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letmeapologise · 8 months

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Hi, will you be making Thierry Henry fics anytime soon? I would love to request a fic of him with a fellow cohost reader on championship league today (it's on cbs and paramount plus). His relationship with Kate Abdo is sweet, but I would like to see something with him having a crush on reader and her being in Kate's host position. Micah and Jamie would know about his crush and she is oblivious.

❝ 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝❞

.ೃ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ! 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭 ✰ ´ˎ˗

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⌇ 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞 ੈ✩‧₊˚

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⌇ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

ೄྀ࿐ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⌇ 𝟐.𝟎𝐤 !

↳ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ೃ⁀➷ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐛𝐬 𝐨𝐦𝐠 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 !

“MOST IMPRESSIVE FOOTBALLER YOU HAVE EVER INTERVIEWED?” asked Jamie, tilting his head up at you from the cue card. You pouted your lips, eyes darting around in thought, humming to yourself with your mouth half agape. “Most impressive – impressive in what sense?” you looked back at him with a curious glint in your eye, smiling, Thierry and Micah watching you both with keen eyes.

“You tell me,” he tilted his head forward, giving you a coy smirk before the men broke out into laughter. You shook your head and looked down with a soft smile, softly chuckling as he placed the cue card down onto the table in front of him, leaning forward for your answer. You rolled your eyes. “The biggest name is probably Lionel Messi,” impressed ‘ooo’s reverberated around the room, Thierry looking between his cue card and the table with a chuffed expression, refusing eye contact. “Pele,” you continued, the yelling got louder and you murmured to yourself in thought, Micah now leaning back on his chair while listening to you in awe.

“Maradona,” the shouting got to its peak, Jamie and Micah now yelling in sync at your accolades while you laughed and stopped listing people. Micah lowered his cue card on one hand, raising the other as if in a half-shrugging motion. “Thierry Henry? Where does he come from in all of this?” Thierry shook his head in disbelief, smiling slightly, you did the same. “Thierry’s like a friend though, isn’t he?”

Jamie and Micah chuckled childishly, Micah’s hand now on his shoulder, leaning into Jamie as he turned round with his cue card stuck between both hands protectively. “What sort of friend?” everyone laughed and Thierry covered his face with his cue card, facing the table once more with a toothy grin. “Chemistry’s a bit too much on that side of the room!” Micah pointed, jabbing a finger at the other side of the table where you and Thierry sat, then fixing his suit.

“And at the canteen at lunch time,” Jamie quipped, grinning slyly. You just scoffed, laughing it off while Thierry glanced between you and the other men, cue card flat on the table, laughing and shaking his head. “We’ll be back after the break,” you finally said, cutting the mischievous duo opposite you off completely, Micah calming himself down with a long-winded humming breath that made you want to start laughing to yourself again. You took a sip of the water in front of you, the cameras in front of your table now showing rolling clips of adverts instead of a reflection of yourself and the individuals next to you.

Micah leaned back into his chair, tilting his head around to Thierry behind Jamie’s back who coughed, clearing his throat, and observed him doing so. You flicked through your notes momentarily, glancing over at Jamie and then Thierry who was looking at you with a mixture of fascination, his eyes fixated on you and the bottle of water that had just come from your lips. You gave him a pensive look, eyes raised and rubbing your fingers around your lips. “Do I have something on my mouth?” you frowned at him, he simply shook his head and looked away, back down at his notes with a polite but curt smile. Out of the corner of your eye you could swear you saw Jamie peeking over at you both over his notes with a slight shimmer to his eyes.

The producers notion to you from behind the set, nudging you with their heads twisted in the direction of the main screen area, where you would likely be interviewing Fikoya Tomori for the post-match interview. You nodded, waved your arm over to everyone else, sat around the table and got to your places in front of the screen, you and Thierry on the left side, Micah and Jamie on the right side. The adverts would have ended anytime now, you were just waiting for the notice from the producers or even the cameraman to give you a quick thumbs up to know that you were on air.

The red light on the camera studio flicked on. “Welcome back to our London studio everybody!” the screen opposite to you also flicked on, the familiar face of Fikoya Tomori, the man you had been watching over the whole match, came on screen. If you were being brutally honest to yourself, and your colleagues at CBS, Jamie and Micah’s chronic mispronunciation – if not getting his whole name wrong entirely – of turning Fikoya’s name into Fikori Tomori, was a complete shambles, but it left you on the verge of tears trying to contain your laughter. Thierry, however, wasn’t so stubborn, chuckling next to you occasionally when the duo opposite to you bounced off of each other in shouting Fikoya’s name.

You looked at him, grinning, puffing your cheeks out in an attempt to hold in an unprofessional amount of laughter; and you both looked at each other, tears brimming around your eyelids as you bit down on your lip. He held onto your shoulders, grinning at you and you almost lost complete control over your emotions, laughing silently – or an attempt to do so – with your mouth agape as you gripped onto his arms, trying not to fall over in laughter. You shook your head, laughing as you held onto his hands as you almost toppled forward, laughing at the other two and their misfortune.

