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justlookfrightened · 2 months ago

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'I Wanna Be Like You'

Filling a prompt from @goddess47: A new rookie has broken one of Jack's rookie records and Jack finds he's really upset; Bitty offers comfort.

The puck thwacked against the tape on Jack’s stick just as he drew it back, and Jack fired it toward the net in one motion, sending the frozen rubber disc sailing over the goalie’s right shoulder and into the back of the net.

In an instant, Willie was embracing him against the boards while Poots and Connie skated in to join the celebration.

Hold on for another thirty seconds, and the game would be theirs.

Sure, it was a meaningless game at the end of another lost season, at least for the Falconers. The best that could be said about it was that the team was playing spoiler, ruining the Blue Jackets bid for the last playoff spot in the east.

Well. They wouldn’t have beaten Carolina in Round One anyway.

The buzzer sounded and Jack started to join the team as they filed down the tunnel towards the dressing room, stopping when one of the broadcast producers plucked at the sleeve of his sweater.

“Number two star,” the producer said.

Jack nodded, waited for Montblanc, the goalie, to take his turn and salute the crowd as number three star, then skated out and raised his stick to the Providence crowd’s cheers.

Willie, who had scored the first goal and gotten the primary assist on the third — Jack’s goal — was waiting to go out as first star.

“You mind waiting here a minute?” the producer asked as Jack tried again to go to the dressing room.

He was tired, his shoulder hurt and his gear was starting to feel uncomfortably clammy. He didn’t know why they would want him for the post-game on-ice interview; that was the first star’s job, although sometimes it got passed to the second star if the first one was new to North America and wasn’t comfortable speaking in English.

That wasn’t the case for Willie, though. Matty Wilson had been drafted by the Falconers in the first round last summer, a product of Minnesota who had moved to Canada in high school to play major juniors. He wasn’t huge for a hockey player, but he was compact and strong, with a powerful first step and a cannon of a shot. He also had the good looks and winning personality that meant he was likely to be the next face of the Falconers.

That was fine with Jack. A decade into an NHL career that he had thought wouldn’t happen at all, Jack was ready to pass the torch. And Willie had had a good season. A great season for a rookie.

Valerie, the broadcaster who did the rink-side interviews, positioned herself between Willie and Jack at the boards.

“Congratulations, Matty!” she said. “With your goal and assist tonight, you have 65 points for the season, a new record for a Falconers rookie.”

“Thanks,” Willie beamed. “It’s been a great season, and I’ve learned so much and developed so much more as a player.”

“Do you know who set the previous rookie scoring record for the Falconers?” Valerie asked, turning to Jack.

Because of course. Jack had set the previous rookie record, at 64 points.

Valerie explained that in case anyone in the arena had missed the point, while Jack offered congratulations to Willie.

He meant his congratulations. It was a huge accomplishment, something that wouldn’t have happened without Willie playing almost every game of the season, without him playing serious minutes in those games, without him becoming a very real scoring threat nearly every shift.

Almost like Jack, who had eclipsed his rookie point total five times in the last 10 years, but not this year.

Willie thanked Jack, and went on to say, “It’s a real honor to be mentioned with Jack, let alone play on the same line. I can only hope to have a career like his.”

Then they were headed down the tunnel side by side, Jack working to make sure he didn’t have a sour expression on his face.

Bitty was still up when Jack let himself in the back door of the house they’d bought three years ago. That was when Jack had signed his last contract, the one with the no-movement clause, and he and Bitty had agreed it was time to think about raising a family. No kids yet, but Bitty adored the dog they’d adopted two weeks after moving in.

The house wasn’t far from downtown Providence, but it was on a big enough lot for Bitty to have a large garden with room left over for an eventual play structure, and, maybe someday, a tiny rink in the winter. Bitty loved it because it backed up to the water, and the kitchen had marvelous natural light for taping his cooking segments.

Jack liked it because he could go out on the back deck at night, and it was magnificently quiet.

“Nice goal in the third,” Bitty said, looking up from his laptop on the kitchen table. “Protein shake is in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, letting one word serve as answer for both things Bitty told him. “Puck go out yet?”

Puck lifted his head from the rug in front of the sink when he heard his name.

“Not yet,” Bitty said.

“Come on, chiot,” Jack said, still carrying the tumbler with his shake.

He stood on the deck while Puck sniffed around the yard, watched the dog’s ears prick forward when a rabbit passed by on the far side of the fence, gazed out at the bay. This was better, right? Better than being a rookie, wondering how his career would turn out? He had a home, and a husband (and a dog) who loved him, they were planning to raise a kid or two or three together, his name was on the Stanley Cup twice … this was better.

Better than having his whole life ahead of him? Better than having his face on all the billboards and the sides of buses. Well, yes, for that part. Even though he was still on some billboards.

Some things were worse. The way his shoulder hurt after a hard game. The ache he was starting to feel in his hips every day when he got out of bed. How intentional he had to be to recover from one game and be ready for the next.

“Jack?”

He hadn’t heard Bitty come out behind him. Jack looked over to see his husband wrapped in old oversized hoodie, wearing flannel pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, carrying a steaming mug of what smelled like chamomile.

“You okay?” Bitty asked. “Puck should be ready to come in by now.”

“Ouais,” Jack said. He sighed and looked up at the sky, imagining the stars he knew were there from the nights he had spent at the family cabin in Nova Scotia. “Sorry. Just … thinking.”

“About what?” Bitty said, coming to stand right next to Jack, so that when Jack lifted his arm it settled naturally around Bitty’s shoulders, pulling him even more closely to Jack’s side.

“Willie. Matty Wilson. He broke the Falconers rookie scoring record tonight.”

“I saw,” Bitty said. “Is that what’s got you down, that he broke your record?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Jack said.

“No, sweet pea, I didn’t mean —”

“No, I know you didn’t,” Jack said. “It’s just, it’s not the record, really. Records are made to be broken. It’s a cliche, but it’s true. I didn’t expect it to last forever.”

“But you didn’t expect to score the goal that let someone break it?”

“I didn’t even know,” Jack said, with a little huff. “I’m his captain. I should have known. I mean, I knew he was having a great season, I knew he was close, but … maybe I didn’t want to know? I didn’t know when I set my record.”

“That’s because the previous record was like, forty points or something,” Bitty said. “You didn’t break that record, you obliterated it.”

“And we had so much success early on,” Jack said. “Then these last few years have been tough. I wanted to stay around until the team gets better again, until we have a chance … but I don’t know if I can. Did you hear him, Bits? Saying that he hopes he has a career like I’ve had? Like it’s over?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually say that,” Bitty said.

“Maybe not,” Jack acquiesced. “But the implication was there.”

Bitty hummed a noncommittal response.

“I guess I was just remembering what it was like, back when I was a rookie,” Jack said. “I was so worried about everything. I thought I’d ruined everything and would never play in the league, but I did … and I was afraid I’d ruin it again and there would be no more chances.

“And we were new, too, you and me — really, maybe not the best idea for either of us, timing wise, but we made it work,” Jack said.

“That we did,” Bitty said, nuzzling a little into Jack’s shoulder.

“Once we got to the end of the season, and made the playoffs, it felt like — like anything was possible,” Jack said. “And once I retire, it won’t be anymore.”

“No,” Bitty said. “It won’t. Every choice you make — every choice everyone makes — closes off other choices. We bought this house, not the one in Warwick. I went to Samwell, not Georgia. Sometimes we miss out on things just because we got older, or because things don’t go our way. I hate to have to admit this, Jack, but I will never be an Olympic figure skater. And you will never be an NCAA hockey champion. Even though you deserved that so much more than me.”

“You deserved it,” Jack protested.

“I’m not saying I didn’t.” Bitty answered. “But you did too, more than I did. … I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Just that, no one gets everything they want, and I don’t think anyone’s life is really easy, not when you know them well enough to really know. But I hope you don’t have too many regrets. Not about your career, at least.”

“No,” Jack said. “Not about my career. Not about us, or our life, either. I could never have imagined this when I was growing up. It’s just — I got jealous, I think. I got jealous, because Willie still has everything ahead of him, and that feeling that everything is possible. And I remember how exhilarating that was, and how scary. Why did I waste my time being scared? Why didn’t I enjoy it more?”

Jack felt Bitty shrug.

“Because it is scary, when you don’t know how it all turns out,” he said. “People forget that part. Somebody saying they want to be like you — that’s a compliment, Jack. Take the win.”

“I guess,” Jack said. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

He turned to kiss the side of Bitty’s head briefly.

“And I know I got lucky,” he said, before releasing his husband and calling the dog, who had been sniffing at the bottom of the fence in hopes of finding another rabbit.

“And I know one more thing,” Jack added, as the three of them turned towards the door. “Willie won’t get to win a Stanley Cup his first year. I guess I’ll always have that.”

Bitty shook his head as Jack waited for him to enter the kitchen first.

“That’s the spirit,” Bitty said. “Is there anything you won’t turn into a competition?

#omg check please #zimbits #omgcp #my fic #prompt fill

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mrspasser · 7 months ago

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The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled.

The things he does for his pack��

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play.

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past.

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans.

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?”

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?”

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!”

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over.

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll.

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.”

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates.

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.”

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.”

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?”

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?”

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate.

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.”

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.”

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!”

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet.

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly.

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft.

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat.

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!”

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.”

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!”

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked.

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!”

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny.

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon.

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure.

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes.

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?”

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him.

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.”

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment.

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy.

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner.

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg.

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that.

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ]

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.

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doudouneverte · 1 year ago

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Love your fics and would you do one for Laura feirsinger something fluffy. ( Only if you write for her)

a/n: i wanted to write something for Feiersinger for a while so I'm more than happy with that request

"Say it"

Pairing: Laura Feiersinger x AUSTRIAWNT!Reader

Summary: you just want to hear two words

Type: Fluff

Warning: nothing

word count: 1893

translation: Ich liebe dich/Je t'aime/Ti amo = I love you

-------

You and Laura knew each other from as far as you can remember. First, you played together at Bayern Munich before she left for Sand, and you left to play two seasons for Lyon before coming back to Munich. Your relationship had always been special; you were practically a couple even before she asked you out formally. But it was only a few months before her big move to Frankfurt that she found the courage to do it.

Since then, a lot of things have happened. You joined her in her new club and had to leave your commun best friend, Sarah Zadrazil, behind. And more importantly, you were officially engaged. But unfortunately, your fiancé signed a new contract with AS Roma in Italy, which meant you would spend almost the whole season missing her.

Fortunately for both of you, you were playing for the same national team, and with the new National League came a new national camp. And that was where you were today. The girls just arrived at the hotel when you were already looking for your fiancé. Since her transfer, there was something she never told you, and you needed to hear it now.

As expected by all your teammates, when you and Laura spotted each other, you didn't leave each other. It was not a secret to everyone how close you were, and some of them were used to making fun of it at first, but now it has become something usual.

"Where is Laura?" Barbara asked when she spotted a group of girls talking in Manu's room.

"With Y/n. Like always." The goalie replied.

"Why do I feel stupid to ask that?" The midfielder asked before walking to your room. She was about to knock, but she stopped when she heard something unusual.

"Oh, come on, babe, I know you can say it. It's been like, what? Six weeks since you started to train with them, I'm sure you can tell me now." You said while you were unpacking your stuff.

"We already talked about it, Y/n. I don't know if I'm ready for that." She replied.

"Bullshit." You said before throwing yourself on the bed and dragging the Roma's player with you. "We both know that I'll find it." You said before gently kissing her.

"Yeah, but let me time to prepare myself before."

"Okay, no pressure." You engulfed your body in her tiny ones, sharing as much warmth as you could. "I missed you." You confessed.

"And I missed you too. Now come on, let's get ready, or the girls will start to worry." She instructed you.

"Okay, but just five more minutes." Even if she knew she had to complain, she couldn't when she saw you so vulnerable.

On the other side of the door, your Frankfurt teammate was already not here. The midfielder rushed to her previous destination a few seconds earlier.

"Girls, I think we have a problem." She said bursting the door open.

"Don't you know how to know on a door?" Sarah Puntigam said after everyone was thrilled by the midfielder's antics.

"Sorry, not sorry, but we have a bigger problem than a fucking door." Barbara said.

"Don't swear in front of the kids." Sarah Z said covering Katharina's ears what made everyone laugh.

"Sorry, but yeah, I was saying that I think Laura and Y/n are breaking up." The new froze everyone and everything in the room for a few seconds.

"WHAT?" All the players yelled.

"Shh, keep it low." Barbara instructed them.

"How do you want us to keep it low when you announce something like that?" Sarah P said, gaining a nod from all her teammates. "And how did you get that information?"

"I may have or haven't heard their conversation when I was going to

see Laura." She explained.

"WHAT?" Everyone yelled again.

