#🏈🏈🏈

[stephstars08]

⚾️🏈When They Are Professional Athletes>>>⚾️🏈

[milotonin]

the one day a year i will actually wear these

[chriss-club]

NOOO *sad eagle noises*

you ok?

no I crashed

[domquixotedospobresblog]

and in 2024, our stories collide with #SBLVIII live from Bikini Bottom! ��🏈📣

catch the big game, Sunday Feb 11 6:30 ET/3:30 PT only on Nick!

[sandy007]

[xoxo-dumbslut]

So..nervous about tomorrow.

[thebroken--soul]

There is not a better feeling than feeling alive again when college American football/NFL returns.

[earthsbestdefnder]

This is a tough week for home team football games

[whoopsie-daisie]

Logan and George are the same people in a different font

Logan Hunter Sargeant is the most American name ever, and George William Russell is the most British name ever and they both sound like made up people from a Hallmark movie

[lecsainz]

I just wanna say that I love your fics! and want know if you can make one with Travis Kelce and reader where they lost a baby

NOT AGAIN

˒ ⌕ masterlist . . .

parings: travis kelce + wife!reader

summary: the one where you and travis lost a baby.

🗒️: I had no idea how to write this, I did it as I saw in movies and series so forgive me if it got bad.

type: angst ✶

The sterile walls of the hospital room echoed the heavy silence between Travis and Y/N. Their eyes spoke volumes, burdened with the weight of a shared sorrow. Y/N clutched the ultrasound picture, a cruel reminder of dreams shattered once again.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Kelce," the doctor's words lingered, a haunting refrain in the room.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she whispered, "Not again. Why does this keep happening, Trav?"

He wrapped his arms around her, his voice barely above a whisper, "Life's just been cruel to us, love."

The grief hung thick, palpable. Travis wiped away Y/N's tears, his own eyes mirroring her pain. They navigated through the wreckage of shattered hopes, mourning a child that would never be cradled in their arms.

Days turned into nights, and silence engulfed their home like a heavy fog. Travis found Y/N sitting in the nursery, surrounded by baby clothes and a crib that would remain empty.

"I can't bear this emptiness," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking.

Travis knelt beside her, their hands entwined. "We'll get through this together, no matter how many times life tests us."

As Y/N uttered those words, Travis's phone rang, the caller ID flashing with his mother's name. With a heavy sigh, he answered, the weight of grief evident in his voice.

"Mom, it's not a good time," Travis murmured, trying to maintain composure.

His mother's cheerful tone echoed through the phone, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen them. "I was just checking in. How's Y/N doing? Is the baby kicking yet?"

Travis closed his eyes, the lump in his throat growing. "Mom, we... we lost the baby."

A stunned silence followed, broken only by Y/N's muffled sobs. Travis closed his eyes, grappling with the weight of the words he had just spoken.

His mother's voice cracked, "Oh, Travis, I'm so sorry. How's Y/N?"

Travis turned to Y/N, her grief-stricken face reflecting the agony in his own heart. He hugged her tightly, shielding her from the world. "She's hurting, Mom. We both are."

His mother's voice softened, "Oh, Travis, I'm so sorry. We'll be there for you both, however you need."

After ending the call, Travis turned to Y/N, her tear-stained face etched with pain. He gently cupped her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's not your fault, Y/N. You hear me? This isn't on you."

She shook her head, tears streaming down. "Travis, what if it is? What if I can't give you the family we dreamed of?"

His heart ached at her words. Travis embraced her, whispering, "No, love, don't you dare blame yourself. We'll face this together, just like we always have."

[mensuited]

[reddg333]

Check it out

[shares-a-vest]

While my shoulder has been fucked up I've been watching a lot of football AND sports commentary shows, which I have found myself enjoying??? As always, I've kept the actual sports ball details vague seeing as I barely know American sports.

Eddie walks into the living room to find Steve on his feet and standing far too close to the television. He has the phone to his ear and his shoulders are tensing.

"I cannot believe this," he says to Robin, who Eddie knows is on the other end of the line and probably just as agitated.

