Theater Girl Freen and Football Captain Becky! 🏈🎭

The final whistle blew, and the stadium erupted in cheers. Becky's team had won—again. The scoreboard flashed their victory, and her teammates rushed the field, celebrating with shouts, high-fives, and a chaotic pile-up near the goalpost.

Becky, however, had only one person in mind.

Ignoring the celebrations around her, she sprinted toward the sidelines, where she knew Freen would be waiting.

And there she was.

Freen stood a little apart from the crowd, hands tucked into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, a soft, small smile on her lips. She wasn’t one for loud celebrations, but her eyes—those warm, admiring eyes—held nothing but quiet pride for Becky.

Without hesitation, Becky scooped her up, spinning her around in a tight hug. Freen let out a small, surprised gasp before tucking her face into Becky’s shoulder, laughing under her breath.

Becky, ever the unapologetic simp, grinned and shouted, “All victories are dedicated to my beautiful girlfriend!”

Her teammates groaned and playfully booed at the display, but Becky just grinned wider, completely unbothered.

Emma clapped Becky on the back. “We get it, you’re in love. Can we move on?”

Alice smirked. “No, let her have her moment. It's cute. Disgustingly cute.”

Becky just hugged Freen a little tighter before setting her down, not caring about the teasing.

That’s when Riley made her entrance.

Sliding into the scene like she owned the field, Riley slung an arm over Becky’s shoulders, her smirk just a little too confident.

"Damn, Captain, that was sexy," Riley drawled, completely ignoring Freen’s presence. “If you ever need a celebratory dinner, hit me up.”

Becky barely turned her head, already unimpressed. “I’m good, thanks.”

Riley wasn’t done. “Bet you need a good post-game massage after playing that hard.”

Emma and Alice exchanged a knowing look. They had seen this before. Too many times.

Becky sighed, shrugging Riley’s arm off with zero hesitation. “I actually have a girlfriend for that.”

Riley’s smirk didn’t falter. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just saying, if you ever get tired of the quiet type…”

Silence.

And then, a voice. Soft. Steady. Deceptively calm.

“She won’t.”

Everyone turned to look at Freen.

She hadn’t moved from her spot. Her posture was relaxed, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—sharp, unwavering—were locked onto Riley.

Riley blinked, caught off guard for the first time. She clearly wasn’t expecting Becky's usually reserved girlfriend to actually say something.

Becky, who had been ready to ignore Riley as usual, grinned.

Oh.

Oh, this was about to get good.

Emma leaned toward Alice, whispering, "Did… did Freen just claim her?"

Alice, eyes wide, whispered back, "Bro, she just shut Riley down with one sentence."

Freen, still holding Riley’s gaze, tilted her head slightly, as if daring her to continue.

Riley hesitated, then huffed out a laugh. “Alright, alright. No need to get all intense about it.”

She took a step back, hands raised in surrender, but the way her eyes flicked over to Becky made it clear she wasn’t really giving up.

Becky, still grinning like an idiot, turned to Freen. “Babe, that was kinda hot.”

Freen finally looked away from Riley and met Becky’s gaze. Her eyes softened.

She simply adjusted the sleeves of her hoodie and said, "You played well."

And just like that, Becky was a goner.

Emma and Alice, still watching the scene unfold, both nodded to themselves.

Alice: “Yeah, okay. Freen wins. Hands down.”
Emma: “I suddenly feel bad for Riley. She never stood a chance.”

As the team started heading back toward the locker rooms, Becky laced her fingers through Freen’s, walking side by side.

The afterparty was in full swing.

Music thumped through the speakers, laughter and chatter filled the space, and red plastic cups were passed around as the team celebrated their victory.

Becky was right in the middle of it all, laughing loudly as she arm-wrestled Ted over a plate of fries while Jamie cheered them on.

Across the room, Freen stood with Nam, Heng, Title, and Tor, sipping on her drink, quietly observing. Parties weren’t really her thing, but Becky had wanted her there, so here she was.

Her gaze, however, kept flickering back to one specific person.

Riley.

