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helen-with-an-a · 6 months

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The Object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 3

Hi. So here is part 3 (again, this will have another part because I am determined to get it happy at the end; it's just taking me a while to get there ahahah). Big thanks to @lyak12 for helping me work out my issues with the fic <3

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Ona Batlle x Reader

Flashbacks are in italics

TW: Injury, R ain't ok mentally, suggestiveness

Description: R comes home from Australia to start her recovery

Word Count: 3.6k

You had required three surgeries in total to fix everything – an emergency one to save your leg, one to place the screws and realign everything and one to reattach the ligaments in your knee. The damage the tackle had done was extensive; your shin was splintered into 3, some coming through the skin, and the force of the collision ruptured your ACL and meniscus ligament, too. No one dared show you the video, and you weren’t bothered to look it up. Even though you couldn’t remember what happened, you’d have the scars for life. You had asked what the timeline was for when you could get back on the pitch. One doctor had said it was an if not a when. You didn’t like that doctor. It would be a when – football was your lifeline, your escape when times were tough. You didn’t know how you would cope with it. Your physios at Barca had said that when … if … you were back on the pitch, your playing style would have to change. They had told you in broken English that you probably would never play the same and would have to rely on speed and technical ability rather than strength in matches. But that was ok; as long as you were on the pitch, you didn’t care how you had to play, just so long as you could.

You flew back to Barcelona a month after the World Cup. You wanted to be back earlier, but you hadn’t been cleared to fly and definitely hadn’t been cleared to fly halfway across the world. The medical staff in Australia were lovely – sneaking you extra desserts, cheering every milestone, no matter how small, braiding your hair, and helping apply your moisturiser when you were too tired to do it yourself. Your family had only seen you that first day. You didn’t mind – you didn’t particularly like when they were around anyway. It was always too loud with them. The bad kind of loud. The Lionesses were the good kind of loud. They had piled into your room, staying as long as possible. Georgia had left you with her Tamagotchi, making you promise her you’d try to keep it alive. Being suitably distracted by the mountain of sugary sweets piled on your bed by Hempo, much to the horror of Leah and Sarina, you missed the way Lucy eyed you wearily.

You considered Lucy a big sister, especially since moving to Barcelona. She had been concerned about you since you arrived. The happy, bubbly young woman she had come to care for deeply had retreated back into the quiet shell you had been when you first joined the senior squad. At first, she thought you were just nervous – she knew how scary it could be to be in a new city without many friends. But after a while, she knew it was something more sinister. She barely saw you outside of football; you were always making excuses to avoid team bonding or insisting you needed to stay late to work on things. Things you already excelled at. She grasped just how badly something was wrong with the first international camp of the new year. She thought you would return back to your old ways, finally being around your old friends and not having to navigate another language. But that wasn’t the case; if anything, you grew even quieter – especially around Alessia and Ella. That concerned her the most – you were closer than family to those two. They could always be relied on to drag a smile out of you. So, she kept an eye on you. Quietly observing your behaviour.

Whilst you hated that you weren’t back in Barcelona as quickly as you wanted to be, you were glad you didn’t have to see Ona again so quickly. That night was the last time you had seen her. You hadn’t said anything as she took a seat across from you. She hadn’t said anything as you started to drift into an uncomfortable slumber. Only when she was sure you were in a deep sleep did she break her silence.

“Mai podré dir-te com ho sento,” she whispered. “Sempre t'estimaré. Espero que algun dia em permetis estimar-te de la manera que et mereixes.”

“Oni, I can’t speak Catalan, remember? You’re going to have to repeat that in English.” You laughed as she chattered away. It was an off-day and oddly warm in Manchester. You lay with your head in her lap, top tucked up into your bra, exposing as much skin as possible in an effort to soak up the summer sun.

“Sorry, amor. I’m just happy it’s finally warm here. It reminds me of home a little bit.” She carded her fingers through your hair as you snuggled your face into her stomach.

“Tell me about it?” You asked gently. You loved hearing the stories of her home, her childhood, her life back in Spain.

“There’s this little cafetería back home. It sells the best Crema Catalana ever. I don’t know what they do, but, mmmm ... es tan delicioso. It’s even better than my Mamí’s. It’s so pretty too. It’s got this really cool tiled pattern flooring and vines on the wall at the front. During the summer, they open all the doors and play music and …” You could listen to Ona talk all day; the excitement when she mentions her home is unparalleled. You could feel yourself drifting into sleep – the warm weather, her gentle fingers scratching at your scalp, her intoxicating smell that wrapped around you like a soft hug.

“Mmmm,” you hummed happily. "It sounds fantastic. I wish I could visit,” you commented.

“You shall. I’ll take you. You’ll come to see my home, we’ll do all the touristy things in Barcelona, and then I’ll show you all the local spots in Vilassar de Mar, prometo,” She vowed.

“Good. I …” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I don’t want to see Barcelona without you.” Your eyes fluttered gently.

“You won’t. I won’t let you. You’re stuck with me for life, amor.” You smiled softly at her words. You liked the sound of being with Ona for life. “Ve a dormir, amor. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You nodded and allowed yourself to slip into a gentle dream.

Arriving home, it was easier to avoid Ona than you thought. You were still on strict instructions to rest. Alexia had tried to force you to stay with her. When that failed, Lucy had tried. You liked your space. You liked your private time. You felt like you could never fully relax around people … except for around Ona - that voice in your head reminded you. No! You couldn’t allow that voice to win. You had a recovery to think of now. You had compromised a little bit, though. You lived in the same building as Ingrid and Mapi, so you gave them permission to get a spare key cut. This allowed you to have people constantly checking on you without feeling like a burden on them. Alexia wanted a key for herself, but she lived on the other side of town, and you didn’t like dragging her so far from her usual daily routine.

To be honest, you were unsure if you wanted to see Ona. Alessia had quietly told you that you wouldn’t calm down on the pitch until Ona held you. In the extra month you were in Australia, you had come to terms with the fact you were still in love with her. You had tried to deny it when you initially came to Spain. But now it was just a fact you had to live with. That night in the hospital was so incredibly awkward … strange … nice. She had stood in a training top you were fairly sure was yours once upon a time, head hung low as she picked at her nails. You wanted to bat her hands away, to tell her to stop, but she had sat too far and out of your reach.

“I’m telling you, Y/N, something’s wrong with Ona”, Hayley whispered to you in the bathroom. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but she won’t stop picking at her nails; she’s really quiet. Something’s not right. I think something may have happened during the break.” You sighed deeply. You also think something may have occurred whilst she was in Spain. You had picked her up from Manchester Airport, and you could tell instantly something wasn’t right. 3 of her fingers were wrapped in plasters, and the others looked just as sore. When you extended your arms out to hug her, she looked a little apprehensive but stepped into your embrace anyway. No matter how much you wanted to keep her in your arms, you stepped away after a few short seconds. You had never seen her so tired, so different, so … you weren’t quite sure what had happened. You kissed her forehead gently as you ushered her to the car.

It didn’t take long for you to find Ona – she was sitting in your cubby after all. Despite your concern, your heart couldn’t help but flutter as you recognised your number on the hoodie she was wearing.

“Me gustas en mi ropa,” You said as you crouched in front of her, hands resting gently on her knee. She didn’t smirk like she usually would. She didn’t react when you started tracing gentle shapes on her bare legs. She just kept picking at her nails. “Oni… lo que le pasó?” You asked in the gentlest tone imaginable. She just shook her head, wiping a stray tear away. “No … hey, hey, hey, no. Oni. Mi niña hermosa. Don’t cry.” You surged forward. “Please don’t cry.” You didn’t know how to comfort her. You had seen her angry, you had seen her scared, you had seen her frustrated. But you had never seen her cry before.

You had eventually coaxed her into going home. You had waited until everyone had left—Hayley hurrying people along to let you deal with the situation. The force with which she gripped your hand left a sour taste in your mouth. You had kept your hand in hers the whole journey home and into your flat. You led her to the sofa as you lay down, pulling her on top of you.

