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trulyhblue · 1 month

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Baby England (Part Three)

Jordan Nobbs x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x Young! Reader (platonic), Lionesses x Young! Reader

warnings — angst fluff, coarse language, mentions of anxiety.

A/N — Baby England’s Back!!!!! Half of this was deleted and I wanted to cry so bad but here it is. And do I have a twist for you… didn't expect it to get this long, but I have to make up for the hiatus somehow xxx

Masterlist

___________________________

It was a few days before the Semi Final, and you were sat amongst a pile of paperwork.

lionesses

Liked by yourusername, alessiarusso99 and 43, 526 others

lionesses — semi final prep with baby England 💪🏻🙌🏼

Watch our clash with Sweden on the 27th @ Sheffield Stadium — 6pm GMT 🌟

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Comments:

yourusername — ❤️

*liked by lionesess

user1 — she is so adorable

^ user2 — she's so pookie.

georgiastanway — yeah the spiky hair

^ lionesses — stop bullying your little sis

^ georgiastanway — y/n get off the account

^ user5 — 💀

chelseawfc — love to see it 🙌🏼

^ user8 — UM WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

User67 — I NEED TO KNOW WHERE SHE’S SIGNING

^ user45 — apparently Man U want her

^ user9 — atp, EVERYONE wants her

^ user10 — imagine her in a barça jersey 😋

^ user 11 — gurl pls… imagine her at UNC 😍

User12 — I really hope she starts for this game

^ user13 — I doubt it, I think she’ll be a super sub

^ user25 — she started last match??? And she got potm… surely she starts again

^ user13 — 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

arsenalacademy — absolute gun(ner)

^ user7 — lets be honest, arsenal will NEVER let Y/N leave

^ user89 — she's a free agent after the euros. They technically cannot keep her if someone's willing to pay more for her

__________________________

You had been training pretty much every day, save for the week that had been dedicated fo media roles and interviews. You were switching between teammates for a while. One interview was with Leah and Beth, another with Alessia, Lotte, Georgia and Ella.

At training, the coaches worked the team tirelessly. You were struggling to keep a straight face when you were told to run laps before you were sent back to your rooms. A large part of your weariness was mental. It had been a day full of apprehension for the days to come. Making it so far into the Euros was an achievement in itself, but a home euro was something else.

You hadn't seen your family for weeks now, and you were starting to miss your childhood bedroom. Despite the long hours spent chipping away at school work, you missed your friends at home and your teammates back at Arsenal Academy. The Lionesses quickly became your favourite people in the work. Many of them were family to you. But the subtly of your dismay and expression of homesickness proved more and more apparent as the days went by.

This feeling was not to be mistaken with ungratefulness. Being apart of your National team was a dream come true. This was what you worked for, lived and breathed for. You had finally attained your dream — this was all you ever wanted. You were eternally grateful for the opportunity, the chance to bring football home. A home tournament was a once-in-a-lifetime possibility, and here you were experiencing it. Every day you woke up wanting to pinch yourself. This couldn't be real.

But school was pretty much impossible at a time like this. When all you wanted to do was kick a ball around, catch up on sleep, and actually socialise. You know, like every other one of your teammates. It seemed as if you were the only one encapsulated by the realm of education, despite many of the girls attending University. You weren't indifferent to your current situation. Being a student and playing in one of the biggest football tournaments in the world was going to be difficult. But you felt like spending quality time with your friends would do you well. You wanted to stop worrying about your stupid equations and do something worth your while.

You had been saying this since the Euros began.

In no way did you mean for it to change for the worse.

But the universe was not in your favour.

“You should choose what makes you happy.” Jordan soothed, milking out the same string of sentences you've heard all week. The two of you sat in a cafe not far from Sheffield Stadium, sipping away at your hot chocolates, having already finished your macaroons.

Your agent had sent you the multitude of contracts you had been offered from different clubs. Tomorrow, you were playing against Sweden in the Semi-finals. Sarina thought it’d be good if everyone had the day off before the havoc set in. You had spent the morning in your room, finishing off the rest of your History Essay. Jordan had picked you up not long after noon, bringing you away from the stress chipping you away.

“It shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks,” The older woman held your hand, and you managed to feel her subtle squeeze.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Its not my—”

You cut her off, huffing in exasperation. “Jordan, please.”

Jordan’s face was impassive, a prominent knot creasing the space between her eyebrows. Her hair was flipped over one side, concealing the half of her face which she leant against her hand. She was struggling to find the words that had the capacity to encapsulate both truth and love — two things you needed to hear as you sat in the near-empty coffee shop. You wanted her to be honest, you thought. You needed her to tell it to you straight.

But this was Jordan you're asking. The kind, restful, reticent woman you had known forever — a woman while true to her word, could only speak subjectively, with emotion muddled into words. She was the personification of empathy. You loved that about her. But with your mind in a haze, despite your unrelenting apathy to stay independent, you really wanted to hear someone else’s opinion, for you had thought it over too many times to comprehend.

Your first option, of course, was Arsenal. It was your childhood club, your parent club, your home. For many years, it stood as everything you loved. You grew up watchings greats like Kelly Smith and Leah paving the way for your generation. You felt more at home at Arsenal than anywhere else. Though, it goes without saying that you haven't been anywhere else to compare it to.

And Leah would be hell-struck if you didn't choose Arsenal, even if she wouldn't directly admit it.

Spurs had taken interest in you since your youth ages when you had tried out for both North London teams at the ripe age of six. It just so happened that you chose Arsenal since it was closer to home, and you often wondered what it would've been like if you had chosen Tottenham instead.

United was next. A great club full of incredible talents like Ella Toone and Alessia Russo, two of your close friends when it came to International duties. The Manchester Reds were brilliant, tough competitors, but you never found much affiliation with them. Sure, they were amazing, but was it for you?