"You know how much Y/n hate when someone tries to invade her privacy, and it's even worse when it involves her and Laura." Manu reminded her.

"I know, but it's not like I wanted to listen on purpose. I will apologize later. Now can we talk about the main subject?"

"Oh, what are you talking about? I want to be in." You said, appearing behind your teammate. The room froze for a moment. You felt all eyes on you and started to feel a little confused. "Uh, are we interrupting something?" You asked.

"Nothing; we were just wondering where you were, right, girls?" Sarah P said trying to convince you and your fiancé. When you heard all the girls agreeing, you found it suspicious, but you were not going to question it, at least not now.

"Anyway, coach wants us in the meeting room in five minutes." Laura said, and after that, you both left to the room mentioned.

"I don't know about you, but they didn't seem to be near to break up for me." Kat said.

"I totally agree with you, but maybe they don't want to make us worry." Barbara proposed.

"Maybe, but right now the coach wants to see us, so let's go." Sarah Z said before leaving the room, quickly followed by the rest of the team.

In the room, the girls were a little shocked to see an empty seat between yours and Laura's. Even if they didn't question it, some glances were not discreet, and some whispers could be heard. The Bayern midfielder took her seat between the two of you while Barbara could finally talk with your fiancé.

At the end of the meeting, you were one of the first to leave the room. But you were quickly stopped by your ex-teammate.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sarah asked you.

"Uhh...yeah." You replied.

"Where are you going?"

You paused a little. "Restroom."

"Oh, okay, sorry. I'll not restrain you more." She said a little nervous, making you chuckle.

"Yep, I'll be back soon; don't worry." With that, you just walked away.

What should have been a little weird thing for your teammates became something more when the next day Laura decided to train with her best friend letting you with Kathy. You both didn't notice, but a lot of confused looks were exchanged between the entire team.

At the end of the training the Roma's player was leaving with her best friend when she heard you calling her name. She quickly glanced at you before quickly running away from you, forcing you to chase her.

"Okay, that's weird." Sarah P started.

"The most weird thing was that they were both smiling." Manu continued.

"Maybe Barbara was right." Viktoria finished.

"No, that's impossible. We all know how much they love each other; they can't just break up and keep the facade in front of us. We need to start an investigation." Sarah Z proposed, and everybody agreed.

A few hours later, you were watching a movie with all the team in your room. There was a good atmosphere, and everybody was enjoying the moment until your phone buzzed. You excused yourself and left the room to answer. In less than five minutes, you were back in the room and found your spot next to the tiny midfielder.

"Who was that?" Laura asked you quietly to not bother everyone.

"Oh, it was just Laura who wanted my advice for something." You replied, and your fiancé just nodded before she placed her head against your shoulder.

The next morning, the girls were planning a real plan to do everything they could to not let their favorite couple break apart when they heard someone run to them.

"Girls, please help me." Laura begged with an amused expression. The team didn't have time to process everything until you reached them.

"Okay, you know what? Let's do that in another way." You took a moment to think before you started again. "Okay, in English."

The entire team was looking at both of you very confusedly.

"Okay. 3...2...1... I love you!" You both said at the same time. The girls were more confused, but you didn't give them time to question anything before you started again. "Now, in Deutsch. 3...2...1... Ich liebe dich." You said again at the same time.

"What's happening here?" Barbara asked.

"Just a minute. Let me finish that." You return your focus to the tiny midfielder. "Now... Je t'aime." You saw her blush, which made you grin. "And?" There was a little silence; all the attention was now on Laura.

"Ti amo." She mumbled, but your face showed her that you didn't understand. She took a breath and focused her gaze on yours: "Ti. Amo. Is this okay now?"

Instead of replying, you hugged her and crashed your lips against hers. "More than okay." You said with the biggest smile you could ever put on your face right now.

"Okay, what's happening now? I thought you were about to break up. Why are you so lovey-dovey right now?" Manu asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, very surprised by her sentence.

"I heard you two talk the first day of the camp, and I thought that you were about to break up because she didn't want to do something or something like that." Barbara confessed.

"First, Barbara, you know that Y/n doesn't when you spy on her. Second, we never thought about breaking up; why could you ever think about it?" Laura explained.

"Wow, now we look stupid." Viktoria said.

"For your information, you always look stupid, like all of you." You said, making your fiancé laugh. "Except for Laura and Sarah Z, of course." You added.

"Okay, that's rude." Your captain said, "But can you explain what just happened?" Laura hid her face in your torso out of shame after remembering why you were both here.

"Oh, it's actually a funny story." You started. "You know that we have known each other since as far as I can remember. But we didn't always play together, so since I came back to Germany after my little trip to France, we decided to establish a rule in our relationship. Every time one of us has to play in another country, they have to learn the local language to say, I love you in this language." You explained.

"Why does that sound cute and dumb at the same time?" Viktoria whispered to your captain.

"Because it is, but she was the one who proposed that, and I can't refuse her anything, so here we are now." Laura defended you.

"But what does this have to do with your behavior from the start of the camp?" The Bayern Sarah asked.

"That's because she didn't want to say it. So I had to chase her everywhere to convince her to say it." You explained.

"I can't wait for the wedding. I would be personally offended if Y/n don't do something dumb like this on D-day. Manu said.

When the girls started to ask more questions, the coach called you for training. On your way to the pitch, you had your fingers intertwined with Laura's when she suddenly stopped making you look at her.

Fortunately for you, you didn't have to say anything because she didn't give you time to react before she kissed you. "Ti amo." She said before letting your hand go and running on the pitch.

"Wait, can we get married like today?" You asked while you ran after her.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #laura feiersinger #laura feiersinger x reader #austriawnt #austriawnt x reader #sarah zadrazil #sarah zadrazil x reader

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ugotcooneycrossed · 2 years ago

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you look so pretty (and i love this view)

clàudia pina x reader

w/c: ~700

based off this lovely request

a/n: I LOVE MY BABY PINA

send me more requests if yall have any😩

------------------------------------------------------------

There’s not many things in life that you love- truly love that is, I mean sure, there are definitely things- people that you love. You’re just not the type to show it.

Any team you’ve played on you’re always marked as the silent, stoic, deadly player. And it’s not a lie- you always have a scowl on your face when you play.

Football is one of your loves- because of course it is, it’s lasted longer than any relationship you’ve had; barring of course, your fat, fat crush on Clàudia.

You grew up together- you’ve been with each other through everything. You’ve watched each other grow into the players you are today. You’ve spent hours upon hours with her at the park- situated perfectly in your spots; you in goal, and her up front.

She’s joked before how you were meant to be- with her as a striker and you as a goalie.

Your favourite thing about being a goalie isn’t being able to make amazing saves- it’s not the honour of knowing that, after defenders, you’re the only thing standing between the other team and a goal.

Your real favourite part about being a goalie is? It’s getting to watch your team play- well, you’re only ever watching Clàudia anyway.

She plays majestically- and you love watching her. Even after running around- she still looks as beautiful as ever, and you love watching her.

You know your stoic demeanour breaks when it comes to her- you feel a smile tugging at your lips when she scores, and you thank your lucky stars the cameras always stay up with the girls when they celebrate- though Clàudia always looks towards you after she scores.

Her cheeky, bright smile- that takes up half her face beaming at you.

Even across the length of the field, when your view isn’t always the best, she always finds you.

The downside? You’re indeed across the entire field if something were to go wrong.

You watch it happen- and it’s like your world slows to a stop, as you watch the defender collide with Clàudia.

The sound echoes in the stadium and rings in your head- and without thinking, you take off. You run past Lucy and she tries to grab your arm- trying to hold you back but you manage to slip away.

You don’t even realise Clàudia is sitting up- getting helped to her feet, as your eyes have zeroed in on the player who took her down.

She has her back to you and you run up- shoving her to the ground, you can feel about four pairs of hands all pushing you away, one of the players even holding your jersey so you stay in place- you scoff.

Overlapped yelling increases as more people get involved, your team coming to your defence and the other team trying to get you booked, yet all you can focus on is if Clàudia is okay.

With the fray of players surrounding you- you shove them off, looking around frantically to find where Pina is. Your panic rises when you see the medics disappear into the change room, and with no sign of Clàudia you almost run after them.

Only when you feel a small squeeze to your hand do you breathe a sigh of relief.

Clàudia stands in front of you, a small bruise on her cheek but she still grins up at you.

You take off your gloves- gently cupping her face, you move it gently to inspect the bruise.

“Are you okay?”

She nods at you, and you smile back.

“Good.”

When you know your Clàudia is okay, you turn back to the ref- scowl fixed on your face, you don’t flinch when she shoves a yellow in your face and you pick your gloves back up, walking back to the goal.

Mapi waves to get your attention and when you look up at the defender she shouts at you from across the field.

“You can smile?!”

“Mapi shut up!”

Alexia elbows her in the ribs and smiles at you from a hunched over Mapi.

Clàudia- who looks much better, beams at you from beside them- and you send her just as bright of a smile back.

#clàudia pina x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso

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copper-16 · 1 year ago

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You Can't Talk No Sh*t Without Penalties (Misa Rodriguez x Marta Cardona)

A/N: I had a request to upload this on here from ao3 and thought why not...so here it is!

To the rest of the world, Misa is absolutely terrifying.

Marta doesn’t really get it.

Until suddenly, she gets it.

That one trope where the intimidating person is soft but only for the sunshiny person.

———

Marta was making her rounds after the first international friendly that Spain played when it happened. The team had won their first game of the break against Sweden, 2-1. Marta hadn’t played much, only the last twenty minutes of the game, but she made sure to make her way around the stadium as thoroughly as she could, trying to sign every jersey and take every picture asked of her by the fans.

She’s just reached a young girl, maybe around 10 or 11, who looks up at her with big, anxious eyes. She’s trying to say something to the winger, and Marta leans down so that she can hear the girl over the roar of the crowd.

“Uhm…could you…uh, well I was just hoping that…” The girl trails off, her face red and her nerves clear. Marta looks her over carefully, noticing the goalkeeper gloves in her hands. The winger looks up and back over at the group of her teammates standing on the sidelines, where the girl is looking.

The Real Madrid goalie is standing there speaking to Alexia and Irene, and Marta smiles without even really thinking about it or realizing it.

“Misa? Were you trying to get her attention?” Marta asks gently, her voice soft.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could call her over?” The girl asks bashfully, and Marta’s smile only grows, her eyebrows furrowing just slightly in confusion.

“Why don’t you call her over yourself?” Marta questioned, knowing that Misa was close enough to hear the girl if she had called her name out at a normal volume. The girl flushes, ducking her head for a moment before she answers.

“Well it’s just…she’s quite scary!” The girl stammers out, and Marta takes the opportunity to look the goalkeeper over. She was currently talking to Irene, and Marta supposes that objectively she could look a little bit intimidating. The Spaniard stood tall in the white goalkeeper kit she had on, her arms crossed over her chest as she appeared deep in discussion. Her lips were set in a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed in what some would perceive as a scowl, but Marta knew was simply the Spaniard conveying her focus. Her biceps bulged against the sleeves of her top as she shifted to the other foot, and Marta could feel a flush coming over her own cheeks as she averted her eyes, looking back to the girl as she swallowed roughly.

“She’s really not, I promise,” Marta conveyed, but she raised her arm and called for Misa regardless, wanting her to meet the sweet young girl.

Misa had been in the middle of an intense discussion with Irene about the La Liga strike when she heard her name, and suddenly, just like that, her attention was shifted to the call that she knew had come from Marta. The goalkeeper's head immediately swiveled to find her, her conversation with Irene completely forgotten. Irene rolled her eyes as a smile spread on Misa’s face, her whole expression softening at the sight of the winger, who was looking at her with an open expression, clearly trying to call Misa over.

All of the girls knew better than to try to hold Misa’s attention whenever Marta was around. The brunette had a unique ability to melt the usually terrifying and harsh Misa down into someone of incredible softness.

It was almost sickening, considering that neither one seemed to get the hint that they were both in love with the other, instead doing this strange dance around one another where neither admitted their true feelings.

“Sorry, I just–” Misa stammered out, a half excuse on her lips as she’s already moving toward the brunette, but Irene just shooed her away and toward the shorter woman, knowing that she had lost the Spaniard’s attention the minute Marta opened her mouth.

Misa made her way over to Marta quickly, her heart squeezing when she saw that the winger was speaking to a young girl, who was looking between Marta and Misa with a nervous expression.

Marta smiled at the goalkeeper as she drew near, and Misa knew she should be looking at the young fan but she really only had eyes for the brunette. She would give anything to just stare at Marta for hours and have it be considered societally appropriate, to memorize the curve of her jaw and the lift of her cheekbones, every fleck of green in her hazel eyes, every freckle that dusted over her face.