“Now …” You started, “I’m not going to make you talk to me. But I can tell something happened when you were in Spain. I want you to tell me, but I’m not going to force you. Whatever you want to share that’s entirely up to you. But please, Oni … I’m not going to judge you, or laugh at you, or hurt you for telling me anything. Un problema compartido es un problema dividido, right?” You whispered as your fingers slipped under her jumper.

It took a while, but eventually, she told you. You held her as she cried over the conditions in the Spanish camp. You held her as she recounted the story of her being forced from her bed at 5 in the morning for a run and not being allowed to stop until she threw up or passed out. You held her as she ranted about how mean the coaching staff were to Pina, and when she had stepped in to intervene, she had it twice as bad. You held her as she eventually slipped into a fitful reprieve from the nightmare she had just returned from.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake Ona’s voice from your head telling you, you weren’t could enough for Barca. If she thought that before your injury, what would she think about you now? You were looking at a year off the pitch, at least, let alone having to train in a new style and learn a new way of playing that could have you set back even further. It echoed in your mind before behind, when you looked at yourself in the mirror, when you were with the team as they tried to help you feel better.

Most days looked similar for you in the first month you returned. You were still in a cast and brace, so you couldn’t do much. The doctors - and Alexia - had told you how important it was to establish and stick to a routine. So, you did. You woke up at 8.30 every morning. There was training – you obviously couldn’t go, but since all your friends had that schedule to stick to, so did you. You would go into the bathroom and have a really awkward shower; more often than not, you would flood the bathroom, then get ready for the day. Lucy told you that you needed to change out of your pyjamas every day, so you slipped on loose shorts and a shirt – your ‘day pyjamas’ you had christened. You had breakfast with Ingrid and Mapi before they left for training, and then you sat on the couch. All day. With your mind slowly descending into chaos over everything that had happened. And then you would hear the conversations from outside that told you some of the girls were coming round to see you, and you plastered a smile on your face as you asked them about their day, and they would ask you about yours. On non-training days, you granted yourself a lie-in. Keira and Lucy would come by with pastries from the bakery down the round and fresh fruit for you to snack on. You would sometimes have a Lioness Facetime if everyone’s schedules allowed.

You had yet to go to a match or the training facility, watch a game on TV, or even just play Fifa. But that would come with time; you would have to go eventually because that was where the physios and trainers were. People thought you were reluctant to go because of what had happened. Which you were … a little bit. The main reason that made you nervous about going was Ona. A picture of her on your timeline had sent you into a spiral for a good few hours. You were scared of what seeing her in person would do.

You had seen the picture of her in the Champions League promotion. And she looked so good. You had stared for far too long at her beautiful smile that still took your breath away, her chiselled jawline that you used to pepper kisses across when you cuddled up against her, her veiny arms that had made you feel so safe and loved, her messy bun that you had jokingly begged her to teach you how to do, her freckled cheeks that would sport a soft pink hue every time you complimented her, the dimples you would poke at when she was trying to be angry at you but failing miserably.

“Great game today girls, you played fantastically. And well done to Ona.” You were standing next to her in the post-match huddle, she shyly groaned as her achievements were recognised in front of everyone.

“Mi Oni’s got her name on the score sheet,” You sang out as you walked back down the tunnel, arms wrapping around her waist. “We need to celebrate.” A round of cheers from everyone echoed the sentiment. Just as you were about to separate to go shower, you felt Ona squeeze you gently. “Hm?” You asked, scanning her features for discomfort.

“Could we do something … just us tonight?” As much as she loved the girls, she wanted a night with you. Alone. She looked so adorable as she quietly mumbled her desires to you.

“Absolutely we can,” your smile reassured her. You pressed your hands against her cheeks quickly before turning to head to the showers.

You didn’t even bother with an excuse when you messaged Lessi and Tooney.

Y/N: Sorry not coming tonight - other plans x

Tooney: Rude

Tooney: Do these other plans involve a Spanish defender???

Y/N: Maybe x

Y/N: She wanted to do something just us

Lessi: I want details! x

Y/N: Nothing’s going to happen

Y/N: U know we r just friends

Tooney: And I’m just friends with Joe :p

Y/N: Its just a MOVIE NIGHT x

Lessi: If u say so x

Tooney: stay safe x

Y/N: ffs and I do say so.

Y/N: text me when ur both home pls x

Lessi: Will do x

Your other plans involved very little deviation from your regular nights. She had cooked for you like always, serving up a delicious paella that had you begging her for cooking lessons. Over dinner, you relived her goal from your perspective and forced her to tell you what she was thinking when she sent it into the back of the net.

“Now that you’ve started scoring, you won’t stop. I’m telling you.” She had laughed at your promise. “I’m being serious here. We need to come up with a celebration for you.” She just hummed and kissed the top of your head as she gathered the plates and took them to the sink.

Later, you were lying on the sofa watching a Spanish movie she insisted on, telling you how it was a part of her childhood and she needed to share it with you. You weren’t paying any attention. You were far too distracted by her fingers running up your spine. It was driving you mad in the best way possible. Your ear was pressed against her chest, her heartbeat comforting and peaceful as you burrowed yourself deeper into her.

“Estás bien?” Ona asked, your movements catching her attention.

“Yeah.” You responded. “I’m really proud of you, you know that, right?” You shifted again, this time drawing yourself up to cage her in with your arms. The blush reappeared on her cheeks as you stared intently at her. God, she was so beautiful. “And I’m really happy you came to Manchester. You make everything better.” You told her honestly. She was getting overwhelmed. You could see that as she avoided your gaze. You gently poked the place where a dimple appeared when she smiled. “Oni …” you waited until she looked back at you. “Puedo besarte?” You said as you stared at her lips.

“Sí.” This wasn’t your first kiss, drunk or sober. But this time felt different. You couldn’t explain it. Her soft lips parted as you licked the seam of her mouth.

You continued to make out lazily on the sofa before Ona broke away for some much-needed air. You didn’t care, though. Your lips just moved to her neck – you were careful not to leave any marks, no matter how much you wanted to decorate the pale skin with dark splotches that claimed her as yours. She whimpered and whined underneath you until she was begging for more.

“Por favour. Do something. Anything. Necesito más,” she implored, hands tangling in your hair as you pulled away.

“Relajarse. Let me take care of you.” You sighed into her skin.

You're just a quick fuck. Easy. Nothing more to me. Her wicked words bounced around in your head. God, she had really ruined you. That was the first night you allowed yourself to truly feel everything, every emotion you had suppressed and bottled up for the last 9 months. It was painful. Raw. Terrifying.

At first, you were angry — so, so angry. Pure, unadulterated rage bubbled up and over the top of your carefully constructed walls. You threw a vase. It shattered into pieces like your heart had done all those months ago. It was satisfying, but you wanted more. You needed more. You ripped apart a cushion someone gave you as a housewarming present. You screamed and raged and shouted your emotions.

Then you cried. It started as a few lone drops that quickly became a torrent of unstoppable, hot tears. The sobbing hurt. It was painful and gut-wrenching. You had never cried like this before, and that scared you. These were the tears of someone heartbroken, and desperate. You cried so hard you thought you were about to throw up.

When you came to your senses, you were standing in the middle of the living room – how you got there was beyond you – feathers lightly floating around you, the wall had a slight dent, and someone was knocking frantically on your door. You didn’t move. If it was Ingrid or Mapi, they had a key. If it was Lucy or Alexia, they knew where to find the spare set. If it was anyone else, you didn’t want to see them.

Strong yet gentle arms pulled you to a warm body. The scent that engulfed you was soft and sweet. Alexia.

“Está bien, cariño. Let’s get you to bed, sí?” She was too gentle. Alexia didn’t do this kind of comfort. She offered practical solutions, honesty, and tough love.

“I… I’m scared,” You admitted as she helped you twist into bed.