Lotte and Alessia both spoke to you about UNC, and you were definitely looking into playing there as a second alternative. You knew your parents thought this was the best option, but with the offers you were receiving, it wasn't at the top of your list.

You waited for Jordan’s response, already knowing her answer. There was one club you refused to think about. One club you couldn't set your mind to.

But the contract looked all too appealing.

“Chelsea.”

Three years — you’d be eighteen when it ends. Just shy of 250k a year, not including bonuses, increasing at a negotiable rate. You were a free agent after the Euros, and your contract with the Arsenal Academy was ending at the start of August. The Blues had a fantastic team and were worthy opponents for the cup title. You were guaranteed as a regular sub and promised to be looked after and rehabilitated to full strength if injuries occurred.

You hadn't thought over this option much during your senior debuts. It was pretty much embedded into you that you were a Gunner through and through. You had grown up playing against your London Rivals, and the team’s hatred only intensified as the game got stronger. It stood as a testament of its time.

But there was only one more thing that was stopping you.

“What about Leah?”

Jordan sighed. She knew Leah was a Gunner through and through. She knew that Leah saw herself in you — going through the academy, debuting at a young age. Choosing a pro contract was bound to happen to you the moment you were called up. No one even thought you’d gain minutes. But with Jordan’s injury, and your inevitable image, clubs were reeling in the prospect of a prodigy.

“This isn't her career, chook,” Jordan muttered, taking a sip of her drink. “Wherever you go, you have to take different things into account. Whether you’ll get minutes, if they value younger players as much as their originals, y’know, its a lot to think about.”

“You think I’ll get minutes?”

“Maybe not as much as Spurs, or North Carolina, but it's in the club’s reputation. They're known for their attack, and so are you.”

“I don't want to be the one to tell her.” You cringed. Leah was your older sister, in sorts. You valued her opinion over anyone else. To tell her you were transferring to her rival club felt like a slap in the face to all that she's done for you, not to mention you’d verse her in the League.

“Well, it’d be worse if she found out over the media.” Jordan quipped, through light to the situation.

“How would I bring that up?” You scoffed, hiding your face in your hoodie. “Hey, Leah, I know I've played for Arsenal forever, but I think I should just betray everyone and go to their biggest rivals. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Jordan shook her head. “She’d understand.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Would she?”

“I’d be livid at her if she wasn't,” Jordan spoke, her tone much sterner. You sat back in your chair. “It's not like you're signing a life-long contract with them, anyway. It's three years. Three years where you get to improve your skills and expand your career. Leah loves you too much to be angry at you for more than an hour. In fact, that woman has never been angry at you a day in her life.”

“I guess I’ll break that streak when I tell you.” you muttered, looking down at your empty cup.

“Stop that.” Jordan huffed, crossing her arms. “You've got two more weeks to figure it out. But let me tell you this. Arsenal will always be there for you. You don't need to stick with them for your whole career to know that they will happily welcome you back with welcoming arms. That goes for all the girls… including Leah.”

“Right.”

“And I’ll tell her that straight if she even thinks about doing anything otherwise.”

________________

yourusername

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yourusername — bit of life 💙

tagged — jordannobbs, maryearps1, and yourfriend

Comments:

jordannobbs — my daughters growing up too fast 😭

^ yourusername — thanks mama 💗

jordannobbs — look at you glowing 💙

^ yourusername — all you

jordannobbs — proud x

* liked by yourusername

user1 — I'm loving Jord’s spam! She's so proud of her 🥲

^ user2 — literally mother daughter goals

wosofan — this is the first time I haven't seen leah in a Baby Eng dump

^ user9 — omg ur right

user78 — loving the blue theme

^ user8 — are you thinking what I'm thinking

milliebright — beanie gal 🤭

^ yourusername — meanie

^ milliebright — you’ll get used to it

^ user8 — UM HELLO

samanthakerr — where’d you get that jumper from in the third photo?

^ yourusername — dunno

^ user98 — HOW DO THEY KNOW EACH OTHER????????

maryearps1 — caught me off guard with that

^ yourusername — you asked me to take the photo 😂

^ ellatoone — HA! Caught.

^ mearyearps1 — 😒

user89 — WHATS WITH THE BLUE

lionesess — our put together baby 🌟

* liked by yourusername

georgiastanway — i didnt need to see the bottom of your shoes

^ yourusername — you see them all the time in training 🤷‍♀️

^ georgiastanway — dont.

chelseawfc — matching attire?

^ user78 — HUH IM SO CONFUSED

^ wowwoso — WHY IS CHELSEA HERE

^ user6 — WHAT IS HAPPENING

________________

Sweat was beading across your forehead, the nerves of half time creeping up to the steady beat of your heart.

You hadn't told Leah about the decision you came to with Jordan. You had been so caught up in how she’d react, mixed with the stress of this upcoming game, that you weren't in any stable condition to go through with it.

In addition to that, you were still making your final decision, the finality of Chelsea not truly setting in.

Beth and Lucy had already sent the ball flying into the back of the net, and Sweden had yet to take a chance to extend their stay into the finals. You watched from the wing anxiously, threading the ball to the more experienced players, staying in the pipe ways as you did so.

You had started, which still came as a surprise to you since. Your game against Spain was still fresh in your mind. You wanted to stay consistent in your performance while also keeping up with the newfound intensity of the game, but something just wasn't clicking for you.

England was doing great, up by two goals by the second half. You had kept yourself distanced from the vigour, passing out when needed, mainly staying on the wing in order to keep as much distance from making more mistakes.

You had been pretty reckless with your passing. Obviously not too catastrophic, but enough to send winces across the crowd.