But Marta wasn’t hers, and the brunette had never shown Misa in any way that she had interest in being more than friends, so the goalkeeper pined after her silently, and (if you were to ask her teammates), quite obviously.

“Yes?” Misa answers softly, finally forcing her eyes away from Marta and to the young girl she’s with.

“This is Anna, she’s 10 and from Malaga,” Marta explained, and the little girl, Anna, nodded carefully as she listened to the brunette’s words, looking back at Misa with hopeful eyes.

Misa smiled at the kindness in Marta’s words, nodding along as she looked between the two.

“Well it’s lovely to meet you Anna,” Misa exclaimed, delighting in the way that the little girl smiled brightly back at her, clearly thrilled at Misa’s words.

“It’s really nice to meet you too! I was wondering if you could maybe sign my gloves?” Anna asked, holding up the little goalie gloves she had, along with a pen. Misa happily took them, signing them with her loopy signature before she looked behind the girl, to see her mother watching the interaction with a smile.

“How about a picture too?” Misa suggested, and the girl’s mouth dropped open, surprise taking over her whole face.

“Really?” She asked, awe in her voice and Misa nodded once, letting the girl turn and wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

Once the picture had been taken and they had said goodbye, Misa walked back toward the group shoulder to shoulder with Marta. The winger shook her head slightly, looking over at Misa with a grin on her face.

“You’re always so sweet with the kids,” Marta commented, and Misa had to fight to keep a stupidly big smile off her face at the compliment. She shakes her head slightly, looking over at Marta, her smile full of mirth.

“I’m nothing like you. You’d make time for every person in here if they asked,” Misa acknowledged, her heart skipping a beat at the blush that twinged Marta’s ear as the goalkeeper looked down at her. The winger knocked her shoulder into Misa's arm affectionately, and the Spaniard blushed at the action, a light flush covering her cheeks.

Irene and Esther watched the exchange with unimpressed expressions painted across their respective faces.

“I’m giving it a month,” Esther announced suddenly, and Irene scoffed beside her.

“Please, a month? At this rate I’m giving it a week,” Irene exclaimed with an eye roll, and Esther couldn’t help but laugh as she headed for the tunnel to go shower and change.

—

Marta walked out of the locker room alone, after Misa got called away to discuss something with the trainer. She fell into step with Lola, who waited for her teammate so they could head to the bus together.

“This little girl I talked to today was so scared of Misa she made me call her over for her! Isn’t that crazy?” Marta observed with a laugh, and Lola looked over at her with a brow raised, clearly confused at Marta’s words.

“Marta, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Misa is objectively quite an intimidating person. To people who don’t know her she’s definitely scary,” Lola explained gently, but Marta looked over at the goalkeeper with clear confusion on her face.

“What are you talking about? It’s Misa, she’s not like that at all!” Marta exclaimed, but her teammate just let out a chuckle at the pure cluelessness that Marta had.

“Marta, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re the only one she’s like that around. You’re the only one that she lets drag her around to fans or who talks her into stuff she doesn’t want to do. You’re the only one who can calm her down when she gets really upset, you are the one she wants to be close to all of the time. She’s not like that with anyone else,” Lola pointed out, and Marta was completely dumbfounded that the goalkeeper told her exactly what she had wanted to hear, in such concrete terms. The winger is quiet for a moment, opening and closing her mouth several times before she finally speaks.

“I…why do you think she’s like that?” Marta asks with carefully constructed uncertainty, almost afraid that Lola won’t answer in the way that Marta thinks she will.

She just needs one person to say it. One person to point it out to her, for her to maybe believe what she so hopes is true. Lola groans next to her, slapping a hand over her face with frustration.

“Marta,” Lola groans, and suddenly like an arrow it hits the brunette straight in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs.

“Oh…OH,” Marta stutters after a second, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline when she realizes that Lola means exactly what she thinks Lola means.

“Yeah…” Lola replies, and she can’t help but feel slightly relieved that Marta finally sees what’s right in front of her face this whole damn time. “Do you think you might feel the same?”

Marta thinks about Lola’s question for a second before she answers, her voice holding more uncertainty than anything else. She doesn’t want to answer completely honestly, give anyone more of a reason to tease her than necessary.

Yes.

“I don’t…maybe? I’m not sure, I hadn’t really thought about it,” Marta lies, and Lola seems to accept the answer easily, not pressing the issue further.

When Marta finally tucks herself into bed later that night, her mind is filled with nothing except for Misa. She had known that she liked Misa months ago, and for months she’s simply sat on that information, never planning to act on it.

It had never occurred to her that perhaps Misa felt exactly the same way that she did about her.

Marta isn’t really sure what to do with that information, so she decides to do what she does best, and investigate this potential hypothesis.

—

Marta wakes up the next morning with a mission.

She has one thing on the agenda (aside from the very real, actual things she has for her camp schedule).

And that one thing: watch Misa and see if Lola is telling the truth. Not that Marta inherently thinks her friend is lying, quite the contrary really, but she just isn’t sure.

She’s curious, that’s all. And she isn’t about to walk up to Misa and profess her feelings for the goalkeeper with absolutely no concrete evidence that the goalkeeper at least might feel the same way.

So she walks into the locker room with her head on a swivel, looking for the Spaniard as soon as she walks in the door. And luckily for her, Misa looks up to nod her greeting to Mapi, who had walked in before her, before she sees Marta, and a smile breaks onto the goalkeeper's face as she greets the brunette.

“Morning!” Misa calls cheerfully, and Marta can’t help but reply with her own smile, her heart surging at the difference in greeting from her to Mapi.

Hm…strike one, Marta thinks, realizing that this was just the kind of thing she was looking for. It’s not enough on its own, but perhaps if there are other signs, she can really be sure.

And as they’re getting ready, Marta realizes the more she watches Misa, the more she understands how the goalkeeper could be perceived as scary. She doesn’t speak a lot, her resting face isn’t exactly one filled with kindness, and while she’s not exactly the tallest person in the world, her height combined with the sheer amount of muscle mass she holds makes her very presence more intimidating than most.

Marta looks down at her lithe, short body and then back up at Misa, swallowing as she realizes just how much she dwarfs the goalkeeper, both in muscle and size, considering that Misa is a good half foot taller than she is.

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, all but running out of the room and heading for the film room, which is where the team will start their day.

The winger is one of the first in the room, and she settles in a chair near the middle, waiting for her teammates to file in. Everyone walks in, taking their usual spots. Alexia is sat up front with Jenni, the couple looking at one another with sickeningly in love expressions, while Aitana and Ona both head for the back, and still the winger waits for Misa to come in.

The goalkeeper trails in after Sandra, her eyes already gazing around the room, clearly looking for someone. When she spots Marta her face softens into a half-smile, and she quickly steps over to sit down next to the winger, who is looking at her with big eyes.

“Hey, did I miss anything?” Misa asks quietly before she actually looks over at the brunette, and she takes in her surprised expression. “Everything okay?” Misa asks, her eyebrows furrowing together in clear concern.

“Fine!” Marta squeaks, and Misa’s eyes narrow at the high pitch of her friend’s tone, but she chooses not to comment on it as Marta’s eyes almost plead with her not to.

“Totally fine…cool, great, good, yeah,” Marta continues, the words simply tumbling out of her mouth with little thought behind them. Misa looks the winger up and down with a raised brow before she nods slowly, letting Marta get away with her strange response.

As they turn toward the front to start the film session, Marta only has one thought pinging through her mind.

Strike two.

—

Strike three happens when they all least expect it to.

Honestly Marta wasn’t even looking for a third strike, she was simply sitting with the information that there might be a chance her feelings aren’t as unrequited as she had always assumed that they were.

The team had gone out to scrimmage at the end of practice after doing some light strength training. It had taken everything in Marta to not stare at Misa as she lifted with the other goalkeepers, but if she had taken the time to at least look in the Spaniard’s direction she would have found a pair of russet brown eyes intently on her the majority of the time.

But she didn’t, and still Misa didn’t say a thing, and instead they all headed out to scrimmage.

Misa wasn’t even playing when it happened. She was on the sidelines watching the teams, with Sandra in goal for one and Lola in goal for the other. Marta was on Sandra’s team, playing up front with Aitana and Lucia.

The brunette had just gotten the ball from Alexia when it happened. She shifts her body around to turn toward the goal, but not fast enough. Not fast enough to register that Athenea is going in for a tackle, and an incredibly poorly timed one at that.

And just like that the winger is down on the ground, the ball completely forgotten as she clutches at her ankle hopelessly, a yelp of pain escaping her lips at the crunching tackle.

She can do nothing but breathe for a second as the pain shoots up and through her leg, and she tries to catch the breath she had lost in the fall. She can feel someone crouch beside her, but she can’t quite tell who it is.

“Marta? Marta, tell me where it hurts.”

The winger recognizes that voice. She can’t reply, the words won’t leave her throat, but she does manage to tip herself over, falling to the side and looking up at Misa. Misa, who had been on the opposite side of the pitch from her just a second ago. The goalkeeper is at her side, looking down at the winger with panic in her eyes, her hands on the brunette’s arm and side.

“Ankle,” Marta manages to huff out, and Misa’s eyes widen as she looks down at the appendage, before she looks back up at the winger’s eyes, clocking the tear that had begun to gently fall down her cheek.

Misa brings one of her hands up to cradle Marta’s cheek, brushing the lone tear away before she leaned back, straightening herself slightly and calling out for the medic.

“Misa…” Marta cries gently, and suddenly the goalkeeper goes from looking absolutely lethal to the gentle person that Marta knew her to be, her whole face softened into one of concern as she looks the winger up and down once more, her hands placed steadily and comfortingly at Marta’s side. The winger tries to focus on the warmth radiating from Misa’s hand, the scent of vanilla from Misa’s perfume rather than the pain in her ankle.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. You’re gonna be fine,” Misa promises, and Marta nods as she shoves the tears away. The pain is starting to fade from her ankle, and she moves to sit up, an action that Misa is quick to support, her hand comfortingly on the brunette’s back as she watches her closely.

“Sorry, can you move out of the way?” One of the medics asks Misa as they run over to help Marta, and the look on the Spaniard’s face can only be described as murderous at the audacity of this person to ask her to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Misa growled, and Marta can’t help the slight surprise she feels at hearing Misa’s tone, low and threatening. The medic cowers back slightly, clearly more than a little afraid of the woman.

“No…I mean I just…uh we need…space to work and all,” the medic stammers out, and Marta places her hand on Misa’s knee with a tight smile.

“It’s okay Mi, let them work, it's alright,” Marta hums out as she tries to keep the pain out of her voice, and Misa’s eyes rove over the wingers face for a long moment before she nods, standing and moving out of the way, but only moving to stand behind the brunette and next to Esther, who has also been there since Marta went down.

“Yeah down girl!” Esther jokes from beside the goalkeeper, but she’s quickly silenced with a punishing look from the Spaniard.

“Sheesh, someone can’t take a joke today,” Esther mutters, but Misa hardly even hears her, too focused on Marta to care what anyone else said or thought.

Marta looks back up at Misa, at the way she’s looking over at Athenea, her arms crossed over her chest and a harsh expression on her face. It’s perhaps one of the first time’s she’s really registered the ‘intimidating’ person that Lola had referenced before. Even when they’d first met, Misa had never been anything but kind to Marta.

But now, with Misa standing over her like a guard dog, protecting her from what exactly, Marta isn’t really sure, but she might be starting to get the goalkeeper’s reputation.

She tries to ignore the fact that Misa’s scowl is insanely attractive, and the way she glances down at Marta every few seconds with a protective glint in her eyes makes the wingers heart stutter in her chest.

The medics rotate her ankle for a few minutes, but despite the initial sharp pain, the discomfort in her foot is subsiding quickly enough that Marta isn’t particularly concerned. She lets them work though, not wanting to brush it off too quickly and risk reinjury.

“Okay, it looks mostly okay, it’s probably just a sprain, but we want to take you back to the med room to check just in case,” the medic explained, and Marta nodded as she started to push herself to stand.

As if on cue, the goalkeeper who's been watching her like a hawk is there with her hand under Marta’s arm to support her. The winger isn’t entirely sure she even needs the help, but she’s not going to turn it down, not when it’s from Misa.

The Spaniard helps to wrap Marta’s arm over her shoulder before she loops her arm around the winger’s waist, helping her walk toward the med room.

And for once Marta, who is arguably one of the more chatty people on the team, is completely silent. Misa’s body is pressed up against hers, the warmth from her side seeping into Marta as they walk toward the room quietly, with Misa shouldering a fair amount of her weight.

“Are you sure you can walk?” Misa asks after they are off the field, and Marta’s stomach swirls with unhelpful but not entirely unwanted thoughts as she imagines Misa’s strong arms around her, carrying her somewhere…anywhere.

