

“Had to claim my territory,” he shot back, stepping closer until the scent of turf and citrus sweat wrapped around you. “Everyone’s gonna want a Lenney kit now.”

“Doubt it,” you said, tapping the #2 on your chest. “This one’s custom.”

Will’s gaze softened. He reached out, calloused fingers brushing the embroidered name on your shoulder. “You’re a proper ride-or-die, you know that?”

“Someone’s got to be,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

He huffed a laugh, then hooked a finger under the jersey’s collar, tugging you forward until your foreheads pressed together. The crowd’s cheers faded to static. “Wanna know why I kept looking at the screen?” he murmured.

“To admire your own cheekbones?”

“Nah.” His thumb swept over your jaw. “Every time I saw you in my name, I remembered… this is real. We’re real. Even when I’m out here acting like a prat for the cameras.”

Freya fake-gagged behind you. “Get a room!”

Will flipped her off without breaking eye contact. “Swap kits with me,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t wait for an explanation. Before you could even process what was happening, Will yanked at his own sweat-soaked Allstars kit, peeling it off in one swift motion. The crowd erupted, a deafening roar of cheers, whistles, and laughter as he stood there, bare-chested and unbothered, his grin wide and unapologetic.

For a moment, you froze, your brain short-circuiting. His skin glistened under the stadium lights, the faint sheen of sweat catching the glow as his chest rose and fell with each breath. The muscles in his shoulders and arms—usually hidden under layers of fabric—were on full display, defined and taut from the game. A faint trail of grass stains smudged his collarbone, and your eyes involuntarily dipped lower, catching the faint line of his happy trail, a subtle but undeniable detail that made your throat go dry.

“Your kit,” he repeated, snapping you out of your daze. He waved a hand in front of your face, his grin turning smug. “Earth to," he said your name "Give it. Now.”

“You’re mental,” you managed, your voice coming out higher than intended. Your cheeks burned as you tore your gaze away, but not before catching the way his smirk deepened, clearly pleased with himself.

“Oi, eyes up here,” he teased, tapping your chin with a finger. “Unless you’re enjoying the view?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, swatting his hand away, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

The crowd around the VIP box had started to notice the commotion, a few fans snapping photos on their phones, their laughter mingling with the noise of the stadium. Will, ever the showman, turned to them briefly, flexing with an exaggerated wink that sent another wave of cheers through the stands.

“You’re such a prat,” you groaned, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

“And you’re stalling,” he shot back, shoving his crumpled match kit into your hands. The fabric was still warm from his body, and you could feel the faint dampness of sweat as you clutched it to your chest.

“You’re never living this down,” you groaned, reluctantly tugging your #LENNEY 2 over your head.

Will took the kit from you with a grin, holding it up like it was some kind of trophy. He shook it out, the fabric snapping in the air, before slipping it on properly. He adjusted the shoulders, smoothed the front, and tapped the #2 on his chest with a smirk.

“Looking good,” you said dryly, though your cheeks burned as you clutched his discarded kit to your chest, the fabric still warm from his body.

“Damn right,” he shot back, his grin widening as he raised an arm, flexing dramatically. The crowd around the VIP box had started to notice the commotion, a few fans snapping photos on their phones, their laughter mingling with the noise of the stadium.

“You’re such a show-off,” you muttered, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

He spun back to you, his eyes bright and wild, the kind of look that made your stomach flip. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “And I’m yours.”

The kiss wasn’t dramatic or cinematic—it wasn’t the kind of moment you’d see in a film, with sweeping music and perfectly timed lighting. It was messy, real, and inevitable. His lips met yours with a kind of urgency that spoke of relief, of triumph, of something deeper that had been simmering all day. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but not possessive. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, a mix of sweat and the faint, sugary tang of Haribo from his half-time snack. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was him, and that was enough.

At first, it was almost hesitant, as if he was reminding himself that this was real, that you were here, that the chaos of the game was over and this moment was his to claim. But then his fingers tightened slightly on your waist, and the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your chest ache. His breath was warm and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as if he needed the anchor, the connection, to ground him.

The surrounding chaos didn’t disappear, exactly—it just faded into the background, like static on a radio. The roar of the crowd, the flash of cameras, the distant shouts of his teammates—it all became a blur, muffled and distant. All you could focus on was the warmth of his body against yours, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, the way your kit clung to his shoulders, still damp with sweat.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the tremble in his fingers, the faintest hint of exhaustion and adrenaline still coursing through him. His lips were soft but insistent, and when you let out a small, involuntary sigh, he smiled against your mouth, the curve of his lips breaking the kiss for just a moment before he leaned back in, slower this time, more deliberate.

The second kiss was different—less urgent, more lingering, as if he was savouring the moment, memorising the feel of you. His thumb brushed your cheek, calloused and gentle all at once, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers tangled in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He tasted like victory and exhaustion, like the faint citrus of his energy drink and the salt of his sweat, and you couldn’t get enough.

Someone below shouted, “GET A ROOM, LADS!”—probably Ethan, judging by the tone—but Will didn’t pull away. He just laughed, the sound low and breathless, his lips still brushing yours as he murmured, “Ignore them.”

And you did. For a few more seconds, at least, the world narrowed to the two of you—his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, the way your kit clung to his shoulders like a second skin. It wasn’t perfect or polished, but it was real.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the noise.

“Was there ever any doubt?” you shot back, your voice trembling despite your attempt at levity.

He huffed a laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His thumb brushed your cheek, calloused and gentle all at once, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only people in the stadium.

The moment didn’t last long—it couldn’t, not with the cameras still flashing and the crowd still roaring—but it didn’t need to.

Gang, let me know what you think of this! I don’t usually watch football, so I had to slowly go through the live stream to get a feel for the game. Eventually, I gave up and just watched the highlights and pick out the goal block scene.

I hope it’s okay.

Masterlist | @lvrslvt3

Masterlist | @whereforarthur

Masterlist | @insomniac4000

Damn-Behzinga’s Masterlist | @damn-behzinga

uk youtubers masterlist ˎˊ˗ | @raekensluver

Calfreezy

“Y/N and Cal being our favourites” | @luvrlou

If a fan made a compilation of Cal and Y/N’s best moments.

Hide & Seek | @gothicwidowsworld