Your passes weren't sloppy, but they weren't precise either. You didn't leave much opportunity for the forwards and were starting to rely on your defence too much.

There was simply something about your gameplay today that didn't mould with the rest of the team. You didn't want to be subbed off. You wanted to make an impact.

But it just was not clicking.

Ellen had just been subbed off for Alessia, who was wiping her hands over her shorts, watching the ball tread through the outskirts of Sweden’s half. You could hear the crowd’s apprehension linger when you were passed the ball by Leah, using all your strength to peel away from Blackstenius.

Your first touch wasn't the greatest, and Stina was pressuring you out near the line. In every other game, you were known for your cool persona when encountering stress. You could collectively juggle the presence of a marker while dribbling the ball down the line onto a seeking prospect.

But as soon as the Swed’s studs hit your foot, you were sent to the ground. Hot flashes of pain sprung from your ankle. It was nothing that wouldn't surpass after a few moments whining about it on the ground.

Nonetheless, the whistle blew for a free kick, and Leah’s figure was knelt beside you in an instant.

“You alright, kid?”

Leah wasn't dumb. She knew that you had been ignoring her these past few days. You were distant, passive, and overall neglectful of her efforts to talk to you.

You would usually knock on her door after dinner to play some card games or help you with schoolwork. You would squeeze yourself next to her on the bus rides, and partner up with her at training.

Leah would pretend to be annoyed, and you would act all innocent like it was second nature — because that is what it was.

But you refused to meet her lingering eyes during meals and chose to partner with Millie any chance you got. You’d sit with Georgia at meals, and Jess Carter during Bus rides. Hell, even during free time, Jordan would pick you up and take you out, and she wasn't even on the team.

Leah knew something was up, and you knew that she had caught on. Jordan wouldn't tell her. And you hadn't spoken so much as three sentences to her for the past week. So it was no wonder that you were struggling. There was so much pent up tension in your shoulders, you looked so apprehensive.

Leah pulled you up by your shoulders, holding out her hand to stroke your face.

“You tell me you want to go off and I’ll find a sub for you.” Her words were harsh, but there was good intention behind it.

You gulped, shaking your head. Leah was watching your every move like a hawk. This was the perfect opportunity for her to ask you what was wrong. She could see that you needed to get something off your chest.

“I'm fine, keep me on.” You put it soundly, sighing as Leah brushed off the grass that was left on your jersey.

“Don't think that this is the end of the conversation.” Leah retorted, refusing to let your longest interaction in days go. “You’d be barmy if you think I’d let you get away with this easily.”

“I'm not Barmy, Lee. I'm fine.” You replied.

Leah could tell by your smile that she had hit the sweet spot. You were willing to play, the injury minuscule with its attempts to shake you. Your captain kissed the top of your forehead, bringing you into a quick hug.

“Alright then, Fine. Go on and take that free kick.”

You pushed past her lightly, the uncertainty lingering in your body slowly sinking into the grass with every step you took. Everyone had taken the time to huddle together as a team, moving back to their respective positions on the field after you had collected yourself up off the floor.

As the match continued, it was as if you had a fresh set of legs. Everyone got whiplash from your sudden switch of performance that not only enhanced your gameplay but the flow of the game altogether.

You became more involved in the game, passing into your central attackers, and sprinting down the wing to create more changes for a wider goal difference. Georgia and Keira gained more traction with your involvement, and it somehow paved the way for the defenders to find a more secure backline.

The next time you found yourself marked by Stina, who had apologised for your minor Collison, you were lightning on your feet. The pace you set was incredible, and the ball was yours for the taking.

You weaved past her and one of the midfielders, glancing up to see Georgia’s figure near the box. Without thinking, you propelled the ball over the heads of both teams.

Wincing when it passed Stanway, you felt your shoulders collapse. Russo wasn't ready for your explosive play, only just managing to retain the ball at her feet. You sighed, running your hands through your hair when Alessia’s attempt was blocked.

You were about to run back, ready for Sweden’s possession, when the crowd suddenly flung off their seats. You were a good fifty metres away from the rest, Alessia’s figure much harder to find among the number of players congregating by the goal. You noticed Lessi run out near the corner, holding out her arms with a winning smile. Georgia soon clambered over the top of her, patting her shoulder with a matching grin.

You looked up at the scoreboard, catching onto the replay from one of the cameras. From what you could see, Alessia had backheeled the ball past the defenders, leaving the goalkeeper stranded, the ball falling easily into the goal.

Even years later, people always find your late reaction funny. Many of your teammates had already congratulated you on the assist before it all clicked for you. It was rare for a team to be dominating this much in a semi-final, and you weren't quite sure how you managed to pull off what you had just done.

You found Alessia’s shoulders and pushed up on them, swinging your legs around her waist and hugging her from behind. She squealed, pushing you off.

“You're incredible, Russo, seriously.” You screamed, out of breath from the seventy minutes of nonstop running. Less grabbed your arm and spun you round. “All because of that brilliant assist, Baby England!”

You were on such a high for the rest of the game that nothing you did was fully comprehended. You had so much faith in the team that everything moulded with so much chemistry, it was second nature. Three Swedish substitutions meant that you were bound to be taken off any minute. Leah had been holding you accountable at the back while Beth was pushing your talents forward in the middle. You were sure that this was the most you had ever run in a match. Your cheeks were flushed, your muscles were surely overworked, but you were running with so much adrenaline that it didn't affect you.

England was on the home stretch now. Keeping both offence and defence strong, making sure Sweden wasn't offered any thrilling opportunity. You heard Keira shouting directions from the other side of the pitch. Georgia was passing short, timeless passes to you. Rachel had her arm outstretched, ready to propel forward if the ball was coming her way.