She shakes her head slightly, both as an answer and to ward off the thought.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine Misa, you should get back to practice,” Marta insisted, and despite everything screaming in her not to, she gently pushes the goalkeeper's body away from hers.

Misa looks down at her with nothing but concern and worry written in her expression, clearly not convinced.

“Are you sure? I can come with you–” Misa starts, but Marta interrupts her with a hand on her arm. The winger tries her absolute hardest to ignore the hard muscles of Misa’s bicep she can feel under her fingertips, the way that she can feel Misa relax under her touch.

“Mi, I’m okay, I promise,” Marta assures, and Misa’s eyes rove over the brunette’s face once more before she nods curtly, her jaw set in a tight line. She checks to make sure that the medics are next to Marta before she steps away, heading regrettably back toward the field. The goalkeeper only glances back once, her heart clenching at the sight of Marta slightly limping down the tunnel.

But Marta told her to go, and if there’s one thing Misa will do, it’s follow Marta’s instructions. So she returns to practice, even if her mind stays down the hallway, where half of her heart remains in the med room.

—

Misa is the second member of the team on the bus, having practically ran there after the medics had told her that Marta was already on the bus.

The winger is sitting in the middle of the bus, looking at something on her phone.

“Hey,” Misa announces her presence breathlessly, and Marta looks up at her with a wide smile, taking in the flushed cheeks and sloppy bun that sat atop the Spaniard’s head.

“Hey you,” Marta answered easily, patting the space next to her for Misa to join her, if she would like. The goalkeeper takes the offered spot, shifting to look Marta over wholly.

“How's your ankle?” Misa asks carefully, hoping only for good news. But Marta seems perfectly relaxed, picking up her foot and twirling it around carefully.

“It’s alright, I just twisted it a bit. I’ll do light work tomorrow and I should be back fully the day after next. Not as bad as it seems or felt on the field,” Marta explained, and Misa’s body relaxes next to her, a rush of gratitude flooding her chest that it’s not a more serious injury.

“That’s good, I’m really glad,” Misa replies happily, and Marta just smiles at her before turning back to her phone. Misa settles in next to her, and she ends up falling asleep by the time the bus leaves.

They’re only five minutes into their journey when Misa shifts in her sleep, her head tipping over to Marta’s shoulder as her body snuggles into the wingers smaller one. It’s amazing to Marta how the large goalie can make herself so small to tuck herself into Marta’s body, but she would never dare complain.

Strike three, Marta thinks as Misa’s nose brushes against her throat, sending a shiver down the winger’s back at the tiny gesture.

Marta carefully looks down to check that Misa is asleep before she unlocks her phone, opening her messages. She carefully types out a message to Lola before she presses send on it, despite the hesitance she feels.

Marta Cardona: Do you really think it’s possible that Misa likes me? As more than a friend?

Marta clocks movement from above her screen, and she looks up to see both Lola and Mapi rise out of their seats like cartoon characters they’re so in sync. The duo is sitting two rows in front of her, and they turned around in their seats to look back at her. The goalkeeper's expression is unimpressed, and she raises her eyebrow as though to say really? Mapi lets out a silent laugh when she looks over at Lola, rolling her eyes at the brunette for good measure.

The defender looks between Marta and Misa with big eyes, gesturing between the two of them. Marta rolls her eyes before she types out another message, pressing send more forcefully than she needs to.

Marta Cardona: Okay, okay, I get it! But seriously you two, I need you to tell me that I’m not just being delusional.

Lola Gallardo: You aren’t being delusional - Lola and Mapi <3

Marta Cardona: How are you so sure? Did she tell you?

Lola Gallardo: She didn’t have to. She talks about you all the time, she constantly seeks you out, and she looks at you like you single handedly make the sun come up each morning. You make her happy Marta, I can promise you that it’s you she wants. Nobody else.

Marta Cardona: Why hasn’t she ever said anything?

Lola Gallardo: I’m pretty positive that she’s not sure you feel the same way.

Marta Cardona: Oh…

Lola Gallardo: Nothing a single conversation can’t fix. Sooner rather than later please, because I might have to rip off my own ears if I have to listen to her pine after you one more time.

Marta Cardona: Oh can it Gallardo, we all know you’re ten times worse when you talk about Cristina.

Lola Gallardo: No comment.

Marta can’t help but let out a snort of laughter at the text, and Misa shifts under her but doesn’t wake up, instead simply pressing more into the brunette’s body. Marta snuggles down into the feeling, completely content to let the goalie sleep against her for the rest of the journey back to the hotel.

—

Marta stands outside of Misa’s hotel room, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot as she works up the courage to knock on the goalkeeper's door. She’s suddenly grateful they all have their own room this camp, because then she’d have to deal with not only her romantic declaration, but also getting Misa by herself to tell her said feelings.

Marta had been hyping herself up for the last hour to do this, and her stomach is nothing but twists of nervous knots. She knows that no matter what, whether this goes well or badly, at the end of the line this conversation will likely change their relationship.

She can only hope that it isn’t going to go horribly, because she isn’t sure she’d be able to handle the embarrassment of rejection in a graceful manner.

All she can think in her head is of the possibility for error here, all the possible ways that Misa could reject her. There seem to be a million different bad scenarios, the possibilities are really endless.

So despite the fact that she is standing here at Misa’s door, she can’t quite bring herself to lift her hand and knock, even though she knows that she needs to.

But she also knows that she can’t go back to her hotel room, back to this holding pattern that she and Misa have. Someone needs to address this, and apparently it isn’t going to be Misa.

The winger lifts her right arm, knocking sharply three times against the wood door before she steps back, letting out a rattling breath.

It takes just a few seconds before the door flies open, revealing Misa in the doorway of her hotel room. She has on shorts and a t-shirt, her hair still drawn up lazily in a bun atop her head, a few strands of hair coming loose, falling down and framing her face.

She looks down at Marta with a soft smile, her head cocked to the side in a silent question. She’s clearly more than a little surprised to see the winger on her doorstep later at night, though Marta could never possibly be unwelcome in her space.

“Hey,” Misa greeted, a half smile pulling at her lips as she watched the winger stand at her doorstep. Marta looked visibly nervous, and she swallowed roughly as she looked past Misa, over her shoulder and into the Spaniard’s room.

“Hey, could I come in?” Marta asks, and she’s hardly finished her sentence before Misa is nodding, stepping back to allow Marta to step past her and into the room.

The winger stands facing away from Misa for a moment, wringing her hands together before she turns back to Misa, who is still standing by the now closed door, her confusion evident in her expression.

“Everything okay?” Misa inquires softly, her concern clear in her tone. Marta softens at the words, and she’s opening her mouth to assure Misa that everything is fine.

Except, that isn’t what ends up coming out of her mouth.

“You’re a really scary person,” Marta blurts out, her own eyes widening when she realizes what she said, and Misa’s confusion grows at the winger’s words, her eyebrows furrowing further.

“Uh…thank you?” Misa answered, unsure of what Marta was really getting at. The goalkeeper was more than aware that some people found her intimidating, but she wasn’t sure what that had to do with Marta. Marta shook her head gently, cursing herself at having managed to fuck this up straight from the get go.

“No, no, that’s not what I mean…I mean you’re really scary, but not to me you aren’t. Like everyone else is really intimidated by you but I’ve never thought of you that way,” Marta explained, and Misa’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she nodded slowly, still not really following Marta’s train of thought.

“Oh…well that’s good. I don’t want you to think of me that way,” Misa replied slowly, and Marta wants to groan, because the goalkeeper is clearly not getting what she is saying.

“No Misa I’m trying to–I like you!” Marta huffs out, and Misa freezes, her whole body tensing as she stares at Marta.

“You…do?” Misa asks gently, and Marta nods, bringing her hand up to chew on her thumbnail nervously.

“Yeah, like…as more than just a friend…you know like in a uh…romantic way. And if you don’t feel the same way that’s fine but I just wanted you to know so that we were on the same page and well I didn’t want to just be dishonest about my feelings cause that isn’t fai–” Marta rambles, and Misa carefully cuts her off after a moment, her own cheeks twinged pink.

“I like you too,” Misa admits, and Marta’s rambling comes to an abrupt stop. The winger can do nothing but blink for a few seconds, not quite processing Misa’s words.

“You…you do?” Marta questions after a second, and Misa nods easily, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Oh…well that makes things a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Marta offers with a weak chuckle, and Misa’s head tips back in laughter at the clear surprise that is laced in the brunette’s tone.

“Did you expect me not to say that? Cause if so, I’ve done a bad job of making it incredibly clear that I’m a little obsessed with you,” Misa teased lightly.

“Just a little?” Marta volleyed back, and Misa could only smirk in response, delighting in the way that Marta’s face instantly flushed red, the winger ducking her head as she bit her lip.

Oh god, the things Misa would do to feel those lips on hers.

Marta looks back up at Misa after a second, at the distance between the two. She’s only a few paces into the room, but the goalkeeper is still standing back at the door, unmoving.

“Well…what should we do now?” Marta asks, swallowing roughly as Misa’s gaze roves over her, down her figure and back up again, her intent quite clear.

“I could think of a few things…” Misa drawls, and Marta’s lips quirk up in a smirk as she saunters forward, her steps agonizingly slow.

She walks right into Misa’s personal space, forcing the taller woman to step backward until her back hits the door, and she lets out a breath at the feeling. Misa’s eyes jump from the brunette’s eyes to her lips and back again, and Marta smiles as she presses up on her tiptoes.

She stops just before her lips are on Misa’s, close enough that their breath mingles, and when she speaks, her lips just barely brush against the goalkeepers, teasing.

“Oh really? And what would that be?” Marta asks, and just like that the last of Misa’s self restraint snaps at the brunette’s words, and the goalie crashes her lips against Marta’s.

Despite the fact that she knew she was egging Misa on, the brunette can’t help but gasp into the kiss, surprised by Misa’s eagerness.

Her lips are soft against Martas, and she tastes like peppermint chapstick and a hint of chocolate as she insistently presses her lips to the winger’s. Marta wraps her arms up and around Misa’s neck, pulling the goalkeeper into her even further.

Marta teases her tongue at the entrance of Misa’s mouth, and the goalkeeper is more than happy to allow her entrance, her throat making a desperate noise when Marta’s tongue swipes along the roof of her mouth.

Misa takes advantage of the fact that she has her hands at Marta’s hips, and she’s stepping forward and all but shoving the smaller brunette against the door with a huff. When she looks down, Marta is looking at her with hooded eyes and swollen lips and want buries itself deep in Misa’s pelvis, something hot and needy swirling around in her stomach.

Misa bends down just slightly, wrapping her arms wholly around Marta’s abdomen and lifting slightly. The winger understands her action almost as though she could hear Misa’s thoughts, wrapping her legs around Misa’s waist as the goalkeeper's arms anchor themselves on the brunette’s ass.

Marta has her arms still woven around Misa’s neck, and she brings her hand up to the bun sitting atop Misa’s head. Marta works her delicate, nimble fingers around the hair tie, removing it and smoothing Misa’s hair down with a smile on her lips.

The goalkeeper is struggling to control her breathing at the sight, and her breath hitches in her throat as Marta tugs at her scalp dully, anchoring herself in the dark strands of Misa’s hair as she reattaches her lips to Misa’s mouth.

Marta’s lips on hers are bruising and insistent, and their kisses have descended into something sloppy and hot and wonderful. A haze has settled over Misa, and all she feels is Marta around her, the feeling of the brunette in her arms. Marta weighs almost nothing, and suddenly all of those extra gym sessions feel as though they’ve paid off as the winger arches into the goalkeeper when Misa’s hands gently knead at her ass.

Marta’s head is thrown back slightly at the action as she lets out a whimper, and the creamy, soft skin of her neck is just staring Misa right in the eye. Misa can suddenly think of all the times that she found herself staring at Marta’s neck in the same exact way, whether it be during practice, or while they’re eating, or when they’re lifting.

The only difference is that now Misa can do something about it, and so she wastes absolutely no time in leaning forward to attach her lips to the delicate skin there. Her heart skips a beat at the soft, surprised whine that leaves Marta’s lips at the action, and she simply doubles down on her efforts.

Misa nips and sucks her way along Marta’s neck as she turns them around, heading blindly for the bed. She only pulls back when she feels the bedframe pressing against her knees, and she places a final open mouth kiss to the brunette’s rather sensitive neck before she carefully places her down on the bed, immediately coming to crawl up and over her.

The breath feels like it’s been stolen from Misa’s lungs as she looks at Marta, her hair fanned out on the pillow and looking up at the goalkeeper with hooded eyes, her pupils blown and a damn smirk across her lips.

Misa can’t help but crash her lips back against Marta’s, relishing in the way that suddenly Marta’s hands are everywhere. The brunette runs her hands over the goalkeeper's broad shoulders, then down her front, before she slips them under the taller woman’s shirt, running them up along Misa’s abs. The goalkeeper sucks in a breath at the feeling, her body shuddering more involuntarily than anything, and she can feel how Marta smiles into the kiss as a result.