“I know recovery can be scary, pequeña, but you will do it. It will be hard. But you can do it. Te lo prometo, puedes hacerlo. Everyone is going to help you. You can lean on us. We're here for you, bebita.” She was misunderstanding what you were referencing. You weren’t scared of recovery. You were physically healing well. A physio had been sent to your house from Barcelona to assess you at home to see whether you could start your rehabilitation at the club. She had asked you questions, and you had given the right answers. Your scars were healing well, and you had the expected range of motion for your injuries. Physically, you were right on track.

You were scared of your own mind. In the month you had been home alone, you had thought hard about anything. Ona had really broken you, yet you couldn’t let her go. What did that say about you? You had always thought you were stronger than that. You used to never understand what it was like when people would go back to an ex-partner who had broken their heart. Ona was never even officially yours, and she had managed to do so much damage.

This is becoming a lot more intense than I had planned ahahah. Hopefully, the next part will be out soon.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso soccer #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #fc barcelona #manchester united #man utd #man utd women #alexia putellas #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso fanfics

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sydnikov · 1 year

Note

saw you were asking about requests and if that’s still the case: something hurt/comfort where the reader is comforting svech when he finds out he has have to surgery, and helping him through the recovery process.

either established relationship or a feelings realization maybe? whatever you’re most comfortable with.

In Five || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Cursing (mild this time), sports injury (torn ACL/ligament), steamy kissing, bad proofreading, so much angst, but don’t worry there’s fluff at the end

A/N: I really tortured myself writing this. The emotions are still high, I hate the Bruins (sorry Bruins followers), and I hope you guys get all the feels as you read this. In all seriousness though, THANK YOU to whoever sent this in because it got me out of my writer’s block. (p.s. I’ve now opened requests to get me more inspired… so go submit stuff!!) anyways, I hope y’all enjoy 😁

It wasn’t bad. Not at first glance—at least that’s what you told yourself from the stands, clenching your fingers so hard they left nail indentations in the middle of your palms.

But you knew. You knew your best friend because you could read him like a book. Every twitch of the eye, a quirk of his lips, they all were a glimpse into his mind of what he was thinking. Andrei is your favorite book, and you just reached the chapter where everything starts to fall apart.

He was trying to hide it, the pain he was feeling from the quick stumble he took at center ice. It was just a small muscle pull, though, right? That’s what you thought, but then you saw him skate to the bench, favoring his right knee with the expression of one who knew he messed up.

Andrei played the rest of the game, but as you headed down to the locker room you couldn’t fight the feeling of dread steadily creeping up your heart.

“Hey,” you greeted a few of the girls leaning against the wall, waiting for their significant others to finish interviews. You were sort of an outcast in that manner, because Andrei wasn’t yours… No matter how much you wanted him to be. “Has he come out yet?” you asked.

The solemn shake of their heads gave you your answer, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide your worry when you leaned back against the wall with them, anxiously chewing your lip. The time came and went, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an hour of watching the other Hurricanes players come and go—none of them the man you wanted, no needed to see.

It was times like these where you questioned how you got here, waiting on Andrei like a girlfriend but being firmly stuck in the friend zone. He had never made you feel like anything less because of it, but you felt it aching in your very bones when he’d flash a smile to the girls at the bars you frequented, or when he’d ask you whether the blue shirt or the red shirt would look better on a date with the cute girl he met at a shopping mall.

It was funny, too, because you hadn’t met him any differently than he’s met the other girls he’s taken out. It was at a bar, actually, one in downtown Raleigh not too far of a drive from PNC Arena, and you were nursing a drink with a few friends from work when the place exploded in activity because players from the Carolina Hurricanes had just arrived.

You didn’t ask “who?” like one of your coworkers asked, because you loved hockey and went to a decent amount of games, and you could confidently answer which player had which number. In one game you’d even managed to snag glass seats, and that had been the best night of your life.

Never had you actually met any of the players, though. Odd, considering you had always made it a habit to go out at least once on the weekends, but one fateful Saturday night was when you finally were able to get a good look at the players outside of their hockey uniforms. You were content to merely watch them from a distance, but soon you realized they were just like any other regular bar patrons and soon lost interest in eyeing them a few tables back.

It was as you were ordering another drink that you caught from the corner of your eyes a body settling down on your right, too close to be convenient because there were other open seats far from you. You hadn’t been looking for a hookup that night, though, so you figured playing hard-to-get might ward off any men looking for a quick one-night stand.

“Hi,” the man suddenly spoke, accent too thick to be attributed to intoxication. A foreigner? You met his eyes, your gaze colliding with warm brown that reminded you of the hot chocolate you’d buy to keep your hands warm in the winter. “Drink not up to standards?” he said, leaning against the bar counter to get a better look at you.

Your brain had short-circuited, because wow this guy was good-looking, and it only took another minute of analyzing his features with your tipsy brain to realize you were talking to Andrei Svechnikov, or rather, he was talking to you.

“Not much of a drinker to begin with.” you had replied smoothly, shocking even yourself because talking to attractive men had never been a strong suit. “What about you? What do you drink?”

You and Andrei, who had later introduced himself and to which you responded with a cheeky quirk of your lips, “I know”, had hit it off immediately. You talked for hours that night, unable to shake the undeniable chemistry you had between you until one of your friends ran into you slurring her words and stumbling in place that signaled your outing time was up.

You exchanged numbers that night, and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts were beating in tandem for days after, and brains spiraling with ‘what ifs’ and ‘I think they like me’. Unfortunately… It had never gone beyond that, because communication was hard to begin with for Andrei without the added challenge of having to speak English, and well–past relationships have made it a little hard for you to put your trust in people.

So, here you were. Confidently able to say that Andrei was one of your closest friends who you just so happened to be in love with, but knowing it would never go beyond that. You’d rather have Andrei in your life as a friend than not at all, right?

That’s what you told yourself when you finally heard the familiar sound of Andrei’s deep voice from the locker room, coming closer and closer as the distance between you decreased.

“No, no,” Andrei said, firmly, finally making his appearance. “No hospital. I feel fine.”

“Son, you’re favoring your knee. You need to go, now.” Head Coach Rod Brind’Amour marched in right behind the left winger. “I let you wait out the rest of the game, that’s what we agreed.”

Andrei remained in place, stubbornly glaring at the older man with the two looking like raging bulls getting ready to charge the other.

“‘Drei?” you finally found the courage to speak, hesitantly stepping forward and breaking the heated glare between the two men. You didn’t even notice until now that the athletic trainer was waiting behind them, phone held to his ear. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, the Russian’s eyes whipped towards you and he stepped back from Rod immediately. He said your name in slight confusion, even embarrassment at being caught in the metaphorical pissing match between him and his coach.

“I—” he licked his lips, struggling to find the words in English. “My knee. It is… Messed up.”

“Messed up?” you said. “What do you mean?”

That’s when Rod popped in. “He took a bit of a stumble on the ice, it didn’t look too serious at first but his knee is hurting.” He turned to glare at Andrei. “He can barely stand on it.”

Andrei clenched his jaw, attempting to shift his weight onto his right knee, but he could barely manage to stand before his face twisted up in pain and he had to use the wall to balance himself.

You stepped up to the Russian, worriedly wringing your hands together before stilling them to grab your stubborn friend's arm. “You’re too stubborn for your own good,” you smiled wryly, attempting to mask your worry with a small tease.

Andrei towered over you, but his size had always made you feel safe rather than scared, and that applied to now, roo. “I am fine, darling,” he murmured the pet name in Russian, his voice matching the softness of his eyes he could never hide when looking at you. Sometimes he’d speak in his native tongue in front of you because he knew you didn’t understand, and the scowl on your face afterward always made him laugh.

But, even though he was definitely not fine, he could barely take having to bother his teammates and coaches with his issues, nonetheless you. He didn't want you to see him so weak, at least not like this.

“My knee is just stiff. Sore.” he shot a look towards Rod, who up until this moment had been staring at the wall to give the two of you privacy. “It is not that bad, I am sure of it.”