You knew that Georgia was just time-wasting now. You just needed to win now, the goal difference didn't matter. You felt someone’s presence up behind you, forcing you to cross the ball back to Leah since both Gee and Kie were covered. You had been staying in the middle and towards the back end of the pitch all game, so it was a surprise when you burst forward past Sweden’s second-last line of defence. Leah had kicked it over to Lucy, who hadn't seen you leave. Georgia took the ball, marking her opponent while searching for your unknown whereabouts.

The only person to have seen you was Beth, who called for the ball and received it a second later. With one, quick, first touch, Mead sent the ball flailing over the top, towards where you were waiting, just outside the box. One of the defenders had caught on, and the goalkeeper hadn't prepared herself for your sudden attack. You watched the ball hurl a few metres to you left, leaving you no choice but to chase after it in a rush. Almost everyone was twenty metres behind, unable to come to your aid. You held your own, forgetting the people around you, and jumped just as the ball met your head. You had no idea how close the goal was, or if your header was even near where your direction was intended.

You winced at the contact of someone in your side, groaning with your arms cradling your head. The impact of the ground winded you, sending you gasping for air. But the crowd’s booms at Sheffield was enough to leave you breathless.

You had scored.

People piled on top of you one by one, yelling all sorts as you struggled to realise what you had done. Everyone was rounded, cheering, standing. You could hear Georgia swearing, and Leah telling everyone to keep their head on. You listened to Alessia and Rachel cheering with each other, and Beth pulling you up by your shoulders. Everyone collapsed into a hug around you, making it difficult for anyone to catch onto your tears.

You loved this team too much to ever let this moment go. Your tears were mixed with the sweat of the game, coating your cheeks, exhaustion setting into your shoulders. Your breath had caught up to you, but the daze was expressed.

You looked out to the crowd when Ella ran on to replace you. Everyone was on their feet, clapping boisterously as you waved them off. It was a tedious feeling that you couldn't quite shake. There wasn't a single person there that made you feel like you hadn't tried your best.

Nothing in the world could beat this feeling.

***

The celebrations of England’s win set off as soon as the full-time whistle blew. Fans rose from their seats, players crowded the pitch. You found your figure running towards Leah, tears already streaming down your face at an embarrassing rate. Your cheeks were flushed, and your body fell limb against Leah’s chest, eloping the serenity of her embrace with quiet sobs.

She held you close and tight, combing her fingers through your hair, breathing in the electric atmosphere that infiltrated the stadium. She could hear you crying into her, and she tried hard not to cry herself. She held a protective arm around your shoulders, sheltering you from the public eye as best she could. Leah looked down at her armband, feeling proud of her nation, then glanced at you, and felt even more emotion than ever before.

Over the years, Leah would find herself falling more and more defensive of you. She wanted to shield you away from the inevitable hate. She watched you grow into a spectacular player, a brilliant teammate, and a beautiful girl. Everything you did was at the discretion of the older woman, and Leah came to realise that you were somewhat of a daughter to her.

She was a Captain of her country and club. She was an idol to thousands of girls across the globe. But she was everything to you as you were to her, and that was more than enough.

“Played so well, Y/N.” She whispered into your ear, leaning down so that you could hear her over the chants.

You glanced up at her with watery eyes, clinging onto the woman and grinning. “Love you, Lee.”

“Love you, too, my girl.”

The two of you stayed like that for a little longer. Millie eventually pulled Leah into her own embrace, and you were making rounds across the field, congratulating your teammates and celebrating with them too.

England fans still banked up the stands, holding out their pens, phones and jerseys. Some people gave you some friendship bracelets, others asked you to take photos. Everyone was reeling at the huge win.

You end up finding yourself nearing a full walk around the field, and nearing the loop, where fans were starting to disperse. The last fan was a little girl in a wheelchair, with dark brown curls and green eyes. She was a little younger than you, but it was easy to fall into a conversation with her. She congratulated you, you thanked her for coming. It was by the end of your interaction that you slipped your shirt off, bringing the girl into a tight, gracious hug.

Many of the girls were already celebrating in the changing rooms. Champagne would've already been distributed. You wanted to make sure the fans were all aware that you were very thankful they were there to watch your team play. This was your first major tournament, and people commended you for always staying back. Though you didn't do it for the praise.

“If it isn't the Baby herself.” You heard someone call from behind you, causing you to turn.

You found Lucy and Sarina standing side by side, sharing big victorious smiles wider than you had ever seen. Lucy had already ushered you into a bone-crushing embrace, guiding your head into her chest — her arms wrapped around your shoulders. Sarina patted you on the back, mumbling something about performance and outcome, before you fumbled your balance against Lucy’s figure.

What you hadn't noticed until then was the man who was standing with the two women. He was not old, but not young either. His hair was dark brown, and he had a stubby beard. His posture was neat, his coat crowding his figure tightly for no cool air to leak in. If it wasn't for the intensity of the game you had just played, you would've agreed to say it was cold. But you were sweaty, fatigued, and starting to feel the effects of a semi-final.

The man was sporting a civil grin, holding his hand out for you to shake. You were completely oblivious to who he was, unable to decipher his identity from any of his features or appearance. It was only when he spoke that you heard the trail of a Spanish accent seeping through his endeavoured English.

“You are a talent, young lady.” He commended. Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, shaking it off with a bashful smile. “I must say, you are one of a kind, truly. That header was spectacular. A goal and an assist? Incredible.”

“Thank you but I couldn't have done it without the others.” You mumbled, trying to remember Jordan’s advice to keep eye contact when you were speaking to an adult. “My first half was poor. I don't think I deserve the recognition when my opportunities weren't used wisely.”