He leant in towards you, turning away from the distracted pair now behind him of Micah and Jamie chattering amongst themselves and to Fikoya. “This is the fifth time they’ve said his name wrong now,” he whispered into your ear, you grinned, looking down and waving your hand at him as if in mock surprise. It was the sixth or seventh time the pair did so when he decided to hold onto your arm with a large palm wrapped around your front, surprisingly warm for the temperature in the studio, and hid behind you, tilting his head down to avoid being spotted above your stature. The interview finally ended, as well as the show, with a few questions from yourself and Thierry however Micah and Jamie took most of the limelight for their obsessive wrong name calling which you refused to stop laughing at, and reminded them both at the end of the show, when the cameras cut and you were free to go home.

Your hand wrapped around his arm in gratitude, giving him a small peck on the cheek, it was the French way of saying goodbye, he had insisted. But that you shouldn’t do it to Jamie or Micah as they weren’t French, when you inquired as to why he didn’t do so to any other cast members – including the women – running CBS behind-the-scenes, he fell silent, and you took that as a good time to just smile and wave him off. It was around eight-fifteen at night, cold air nipping against your cheeks, cold against your touch as you had held your hands – which were previously stuffed in your thick coat pockets – against your cheeks in an attempt to warm them up. It was futile. Then you felt vibrating against your pocket, and when you looked down, pulling your phone out of it, realised it was Thierry.

You held your phone against your ear, leaning your head towards it. “Hello? You okay?” you asked, it could have been an accidental call, his finger slipped or something. Silence. He murmured under his breath. “Can I come over?” you furrowed your brows. “Are you okay? What’s happened?” you interrogated, assuming the worst, you heard him chuckling through the phone. “Nothing, I’m fine, jus’ wanted to know if I can come and see you,” he chirped, you huffed in surprise, softly laughing. “I’m not even home yet, you’re fine to drive over there before me though.”

“Really? Where are you?” you looked around momentarily, studying your surroundings. “Just a few streets away, I think.” You hummed in thought, until seconds after your response he spoke up again. “I’ll come and pick you up,” you scoffed. “You don’t need to, I can walk there in ten minutes.” He probably shook his head behind the phone, then realised you couldn’t see him do so. “No,” he sharply declared, you furrowed your brows, then he hung up. You frowned, murmuring profanities under your breath, not bothering to move any further as he would be here any minute.

Yellow lighting illuminated the space above you, and you heard a car pull in towards you and park feet away from you, the light from it dying down as you eyed the driver. You just chuckled upon seeing his face, striding towards the front passenger door while your heels clicked underfoot on the pavement. He smiled at you when you sat down, fastening your seatbelt, hand fidgeting beside him when you clasped onto it with a comforting smile, then retracted it. He looked at your hand on top of his, then at you, eyes dipping down as if he was admiring your face; an endearing expression spread across his. Neither of you broke eye contact, and you suddenly became overwhelmed with an urge to lean in. That was inappropriate. That was your colleague. That was an ex-professional football player. Yet, despite it all, you did so. His eyes flickered between you and your lips, and repeated your actions; your hand falling over his again as he held onto the gear shift, your fingers laced into his as you pushed up against each other’s face.

A car behind you honked, jolting you both up in surprise, Thierry suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings as he changed the gear and started driving off towards your house, your hand now sat uselessly fidgeting with the other on your lap, the drive home in comfortable silence; however it only took a few minutes due to the lack of traffic so late at night. Once you reached your door you waved him off with a downturned smile, watching as his car disappeared down the road, internally screaming at yourself.

To say you weren’t nervous to return to the studio the next day was an understatement, what if he regretted it? What if he didn’t mean it? What if he was drunk? Were you taking advantage of him? Would things between you both be awkward now? You gulped it down and sat next to him on the studio table, cameras glinting, you still had a few minutes until the show started airing once more. Jamie and Micah had already been discussing football amongst themselves before you entered, but upon your entrance and the usual introductory formalities he looked over at Thierry.

“Thierry,” he exclaimed, getting his attention, tilting his head in an almost mocking manner. “What happened to you last night?” Thierry widened his eyes, looking down with his hands clasped together, Jamie interrupted before he had a chance to explain himself, or give any excuses. What did Micah know? Was this about last night with you? Something else? Your heart rate was soaring and you were just hoping no one else could hear the thumping of your heart racing in your ears. “Before you explain, you did come in with a big smile on your face,” Thierry looked around, glancing quickly at you out of the corner of his eye, just a glimpse, before smiling smugly. “I’m just a happy man, y’know.” Micah burst out in laughter, mouth wide open, half-shouting.

“Not anything to do with Amelie, no?” you facepalmed, then looked up to Jamie and Micah laughing whilst you fixed your hair with the tips of your nails, then looked over at Thierry, tongue-in-cheek. They knew your little secret, and who knows how long it would be until everyone did. “How did you know?” you narrowed your eyes at Micah, the corners of your lips slightly lifted. He waved his hand at you. “Come on, it was obvious.” You rolled your eyes. “Everyone in this studio knows Thierry’s in love with you.” Thierry flicked two fingers up at him, waving them about in his general direction while biting his cheek.