And, of course, Riley was exactly where Freen expected her to be—hovering near Becky.

When Becky finally won the arm-wrestling match (obviously), Riley appeared at her side with a casual grin and two drinks in hand.

“Nice win, Captain,” Riley said, offering one of the cups. “Figured you’d need a drink after that intense battle.”

Becky barely glanced at the cup. “Appreciate it, but I don’t take drinks I didn’t see being poured.”

Riley chuckled. “Come on, you don’t trust me?”

Becky, ever the cheerful, unbothered menace, grinned. “Nope.”

Riley laughed, placing the drink down on the table anyway. Then, she leaned in a little, just close enough that her fingers brushed Becky’s arm.

“Seriously, though,” Riley continued, voice dipping just a little. “You played amazing today. The way you handled that last goal? Insane. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to impress someone.”

Becky opened her mouth to reply, but before she could—

A hand wrapped firmly around hers.

Becky turned, startled, to find Freen standing beside her, eyes calm but unreadable.

Freen hadn’t said a word when she walked over. She hadn’t even looked at Riley. She had simply reached for Becky and taken her hand.

And now, without a single ounce of hesitation, she gently but firmly pulled Becky away.

Becky, caught off guard but highly entertained, let herself be led away with zero resistance.

As they walked, Freen spoke, her voice soft but firm.

“She’s good.”

That was it.

No extra words. No confrontation. No irritation in her tone. Just a quiet, unshakable finality.

Riley blinked, watching them go, but said nothing.

Emma and Alice, who had been watching from the sidelines, exchanged glances.

Emma: “Oh. Oh, Freen is mad.”
Alice, absolutely enthralled: “I’ve never been so attracted to her.”

—

Becky followed Freen through the party, still grinning like an idiot.

“You okay there, babe?” she teased, swinging their joined hands a little.

Freen didn’t stop walking. “You should drink water instead.”

Becky bit her lip to hold back a laugh. “Ohhh, we’re just ignoring what just happened?”

Still no answer.

Becky stepped closer, nudging Freen’s shoulder. “Babe.”

Freen finally stopped, turning to her. Her gaze flickered over Becky’s face—checking, always checking.

“…Did she make you uncomfortable?” Freen asked, voice quiet but serious.

Becky blinked. “What? No. You know I don’t care about that kind of thing.”

Freen nodded, but the slight tension in her shoulders didn’t disappear.

Becky smiled. Then, without warning, she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Freen’s cheek.

Freen’s breath hitched, and finally, finally, some of the tension melted away.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Becky said, eyes dancing with amusement.

Freen sighed, looking away. “I’m not jealous.”

Becky grinned. “Sure. And I’m not the best football player on campus.”

Freen huffed a laugh, shaking her head as Becky tugged her closer.

She didn’t say it. Didn’t need to.

Because Becky knew.

And later that night, Becky would find out exactly how possessive her usually quiet girlfriend could be.

Becky watched Freen for a moment, noting the way her girlfriend’s lips were slightly pursed, the quiet tension still lingering in her eyes.

And Becky, ever the attentive, loving menace of a girlfriend, decided that just wouldn’t do.

So, with zero warning, she grabbed Freen’s hand again—this time, pulling her straight toward the dance floor.

Freen, caught off guard, barely had time to protest before Becky spun her around, hands settling on her waist.

“Becky,” Freen started, blinking. “I don’t really—”

“I know,” Becky interrupted, grinning. “But just this once? For me?”

Freen sighed—but it was a fond sigh, the kind that always meant Becky had already won.

The music was loud, but Becky wasn’t really listening to it.

She was focused on Freen, and only Freen.

One hand laced with hers, the other resting on her waist, Becky swayed them both to the rhythm, a lazy, easy movement that required no effort at all.

She leaned in, voice soft but firm.

“Just so we’re clear—you are the only one I ever see.”

Freen’s fingers tightened slightly around hers. Her gaze flickered up, just for a second, before dropping again.

Becky’s smile softened.

“I mean it, babe.” She pressed a lingering kiss to Freen’s temple, right there in the middle of the room, where everyone could see. “No one else. Ever.”