“Then you’ll go to the hospital to get it checked out since it’s ‘not that bad’.” Rod deadpanned, finally breaking the bubble of tension that always seemed to surround you and Andrei when together.

“I agree with him, Andrei,” you said, placing another hand on his arm to gain his attention. “You need to get it looked at, at the very least.”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, peering up at him as he stood over you. You could see the hesitation on his face, knowing his protesting was mostly because he hated bothering others with his problems.

“If not for your career, do it for me?” you said, attempting to bring back his smile by poking him in the chest. “Please?”

A moment of silence, you staring at Andrei and Andrei staring at you…

“—fine.”

He agreed, but his knee was not fine as he said it was. It was bad because it wasn’t actually his knee that had been causing his pain, but rather a torn ligament connected to the knee that turned out to be the ACL in his right leg.

And Andrei was devastated. You weren’t allowed to be in the room with him while they checked him out because he needed an MRI, but Martin and Seth were and it was them who came up to you in the hallway, grim looks on their faces as they broke the news. You could hear the raised voices of both Andrei and Brind’Amour shouting from the room.

You couldn’t see Andrei’s face, but you felt your heart breaking for him anyways as the doctor probably told him how long his recovery would take, the physical therapy he would need to endure, and the amount of time he wouldn’t be able to play hockey for.

“Nine months,” Andrei said, angrily typing away on his phone to his brother, Evgeny, probably. “Maybe six if I am lucky.”

You remained silent, watching him from the kitchen counter at a loss for words. You had offered to drive Andrei home, unofficially taking on the role of caretaker since Martin lived with his girlfriend and Seth was, well… Seth.

Andrei was on the couch, dressed in an old Hurricanes hoodie with shorts, his right leg propped up on a stool wrapped in a temporary cast. His face was flushed, and his hair messy from all the times he had run his hands through it. You knew he was in pain, both mentally and physically, but it really was unfair how he still managed to look so attractive all throughout.

Leg cast and all included.

“Is that what the doctor said?” you asked, finally gaining the courage to speak as you crossed the room. You carefully sat on the couch next to him, not wanting to jostle his leg.

The Russian dropped his phone on his lap, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes before gazing at you with determination. “Yes. But I’m going to be better in five.”

You finally cracked a smile, there’s the ‘Drei you knew and loved, your first one since hearing the news and bringing him back to his house. Andrei couldn’t help but grin, feeling the fondness for you in his heart grow. You were so good to him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his feelings to himself while you stayed with him.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t mind having you stay with him for the rest of the year, though. Andrei was selfish, and he was also possessive, so he liked having you to himself. He considered Martin and Seth and Sebastian his good friends, his teammates, his bros if you will, but you were his. His best friend, his best girl—you were the only one he wanted, and maybe this new living situation would give him the opportunity to finally tell you.

Andrei just hoped you felt the same. He wouldn’t be able to stand losing you because he couldn’t keep his heart under control.

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help you get through it.” You stated with conviction, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze and your heart beating all the while.

You held your unspoken promise, especially on the day of his surgery a little less than a week after his prognosis. It was an early surgery on a Thursday morning, and you even called off work so you could be at the hospital with him when he woke up.

You already knew most of your friends and family were wondering why you were putting so much effort into caring for someone who was just a friend, and if you were being honest you didn’t have much of an answer to give them. They had a point after all, right?

You and Andrei were just friends. That was it. You may be in love with him (now more than ever), and you definitely omitted that little detail during past conversations, but still. Friends move in with each other to help recover from big injuries all the time.

This time with Andrei was no different, and you had to repeat this mantra over and over again in your head as the anesthesia slowly wore off and his eyes were so soft and droopy, mumbling his words and his accent was thicker than ever and your heart was beating so fast it was going to jump out of your chest–

“Thank you for being here with me,” Andrei slurred, gazing up at you with those warm, half-lidded eyes.

You grabbed his hand, gently, lacing your fingers together and squeezing once. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Andrei squeezed back once before losing consciousness, his eyes closing and his head lolling back against the pillow. “That’s normal, right?” You asked the nurse, who was busy writing on a clipboard. She only had to look up once to take in the situation before responding.

“Everyone responds to anesthesia differently. Your boyfriend is just one of many who has to sleep it off.”

You felt your stomach drop, your eyes widening only slightly at the nurse’s casual use of ‘boyfriend’. Of course, that’s what you and your best friend must have looked like to her, right? You, holding Andrei’s hand, and he gazing up at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

It was probably just the drugs in his system. Definitely.

Andrei was cleared to leave the hospital the next day, and you heard the news from the group chat you, Martin, and Seth were in. It was comically titled, ‘Andrei’s bobble-leg’, courtesy of Seth, of course, and it was essentially just the three of you coordinating who has Andrei duty on the days you weren’t able to be with him.

Unfortunately, the day he was able to go home was the day you had to be back at work, so Martin and Seth left their morning skate early to drive him home. And so, here you were now, finally off from work and driving down Capital Blvd road to Andrei’s home.

Martin, Seth, and surprisingly quite a few of the players were already there when you arrived. You knocked on the front door before letting yourself in, curiosity written all over your face as you walked closer to all the noise.

Happy shouts of your name rang across the room when you appeared in the doorway, and your face flushed red in embarrassment at all the eyes suddenly upon you. “Hey guys,” you said, eyes scanning around the room looking for the only man you really cared about.

Finally, you found him. Andrei was seated on his couch, leg safely propped up on the ottoman and wrapped in tight bandages and a brace. He had an Xbox controller in his hand, the video game he was previously playing on pause.

“How was work?” Sebastian asked from the right of Andrei, also holding a controller. There were several bags of chips laid out across the ottoman, and both men were currently snacking.

It was probably against their diet, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell them that, especially Andrei.

“Work,” you finally responded, rather dry. Most of the population, including you, unfortunately, were not lucky enough to play the sport they loved as their job.

A few chuckles and about an hour later, everyone began packing up to leave. Somehow, you had gravitated toward Andrei during this time of catching up with his teammates and ended up on the couch next to him, on his left. His arm was casually strewn across the back of the couch, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair and occasionally brushing against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

You liked to pretend it was just you harboring feelings for him sometimes because it was less scary, but every day that fantasy was getting harder and harder to live… Especially when you would turn your head to catch a peek at his side profile, and he was already staring as if knowing the effect he had on you.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You asked once you heard the front door shut, signaling the exit of the last guest. It was silent other than the TV playing softly in the background, it having changed from Call of Duty to a rerun of Friends some time ago.

Andrei sighed, attempting to hide his emotional turmoil with a smile. Bringing his arm down from the back of the couch, he tentatively rested it on your shoulders, gauging your reaction before bringing you to his side. He’s been an affectionate person since you first met him, so you were used to the random hand-holding or hugs, but it still never failed to make you long for something more.

He patted his leg gently, careful not to disturb it from where it rested. “Hurts. But that is to be expected, no?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t suck.” You said, your voice nothing more than a murmur. You rested your head against his shoulder, tugging at a loose string on one of your sleeves.

The hockey player didn’t respond, instead, he placed one of his big hands on your shoulder and squeezed, a sign he at least heard your attempt at reassurance. Time passed quickly like this; Friends continued playing, as did your position tucked into Andrei’s side.

You felt at peace, and while he didn’t say it with words you could tell the Russian beside you felt the same. Hopefully, the next few months of healing will just fly by.

And they did, at first. But even though the Carolina Hurricanes were missing one of their star players, the games must go on. His teammates went out on the ice, each and every one of them feeling Andrei’s absence keenly.

You felt it too, as the Boston Bruins scored their fourth and final goal of the night, winning the game in a shootout. The hope immediately dissipated within your chest and in rose frustration and disappointment to take its place, but you were sure that was nothing compared to what Andrei was feeling beside you.