୨୧ @𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ୨୧

#✰ letmeapologise ´ˎ˗#✰ letmeapologise works ´ˎ˗#imagines #writing #f/o imagines #football #football imagine #thierry henry #jamie carragher #micah richards #kate abdo #arsenal #liverpool #man city #thierry henry fic

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actuallyalright · 1 month

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The Best Fright of His Life

The minute the words came out of his mouth, Jamie Carragher knew he was in trouble.

“Not to Malik!”, had slipped out of his too big mouth too easily.

Thierry turned instantly to look at Kate. Kate looked shocked, and shot back instantly, “What?! Why would you say that?” And Micah, well, even Micah didn’t chuckle. In the video he saw of the clip later, Micah’s smile drops and he looks at the ground.

It was a nightmare honestly and all he could bring himself to do was laugh in the moment. Was he about to be suspended for the second time in his professional career? Or worse, fired? Surely, Kate knew him well enough to know he was kidding. He didn’t mean it.

Jamie sat outside in his car in the parking lot after the show, head in his hands. Kate hadn’t let him speak to her in the commercial breaks or after the show. Just walked out. Thierry said goodbye to him but looked as disappointed as if Arsenal had lost a game that was theirs to win. Only Micah had given him a quick hug but didn’t ask him to the pub after. So now he was alone in his car, his stomach queasy, heart pounding, and what was this rolling down his cheeks? Was he crying? Jesus, Carragher, get yourself together!

He shook his head violently, trying to shake off the emotion. It didn’t work, of course. He glanced at his phone. It was late and he had dozens of missed calls and texts. His comment must be all over social media and he didn’t want to hear what the world had to say. Or his mates. Or anyone really.

Anyone except Gary Neville.

He scrolled through the notifications looking for Gary’s name. The bastard must be peeing himself with delight at Carra’s impending crucifixion.

No, he was being unfair. Gary had stuck by him, hadn’t he after the spitting incident. He’d fought his case with Sky executives behind closed doors, and had in public said he hoped it wouldn’t stop them from working together again. Gary was a good lad. Annoying, all the time, but good at heart. In fact, if he was being honest, his feelings towards Gary had developed into something a lot like love.

Not that Gary cared about him in the same way. His thumb pushed up at the screen but there were no more notifications and not one from Gary. The tears on his cheeks sped up at this realisation. He blew his nose on the sleeve of his nice, grey cashmere sweater and started the car. Fuck Gary. Fuck everyone. He didn’t need any of them.

He drove home slowly, taking the longest route home. What was he going to do home alone anyway? At least he couldn’t check his Twitter while he was driving. That was probably for the best.

His stomach rumbled loudly but he decided he wasn’t going to stop for a bite. Tonight, he would go to sleep sad, afraid, lonely, and hungry. It’s what he deserved.

He pulled up to his driveway close to midnight. The streetlights were dim and he was grateful for the shadowy darkness as he made his way to his front door. No neighbours to see him in this sorry state, thank god. That was a problem for future Jamie.

God, what was wrong with him? This fucking self pity trip? His vision blurred again, eyes filling up with tears. Which is why it wasn’t until he was literally right at his doorstep that he got the best fright of his life.

Jamie screamed, and his scream woke up the man slumped with his head between his knees. He looked around befuddled for a few moments before he came to his senses.

“Carra! The fuck have you been?”, said an irritated Mancunian accent.

Jamie doesn’t say anything. He can’t.

A still bleary-eyed Gary Neville looks at him and he stands up, face-to-face with Carra.

“Mate, have you been crying?”

Still no reply. Gary grabs the keys from his hand, opens the door, and gently takes Carra’s hand. He pulls him indoors and Jamie finally finds his voice.

“Gary.”

Gary rolls his eyes. Honestly, it’s worse than he thought. It’s now his turn to be quiet. He wordlessly helps get Carra out of his coat, hangs up both their coats, and guides Jamie to his living room.

Jamie feels his hand at the small of his back and his stomach flickers with warmth. When Gary pushes him onto the sofa, the spell breaks and he laughs.

He laughs like a maniac. Hysterically.

Gary sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. He doesn’t tell him to stop laughing. In fact, his face suggests he might be finding something quite amusing too.

Slowly, Jamie loses steam, and his body deflates.

“Gary,” he says again. Gary turns to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

Gary just pulls him in closer into a tight hug. And oh, Carra feels his heart expand. He melts into Gary, head on his chest, and lets himself be held. Gary runs his fingers up and down Carra’s arm for ages. Just when Jamie thinks he might be in heaven, he feels Gary’s fingers threading his hair. And that’s when his brain stops thinking.

#carraville #gary neville #jamie carragher #kate abdo #thierry henry #micah richards

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