“Oh, shut your mouth.” Lucy scoffed, ruffling your hair. “I can remember my first Euros. I definitely didn't score off a header from outside of the box, that's for sure.”

“You're the best defender, I know.” You replied hastily, trying to reiterate the fact that you were pretty much a forward, and it was expected that you were to score.

Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “Bet you wouldn't say that in front of Leah.”

“Oh, wait!” Your mouth fell slightly agape. “Don't tell her I said that.”

The three adults chuckled from around you, making your cheeks go a little more red.

“I must agree.” The man stepped forward, shoving his hands that were once crossed over his chest into his pockets. From there, you caught sight of the Barcelona emblem embedded in his jacket.

Your face must've given away your realisation. “You're Jonathan? Barca’s head coach?!”

Lucy laughed harder than before, looking at the two coaches with the click of her tongue. “I told ‘ya she wouldn't recognize him.”

“I am,” Jona replied. You shook his hand for the second time that night. “You seem to be surprised at that.”

“What? Oh! No, um.” You became a nervous wreck. “I just, oh my god, does that mean you know Alexia Putellas?”Despite your North London spirit, there was no doubt that there was a fangirl within you at the knowledge of the Spanish team. You had grown up with the greats in Barca, and almost everyone in the England squad knew of your explicit crush on a certain Spanish captain, who just so happened to play for Barca.

“I mean, she is the captain, so you’d hope so.” Jona chuckled. “In fact, I was talking to her just a few hours ago. We were discussing the transfer season and some new contracts coming up.”

You instantly looked up at Lucy, who rolled her eyes at your oblivion. Sarina shook her head, glancing at you knowingly while Jona sighed in deliberation.

“I'm sure you have mulled over some of the offers you have been given from some of the clubs, no? I heard from somewhere that Chelsea are outbidding Arsenal.”

“Oh.” The thought of a professional contract, and making a denounced decision was long a foreign concept to you at that moment. You were presented with the complexity of the question, and could only shrug in response.

Jona reciprocated your affliction. “It is always a tough decision to make. But you have a very bright career in front of you. Everyone is expecting great, great things.”

“I'm tossing up between Arsenal and Chelsea.” You admitted. “They are my best offers.”

“You think so?” Jona looked complex, his eyebrows rising. When you nodded, he tutted, his head low. “Sarina and I were just questioning the fee being offered… or lack thereof.”

Your back straightened. “What do you mean?”

“300k for a three-year contract is hardly reasonable for a player like you.” He stated, rolling his sleeves up with a grin. Lucy and Sarina were in quiet conversation to the side, still active in what you were discussing but in their exclusive bubble.

“If I were to put in my bid, it’d be at least 800 thousand.” He continued. Your eyes nearly budged out of their sockets, unable to reply. “But it’d end up being just short of a million with the transfer fee.”

“My academy contract ends in two weeks.” The money Jona had just described was unattainable from your perception. “I'm just glad I got the offers in the first place. Your bid is too generous.”

There was no way you, a youth player, and academy girl who wasn't even had a club debut, was expected to be worth that much. He must've been pulling your leg, taking the piss like Tooney often did. It was not in the slightest chance that you began to unravel the weight of Jona’s words, and his intention behind the conversation you were just having.

“Are you saying you wouldn't accept it?” He asked.

You were so fucking dumbfounded that you started to laugh.

“You could offer me a job for nothing and I would take it.” There was a joking tone behind your statement, but you knew that there was an entire truth planted within your declaration. “Not that you would, but yeah, of course I would. The only thing I’d contemplate is learning the language.”

“I can get you a tutor.” He responded. “And the girls are lovely.”

You swooned just at the thought of the Barcelona team. “You're just being mean now.”

Jonathon looked at you in confusion. Lucy had overheard the last of your conversation, with Sarina off to find someone else. She scoffed, finding your idiocy a painful trait of yours. You glanced between the two of them, waiting for them to continue the blasted joke of you joining the best team in the world. You waited for them to ask you how Chelsea Blue was going to look on you, of if Academy was where you wanted to stay. Hell, you were expecting them to ask when you were moving into your own apartment due to the absurdity of Jona’s hypothetical posing.

But they stood there looking at you in silence. They were waiting for you to catch on.

And you did. Even if it was after several long moments of pause and silence. Even if you had dropped your jaw to the floor in utter shock, simply not believing that what was happening was actually happening. The thought of playing for a single minute was eradicated from your mind, instead replaced with a newfound excitement that left you jumping up and down.

There was no way, you thought. Nothing could've prepared you for this.

All thoughts of Chelsea, of Arsenal, were gone. Letting the news transfer to Leah was a distant memory.

You were no longer hesitating about what anyone else thought about where you would go. There was not an ounce of regret in your body that screamed out to you, telling you to think this over for even a second. You were not want to wait, to talk, to act, you were just waiting for this all to be a dream.

You knew that this was an inevitable choice. A feeling so right, so just, full of hope and solidarity, clung to you as you shook Jona’s hand yet again. Not filling registering his words, skimming over the implications of it all, aimlessly giving him your Agent’s number. It was all a blur from there.

It did not matter the money that went into the contract, or the financial gain that would equip you throughout the three years you were about to live in Barcelona. Nothing else mattered except the smile on your face, and the righteousness in your chest.

With the win of your National Team, you home, and the club you were bound towards, there was nothing stopping the bounce in your stride.

_________________

arsenalacademy

liked by babyengland, milliebright, and 207,367 others

arsenalacademy — After a standout performance in the Euros so far, Arsenal Academy Star, and England’s youngest, Baby England has signed a record-breaking fee of $3 Million, for a three-year contract with reigning Champions, Barcelona FC.