The entirety of the game, your hand was wrapped in Andrei’s, his squeezing down when the Bruins scored their first goals in regulation and releasing to clap when we were finally able to tip the puck in. Then the team came back in the third period—you weren’t sure what Brind’Amour had said to the boys during the second intermission, but whatever he said had worked.

The Hurricanes had been controlling the puck in the Bruins’ zone, something they had failed to do in the first two periods. They were passing, aiming, shooting, scoring, first by Skjei in the corner of the net and then by Aho on a tight pass from Martinook that slipped right past Swayman’s shoulder.

It was looking so good because Andersen had finally gotten his head in the game and the defense had stepped up, but then we went past overtime scoreless, and then to the fateful shootout.

You had felt the anxiousness from every fan in the arena. If anyone was an avid Hurricanes watcher, including you, they knew shootouts had never been this hockey team’s strong suit.

Andrei’s frustration was palpable next to you. His left leg was bouncing up and down for the entirety, and you could see the muscles tensing and untensing in his right leg as if he had wanted to move. It only got worse when Brind’Amour sent Burns out first, something that had you, Andrei, and every single Hurricanes fan in the arena watching on in confusion.

“No, no,” you had heard the Russian mutter from next to you. “Why is he sending Brent? He needs to send Fishy, or Turbo—” the words then died in his mouth as Brent missed as everyone knew would happen, and sadly Teuvo, who went out next, did too.

Unfortunately for us, the Bruins had good goal-scorers. Coyle had slipped the puck past Andersen, as did DeBrusk, and then it was done. Game over. Just like that.

You finally turned to face the man next to you just as his head fell into his hands, tugging at his hair and messing up the gel you forced him to put on because no, Andrei, you can’t show up with bedhead. He was muttering words you couldn’t understand, most likely the creative Russian curses you heard him say on occasion.

If this game had been hard to watch for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Andrei was feeling.

“‘Drei,” you said, tentatively. “Are you—”

“No. Don’t.” He snapped, rubbing at his eyes before unsteadily rising to stand. His right leg shook, but he refused the arm you held out and didn’t dare to look in your eyes to see what look they held. As he tried to reach for his crutches, his leg buckled from underneath him, and this time you ignored the hurt of him lashing out to put your arms around his back to steady him.

“Can we— Is it okay if…” he struggled to speak, his accent thick with emotion as he struggled to find the words. Andrei had never been good at communicating when upset, literally, because everything always came to him in Russian naturally, and this time was no different. “Leave? Can we leave?”

“What about—”

“No. No team. No reporters.” he said, digging his fingers into the back of his jersey you were wearing.

You softened, gently maneuvering your body so you could face him better. Now you were chest-to-chest, your arms still wrapped around his midsection to keep him steady. “What do you want then, Andrei?”

“Home,” he murmured. “Home. With you.” he wasn’t able to convey it right at this moment, but his heart was pounding as he said the words. To him, to anyone in his culture, this was the closest he could come to expressing his love without outright saying it.

He found he wasn’t scared about finally admitting this out loud, either, because you were his home. Everything about you was home because he wouldn’t dare let anyone else except his brother and mama see him so vulnerable.

Of course, you were oblivious. He normally found it cute, but right now he wanted to shake you because all he wanted right now was to hold you in his arms and kiss you as he found comfort in your presence.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the double meaning of his words flying right over your head. But something emboldened you, gave you the courage to raise your hands to his shoulders so you could reach up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, right next to the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go home, ‘kay?”

The ride home was silent, comforting even despite the rough loss the team took. By the time you finally managed to get to the car, the two of you were struggling to keep your eyes open and also keep your hands off each other. Andrei tangling your hands together, you gently leaning against his side…

It was all surface-level, neither wanting to speak the words out loud but yet not wanting to sacrifice the innocent, physical intimacy you found with each other. This was all racing through your mind the closer you got to Andrei’s house, and you were almost positive he was thinking the same.

Andrei, in fact, was actually contemplating the one-hundred different ways he was going to kiss you, if he ever gets to that stage with you. He was currently facing the window but left enough room at the corner of his eyes to take little peeks at you, only fuelling his determination to do something about the tension between you.

And, yeah, maybe he was hyperfixating on you to distract him from the fact his team lost and if he was down on the ice he knew he would have been able to fix it, been able to score. His emotions had skyrocketed since the game ended, and everything felt so much more intense than usual.

Maybe that was just the pain medication he was on, though…

After you finally arrived at Andrei’s house, it took a little bit over an hour to finally get yourselves ready for bed. The problem? Neither of you were ready for any sort of sleeping, and you both knew it.

Currently, Andrei was leaning back into the couch, his right leg once again propped up on the ottoman and a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lap. You were next to him, legs comfortably tucked underneath you with a few inches of space left between you and Andrei.

There was half a family-sized bag of Doritos in between you that he said was in his pantry, so you were both currently snacking on them while watching the NHL channel. It was quiet other than for the TV, for neither of you were speaking a word for fear of breaking the thick silence between you.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and what made it even worse is that you didn’t think Andrei even noticed. He was wrapped up in his phone, most likely watching the game recap because his face was twisted up and his whole body seemed tense.

You shoved another Dorito in your mouth. Fuck. You were so, so screwed. You needed to get it together before you said something you regretted, especially since you had temporarily become his roommate.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke. “Andrei?” you said, hesitantly looking towards him.

“What?” he responded after a moment, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

Now you felt uncomfortable. Before, in the arena, he was looking at you like he loved you, but now he was snappy and tense and worse than normal because his team lost without him being able to play.

Picking at the skin around your nails, you attempted scooting down the couch before just giving up and moving to stand. “Nevermind,” you said with a mutter, feeling withdrawn and defeated. If he didn’t want to open up to you, fine, but you didn’t deserve to have him take out his frustration on you.

At least, not like this.

Andrei didn’t even respond, furthering your feelings of bitterness towards the man you had so many feelings for. Wrapping your hands in the long sleeves of his hoodie you were still wearing, you shuffled down the hallway and into the guest room you claimed as your own.

You could still hear the TV playing in the background, but that was the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You blinked the frustration from your eyes and crawled underneath the bed sheets, scrolling on your phone until you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hours passed of restless tossing and turning, and then suddenly it was three in the morning and you were being woken up by countless knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” you muttered sleepily, crawling out of the cocoon of blankets you were in to answer your door. For whatever reason, your sleep-addled brain wasn’t able to comprehend that it was probably Andrei on the other side. “Andrei?” you said, confused as the Russian leaned against the wall.

He looked rather sheepish, slightly embarrassed. His hair was ruffled, and the TV was still playing so he probably fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, shit,” you said, suddenly realizing that he was probably here because he needed help. Of course. That was all it was. “I’m such an idiot, sorry,” you breathed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stepped out of the room. “C’mon, I’ll help you get in bed.”

Andrei stopped you with a hand, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words. “No, that is not it.” he finally settled on.

Okay, now you were curious. “Huh?”

“I am sorry.”

What?

“For what?” You asked, staring up at him wide-eyed. You were honestly too tired for a heavy conversation like this so you were struggling to keep up.

Andrei swallowed the lump in his throat. His leg was currently throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart as he looked at you. Your hair was all over the place in the most endearing way, and your eyes were droopy in a way that told him you were just sleeping.

“For not treating you right, for—” He cut himself off, sighing in frustration. Why was English so complicated? If only you understood English. “English is stupid.” he muttered, then released a big sigh and steeled his resolve.

Stepping closer, he brought the two of you chest-to-chest and brought his arms to cage you against the wall.

And you, you meanwhile, let out the most embarrassing noise possible when he suddenly got close, and then Andrei was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His body was trapping you in, and while your senses were on overdrive you strangely enough didn't feel like fleeing.

“Andrei?” You squeaked, sinking further into the wall if it was possible. Your eyes dropped, finding the center of his chest to firmly set your gaze. His eyes were so dark, intimidating, and swimming with an intention you were nervous to find out. “What are you doing?”