Misa simply leans back, ripping her shirt up and off of herself as Marta leans up to do the same. Neither of the women are wearing a bra, and for a second Misa can only stare at the winger’s body, nothing in her brain except for how insanely attractive the winger is. Marta might be tiny compared to her, but that didn’t mean that the brunette was any less fit, her body lithe and completely toned.

Misa is so distracted by the line of muscles that are littered down the curves of Marta’s body that she doesn’t realize what is happening until she’s on her back, the winger looking down at her with a smirk after she had flipped them.

Marta leans in slowly, until her lips are resting gently on the shell of Misa’s ear, their chests pressed together.

“Much better,” Marta husks, and Misa’s back arches into the brunette’s chest as she lets out a groan, one that has Marta’s smile growing. The winger attaches her lips to the column of Misa’s throat, sucking deeply at the skin behind her ear that has Misa a whimpering mess under her.

Marta works down the goalkeeper's throat, sucking at her collarbone and down to her chest. Misa can hardly breathe she’s so overcome with pleasure, and she doesn’t even bother to be embarrassed at how loud she’s being when Marta wraps her lips around her nipple, her other hand coming to play with the other side of her chest.

Marta flattens her tongue against Misa’s peaked nipple as the goalkeeper arches into the feeling, keening whines and groans tumbling from her lips at the brunette’s careful ministrations. Misa has one hand fisted in the sheets and the other holding the back of Marta’s head, keeping her pressed to her chest as her head is thrown back in pleasure.

Marta works her way down, sucking deep red marks into the underside of Misa’s chest before she lets herself work even further downward, running her tongue along the lines of the goalkeeper's abs, which ripple under her touch.

“God, I’ve thought about doing this an unhealthy amount,” Marta breathes out as she splays her hands along the tanned, muscled skin of Misa’s stomach as she scratches down her abs, and the corresponding moan that Misa releases is music to the brunette’s ears.

Marta presses a kiss to each individual ab before she continues even further south, stopping when she reaches the goalkeeper's waistband, a silent question on her face.

Misa doesn’t even bother answering with words, she simply lifts her hips off the bed with urgency, allowing for Marta to pull her shorts and underwear off quickly, leaving the dark haired woman completely bare on the bed. Marta takes the chance to rid herself of her own pants and underwear as well before she turns her attention back to Misa.

The brunette brings her lips to the inside of Misa’s thigh, pressing a kiss to the skin on the inside of her knee before she works her way up, her breath ghosting right over where Misa wanted her the most before she repeated the action on the other leg.

Misa is practically vibrating under her as Marta fans out, kissing up and over the goalkeeper's hip bone as Misa lets out a frustrated groan, her hips canting up as her grip on the sheets tighten.

“Please,” Misa urged, and Marta decides to take pity on her, quitting her teasing.

The first run of Marta’s tongue through Misa has both women letting out a moan, Misa of relief and Marta of want. Marta brings her tongue back to the apex of Misa’s thighs as the goalkeeper's hips roll down to meet her mouth.

Marta is as precise in bed as she is on the football pitch, and it hardly takes her any time at all to work Misa up, the goalkeeper a bumbling mess under her careful ministrations.

Marta circles her tongue over Misa’s clit with a smooth rhythm, letting the Spaniard’s hips roll down into her as her breath comes out in gasps. It’s when she’s close that Marta finally inserts not one but two fingers into Misa, smiling as the goalkeeper lets out an unabashedly loud moan that sounds suspiciously like Marta’s name.

It only takes a few more minutes of both Marta’s mouth and fingers, quirked in just the right way, for Misa to be screaming out her name, her whole body going rigid against Marta. Misa lets out a guttural groan as her thighs tighten around the brunette’s head and hand, holding her in place as her eyes stay squeezed shut and her body shudders through orgasm.

It takes her a few moments, but after a small period of time Misa’s whole body relaxes back into the mattress as she lets out a deep sigh, releasing Marta from the grip she’s had on her.

The brunette brings her fingers up to her mouth, swirling her tongue around to clean them before she releases them with a pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Marta leans in cheekily, kissing her way back up Misa’s body, all the way to her throat before she shifts to the side, collapsing on her back on the mattress next to Misa. She has absolutely no expectation of the goalkeeper returning the favor, she’s enjoyed getting to have Misa under her finally far too much, but it seems that the prospect of having her way with Marta is actually the only thing on Misa’s mind.

“Oh no you don’t,” the goalkeeper husks as she wraps her arm around the winger’s waist, pulling her back up and settling the brunette against her lower abdomen, right above her hip bone.

Marta lets out an involuntary harsh breath as her bare center settles against Misa’s abs, and her breath stutters in her chest at both the display of strength that Misa could pull her up here so easily, and at the smirk that Misa currently has painted on her lips.

“You’re wet,” Misa observes as Marta shifts above her, and it’s the wingers turn to smirk as she nods coyly, a wry smile on her face.

“Only for you,” Marta promises quietly, and Misa lets out a harsh breath as she grips the brunette’s waist just a hair too tightly, pulling the winger forward and rocking her hips against Misa. Marta sighed in relief as she rocked her hips back and forward against Misa’s abs, understanding what the goalkeeper was trying to get her to do. It becomes easier for her to rock back and forth as her wetness coats Misa’s abs, giving her a slick surface to slide against as Misa’s hands help keep her movement steady.

The goalkeeper tightens the muscles in her abdomen with ease, giving Marta a harder surface to grind down against. The pressure isn’t enough to fully get her off, it’s not specific enough, but it still sends waves of pleasure down her spine with each rock of her hips, each brush of her clit against the hard ridges of Misa’s abs.

Especially as Misa watches her, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed as she stares at the brunette unabashedly, her eyes dark and filled with want. Marta’s hair flows down her back, her chest arched up as she grinds her hips down again and again and again until Misa’s stomach is a complete mess, not that she gave a flying fuck. The air is thick with sex and sweat and the winger’s hips are jumping erratically as she presses even further into Misa, and the goalkeeper can tell that the brunette is starting to grow frustrated, her breathing becoming more labored as she gets more and more worked up, unable to actually finish.

Misa removes her dominant hand from Marta’s hips as her nondominant hand slows the rocking of Marta’s hips. The brunette’s head snaps to Misa, only for her to understand when she feels Misa’s hand tease at her center. Marta has her knees on either side of Misa, and she rises up so that Misa can snake her hand between the wingers legs.

Misa runs her fingers through Marta once experimentally, her fingers sliding easily through the brunette, who lets out a ragged sigh at the feeling.

But Misa isn’t cruel, and as soon as she’s done that does she slips a finger inside of the winger as Marta’s hips rut down at the feeling, a whine tumbling from her lips. Misa smiles to herself as she curls her finger deep in the winger.

“Misa please – oh fuck!” Marta cries out as the goalkeeper quietly adds a second finger, and the brunette’s hips roll down on it with reckless abandon, chasing the high that she can feel curling in her lower stomach already.

The brunette is barely saying anything coherent as she chases her orgasm, and she’s all but chanting Misa’s name as the goalkeeper's fingers curl inside of her, the rhythm demanding and everything that Marta needs right now.

The thing that finally pushes Marta over the edge is when she opens her eyes, tipping toward as she presses a hand onto Misa’s sternum, and the change in angle of her hip pushes the goalkeepers fingers inside of her even further as her eyes rove over that gorgeous fucking smirk that tugs at Misa’s lips.

The coil deep within Marta snaps, and her hips push down harshly as she shudders, her body taught as her eyes slam shut and her head snaps back, a moan wrenching itself out from deep within her chest.

Marta can hardly breathe from the strength of her orgasm as it rips through her, and if it wasn’t for Misa’s hands that brought her down gently she probably would have simply flopped down onto the goalkeeper, her limbs suddenly feeling like jelly. But Misa would never let that happen, simply tucking the brunette into her neck as she wrapped her arms around her back, their bodies relaxing into one another.

Misa peppers kisses to the crown of Marta’s head as the winger catches her breath slowly, and it’s a few minutes before the brunette can pull her head back to look at Misa properly. The taller woman brings her fingers up to tuck a stray strand of hair that fell into her face behind her ear, and Marta leans easily into the action with a tiny smile.

The winger simply tucks herself back into Misa’s neck with a happy sigh, leaning forward to press a kiss to the smooth, sweaty skin she finds there. Misa simply rubs her hand up and down Marta’s back, tracing small shapes into the warm expanse of her back with the pads of her fingers.

“Shower?” Misa asks softly, and Marta nods but makes no move to go anywhere. After a few moments Misa shifts under her, but the brunette simply grips onto Misa more tightly, refusing to let go of the goalkeeper.

“Mmm…don’t wanna leave you,” Marta mumbles into Misa’s neck, and she relishes in the soft rumble of laughter that Misa lets out, a noise that the winger both hears and feels from the goalkeeper's chest, her whole body still pressed against Misa.

“Well luckily for you, I have a solution,” Misa whispers with amusement, engaging her core as she sits up, adjusting Marta in her arms before she stands, the brunette held in her arms bridal style. Misa couldn’t wipe the grin off her face for anything when Marta squeals happily at the action, her arms wrapping around Misa’s neck as she laughs lightly, a huge smile on her face.

One of Marta’s hands slides around to gently cup Misa’s cheek in her hand, her thumb brushing up and down the soft skin of Misa’s cheek, and she watches as the taller woman’s eyes flutter shut, a soft puff of air leaving her chest at the feeling as she presses her forehead against Misa’s.

When she finally opens her eyes, Marta is looking at her with nothing but deep adoration in her eyes, clearly completely enamored with the goalkeeper, same as she always has been.

Misa can do nothing in return but lean forward to press her lips against Marta’s, soft and secure and everything she could have ever hoped for it to be.

#misa rodriguez x marta cardona #misa rodriguez #marta cardona #woso fanfics #woso #woso one shot

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woso-fan13 · 1 year ago

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Sicktember 2023: 9

White Coat Syndrome

“Y/L/N,” Dawn shouts across the locker room, “my office, now.”

“Oooh,” your teammates say sing-songily together, “Y/N’s in trouble.”

It’s like you're instantly transported back to primary school, the principal calling your name over the loudspeaker. Without a doubt, your peers would tease in the exact same way. The only real difference is that your teammates are adults and should definitely know better than second graders. The punishment would almost definitely be the same too- missing out on recess is pretty much the same as missing practices and games.

With a hot blush across your cheeks, you quickly head to Dawn’s office. You knew better than to keep her waiting. You knock lightly, waiting for a response before you enter.

“Hey, Dawn, how are you? You look great, you’re absolutely glowing. Are you using a new skincare routine, you’ll have to tell me your sec-“

Dawn cuts you off by clearing her throat.

“Hello, Y/N, it’s been awhile since we’ve had some good one-on-one bonding. I was thinking we could play a game,” Dawn says, surprisingly meeting your energy and excitement.

“Ummm,” you hesitate, confused, before sitting down and nodding, “okay, yeah! It’ll be fun! Which one do you think?”

“How about 20 questions? It’s one of my favorites.”

You know Dawn must have an ulterior motive, but you can’t figure it out.

“I know that one, I’ll start. Dawn, what’s your favorite color?”

“I like light blue. Y/N, who was your soccer idol growing up?”

“Oh, that’s easy: Mia Hamm. If you played on the team, what position would you play?”

“Probably goalie, less risk of an ACL injury. How about this, if you could be any member of the staff, who would you be?”

“Coach, I love all of the tactics behind it. Oh, it’s hard to think of questions. Umm, what’s your favorite drink?”

“Water,” she answers bluntly, “do you think I’m an idiot?”

“What?” you respond, about to continue when she interrupts.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to answer the question before you ask one. So, again, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, no of course not. What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you remember, but you missed camp two months ago because you had covid. And you missed camp last month because you developed asthma from covid and you had to go to the emergency room multiple times. So, my next question, did you think I would forget that you’re required to have a full work up from a pulmonologist before you’re allowed to train or were you simply hoping to avoid me?”

You freeze, eyes wide. You knew that you were supposed to see the doctor, but the doctor scared you. The only reason that you had even gone to the emergency rooms those times was because you couldn’t breathe and one of your teammates had to drag your blue-lipped form in.

So you put off the appointment, hoping that everyone would ignore your lack of medical approval if you played really well. Besides, you had brought the emergency inhaler that you had gotten at your most recent emergency visit, so you would be fine.

Dawn sighs, “go get your bag, you’ve got an appointment in 30 minutes. If you get the all-clear, you can practice tomorrow.”

You know better than to protest, going to grab all of your things. You stop for a moment and watch your teammates warming up, jealousy filling your body.