“I'm excited for this new opportunity. The Euros are massive, and winning with the girls against Sweden was a privilege I still can't put into words…

I have to thank Arsenal for making me the player I am, because they have taught me so many things, and I wouldn't be standing here today if it wasn't for them.

I also want to thank Jordan, Leah, and all the Lionesses for helping me with this. They have always wanted the best for me, and I couldn't have done it without them.”

The fifteen-year-old will begin training with the Spainish Team for the 22/23 season effective immediately.

Congratulations on this new chapter!

Tagged: yourusername

Comments:

soccerdonna — New Update: Chelsea had outbid Arsenal by $150k, and Barca by an extra 200k, as well as an increase in salary, which is negotiable.

User7 — I THOUGHT THEY WERE GONNA ANNOUNCE IT AFTER THE EUROS

^ user8 — WHEN HAS MY GIRL HAD TIME FOR THIS

^ user112 — FR MY GIRL’S FIFTEEN, A STUDENT, A FULL TIME ATHLETE, AND A BABYGIRL LIKE PLS

User5 — JONATAN WAS AT THE GAMES AGAINST SPAIN AND SWEDEN!!!! MAYBE THATS WHEN

^ user90 — THAT’S SO SOON THO HOW COULD HE HAVE DONE IT

ingridengen — welcome 🩷

*liked by yourusername

racheldaly — no villa talk 🤣 see you on the pitch soon chook 🩷

^ yourusername — thank you Rach 🙃

user6 — FIRST LUCY AND NOW BABY ENGLAND! WHO’S NEXT, KEIRA????

alessiarusso — big things!!!! proud of you like crazy 🙌🏼

^ yourusername — love you lessi bear 🧸

user1 — are you fucking kidding me? ARSENAL WHY DIDNT YOU KEEP HERRRRR

^ user67 — THE FACT THAT THEY WERE ONE OF THE LOWEST BIDDERS UGH

alexiaputellas — Bienvenido, guapa!

^ yourusername — omg ily

^ user77 — shes so real

user23 — I'm in mourning.

user8 — WHAT ABOUT LEAH

^ user4 — AND JORDAN

^ user7 — SHE WAS OUR ARSENAL BABY

jordannobbs — big things coming! So proud of you! 💙❤️

* liked by yourusername

user37 — the fact that we all thought she was going to chelsea

^ user27 — she really had us all fooled

leahwilliamson — smash it, my girl!

^ yourusername — love you lee 🤍

^ user78 — screaming into my pillow I cannot deal with this hurt.

^ user99 — I need to know if she told Leah before or after she signed 😭

^ user12 — the edits about to go crazy

^ user8 — “let's not forget, that no matter where she goes, Baby England will always be Arsenal.”

barcelonafemeni — Stargirl 🌟

^ user4 — you don't deserve her.

^ user90 — SALT IN THE WOUND

^ user3 — Idk about the rest of you, but I cannot wait to see her in the home jersey

^ user6 — ur the only one.

Lionesses — baby england growing up too fast 🥲

user5 — I'm still so confused on how she signed a contract in the middle of the fucking euros

^ user64 — it practically meant that Barca would've not only had to pay her the contract, but also pay Arsenal a transfer fee

^ user65 — I might be crazy but wouldn't that make her the most expensive transfer? With both the transfer money and the contract

^ user5 — it adds up to be just under $1 million 😀

georgiastanway — congratulations!!!!!!

^ yourusername — thanks gee!

ellatoone — you would've looked better in Manchester 😒

^ ellatoone — jkjk look at youuuuu 🩷

*liked by yourusername

____________________

A/N — HA! You thought she’d go to Chelsea… yeah right. Hope you enjoyed!

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calciopics · 2 years

Text

Farewell, Footy

Right, we’re not crying. I promised myself.

Today, I may be saying my goodbyes to football, but we’re going to make this a celebration. No sad faces!! We’ve had too much fun for any tears.

Maybe it’s because I’m from Sunderland, but two things have always been true about me: I’ve always been stubborn, and I’ve always loved football. It’s been in my blood ever since I was five years old. I saw a load of boys playing in the school yard and I walked straight up to them and said the four magic words….

“Can I play too?”

Three years later, I got my picture in the local newspaper. My mam brought home the Sunderland Echo and there was a scruffy little girl in the middle of a gang of boys, smiling away with her trophy. The headline said: JILL IS PROUD TO BE A MAN. (I got Man of the Match at a boys tournament). And I remember I was fuming because the organisers of the tournament were so embarrassed and they told my mam, “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll change it so it says Girl of the Match.”

I said, “No!!! They’ll think I got it for being the only girl!!! Leave it!!! I’m the Man of the Match!!!”

I give my mam a lot of credit, because I had a dream that didn’t even exist yet, and she supported me anyway. The next year, the club told me I couldn’t play for them anymore — it was only for boys — and I remember stuffing my face into the settee cushions and crying my eyes out because I thought my world had literally crumbled. I cried for so long that the leather of the sofa was stuck to my face. But my mam said, “Don’t worry, we’ll find you another team.”

Football was simply my life, and I could barely even sit still for tea before I ran back outside to play. I’d wolf it down in five minutes and then run from house to house knocking on all the neighbours’ doors trying to recruit as many of the boys as I could, pestering all the parents — “Is Craig coming out? Is Mark coming out?”

If nobody was up for a game, I’d just kick about in the back lanes by myself. If the ball flew over a fence and the neighbour wasn’t around to throw it back, I’d just run sprints back and forth from one wall to the other. And you have to imagine the back lanes in Sunderland — they’re maybe 10 metres wide, tops. Run, touch the wall, run to the other wall. Back and forth in a grubby lane! I’d be doing this for hours, until dark. That was just my fitness routine.