“Look at me, please?” A large hand smoothed against your skin, gently tilting your head up. Your eyes automatically locked with his, and the emotion on his face had you gasping. “There’s my girl,” He said.

Okay, yeah, your body was frozen, the breath leaving your lungs in a torrent of sharp breaths. This… This was new territory, for the both of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Andrei looked so calm while you looked like a startled deer—an unattractive one, at that.

He started speaking, heart thundering while the words poured from his throat like warm, melted butter. “I’m in love with you. You are my person, I knew from the very first moment I saw you in that bar so many months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but tonight, having you next to me… You’ve always been next to me, and I’ve taken advantage of that. Darling, I want to make up for all the times I never kissed you senseless, and I want nothing more than to have you as mine, and I yours.”

Your favorite music, your favorite voice, words so filled with emotion and yet you couldn’t even understand him as he looked at you like you were his sun, and he a plant desperately seeking your warmth. Andrei had only spoken in Russian a handful of times in front of you – most being curses or quips exchanged with Pyotr – and never had he spoken so much of it.

You’d always thought Russian was rather harsh. The sharp whistles, clicks of the tongue, hissing of certain words; you admired anyone who could speak it, but it had never been an easy language to listen to you. But, when Andrei spoke Russian… It was soft, almost musical, and expressive to the point you felt like you could understand the very subject at hand if you thought about it. Maybe you were just biased, but you swore you fell more in love with him every time he spoke it.

“No words?” he said, a grin on his face that made you realize you’d maybe been silent for a little too long.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You were breathless— literally.

“I show you, then, what I said,” Andrei brushed his fingers against the side of your neck, almost fully grasping it as he gently brought you closer. You had no complaints, though. “Yes?”

He said your name again, looking at you with those warm eyes so full of depth they hypnotized you and had you nodding yes, almost instinctively.

Andrei sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on you only slightly as he slid his hand around the back of your head. Your lips were slightly parted, shiny and red from where you’d been biting them previously, and that cupid’s bow that always drove him crazy when you smiled was quirked upwards as if it was asking him to kiss you.

He waited a moment, stared into your eyes, his fingers merely a whisper of a touch against your cheek, and finally took the leap. The first touch of his lips was shy, testing, but then you whimpered with need and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer and Andrei had an internal moment of fuck it where he realized just how crazy he was for you. Pressing you into the wall, he nipped at your bottom lip and was granted entrance with a gasp drowned out by the sound of his own groan. He put every ounce of his passion and love and relief into this kiss as if trying to convince you to stay because this, this here? It was worth it—you were worth it. Fireworks, electricity, butterflies, and everything all at once was igniting in your gut and caused you to let out a pathetic whimper the moment your lips finally detached. He was clearly skilled at this, wholeheartedly controlling the moment as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin that met your collarbone.

“‘Drei,” you gasped, clutching the hair right at his scalp – when did you move your arms around his neck? – as he sucked a mark under your jaw. “Hm?” he hummed, not stopping with his ministrations.

“What,” you said, throat dry and raspy as you tried to speak over the sound of your beating heart. “What did you say— oh,”

Andrei’s grin was almost feral as he drew the beautiful sound from your lips. “Found it,” he said, voice full of pride as he brushed his fingers against the newly-found sweet spot on your neck.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his head in between your hands, bringing his head to yours so you could press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips before pulling back to gather your thoughts because you had a lot of them.

Andrei pouted the moment you pulled him away but respected your boundaries and merely rested his hands on your waist to keep you close. He said your name gently, his tone bordering on questioning. “Did I… Did I push too far?” he said.

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to correct him, already having caught the guilt in his eyes. “I just want to know what you said earlier, before you— you know.” It felt almost taboo to say ‘before you kissed the life out of me’, not wanting to break this delicate balance you found yourself in.

The Russian hummed, already catching on to your bashfulness and deciding to tease you for it. “No, darling, I think you need to remind me,” he brought a hand up to loosely wrap around your neck, the contact keeping you grounded. “On what I did before what?”

“Andrei,” you said, immediately dropping eye contact as your face flushed red. “You’re being a tease,” you muttered.

He dipped his head, brushing your lips together as he spoke. You felt his breath against your skin and had the sudden desire to taste him again. “I can do this all night, but the question is can you?”

You gave up at that because the moment he spoke he drew back and you couldn’t stand the feeling of not having him close to you anymore. “Andrei,” you sucked in a breath. “What did you say before you kissed me? In Russian?”

“I love you,” Andrei didn’t miss a beat as he crept his other hand farther up your waist. “That is mostly what I said. And more.”

“More?” you squeaked out as he drew closer.

The hockey player hummed, then suddenly stepped back and grabbed your hand. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Now—bed?” Short, sweet, and to the point Andrei always was…

Just one of the many things you loved about him.

Twenty minutes later you lay in Andrei’s bed, swallowed in another one of his shirts, and curled into his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, stroking gentle circles into the skin exposed to the room. It was silent, null except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the gentle breathing of two humans reveling in each other’s presence.

“I miss it,” he said, suddenly speaking up. You lifted your head only slightly from his chest, already missing the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. “Hockey. And I miss playing with my brothers.”

Brothers. Your heart broke at hearing the longing in his voice, because every single player on the team he played with was his family, in one way or another, and now he was being forced to watch them play the sport he had no chance of helping them win.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was feeling.

“I know, Andrei,” was what you finally settled on. Your voice was soft, gentle, trying to convey your understanding with actions rather than words. You drew tiny circles on his chest, taking pride in the way goosebumps rose in your fingers’ wake. “I know.”

He tightened his grip on you, holding you closer to him as if he were afraid you’d disappear. “Will you be here?” he suddenly asked, frowning. Andrei knew he was being slightly irrational, feeling so vulnerable, but he really hadn’t felt secure in himself since first tearing his ACL.

What was his purpose in life, really, if not to play hockey and have you with him?

You hadn’t yet spoken, so he quickly clarified. “In the morning. And all the mornings after.”

A smile broke across your face as you buried your head into his chest. You felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled, and then he shifted to where you were laying on top of his chest so he could see your face. “All the mornings, huh?” you asked, feeling bashful.

Andrei grinned, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth, knowing the effect he had on you. “Every one,” he replied. “If you will have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

And you meant it, truly, with every fiber of your being. The next months were going to be rough, the ones where you’d have to be there for Andrei as he watched his team ultimately compete and fall through in the playoffs especially.

But you knew the two of you could do it. Andrei was nothing if not committed, even through all the arguments, tears, and emotional breakdowns, you were there for each other through the long haul.

And Andrei, meanwhile, after many difficult months down the road, had the biggest smile on his face as the doctors told him it was a miracle.

Because he had healed from his ACL injury in five.

fin

A/N: Before my medical professionals come at me, YES I KNOW acl injuries take up to a year to recover from almost all of the time, but for the sake of this fic just pls ignore that little fact 😭 in all seriousness though, I can’t wait till our favorite Russian gets to play again bc I miss him sm. As always, please leave likes, reblogs, and comments. Ily all <33

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scoupsdata · 1 year

Text

[NOTICE] Information Regarding SEVENTEEN S.COUPS’s Health Status and Future Activities

Hello.

This is PLEDIS Entertainment.

We would like to inform you about SEVENTEEN member S.COUPS’s current health status and his activities moving forward.

On August 10, S.COUPS sustained an injury to the left knee as he was landing while playing a ball game for a content shoot. He was immediately taken to the hospital where he underwent a comprehensive medical examination including an MRI scan. During the examination, a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) was identified in the left knee.

The artist is receiving necessary medical treatment prior to the surgery as recommended by the medical staff, and will undergo surgery as soon as possible. We will provide another update on the progression of treatments and his rehabilitation schedule at a later time.

S.COUPS will be unable to participate in the majority of official activities for the foreseeable future, and will focus on his recovery through surgery and rehabilitation. We would like to extend our deepest apology to his fans for any distress or worry this may have caused.