You walk back towards Dawn’s office, expecting her to pass off car keys and directions. Instead, you find her standing with her bag, keys in hand.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks.

“You’re coming with me?” You question, “I thought you would have to stay for practice.”

“I thought you would like the company, but I could be wrong. I guess I’ll go back to practice and you can go alone.”

It was almost comical the way your face instantly paled, the blood draining. Your hand reached out automatically, trying to stop her from leaving.

“Please, no” you say quietly.

“Alright, come on then. We have to go.”

You quickly follow Dawn as she begins heading towards the exit, afraid that you would be left alone. You couldn’t decide which was a worse option- having to go to the doctor alone or never being able to play soccer again.

#uswnt players #uswnt x reader #womens soccer #uswnt woso #woso imagines #woso #reader insert #uswnt imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #uswntsoccer #uswnt fanfic #woso fanfics #uswnt imagines #uswnt reader

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alchemistc · 5 months ago

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goon | chapter one | bucktommy

check out the hockey glossary here read from the beginning or read chapter one here

It takes Tommy a few breathless seconds to remember to skate in and hug the rest of his team, and another five to realize that technically the assist is his. He stopped caring about stats so much the second year his time in the box exceeded his time on ice for more than five games out of the season, but it sits there, in the back of his mind, his name next to Buckley’s on the score sheet.

There’s a rush that comes with division rivalry games, a certain something in the air when the crowd noise rushes in after the anthem, a call for blood and guts and gore and glory.

Tommy’s been in the league for almost two decades. He’s played for every division in the league, at one point or another. This isn’t even his first time in the central, although the configuration of teams is different than the last time.

Sometimes one team is shit (more often than not he’s on that side of it) and the other is on a tear. Sometimes they’re battling it out in four-point games to keep their points lead in the division — or knock the other team down to second. Sometimes it’s a scrape to pull out the wildcard spot. Sometimes the game itself is meaningless but they’ve played each other often enough that there’s friction. Sometimes there’s just one fucking guy on the opposition that the fanbase harbors some deep resentment for.

And this one actually means something — there’s some extra bad blood between these two teams, a star goalie with a grudge on the far end of the ice, three first round matchups in the last ten years, a run of wins that was bringing tonight’s opponent a little too close for comfort to the Avs divisional points cushion.

Tommy shifts his weight and settles the nerves, accepts the smack to the back of his helmet, and watches Binnington throw a fit between the pipes when the stripes don’t whistle the play dead and call an icing when the puck trickles in behind his net.

They’re five minutes in and everyone’s getting testy. He can feel it.

This is where Tommy does his best work.

It’d been a task, ten years ago, a part of the job he’d accepted because he was good in a fight and fully capable of taking a few punches. Under the thumb of the old boys club it’d just been expected of him — the ability to throw his weight around was what had kept him from complete obscurity in a lower league that would have worn him down much sooner. Tommy’s fists and his ability to drop his shoulder just in time to knock a guy flat on his ass were the only things that mattered when his agent settled him down with two offers, a few years into the league, and he’d chosen the team most likely to make his dad proud.

Never mind that his dad had come to three games when Tommy was a bright eyed rookie, seen Tommy get his ass handed to him by a man twice his size, and stopped bothering to show up.

He’d turned that around, in recent years. Longer stints with the affiliate teams, less time under the microscopic eye of the national press (even as a role player he’d had his moments under that eye) — he’d learned when to pull his punches, when to turn the other cheek, and when to lock his ankles and aim for the fucking chest. He had friends up and down the continent who knew him as the guy who’d take them all out to dinner after a bad loss, find something stupid and entertaining for them to do after, and then go into the next game with a chip on his fucking shoulder.

There were three kids with insane star power in the league who had him on speed dial even though he hadn’t played with them for a year or more, because for some fucking reason he had the ability to talk them off a ledge when the pressure drove them towards it.

He’d never tell a soul that Crosby still sent him gym selfies so they could compare the relative size and plumpness of their ass during the offseason.

There was still a reverence for real enforcers, in the league, even if they’d fallen by the wayside as teams got smaller and quicker. They were more a deterrent than anything else these days, but that usually meant Tommy got to lumber around on the ice for a few minutes a game, remembering what it had felt like the first time he’d laced his skates and stepped out to a roaring crowd, before he took another dumb penalty and spent the next forty-five minutes riding the bench. He’d been instructed not to take any dumb penalties, tonight, because St. Louis didn’t tend to get sloppy until the game was on the line.

Thirty-six minutes in, Schenn takes a chop at Diaz’s knees under the guise of a poke check and the home crowd gets loud, and ornery.

Nash smacks him on the shoulder on their way back down the tunnel for the third, eyes a little wild, and Tommy immediately recalls the old highlight reels of Nash shaking hair out of his eyes while he squared off against a guy twice his size, motor-mouthing his way into getting the other guy to take the first swing. Minnesotans and their right hooks weren’t something to fuck around with. Too much time in the cold not to have a little crazy in them.

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth, tilts his head to where Diaz and Buckley are bent over the boards together on the bench, already prepared to hop out the moment Bannister tries to get a matchup that’ll tilt in the Blues favor.

Nash sends him out with the rest of the fourth line, and Tommy doesn’t waste any time.

It’s immediately clear that they’ve all been warned to keep level heads. Schenn won’t engage, Buchnevich barely acknowledges Tommy when he hip checks him into his own bench — he goes ass over tea kettle and Tommy gets nothing more than a few shifty looks and some smack talk from the guys sitting.

There’s an easy way around that, though.

Tommy clambers back over the boards and waits out the next shift, practically vibrating with it when a shot pings off the crossbar and Greenway skates right through Binnington’s crease chasing after it.

Kyrou tries to take out Buckley against the boards, looks livid when Buck skates just free of it, and Buck does some ankle breaking in a rush to the goal. It hits the post, and when the whistle gets blown fifteen seconds later Tommy watches level heads not prevail when Binner says something snippy to Kyrou that has him rolling his eyes on the way back to the bench.

It takes another minute and a half for Nash to set up the line matches the way he wants them, but as Greenway skates off in relief and Schenn’s line stays stuck in their own zone spinning their wheels, Bobby smacks a thick hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Kinard, you’re up!”

Tommy takes an awkward pass once he’s past the blue line and goes full tilt towards the net. Full tilt for Tommy isn’t anything special, but it’s not what the Blues are expecting, and most of them have been out for two plus minutes at this point, hemmed in by their third and fourth lines just shoveling the puck back in every time it nears the blue line.

The snow shower he aims at the goal, half an inch into the crease when he fully stops, isn’t anything to write home about, but it has it’s intended effect. Already short on patience, Binnington watches Schenn intercept and send the puck careening down the ice — a third icing in a row — and lashes out with the butt end of his stick, a glancing blow Tommy laughs at as the rest of the players start to circle up at the whistle. Tommy’s laugh pisses him off. The laugh pisses him off so much.

It’s so fucking easy to rattle him when he’s already two goals down. There’s some shoving, a few hockey hugs to keep things from escalating, but Panikkar has apparently cottoned on to Tommy’s plan, and he says something under his breath that has Sundquist in his face, and Binnington skating around behind the net in irritation while the zebras break up a few of the more reticent shoving matches.

Tommy wins about one face-off out of every fifty, but that’s not the reason he’s bending across from Schenn now at the circle.

“We could end this before he loses all his cool and breaks his stick on the pipes,” Tommy goads, and the linesman with the puck rolls his eyes towards Schenn expectantly. The other man shifts, readjusts the grip on his stick. “Or I could just keep taunting him for something that isn’t even his fault, this time.”

Schenn’s not a particularly bad dude, just a little gun shy about fighting when his coach has clearly told them all not to engage.

Tommy wants him to fucking engage.

Schenn waits for the puck to drop, and miraculously, it’s Tommy who scoops it up to a fresh-faced Buckley just in time for the man to wind up and sneak it through about four bodies on it’s way over Binnington’s shoulder.

And then Schenn gets sloppy again, a check into the boards that has Panikkar limping back towards the bench while the crowd boos the refs — no call, again, which is fucking typical and normally Tommy’d be in his face about it, ready for the unsportsmanlike just ready to tumble off the refs tongue, but not tonight, tonight he’s got other plans — and Tommy doesn’t give Schenn any time to think about it when Nash sends him out in the immediate chaos.

He catches Kyrou mid-ice with his head down, a shoulder right to the chest that sends him reeling back, skates leaving the ground as he crashes backwards, and Schenn is on him in the next five seconds, gloves off and a resigned look in his eyes. Tommy grins and shifts his weight back, tossing his own gloves and reaching for the neck of Schenn’s sweater.

In the heat of the moment, man to man, the noise of the crowd always dies away, blood pounding in his ears and his entire focus on keeping his weight balanced and his fists loose. He’s been a heavy-weight for over half his career, and Schenn knows he’s outmatched but someone has to answer the bell.

There’s a ref circling them, and Tommy gets three right hooks in before Schenn can even get a hand out to hold Tommy back.

Hen’s gonna be pissed when she sees the state of his hands, but Tommy doesn’t really care, all that much, as he tightens his grip and yanks him close enough for an uppercut aimed at his ribs.

The refs break in before Schenn gets a hit, and the roar of the crowd rushes back in, loud, raucous, the mob appeased as Tommy skates his way to the box with a grin on his face. He’s a little disappointed that they’d broken it up so quickly, but — he’s probably got twenty-five pounds on Schenn, so fair enough.

Diaz scores a shorthanded goal three minutes into the major and Chim holds the line through the deluge of pissed off Blues who are now down four goals.

Tommy spends about ten seconds out of the box before the refs assess him a game misconduct for tapping his glove along the visitors side gate, and he accepts it with all the grace he can muster, smacking his fist into a screaming kids palm as he heads off down the hall.

The cool off doesn’t take him as long at it used to — sometime in the first ten years of his career he’d figured out how to shake off the hotheaded temper that made him so fucking good at getting under people’s skin, and by the time the rest of the team returns with a victory on their shoulders he’s relaxed and loose-limbed again.

Diaz makes a beeline for him, smacking his bare chest, hands curling over his shoulders so he can shake him a little, and he gets a few hoots and hollers as the rest of the team trickles back in. Someone names Tommy third star, but Nash has a rule about keeping up appearances, and he had technically been tossed from the game, so. He keeps his seat and waits until Buckley and Chim both return from taking their bow.

They’ve got a tradition, going back a few years now, a game puck tossed from player to player throughout the season for whatever the hell the previous recipient wants to acknowledge someone for. Tommy’s spent a few weeks hyping up the recipient with the rest of the team, but tonight Diaz calls for silence and every eye in the room swivels towards Tommy.

“Next time we’re getting you the full Gordie Howe,” comes the concise speech, and Tommy chuckles when Diaz leans in for a half-shake, half-hug where he admits in an undertone that Binner had definitely done his best to hold on to this particular puck at the game horn, so Tommy had better appreciate his efforts in acquiring it.

It’s not even March, but there’s a string of tension running through the whole group of them, a line of unspoken expectation as their home record extends to fifteen games — but as they trickle off to the showers with pats on the back and the giddy adrenaline of another win, Tommy can feel something brewing in the room.

He’s halfway through stretches, twenty minutes later, when Panikkar parks up next to him and knocks his knee against Tommy’s.

“That was some pretty decent work, Kinard,” Ravi says, like he hasn’t spent two weeks annoyed that Tommy can’t keep up with him when he’s on a breakaway, barely holding his tongue when Tommy lumbers down the ice after him. Diaz has made some noise, in recent days, about running suicide drills at the start of optionals, and Tommy is absolutely gonna get his ass handed to him. He’ll be there with bells, but he’s gonna be feeling that shit for weeks.

“Not so bad yourself, kid,” Tommy tells him, and Ravi ducks his head around a grin.

“Hen’s pissed I didn’t keep my mouth shut,” he admits, and gestures to his ribs, where Tommy can already see some nasty bruising. Tommy cocks an eyebrow.

“I’d have gotten them there on my own.”

Ravi’s grin brightens, and when he stands, Tommy can’t quite help the way he wants to stand as well, maybe give this kid a noogie, tease him about the height difference for a second. He’d grown up without brothers, but he’s found about a million and two in his time playing up and down the continent. “It’s more fun when you’ve got the whole team to move it along.”

He’s halfway out the door when he spins on his heel to give Tommy another look. “Hey, you know Gardiner’s had it out for Buckley for like, four years, right?”

Tommy shifts. Panikkar doesn’t need to know that he’s had the calendar date circled in his mind for three weeks, now, since the moment he’d hopped on the plane to Denver. He’s not going to admit to knowing every single guy in the league who’s ever set their sights on 18. He’s certainly not going to admit to spending most of his first evening in his rental watching highlight reels of Buckley (and Diaz) until he’d fallen asleep on his surprisingly comfortable sectional. He knows enemy number one for every game from now until the end of the season, but he knows Buckley’s best of all.