Freen exhaled, and just like that, whatever lingering tension was left vanished completely.

She didn’t say anything—but the way she leaned into Becky, resting her forehead lightly against her shoulder, said enough.

Emma and Alice, watching from the side, exchanged glances.

Alice, dryly: “Welp. Riley’s gonna need some ice for that burn.”
Emma, grinning: “And Freen’s about to combust from all that public affection.”

They weren’t wrong.

But Freen didn’t pull away.

Because right here, in Becky’s arms—she didn’t have to.

___

Becky woke up to a crisis.

Her football jersey—the one she’d thrown over her desk chair the night before—was gone.

She squinted around her room, checking the floor, her closet, under the bed, just in case the universe was messing with her.

Nothing.

Becky frowned.

Weird.

—

She arrived at campus, still wondering about the mysteriously missing jersey, when she spotted Freen.

And then—

Becky stopped in her tracks.

There, standing by the theater building, looking entirely unbothered and elegant, was Freen.

Wearing her jersey.

Becky’s football jersey.

The very one she had spent the last fifteen minutes searching for.

Tucked casually into a pleated skirt. Sleeves just a little too big. Looking like she owned the entire damn world.

Becky, grinning like an idiot, started walking over—but she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Jamie and Ted, who had been walking beside her, both nearly choked on their own spit.

Jamie: “Bro… is she wearing your jersey?”
Ted, absolutely stunned: “I didn’t know Freen was a flexer.”
Jamie: “I—I think I just ascended.”

Becky, utterly delighted, winked and shrugged. “Well, she is my girl.”

—

Meanwhile, Emma and Alice, who had just arrived, took one look and lost their collective minds.

Emma: “This is better than any goal I’ve ever seen you score.”
Alice, practically vibrating: “She basically just pissed on you to mark territory.”

Becky burst out laughing.

Across the courtyard, Riley noticed too.

Freen, ever the composed, soft-spoken menace, didn’t say a single word.

She just adjusted the jersey’s collar slightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—

On the other side of campus, Freen’s theater friends—Nam, Heng, Title, and Tor—were also losing their minds.

Nam, grinning: “Wow, Freen, I didn’t know you were the possessive type.”
Freen, softly but firmly, adjusting the sleeves: “It’s mine.”
Tor, whispering: “Scary.”

Becky, watching it all unfold, felt her heart do an actual backflip.

Oh, she was so in love with this girl.

Becky didn’t question it.

Didn’t ask why.

Didn’t hesitate.

She just smirked.

Then, with zero shame, she strode right up to where Freen was standing with her friends, wrapped an arm around her waist, and leaned in close.

Theater kids? Watching.

Football team? Watching.

Becky did not care.

She grinned, voice low and teasing.

"You could’ve just told me you were jealous, babe."

Freen, who had absolutely been caught red-handed, simply blinked up at her.

"I wasn’t."

Becky arched a brow.

"Oh? So you just decided to steal my jersey and wear it on campus the next day?"

Freen, calm as ever, looking Becky right in the eyes: "It looks better on me."

Becky, grinning like an idiot: "Damn right it does. My number never looked better."

For the first time all morning, Freen’s cool composure cracked just a little.

A light blush crept up her neck.

But—she held her ground.

"Good." She tugged at the jersey slightly, voice soft but firm. "Because I’m keeping it."

Becky’s smirk deepened.

She leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make Freen’s breath hitch.

"Only if you wear it for me again later."

—

Their friends? Absolutely disgusted.

Emma: "BOOOOO. GET A ROOM."
Alice: "We get it, you’re in love. Damn."
Jamie: "I didn’t sign up for this level of secondhand heart failure."
Ted: "Oh, she’s BLUSHING. WE GOT HER."

—

Freen, now a full-on blushing mess, turned away, tugging at the jersey as if it could hide her.

Becky? Still smirking like the absolute simp she was.

Because mission accomplished.

Freen had won the jersey battle.

But Becky?

Becky had won the war.

Becky hadn’t actually expected Freen to listen to her.