At the weekend, there was a special at the local pub where if you bought a pint, they’d give you a token for a free bus ride to the Stadium of Light. So my grandpa would go for a drink, and at noon I’d run up the hill to meet him and we’d ride the bus to watch Sunderland play. I was that kid who collected every match programme, the one begging all the players for autographs (and judging the ones who were too cool to sign.)

I remember when I was 13, I begged my mam to let me go see England vs. Turkey at the Stadium of Light. It was a late kickoff, and I had a curfew, but I begged and I begged, “Please let us go!” and finally she said, “Alright, but be back by 10.”

Long story short: Stayed ’til 11 waiting outside the car park. Got David Beckham’s autograph. He had the blonde highlights and everything. He saw me holding up a poster that I'd pulled out from an old football magazine. I was holding it out through the gate with me long arms (thank God for them) and he came right over.

I ended up back home around midnight. Mam was none too pleased with us, but I just remember folding up the poster in my back pocket so she wouldn’t tear it up and thinking, “Right, ground me for a month. Don’t care. Best day of my life.”

When you love football, it’s not rational. You pour everything you have into it, and it’s like you don’t even notice that you’re doing it. I’ll never forget, when I was about 18 or 19 years old, I was trying to break into the England team, and Hope Powell said something to all of us players that is so true:

“If you want to play for England, you have to be obsessed.”

When I was younger, I didn’t really understand what she meant. But looking back on my career now, and what a ridiculous journey it has been, she was absolutely right. I remember when I was playing with my first professional club at Sunderland, we didn’t even have our own kit. The men’s team used to give us their gear from the season before, so it was like a free-for-all to grab what you could. I remember rummaging through the laundry bags because there was a physio by the name of Jocky Scott, and so I’d try to grab his stuff so I could have the JS initials on my shorts. The shorts were so long on us they looked like three quarter lengths, and the red jumpers had been washed so many times that they’d faded to pink, but we were just grateful for whatever we could get.

On away days, we had this rented minibus from the 1980s — the kind where they had the dodgy little lamps at every table where you’d pull the string to turn them on — and we’d literally stop six or seven times on the side of the motorway to pick up the players. Not even at a service station or anything. Just stood on the side of the road, waving. Everybody had a full-time job. These were teachers, policewomen, caterers. But above all, footballers. I remember we used to always stay at a Premier Inn, and it would be four of us to a room. Two in the double bed, one on the settee, and one on the little kiddie pullout bed.

But you know what? Those were the absolute best times. I would go back there in a heartbeat. That’s the God’s honest truth. As a young player, those Everton girls took me under their wing and shaped who I am today. I remember we used to get to the room on a Saturday and race to switch on Match of the Day. All of us crowded around the little TV, drinking a cup of tea, just having a ball.

We’d get back home the next night at two o’clock in the morning, and half the women had to be up for work at six, but they loved it. We all did. If you don’t love it, you don’t last. You can’t. The dream is what sustains you.

I may be saying my goodbyes to football, but we’re going to make this a celebration. No sad faces!! We’ve had too much fun for any tears.

God, this is so embarrassing, but if I can’t embarrass myself during my retirement announcement, when can I really? When I was playing for Everton, I remember I used to make these long drives on the M62 from Sunderland to Liverpool. Just to set the scene for you, I had this legendary Peugeot 106 with alloy wheels, and the radio was broken, and I was always losing my MP3 player, so for the three hour drive I’d pass the time by interviewing myself.

Not in my head. Out loud. I’d be both the interviewer and myself. I was just thinking, One day, this will come in handy….

“Jill, you got a big match coming up this weekend against Arsenal. How’s the team feeling?”

“Yeah, well, obviously it’s a massive opportunity for us….”

Picture this all happening as I’m cruising down the M62 in my little Peugeot, but I’ve also got packets of Dairylea Lunchables and Yazoo milkshakes all over the back seat, because I’ve just stopped off for tea at the petrol station.

Just incredibly serious and professional. Eating a ham and cheese Lunchable, using the Yazoo bottle as a microphone, talking about, “Well, the manager really had us working hard in training this week….”

This was my life. Just surviving, definitely not thriving. I had stopped going to university. I had spent about £20,000 in student loans on petrol.

Imagine, if you would have told me back then that I’d go on to play for England for 16 years?

If you would have told me that I’d live to see 90,000 people packed into Wembley Stadium for a women's European final?

And that I’d be playing in it?

Impossible.

You know what’s funny? This last chapter was almost not written for me. As I was rehabbing from my knee injury, the final team selection for the Euros was looming, and I really had no idea if I was going to make it in. I remember when they called us into Sarina’s office one by one to give us the news, I was so nervous that I’d drunk three Flat Whites in the cafeteria and when I sat down across from Sarina, I was literally shaking.

She said, “Jill, what’s the matter with you?”

I said, “Well, I had three coffees but also I’m nervous so I’m not sure which.”

She said, “You’re going.”

It was just such a massive relief for me, because at 35 years old, I knew it was my last go. I just wanted to give absolutely everything I had left to this team, no matter what that meant.

That tournament … what can I even say?

I am just a big ball of disbelief, even now. I have a gold medal. I can’t stop looking at it, three weeks later. It’s so heavy. It’s so real. I keep dropping it, and I have to ask myself: Was I really there? Did this really happen? Did I really swear live on TV?? Did I really hug Prince William?

I think he broke royal protocol when he gave us this big cuddle, but you could see it in his face — he was just so happy for us. He’s followed our journey all the way along. I just kept saying to him “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.”

When I got my MBE I never got to go to Buckingham Palace, because of Covid. Maybe now he can invite me back and he can present us with it.

But it was not just the final. There were so many moments from that tournament when I was sat there, looking around the stadium in our first game, seeing 70,000 people packed into Old Trafford for a women's football match, seeing all the banners and the atmosphere and the emotion … and I’d just think to myself: Look how far we’ve come.