It’s what they’d brought him over for, Tommy rationalizes, again, and if he spends the drive home thinking about the wide slash of Evan Buckley’s smile when he’d skated in to celebrate Buckley’s goal, no one but Tommy has to know.

#bucktommy #bucktommy hockey au #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #boy howdy i just spent WAY too much time writing out hockey terminology in hopefully layman's terms i did that for myself #but hopefully you guys enjoy it too if you happen to take a peek at it

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sergeifyodorov · 10 months ago

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I’m curious because of how you rank Cale, who do you think are the top 10 players in the league? (We can exclude goalies because they’re such an entirely different skill set but would love to hear their separate ranking)

oooh ok this is. an inchresting question... under the cut bc dashclog Et Cetera.... the cody sergeifyodorov unoffishul players rankings at This Very Moment In Time. get mad at me if u want idk let's dance

number ten: sidney crosby. Old Man Still Has It, More At Ten

number nine: david pastrnak. arguably -- and i am going to argue it -- the best pure shooter in the league. the reason hes not like theee goalscorer of all time is bc he generally lacks puck carriers/space creators/isn't much of a puck carrier or a space creator of his own, but like. based off shot alone? hundredth percentile.

number eight: elias pettersson. two way centre... the usual vancouver oish% boost but also just a fantastic dual threat AND a legit lady byng candidate with a penalty differential big enough to severely boost his value just based off that. like imho there's nothing that petey is specifically Good At (like how pasta is a pure goalscorer) but he's basically got no weaknesses. and hes gay

number seven: cale makar IS very good. conn smythe norris etc but most importantly he did win a hockeyblr babygirl of the year award so theres that too. some crazy bobby orr pointgetter. real good defensive results too. like hes crazy good and they say hes crazy good for a reason

number six: ill concede. leon draisaitl

[GAP OF PRETTY SIGNIFICANT SIZE]

number five: quinn hughes. i don't know what fuckass magic this sad little man has. decent finisher. great playmaker. best power play quarterback in the league. makes anyone who plays with him appear to be "oh shit, this guy's a great partner for hughes!" (i have seen this with at least 5 diff players, not one of whom anyone would consider Quite Good on their own.) L + ratio + oish% + makar has devon toews + youngest captain in the league + you bet that conn smythe and norris combo is his soon enough

number four: nathan mackinnon. best dual threat in the league (no one who's a better passer than him is a better goalscorer, and no one who's a better goalscorer is a better passer.)

number three: nikita kucherov. i want you to do something for me. i want you to go to espn dot com. i want you to go to espn dot com slash nhl. i want you to go to espn dot com slash nhl slash team stats tampa bay lightning. it should be sorted by points for you. there's dearly beloved creepy eyes keeta right there in first. 94 points as of me writing this. crazy number for right now. wolfboy of all time brayden point should be in second. take a look for me rn at the difference between those two in points. what the fuck

number two: auston matthews. is this leafs bias? sure. im a leafs guy. im just saying that he's a better goalscorer than ovi in his prime, and he's a centre and great defensively too. i could tell you that he is fifth all time in goals per game, and two of the four guys ahead of him were born in the 1800s. i could tell you that he has 48 goals in 52 games right now, and 0 empty netters. i could tell you that if you only counted goals he scored when the leafs were down one or tied, he'd be in the top ten in goals this year.

[GAP OF PRETTY SIGNIFICANT SIZE]

number one: connor mcdavid. he has almost as many assists as the second-best in his draft class (mitchell) has points. he has 930 points in 620 games. he is the only player in the salary cap era to have a 150-point season. idk there's just fuckin . no one like him. like generally an untrained eye can't really see how much better or faster any given player is than the rest but like. you can with him. he just Looks a step ahead of the pack. top five all time, and he's in his prime rn!!!! lets go connie all my homies love connie

#asks #thank u anon... this was fun

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bbyvrtx · 1 month ago

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Heyy girl I’m in love with your work and I can’t stop reading every single Robin Arellano work anywhere I find💀 you don’t have to do this if you dont want to but it’s totally up to you! I was like I’m gonna keep rereading all that but THEN I FOUDN YOUUU (you’re a blessing btw) anywho I literally have a theory for tbp 2 but I don’t think it’s true, however I would love if you would actually make like.. maybe headcanons for it. It’s where robin was just like in the movie with the grabber he got kidnapped and stuff but actually he was secretly helping the grabber and he was evil too, and they had a plan with the grabber to grab a specific boy robin had his eyes on but they didn’t make it cuz the grabber already died cuz he got killed by Finn, and then Robin decided to finish it himself so now he’s AFTER that boy from his school and just like most of stalking him like during his ice hockey practice and will just grin his ass off whenever the boy will fail to save a shot? (The boy’s a goalie🤭 (ME) also thank you sm stay safe have a gorgeous day mwah😝🖤🖤

Ooo- I like this idea. You have a very creative mind! So, I won't lie. I had to look up stuff about Ice Hockey lol. I will try my best to make this work! and YESS- I see so very few TBP stuff anymore. It's sad. Almost like that series Lost, that was real popular when it first came out, then like- People stopped liking it. But I try my best to keep it goin' lol.

A/N: I kind of want to make this a series 😗😮 I didn't really know how to add this stuff in, knowing the fact that the school had a Baseball Team and not a Hockey Team, but I kinda made it work!

Ghost!Robin x Ice Hockey-Goalie!Reader

He was lowkey confused at first. He genuinely thought he was going crazy (he was/is) * When he first heard about you, before The Grabber took him; he was slightly interested, he knew how much balls you had to have to be a goalie.. for Ice Hockey.

Talking about crazy, he may or may not have followed you around school without you knowing, and not only that, but he knew where the Hockey Stadium was.. he totally didn't follow you there after school. * Totally not...

He was on his way to one of your Hockey games, that is until he came in contact with The Grabber. Shit *But little did he know, that The Grabber was willing to make a deal with Robin after he died.

That was until Finney was Albert's next victim, then he died by Finney. * Robin was happy Finney got out. But pissed that it wasn't the Hockey Kid...

When Robin found out that he can leave the basement, but as a ghost, he was thrilled. Despite not being able to actually talk to the boy.

Robin saw on a poster that there was a Hockey Game happening. *he definitely went

The Hockey game started, Robin watched from the corner of the stadium. The good thing about being a ghost is that he can float above the screaming, jumping crowed.

From that day forward. He'd follow you, watch you as you play Hockey, he'd watch as you'd interfere with the Hockey game fights, breaking them up.

#tbp robin #robin arellano #tbp fandom #the black phone

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oakwave · 1 year ago

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Van palmer x reader- tensions rising

Warnings: nothin just a little smooch 16+ babes

Description: enemies to lovers vibes

Words:1200

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Hates a strong word and not something I use for just anybody but I do hate one person and that's Van palmer. Her stupid ginger hair and freckles haunt me in my dreams,not at all attractive! Making cringy movie references every time anyone says literally anything, it's sooo annoying! Not at all interesting or cute! But I deal with it for the good of the team, the only thing more annoying then vans movie references is the constant bickering when your trying to play a game of football. Of course I never start it, Van hates me as much as I hate her, if not more so. Me and Natalie are in the locker rooms getting ready to play when Van and tai start snickering as us before barging into me as they walk past, "bitch" I mumble as she moves away from us. "Why do you two hate each other so much anyway, it kinda came out of no where" Natalie speaks. She's kinda right me and Van used to be friends, not even that long ago before she started acting all mean and better then me, i actually started to like her before all this, I assumed it was because she got friends with tai and I became friends with Nat so she just didn't need me anymore but really I'm not sure. "I don't even know she just hates my guts" I reply sounding slightly sadder then I meant to, i dont really want to let Nat into the labyrinth that is mine and vans relationship. "Yeah I'm sure" the blond speaks back sarcastically, looking at me curiously. " guys come on your late!" Jackie shouts through the locker room, saving me from Nats interrogation.

Everyone gathered round coach listening to him tell us about how practice was gonna run, doing a skirmish (meaning a practice game) so we get put into two groups, unfortunately me and nat got split up and she was on vans team, meanwhile tai was on mine. We all got into position and coach martinez blew the whistle. We'd played for a while when I got the ball I'm on attack so I ran with it getting into the box and getting ready to strike, I pretended to kick the ball one way, leading to van leaping towards that side, before moving and hitting it in the other side of the net, successfully scoring! Everyone on my team ran towards me and cheered whilst tai rolled her eyes and Nat smiled at me. It was all going great until a certain redhead started screaming about how I'm a "fucking cheat" and cant play soccer. Usually this wouldn't have bothered me but come on she's been bitching all day, I walked over to her before saying "god sore looser much?" To the very angry goalie. She started toward me "oh yeah well at least I'm not the one who cries whenever she gets out on a team without her fuck buddy" she screams, making me confused as Nat and Lottie came between us, coach blowing the whistle loudly to get our attention. "Y/l/N, PALMER GO GET CHANGED YOU'RE DONE FOR THE DAY UNTIL YOU CAN WORK AS A TEAM" he booms.

I sigh before heading towards the locker rooms, Van trailing behind me. When we get through the doors I can't help but ask "what did you mean back there about the fuck buddy thing?" I question directed at the red head sat on the bench. "Oh what you think no one can see what's going on between you and Nat" she spits. "Huh?" I say starting to giggle, does she think there's something going on between me and Nat? "We're just friends, honestly" I say. " and for the record I don't cry when we get put on different teams, I just don't like being put on a team with people who hate me with no backup". She looks up at me, now it's her turn to question " your seriously just friends? And what do you mean people who don't like you, has someone said something?" she starts becoming almost protective. "Yeah you Van, and taissa. You've both been pretty mean to me you know". "Yeah well you haven't exactly been the easiest to deal with either", now I can't really argue with that. " okay fair, what even happened to us, we used to be like best friends" I say, feeling a little sad that the girl whom I not only loved as a friend but I really started to like more then that. " I didn't think you like me anymore and to be fair you did kinda replace me with Nat" "not really you kinda replaced me with tai, and anyway didn't you think Nat and i where dating or even just fucking, can I not be friends with you and someone else, or better yet fuck someone else; that's not even interfering with us or our dynamic" i state laughing a little, did she really think I was replacing her?. She stares at the ground before opening her mouth "y/n" she whispers, "Van" I whisper back smiling at her before realising she's being serious. She stands and come closer to me. "I couldn't be friends and think you where messing around with someone else, I got jealous I'm sorry. I started being mean to you because of it and that wasn't fair." She stops and I start to take everything she just said in "I get it if your mad I should've just told you I liked you or kept my feelings to myself and dealt with them this wasn't on you" she finishes. "Van I-I like you too, I was mean to you in retaliation, I didn't want to like you when you where being all sucky" a smile creeps up on her face, "I was kinda sucky huh", "oh absolutely" I state giggling at her. She comes closer to me and holds my waist, I look up at her, resting my hands on her shoulders. " how about we try this again?" She says smirking, "I'd love that I say"closing the gap between us, her soft lips meeting mine. We walk backwards a bit until my back meets the cold metal of the lockers, making me sigh a bit, our lips never leaving each other. Vans hands start to explore my body, untucking my shirt before making their way up my rib cage and meeting my bra. I tangle my hands in her hair, making her groan. "AND here I was thinking you two hated each other" jackie shouts down the locker room, alerting us of her presence and making us pull apart (reluctantly). I wipe my mouth quickly, Van doing the same, feeling my cheeks burn up. "Coach sent me here to make sure you two hadn't torn each other apart, looks like I got here just in time thought right?" "Okayyy enough" van replies going red herself. "Anyway now you've put aside your differences and seem to finally be 'working as a team'" she states using air quotes, " you can come to the last half an hour" Jackie finishes. "Cooool" I say, secretly wishing me and Van could finish what we started. And begin to follow her to the pitch, Van right behind me, both still red, exchanging a final glance.

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Helllloooooo, this one's a little spicier then the last. Let me know you're thoughts requests are open!!! <3.

Part 2 here

First time publishing on tumblr any tips or recommendations welcome <3

Please don’t copy any of my work as it is my own and it is copyrighted thanks xxx

#van palmer #wlw post #lesbian #vanessa palmer #yellowjackets #fanfic #oneshot #wilderness #soccer #nat scatorccio #van palmer x reader #livhewsonxreader #teen van #van palmer smut

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ok555ficideas · 3 months ago

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Game of mix up

I had this idea in my head for w while, but just couldn't figure out where would it fit into the Foxes, bur then it hit me that it would be 100% something the Trojans could come up with.