The teasing, the flirtatious murmur—"Only if you wear it for me again later."

It had been a joke.

A throwaway line.

But now—standing in Freen’s dorm room, jaw on the floor, brain short-circuiting—

It was very clear that Freen had, in fact, taken her words quite literally.

—

Because there she was.

Standing near her bed, wearing Becky’s jersey again—but this time—only the jersey.

Just Freen. In her jersey. Looking too damn good.

—

Becky froze in the doorway, gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Her thoughts? Gone. Erased.

Freen, feigning innocence, tilting her head slightly:
"You told me to wear it again."

Becky.exe has stopped working.

—

"Uh."

That’s all she managed.

Just one dumb, utterly useless sound.

Freen, biting back a smile, crossed her arms over her chest—over Becky’s number printed across the fabric.

"Do you not like it?"

Like it? LIKE IT?

Becky was on the verge of collapsing.

—

And then—as if she wasn’t already dying—

Freen, soft and smug, walked over to her.

Slowly.

Casually.

Like she wasn’t actively ruining Becky’s entire existence right now.

—

Becky’s hand shot up, gripping the back of her own neck, looking anywhere but at Freen’s bare legs, or the way the jersey was just slightly oversized, or—

"I– uh— I mean— yeah. Yeah, I like it."

Freen hummed.

Then—the final kill shot.

She reached for Becky’s hand, laced their fingers together, and tugged her just slightly closer.

Just enough that Becky had to look at her.

Freen’s voice? Quiet. Certain. Dangerous.

"Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

—

Becky DIED.

DEAD. GAME OVER.

Murdered by her tiny, soft-spoken, theater-kid girlfriend who had secretly been a menace this entire time.

—

From the bed, Freen’s cat blinked up at Becky as if sensing the exact moment she lost her soul.

Meanwhile, Becky was fully gripping the front of Freen’s jersey, forehead pressed against her girlfriend’s shoulder, groaning like she was in physical pain.

"You're going to kill me one day."

Freen? Smiling.

"Not today."

___

Next game day.

The energy was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement as Becky stepped onto the field in a fresh, new jersey.

She hadn’t wanted to replace the old one. But, well… Freen had claimed it. And Becky wasn’t about to fight her girlfriend for it.

(Especially not after last night.)

—

She rolled her shoulders, exhaling as the announcer called her name. The crowd roared.

And then—just as she jogged onto the field—something caught her eye.

Or someone.

—

Freen.

Sitting in the stands, cool, composed, and completely unbothered.

And on her?

Becky’s original jersey.

—

Becky stumbled.

For half a second, she actually forgot how to walk.

Because, holy sh—

She really did it.

Freen really showed up to Becky’s game in her damn jersey.

In front of the entire campus.

—

The reaction was instant.

Emma, Alice, Jamie, and Ted? LOUD. OBNOXIOUS. INSUFFERABLE.

Emma: "OH MY GOD."
Alice: "SHE CAME IN YOUR JERSEY. I CAN’T BREATHE."
Jamie: "THIS IS BETTER THAN ANY ROMANCE MOVIE I’VE EVER SEEN."
Ted: "YOU’RE ACTUALLY MARRIED."

—

Meanwhile, Riley—the flirty teammate who had spent way too much time pretending Becky was single—saw it too.

And finally, finally got the damn memo.

Freen didn’t even look at her.

She simply adjusted the jersey’s sleeves—as if making a statement.

She wasn’t just wearing it.

She was owning it.

—

Becky, still standing on the field, grinning like a damn fool.

And then, because of course she did, she pointed directly at Freen, sent a few flying kisses her way, and mouthed—

"For you, babe."

—

The entire stadium lost it.

People actually screamed.

Emma and Alice? Clinically insane.
Jamie and Ted? Trying not to pass out.

And Freen?

Sitting there, smug as hell, just giving Becky that soft, small smile—like she hadn’t just made Becky the most whipped person on the planet.

—

And as the whistle blew and the game started, Becky only had one thought.

She wasn’t just playing for a win today.

She was playing for her girl.

And damn if that wasn’t the best reason of all.

—

The End.