The artist is highly determined to attend all of the group’s prearranged engagements. However, his participation will be adjusted depending on the circumstances, placing his recovery as the top most priority as per recommendation of the medical staff.

We will do our best to aid in S.COUPS’s treatment and recovery so that he can return in full health to his fans as quickly as possible.

Thank you.

#seventeen #s.coups #choi seungcheol #info #weverse #230817

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 10 months

Text

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 3/3

This list contains 194 items listed R to Z

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing as it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This list's intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This is a comprehensive list of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[A-H] [I-Q] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

Rabies

Radiation Poisoning/Exposure

Radio Silence

Ransom Note/Video

Rashes

Recovery

Reducing breaks or dislocations (bonus: out in the field with no painkillers available)

Reflection

Rejection

Reluctant Caretaker

Reluctant Whumpee

Reminded of trauma

Reopened Wound

Repressed Emotions

Repressed trauma resurfacing

Rescue

Rescued by the enemy

Rescues gone wrong

Respiratory Distress

Restraints

Reuniting

Revenge

Ringing Ears

Ritual sacrifice

Rockslides

Role Reversal

Rope Burns

Running fingers through hair (maliciously or comfortingly)

Running Out of Air

Ruptured eardrum

Sacrifice

Sadistic Choice

Sartorial constraints

Scars

Scoliosis

Scraped Knees

Scratched corneas

Scratches

Seasickness

Second impact syndrome

Secrets

Sedated

Seeing double

Seizures

Self esteem issues

Self induced injury to escape

Self sacrifice

Self-aid

Self-inflicted injury (to escape)

Semi-consciousness

Sensory Deprivation/Overload

Sentimental Items

Separation

Sepsis

Servitude

Setbacks in recovery

Severed Artery

Shaking Hands

Shipwreck

Shivering

Shock

Shock collar

Shot (gun, arrow, dart, etc...)

Shrapnel (blast/wounds)

Sick/injured at a party

Skull fracture

Slapped

Sleep Deprivation

Sleep Paralysis

Sleeping in the cold

Sleeplessness

Smashing their head into a wall

Smoke Inhalation

Snake Bites

Sneezing

So sick they can barely even stand or stay awake

Significant other taking care of wounds

So weak they have to hold on to something or someone to walk

Solitary Confinement

Special object being ruined/torn apart

Spinal Cord Injury

Split lip

Sprains

Stab Wounds

Stabbed (sword, spear, knife, TRIDENT!, etc...)

Stabbed through the back by the only person the whumpee trusted

Stage fright

Stalking

Status epilepticus

Stiches

Stings (insect, creature, plants)

Stitches

Stoic/Defiant Whumpee

Stoic/Rude/Harsh Reluctant Caregiver!Mentor & Ball of Sunshine Hurt!Mentee (platonic)

Stomach ache

Stomach Ulcers (a cause for vomiting up blood)

Stomach virus

Straight Jacket

Strangling

Strangulation resulting in bruised or swollen vocal chords and loss of voice + the process of regaining your voice and everything that comes with that trauma.

Stress (this could induce headaches/general illness)

Stress Position

Stumbling

Sucking chest wound

Suffocating

Sunburn

Super glued to toilet

Surgery

Surgery gone wrong

Surrendering

Survivor's Guilt

Swollen Lymph Nodes

Tachycardia

Taking the bullet

TBI (traumatic brain injury)

Team as a family

Team has a certain amount of time to get to their Whumpee before they’re killed

Team teaming up to take care of sick teammate

Temporary Loss of Sense(s)

Tendonitis

Tetanus

The Final Straw

Thrown from an explosion

Time Loop

Tiny whump

Tonsillitis

Tooth knocked out

Torn Ligaments - Achilles, Meniscus etc.

Torn Muscles

Torture

Touch Aversion/Touch Starved

Tranquilizer Dart

Trap

Trapped (whether this is after an explosion, car accident, natural disaster…)

Trapped Limbs

Trapped underwater

Trauma reveal

Tremors

Trust Issues

Truth spell/serum

Tuberculosis

Twisted ankle

Undead (vampires and ghosts and zombies, oh my!)

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Unresponsive

Upper respiratory infection

Used as bait

Usually big, strong and boisterous whumpee becomes quiet and weaker as the whumper conditions them.

UTI (Urinary Tract Infection)

Vampire whump

Vampires Thrall

Vehicular Accident

Venom

Vertigo

Very badly hurt and on life support - with slow recovery

Virus

Visions

Vocal chord paralysis

Vomiting/Vomiting blood

Waterboarding

West Nile virus

Whip scars

Whipping/Flogging

Whumpee being psychologically tortured via fake escape scenarios so when they are actually getting rescued they don't believe it. bonus point if they still don't think anything is real.

Whumpee dreams of a loved one happily inviting them “home” (They're actually dying IRL)

Whumpee getting the upper hand over whumper.

Whumpee stabbing whumper or beating their head into the ground over and over while sobbing, even when they’re clearly dead because they NEED to take their emotions out.

Whumpee turned Whumper

Whumpee watches caretaker take a bullet/hit/poison for them.

Whumper turned Caretaker

Whumper turned whumpee

Whumper with a crush

Wincing/Flinching

Wing whump

Wisdom Tooth Removal

Withdrawal

Withholding Medical Treatment

Witnessing. (Whumpee sees someone die in a brutal way. Whumpee sees someone get possessed/turned into a zombie/some other horrifying thing and they just stare horrified.)

Working for the enemy

Working through injury/illness

Working to Exhaustion

Wrists rubbed raw

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wrongfully Accused/Arrested

Wrongfully fired

Xeroderma. (Extreme sun sensitivity)

XMRV is a newly identified human retrovirus that is similar to a group of mouse retroviruses (called murine leukaemia viruses, or MLVs)

Yellow Fever

Zombie virus, etc.

Zoonotic Hookworm

Zoonotic illness (It’s a disease carried or transmitted by animals to humans like tularemia or psittacosis)

Zosler (Shingles)

Zygomycosis (Fungal infection)

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

#whump #tropes #prompts #a-z of whump #r-z #writing #ideas #angst #a-z #death tw #illness tw #injury tw #emetophobia #emeto #emeto tw #vomit tw #emetophobia tw #whump tropes

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leveloneandup · 29 days

Text

Christen Press' transformative journey back from injury

Christen Press once believed she was indestructible, immune to the injuries that had sidelined teammates and ended careers. But in 2022, an anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) tear shattered not only her knee but also the carefully constructed armor she had relied on throughout her career.

What followed wasn't just a physical struggle to return to the field but a profound journey of emotional recovery. Initially, Press saw rehabilitation as purely physical -- a means to heal her body. However, as setbacks kept her off the pitch and she explored new treatments, her perspective shifted.

The injury, the U.S. women's national team star realized, wasn't a curse but a gift, offering her an unexpected opportunity to confront long-buried grief and trauma.

"It wasn't painful," Press told ESPN in an exclusive interview. "It was more the realization that something was wrong with my body, and what that meant for my future."

In 2022, Press' future was tied to her hometown club, Angel City FC, after an 11-year professional career spanning America and Europe.

Incredibly, she had been available for every game except one, which she missed because of food poisoning. Her body had endured the physical demands of playing for both club and country. But in June of that year, during an NWSL match against Racing Louisville, she tracked back to help her team, committed to a challenge and crumpled to the ground following the contact.

Press had witnessed the ACL injury crisis in the women's game derail the careers of her peers, but she never imagined it would happen to her until it did, at the age of 33. By then, she was in the veteran stage of her career. An MRI confirmed the tear, and she underwent surgery soon after, beginning her recovery with a mix of apprehension and intrigue, expecting to return to competition within 9-12 months.

"I was sad, afraid and disappointed to miss the season," she recalled. "But part of me welcomed it because, as a professional athlete, pushing yourself is part of the process. I was confident I would gain something positive from the experience."

