my one shots

jack grealish | transfer from hell

You always remembered the first time you fell in love with Manchester United; you couldn't explain why or how, but you knew that feeling wouldn't be topped.

Until you met your boyfriend.

Jack had been in your life for five years. Five very long, but wonderful years. You had made the most beautiful memories, but all that was about to come crashing down once he told you the catastrophic news.

"Manchester City have made an offer" he beamed. You glared at the excited expression on his face; he knew you wouldn't be best pleased about this news and he was enjoying every moment, he ached knowing he hadn't seen your reaction when the transfer was leaked on Sky Sports News.

"Are you going to take it?" You retorted. You rolled your eyes at the now large smirk plastered on your boyfriend's face. You watched as he made his way over to you, teasingly slow as he wasn't sure of your impending reaction. "Jack, I'm being serious."

"And so am I, sweetheart," he swooned. You swatted away his tempting hand, so eager to touch your skin. He pouted at your reaction, realising you weren't in the celebrating mood. "So, I just need to pass the medical and it's goodbye Birmingham, hello Manchester."

You could feel your blood starting to boil; you promised yourself you wouldn't fall for someone who didn't like the same football team as you. And that plan worked fine, until one evening you stumbled across the very handsome Jack. It took time, but you learnt to love his beloved Aston Villa (I mean, they weren't really going to trouble Manchester United, were they?)

But this was taking it a step to far.

But as the good girlfriend you were, you followed him to Manchester. You attended his signing, his press conference and his reveal to the fans. You even accepted the shirt Jack gave you as a surprise (and then used it against him during a sexual encounter).

Things were going good, but that was until derby day. It was a tense morning in the Grealish household, you hadn't spoken one word to each other and you knew that would continue until the end of the game. The match was being played at Old Trafford, of course you would attend, but you would have to sit in the away end.

Jack watched you as you sarcastically cheered for the United players; he was jealous, angry and motivated. He wanted to show you that he was the only person you should be cheering for, he needed to put on a performance for you.

"Oh girl," Paige chimed. You were very close with the Sterling family. You turned to face her and clocked her smirk, a shake of the head accompanying it. "You better hope City win; because if not, Jack is going to be extra angry."

"Just think of the passionate hot sex we'll have!" you violently laughed, earning a smack from a less amused Paige. She was used to your filthy comments, you and Jack were known for your poor attempts at trying to hide the sexual tension between you. "I can't wait till the end of the game, then we'll be able to speak."

It was well known within the Grealish household of your immature behaviour with football; you remembered when Aston Villa beat United, Jack scoring the winning goal, you didn't speak to your boyfriend all weekend. You couldn't. You couldn't deal with his mocking responses or childish jokes, you were burning with rage and he loved it.

So, when the game finished a win and Jack was subbed off after a below-par performance, you knew the conversation was going to be difficult. You didn't want to avoid the discussion, god that would make it worse. You tenderly walked over to where your boyfriend was sat on the sofa and perched yourself next to him, keeping the distance between you minimal.

"Don't gloat," Jack snapped, the venom spitting with his words. You could see his veins popping out, you knew he wasn't happy. "Just don't mention it," he continued. You watched as he rapidly scrolled through his social media, avoiding any content about the match. You moved closer and rested a hand on his well-toned thigh, moving your head to his shoulder.

"What's wrong moody bum?" you questioned. You hissed as you felt a sharp pain from Jack slapping your hand away, you pouted and turned to face him. He was angry. But not like normal. You would normally be on speaking terms now, but the pair of you hadn't strung a sentence together since you returned home. "The games finished now, you can drop your childish act."

It only took thirty minutes, but Jack was soon cuddled up into your side, your arms pulling him in closer. You gently ran a hand through his immaculate hair, softly massaging his head in the process. You placed a light kiss to his forehead.

"Bab," he started. You watched him turn to face you, a weak smile on his face. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea."

"You can't say that after one bad game!" you giggled. You eyed him carefully; you realised that the game has affected him more than usual. "Jack, you're still getting used to things. The fans aren't going to judge you after this game, they know the quality you bring. And if they don't, fuck them, they'll soon learn."

Jack laughed at your reaction; he pulled you closer and passionately kissed your lips. "I love you," he breathed. "I know this transfer was hard on you, but thank you for following me."

You kissed him again and wrapped your arms tightly around his body, you lead on the couch for the rest of the night. It didn't matter to you what club Jack played for; you didn't fall for him because he played football, you didn't live your life based on the team he played for. But you did love him and you knew that wouldn't ever change. If you could get through this transfer, you knew you could conquer the world. After all; in your mind, it was the transfer from hell.