She must say something Steve vehemently agrees with because he nods, all stern and vibrating in agreeance. But he soon scoffs, holding the phone away as the Sportsman on the television says... Something about something baseball-related.

Steve swooshes his hand through the air in disapproval.

"Rob, are you hearing this asshole?"

The oven dings and Eddie decides to take his chances and step forward. He tip-toes quietly, making sure to keep his distance as he moves into his husband's field of vision and boy, is Steve mad about... Whatever tonight's Sports Problem is.

It's a big enough to-do that it is being discussed on (Eddie knows this much) Sportscenter.

Steve's frown deepens and his mouth down-turns to a cute – albeit grumpy – pout that has only become more accentuated with age and wrinkles.

"Dinner," Eddie mouths, adding an innocent, wiggling hand wave.

Steve props a hand on his hip and nods at him before he turns his attention back to the television. He heaves in a breath and now Eddie frowns. Because yeah, sure, Hellfire still gets his heart a-fluttering every once in a while, but these days he and the boys carry out quieter, more laid-back campaigns that would make their former selves gasp in horror.

And, Sport Problems, or not, he doesn't like the idea of Steve getting so worked up that he's wheezing.

"Rob!" Steve scolds in disbelief down the line, "What? Ugh, fine... Fine!" he looks at Eddie, "My dinner is ready too... Alright! Call me back... Mhmm," he pinches his nose, "Yes, I'll do the three-way call thing with Sinclair instead... Fine! Okay, bye."

He ends the call with a forceful pressing of the Talk/End button and murmurs to himself, practically sneering as he shoots the panel of sports commentators a look.

"Okay-p," Eddie says, clasping his hands together as he decides to charge for the remote.

He points it at the TV and gleefully reduces the group riling up his husband's undead universe-induced asthma to black nothingness.

"Calm down, Stevie-bear," he says, discarding the remote on the couch so he can rub at his back, "No more Sportscenter for now."

"But, Eddie, can you believe –"

Steve cuts himself off as Eddie loops an arm around his middle and leads him to the four-seater dining table.

"I know your hip is too bad for you to play ball these days, sweetheart, but you gotta calm down," he bargains, relieved when Steve's breathing begins to even out, "Dinner time is our quiet time."

"Yes..." Steve glances around.

Eddie narrows his eyes the moment he realises his partner has located their iPad on the breakfast bar. He tilts his head, hoping to block Steve's view of it and they soon become engaged in a silent stand-off despite standing in the middle of their living space attached at the hip, arm in arm.

It only stops when Steve purses his lips, no doubt readying himself to bring out the big guns and say something with the deadliest of bitchy lilts.

"Nope," Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, "You're not rewatching that... play you are so cranky about on the iPad. I'm sure you are right about it anyway."

Steve says nothing. Hell, he probably saw straight through that ever-so-slightly condescending attempt at deflection. But Eddie can't bring himself to be all that worried about his tone as some very real panic sets in at the sound of the pot on the stove bubbling up a little too much.

He detaches himself from his partner, thinking that ruining dinner and taking Steve away from the television will start up a World War III, the likes of which he hasn't seen since the time he brought a stray cat into the apartment, who promptly hid in the closet and pooped in Steve's new Nikes.

"I am right," Steve says, all perky and chipper now as he pulls out a chair, "Can you, uh... Do the, uh..."

He trails off, looking at the phone's keypad and gesturing to the buttons.

Eddie reaches forward and plucks the phone from Steve's hand.

"I'll set up the three-way call for you later," he says, reading his mind. He presses a kiss to his forehead and sets the phone down on the table, "Promise."

"Lucas will be ready to talk at – "

"Eight o'clock," Eddie nods, "Just in time for the replay, I know."

He pats Steve on the shoulder with reassurance. When his husband finally takes a seat, Eddie heads off to the kitchen just in time to salvage their dinner.

[hurricanewithmyname]

| coming straight home to me |

[husky-uconnnn]

“If I played football like a boy I’d be nasty.” - pb5