When I had moved to Man City, I was just literally amazed that they even washed our kits. Everyone was getting annoyed with me, because I kept saying it.

“They wash our kits??? They really wash our kits???”

“Jill, shut up!!! Yes they wash the kits. You deserve to have your kit washed.”

Just being able to train like a full professional was magic. (I can hear Nick Cushing shouting, “Jill Scott needs her touches on the ball!!” Without Nick helping me reinvent my career at 26, I wouldn’t have gone on to have another nine years with England. Thank you, Nick.)

Until I was 26, it was a luxury just to be able to get my touches every day. So to see 90,000 people at Wembley for the final against Germany, it was indescribable. Being on the bench for the first half, a part of me was sat there like a fan. I mean, England might actually win something??? Ten minutes into the match, I had to remind myself that I’m not a kid in the stands watching Michael Owen against Argentina or something. I’m really part of the team.

There’s a photo from the start of the match and you can see that everyone else is on the bench smiling and taking in the moment, and I’m just sat there so nervous, thinking: COME ON, England.

The best thing that happened to me was when they called me to warm up in the 77th minute, because at least then I was in control of something. I just snapped out of it and could concentrate on doing my job. I knew what I had to do: Go in there and smash as many players as I could. Close them down. Run my socks off. Shut up shop.

I just wanted to win so, so, so badly, and there was a moment in the game where I lost my head a little bit … which has gone a bit viral and has been turned into mugs and t-shirts (that are currently sitting in my grandma’s house.) Obviously, I wish the BBC cameras didn’t pick it up, but all I can do now is apologise to my grandma: Sorry, Ganny!!!

I had 30 years of football’s heartbreaks and dreams and disappointments built up inside me, and I just wanted to do it for everybody in that stadium … everybody in the country … all them girls having a kickabout in the back lanes. I wanted it so, so bad.

I don’t even remember the moment when Chloe scores, if I’m honest. She’s worrying it’s a foul because she shields the ball so well, and we’re looking at her, she’s looking at me — she’s half took her top off … is it a goal?! Is it not?! Then it gets given, she runs off and it was just chaos. The fans are screaming, her top came fully off, and Wembley went mad. The next thing I know Georgia is awkwardly trying to put Chloe’s shirt back on.

After she scored, I knew we were going to be champions, we had Millie and Leah at the back and Mary in goal. We were not giving up that lead. At the final whistle, I just remember running straight up to Keira and saying, “Thank you for absolutely bossing the midfield the entire tournament.”

After that I did something that I haven’t shared with anyone yet. I ran to the changing rooms to send one text. I didn’t want to be on my phone, but there was one person I needed to message. Mo Marley. Mo was the coach who took a chance on a skinny 18-year-old Jill Scott. If she’d never given me that opportunity, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I can’t say enough good things about Mo. In the changing room, I just messaged her saying, “We did it, Mo.”

Obviously, everyone got to see the absolute scenes in the dressing room on social media after the Euro final. But the thing that really sticks out to me is that night, when we got back to the Lensbury Hotel, me and Millie Bright were sharing a room, and of course we were buzzing so there was no way we were going to sleep. We just sat up all night, literally doing raps and poems and all sorts of nonsense, like little kids. At half seven in the morning, as the sun was coming up, I went for a walk to get a coffee with Lotte without having a minute of sleep, and it was the most surreal moment of my life.

On the walk to the cafe, everybody stopped us.

There were car horns beeping, and people stopping us to take photos with tears in their eyes, and they were just saying, “Thank you.” We walked past the news agents and there were pictures of us on every front page.

ENGLAND. CHAMPIONS.

If you don’t love it, you don’t last. You can’t. The dream is what sustains you.

It felt better than a dream.

But as I like to say: It’s not about the splash. It’s about the dive.

You know the last thing I ever did on a football pitch? It was perfectly me. We had celebrated, the streamers were going off, and I was just sitting there with my medal on the grass for an hour and a half, taking it all in … and I knew, deep in my heart, that this was it.

So many memories came back to me. I thought about Sunderland and all the sprints I had done from wall to wall, 10 metres at a time. I thought about showing up to my first England cap with moulds instead of studs!

Thought about the tattoo I got at 2 o‘clock in the morning in the middle of Liverpool after we beat Arsenal in the Community Shield.

Thought about the unbelievable support of my family all these years – about how Ganny would be telling the painter or the gardener or anyone who stopped by the house, “You know my granddaughter plays for England?”

Thought about all the fans who supported me in my career, and how I’ll never be able to thank them enough.

Thought about how my niece and nephews got to watch their Aunty Jill go out a champion.

Thought about all them little moments with the girls in hotels and changing rooms and minibusses over the years. Those are the things that I’ll miss the most.

(I told you I wasn’t going to cry.)

I just sat there and thought: Right. If this is it, let’s do one more run. So I grabbed Lotte Wubben-Moy as well as our Sports scientist Martin and I said, “You’ve made me do so many box-to-box runs throughout this tournament…. Come on, run one more with us.”

The game had been over for ages, but it just felt right. Suddenly I was like that little girl again, running on her own in the back lanes.

Box to box. Wall to wall.

Only this time I had a gold medal swinging from my neck. That was my way of saying goodbye.

And this is my way of saying thank you.

Jill Scott by The Players Tribune

#Jill Louise Scott #Jill Scott #England WNT #Sunderland Association Football Club Ladies #Everton FC #Manchester City Women's Football Club #Aston Villa Women Football Club #Team GB #Great Britain women's Olympic football team #retirement #football #fußball #fussball #foot #fodbod #futbol #futebol #soccer #calcio

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