So Trojans, like all other teams probably get frustrated a lot, but unlike any other team they can't really take it out on the court, or at least not fully. They won't get rough with each other or their opponents, they won't verbally let it all out and although the thrill of the game and doing something they love are probably enough most times, I bet there comes a time, when they begin to be more agitated with each other and there must be some fixed way for a team like this to deal with that.

So this is my head canon about what one of the ways could be.

What I like to call a game of mix up.

A practice when no player plays their initial position. A goalie is a dealer, a backline is a striker, a striker goes to the goal and so on.

Or maybe they play with their not dominant hands or with one of their hands tied up.

Whatever, as long as it makes them less good. Neil said that even though it was easier for him to start playing again, it was still difficult since he was playing completely different position. Obviously they would be better than they were when they first picked up a racket, but I think that it would remind them at least a little bit of what it was like to fall in love with that sport. It would remind them, why they were doing this.

The first time Jean partakes in it and is put as a striker he is so pissed off he almost causes a fight. He calls it a stupid idea and a waste of time. He tries to score over and over again, with Jeremy trying to prevent it as a backline, which Jean hates since Jeremy is doing everything wrong. Jean has a good aim, he can pass every ball imaginable to ensure that his striker scores, but it becomes clear pretty quickly that it is way different to shoot at a goal. First time he manages to score he lets out a delightful laugh, without even realizing and picks up a giggling Jeremy to spin him around. He quickly composes himself and clears his throat awkwardly. After the game he realizes that he had never have so much fun playing and has a little freak out about it. He would never admit it to anyone, but he secretly looks forward to the mix up games every time after that.

When I think about the Foxes doing it, only one scenario comes to mind. After they won the championships they are finding it hard to navigate their new reality. They are not underdogs anymore, they are champions and that creates expectations. They are good at proving people wrong, at fighting for every scrap, but imagine what it would feel like to be praised. At first it would be amazing, but quickly one by one they would start to freak out. They would start to think of it too seriously and Exy would lose the title of being their escape to freedom and instead became something of a prison.

Wymack clocks that immediately and knows that he has to remind those kids why they are doing this. He takes them to a not professional court. (I have no idea how that would work for Exy, but let's not focus on the semantics here.) There are some kids there, most of them have a backstory that would calcify them as a Fox. Wymack made sure to pick a place like that, so that the Foxes would see themselves in those kids.

Obviously the kids have no chance against them, but with a game of mix up the gap wouldn't be as catastrophic. They mix their positions out, Neil and Dan end up on the goal since they are too versatile to take any other position. Kevin absolutely hates it as a back-liner. Andrew doesn't partake in the game, since outside of the goal there would be a big possibility of someone touching him and Wymack doesn't want a murder case on his hands, but that doesn't mean that he is let of the hook. He is given the poison of the couch, not for the foxes, but for the kids. Everyone is surprised how good at it he actually is. He acts like he doesn't care, but he definitely finds it funny how pissed off Kevin is, anytime the kids do something right, so he tries to help them as much as he can.

With every minute of the game passing by, the Foxes get more and more exited and forget about the expectations of being the champions. For an hour and a half they are kids again. The same ones that had nothing given to them for free and that had to fight for everything in their life, but at least they had Exy. It reminds them why they love it and who they are. They are the Foxes, they may not be the underdogs anymore, but they will always be the Foxes.

#aftg #all fo the game #the foxes #the Trojans #exy #aftg headcanon

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chirpingfromthebox · 7 months ago

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PWHL Minnesota's Post Game 5 Press Session

You can watch the whole thing here! Be sure to give their video some likes/views/nice comments/all the things that help them out for making these sessions so accessible.

At the table were Lee Stecklein and Kendall Coyne Schofield.

(and featuring special drop-in guest Kelly Pannek)

This is one with a lot of moments you really need to see or hear to fully appreciate. I've done my best to point out when something special is happening that isn't fully captured by the words, but you can only do so much. I've included all the questions.

Transcription (and minimal interruptions from me) under the break.

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REPORTER: Every championship, I’m sure, is special. But when you think about maybe 50 years from now people are talking about this one, what does it all mean to you in that sense?

KENDALL COYNE SCHOFIELD: There’s something very special about being the first to do something in life. And for us to be the first Walter Cup champions is something that is extremely special, that will be a part of this league’s legacy forever. You know, I’ve been a part of a lot of teams that have won and that haven’t won, and for whatever reason you remember the teams that win. And our coach had a talk to us about that this morning, coach Klee, when he said, “I won the Calder Cup-

[whispers to Stecklein] was it 30 years ago?

LEE STECKLEIN: [whispering back] 30 years.

KENDALL COYNE SCHOFIELD: 30 years ago today.” And one of his teammates reached out to him saying good luck and just the connection he has with that team that won it all.

I think when you end on top you never forget it. It’s a feeling that you chase every day. Whether you’re in the weight room, you’re on the ice; we’ve been chasing it all season. But the legacy of this trophy is only going to keep growing, growing, growing. But to be the first is an honor, it's a privilege, it’s extremely special. And it took an entire team effort to be champions. From start to finish.

If you look at the way that we won, you know, we were almost out. As soon as we knew we weren’t out- There were times that we got down but we never got out. And that group in there believed that we could be champions and we never lost sight of that. We believe in each other. It didn’t matter who was on the ice, we knew that that person on the ice, that line on the ice, that goalie in the net, was going to get the job done. And we did that.

LEE STECKLEIN: Yeah, I would just add, it’s always special to win any championship, any trophy, but [Lee starts to get choked up] to get to do it here and to get to do it with this person next to me is incredible, because we wouldn’t be here without her. She hates when I say it, but it’s so true. And she’s just a really special player, a really special person. And I am so grateful to have had this experience with her.

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REPORTER: Lee, out of curiosity after game 4, obviously a devastating loss for the team, you guys saluted your fans, you were all at center ice, you addressed your teammates, do you mind sharing what was said?

STECKLEIN: [laughing] I honestly don’t entirely remember.

R: [to Kendall] Do you remember?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: [smiling and putting her hand on Lee’s shoulder] I’m on the outside of the pile so I cannot hear over Lee.

STECKLEIN: I think, again, I mean, it sucks to think you’ve won and, you know, obviously that’s hockey. Call’s off and you have to figure it out. But we had a chance to figure it out. We had another game. It wasn’t over. Umm, so I hope I said something like that. [laughing] But I’m not positive.

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REPORTER: And for yourself Lee, you chose to step away from the National team and you’ve come back to play in this professional league, so where does this rank in things you’ve won and big games you’ve played in?

STECKLEIN: [Laughing] It’s impossible to rank things. When you get to win the last game of the year and hoist the trophy, you're just so grateful, because it’s always a special group. And it has to be to do something like this. It takes a team. A team that’s committed to each other, that believes in each other and the process. And like Kendall said, there were moments this year, unfortunately especially at the end, where we were pretty down and we were able to pull it together. I’m just really proud of this group and again it wouldn’t be possible without Kendall Coyne and her leadership.

R: And is it as heavy as they all say?

STECKLEIN: Oh yes.

COYNE SCHOFILED: It is heavy.

But just to echo on Lee a little bit too, is I always believe that winners win. They find ways to win. And when you look at Lee Stecklein’s career she’s literally won everything that there is to win in women’s hockey. You look at the minutes she’s played, you look at the leadership she shows on and off the ice. She doesn’t want me to talk about it, but she’s an unsung hero. And if you ask anyone in that room they would tell you that exactly. And I just think there’s a lot of winners in that room that have won big moments, but Lee’s done it all.

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REPORTER: Congrats you two.

STECKLEIN: Thank you.

KELLY PANNEK: [from off camera] You ladies done?

[Kendall and Lee start laughing]

We gotta go celebrate!

R: [to the other reporters] We ready to wrap it up?

Okay, time for two more.

STECKLEIN: [laughing] Dude, you're supposed to be here too!

[Kendall and Lee laugh]

PANNEK: I- I got- They don't want to talk to me!

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REPORTER: Visualization is so important in sports. And I have to imagine that a moment came last night before you fell asleep where you imagined what this would be like if you won. Can you compare what you imagined to the actual experience that you’re feeling right now?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: I don’t want to say I don’t remember what I- I just went to bed. I was tired. [Lee and Kendall laugh]

I had a 10-month old baby on the plane, I was exhausted.

No, I think we all went to bed knowing that this is it. This was game 5. I think that gave us, honestly, peace. Because we’ve gone the distance in each series. You know, we had a reverse sweep on Toronto. I think a lot of people counted us out in that moment.

[Kelly walks into frame wearing all the championship regalia and carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and drops beers she had in her other down on the table for her teammates. Then disappears back out of frame.]

And then we move onto to this moment. We come from Toronto right to Boston and I think there was a lot of peace knowing that this was it. Like, it emptied the tank, not that we didn’t empty the tank every game that we played, including the double overtime game. We were exhausted after that.

Knowing that this was the last game, this was the last day of the season, this is the last day that this group will be together was something that I think we took peace in, pride in. And we went out and played like it.

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REPORTER: One more. A moment came at the end of June of last year when someone on the other side of the bargaining table said, "Okay, we have a deal. We have a CBA [Collective Bargaining Agreement]. We have a league." Tell me what you’ve imagined this season needed to be and how close it came.

[CFtB: I feel compelled to butt in here, to point out that you'd swear these last two question askers were auditioning for a play, because they ask these like they're presenting a work of art or something. By their questions and the way they ask them you'd swear they were authors hired to write the novelization of the season.]

COYNE SCHOFIELD: It’s hard to put into words when you start with a blank sheet of paper. And you’re envisioning all the things that women’s hockey has deserved for so long. And you build out that sheet of paper over time, over time, collaboration, conversation.

You know Stan [Kasten] will tell you that it was the most collaborative bargaining table he’s ever been a part of and I know he’s part of the Major League Baseball, so they’ve had their fair of negotiations. But what I think was so special about the conversation was, we want the same goal. We want this to be successful.

And them, you know, and I hate saying "them," because we were all on the same- yes, there’s two sides to a bargaining table, but we all wanted the same thing. And them asking, "What is it that you need? What is it that you want?" And listening to them too, to their experience in pro sport. You look at the other side of the table, Stan Kasten, Royce Cohen, you know, Billie Jean [King], Ilana [Kloss], the list goes on and on and on. We’re asking them, "What do you think?" And it’s not because they want something less or more, we want what’s right.

We got that piece of paper signed, but then to see it, to live it, and to experience in real time has been something that’s been very special. I can’t say thank you enough to all the people who are behind the scenes who’ve made this possible. I don’t think people realize the tireless days. It’s 24-7 in this first year. There were so many positives. There were so many things that we've learned that are only going to get better in year 2 and year 3 and beyond. But this league and all of their staff have worked around the clock for us to make this league as successful as it was in year one.

And you mentioned June, we signed that document in July 1 and we dropped our first puck January 1. Can you name another professional sport league that starts in 6 months? And in the capacity and the magnitude and the professional standard in which we’ve done every thing this year. I mean, it’s remarkable. And credit goes to the league, Mark and Kimbra Walter, and obviously the players who have battled their butts off all year long. All six teams.

So, yeah, I dunno if that answers your question.

[Kelly pops back into the table]

PANNEK: Wait, I’m gonna jump right in there, because she won’t say this-

COYNE SCHOFIELD: [with a look on her face like someone who knows their sibling is about to do something embarrassing:]

Kelly.

PANNEK: [pointing towards Kendall]

This. The only reason this happened? From players’ side? Is because of Kendall. Like, legit? The only reason. And she hates it. But it could not be a more fitting end for her to lift the trophy, for her to score the empty netter. It’s that woman right there. And to do it with a growing family and amongst all these other things, she still shows up and does her job every single day. Not just a hockey player. She has like seven other jobs on top of that. The biggest one is creating this league for all of us other players to play in.

COYNE SCHOFIELD: Thank you, Kelly.

PANNEK: We gotta go party, guys!

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[the reporter group starts to clap, but the one of the dudes who I'd swear are taking a creative writing class butts in quickly.]

REPORTER: Last- Last quick, last question, I promise. There’s no doubt in my mind that your lap at the all-star game led to all of this. Could you have imagined [long pause] that night [another long pause for the drama of it all] that it would lead you here? [ANOTHER PAUSE] To this moment?

COYNE SCHOFIELD: Yeah, that was a big moment for the sport. And while it was a 14 second lap, that was essentially heard around the world. It was a moment that catapulted the conversation that was so long over due. And that was: What is the reality of women’s professional hockey? And what does that look like? And how do we change it and how do we get there? And I believe that moment really catapulted the conversation and the efforts to get us where we are today.

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end of interview

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For anyone unaware, the all-star game lap the novelist/reporter was referring to was from the 2019 NHL All-Star Weekend when she became the first woman to compete in an NHL skills competition. And you can watch a video of that here.

#pwhl minnesota #kendall coyne schofield #lee stecklein #pwhl transcriptions

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