However, Press' body didn't respond well to rehabilitation. Significant challenges delayed her return to full fitness. Six months into her recovery, which had already included one revision surgery, Sarah Smith, Angel City's vice president of medical and performance, joined the club. With Angel City still developing its facilities, Press' rehabilitation took place off-site at the Meyer Institute of Sport, an elite rehabilitation and performance center.

Smith's team was in constant communication with the specialists, managing what became a complex injury. But soon, "career-altering problems" arose, causing the medical team "sleepless nights," Smith said.

"You think you're going to hit all the milestones and move smoothly through the continuum," she added. "But that's not always the case, and it's not reflective of the athlete's professionalism or the work they put in."

Every time Press neared a return to the field, another issue emerged. Devastatingly, this resulted in two more surgeries, making it four in total, testing her mental and physical resilience. She missed the 2023 Women's World Cup, and at times, it seemed her career was over.

"It was extremely confusing because every day I showed up with a smile on my face," Press said. "I never asked for a break, I never left early. I was very disciplined and extremely determined. I thought that would mean I'd have a linear path back, and it was challenging to accept it was out of my control."

Whenever she felt discomfort in her knee, she contacted her surgeon, desperate for some good news. But the diagnosis was always grim. "It was never just a bad day where the knee was actually fine. It was always, 'There's a cyclops lesion in your knee, and you can't play.'"

Running out of hope and options, Press started to explore alternative medicine.

"I have the best surgical team, the best physical therapy team, but that's not the only way to heal," she said. "I challenged myself to be around different types of healing."

What began as an attempt to fix her knee turned into an internal transformation, healing not just her injury but the trauma and grief she had been carrying.

"When I set out to heal my knee, I ended up healing my heart," Press reflected, referring to the pain she had harboured since the death of her mother in 2019. Her mother's death came as Press was preparing for the World Cup in France. The pursuit of ultimate glory became both an outlet and a distraction from her grief.

"Sport is so amazing in that it lets you process things differently -- getting all that adrenaline and sweat out of your body is detoxifying and balances your hormones, but it also masks a lot," she explained.

"It allows you to keep going and bury what's happened to you. When my mum passed in 2019, I missed one or two camps with the U.S. national team, then went back, and we won a World Cup.

"I was able to play for my mum, but it also left a lot of grief inside me that hadn't been addressed. That's the first thing I started to deal with in therapy.

"I did a lot of balancing my nervous system in acupuncture. I went to a homoeopathic doctor and he explained that in his opinion how the grief could have caused me to tear my ACL in the first place."

Away from her rehabilitation she remained in contact with the Angel City squad, attending game days and participating in meetings. Head coach Becki Tweed said Press requested a binder with set-piece tactics, to keep herself mentally engaged, while she was physically restricted.

The medical team remained cautious, taking a step-by-step approach to rebuild Press' capacity for movement, careful to avoid another major setback. Her rehabilitation work would often involve repeating movements 7-8 times more than a patient typically would, demonstrating the thoroughness required due to the complexity of her injury.

Throughout the monotonous rehab work and the frustration of watching her teammates train, the California native remained relentless in her quest to return to the field. Even when those closest to her wavered, she remained resolute.

"When you're told you need surgery for a fourth time, the people who love you start to ask, 'At what point is she going to wake up?'" said the two-time World Cup winner. "But it never even dawned on me to give up. That's just how I'm wired."

Her determination has left a lasting impression on the staff.

"You could see the discomfort in her knee during technical work," recalled Smith. "Watching her in pain, I wasn't sure more time or strength would help. It was hard to know that pushing through might not make it better.

"But she excelled throughout the two-year process, bringing optimism, hope, and joy to it all."

That perseverance has paid off. Although Press didn't make the 2024 Olympic squad, she is set to return for Angel City FC as the NWSL resumes this weekend. She's been training with the team for three months and made her return in early August, scoring a penalty in Angel City's shootout win over San Diego Wave in the NWSL x Liga MX Femenil Summer Cup.

"I had a conversation with her before the game, and she said, 'I'm not afraid,'" Tweed said. "During the game, she took the contact of a tackle, got up, and smiled. She needed that moment.

"After that, she had two shots. That's what she brings -- smart movement and the ability to find dangerous spaces around the 18-yard box."

At 35, with 64 international goals ranking her ninth in USWNT history, there's not much left for Press to achieve. But she's not done yet, even if her outlook has shifted.

"There are mixed emotions about how I can have the greatest impact for my team while minimizing long-term consequences for my life," she said. "But I'm excited to continue making progress and have a bigger impact on Angel City FC."

Her injury, though devastating, became a transformative experience -- physically, mentally, and emotionally.

As she steps back onto the pitch, Press is stronger in ways she never anticipated, having learned one key lesson: "You are exactly where you're supposed to be."

And for Press, that's back on the field at BMO Stadium this Sunday, with the grass under her feet.

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magicfootballstuff · 2 years

Text

Gym Buddies (alexia putellas x reader)

Summary: When you rupture a ligament shortly after joining Barcelona, your new captain is there to help you through the long recovery process.

———

You don’t actually see much of Alexia in your first few weeks at Barcelona.

You had been in camp with your national team when the news broke that Alexia would be missing the Euros because of a knee injury, and though you paid attention to the story, knowing that this was an injury affecting a soon-to-be teammate, you had been so caught up in your own Euro preparations that it didn’t actually register what it meant until you actually find yourself in the Barcelona training facility for pre-season.

You meet Alexia on your first day with the team. She welcomes you in accented English and pulls you in for a hug - the kind of polite but awkward hug you get from a vague acquaintance - and then moves away to chat to some of the Spanish girls, leaving you slightly starstruck. You try not to let it show though. She may have a Ballon D’Or and another potentially on the way soon, but you’re a European champion, a very good footballer in your own right, but it’s Alexia bloody Putellas and she has this aura of magic around her, even without a ball at her feet.

And then, when the team start their warmup drills for your first ever training session at Barcelona, Alexia disappears off the pitch for her rehab session in the gym, and you realise it might be a little while longer before you actually get to play with her.

She remains a bit of a mystery, showing her face here and there, though she mostly seems to spend time with the girls who have been at Barcelona with her for years, and she shows up dutifully to every match to cheer from the sidelines, but Alexia is focused on the rehab that keeps her away from the training pitch.

But then, three weeks into the season, just when you’re starting to feel settled and have found your place in a star-studded Barcelona team, an awkward challenge in a match sees you falling badly and being helped off the pitch by the team physios with tears in your eyes. You hope it’s just a sprained ankle, something you can recover from quickly and find yourself back on the pitch in just a few weeks, but the scan the morning after the game confirms the worst - you’ve torn a ligament and will be out for several months.

Having not really spent much time with Alexia so far, it’s a bit of a surprise when you turn up to the training ground for your first session post-surgery, foot strapped up in a plastic boot, and are greeted straight away with a hug from your injured captain.

“We’ve got this,” she murmurs into your ear, her arms still wrapped around you as she holds you close. “Anything you need, I’m here to help.”

“Thank you,” you tell her, squeezing her just that little bit tighter in response.

———

Later, when most of the girls are out on the pitch and you find yourself in the gym with Alexia and a couple of others who are sidelined with minor injuries, she reiterates her support for you.

“Are you okay?” she asks, while one of the physios is writing up your programmes for the day on a whiteboard in the gym - you’ve got an upper body circuit while Alexia will be doing a mix of strength training and low impact cardio.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m fine.”

“No, I mean are you okay? Like mentally?” Alexia taps her fingers against her temple to emphasise her question. “An injury can be tough to take.”

“Oh. Well, I’m disappointed, obviously. I just want to play. But this is part of football.”

“Somebody paid attention to their media training,” Alexia jokes, shooting you a little smirk. “A very professional answer. But you can open up to me if you’re struggling. I get it.” She gestures down at her knee. “Some days I’m really not okay. I love supporting the girls but it’s so hard to watch them and not join in. So if you need someone to talk to, remember I’m here. As your captain and as your friend.”

You realise now why she’s so popular among the team, why everybody who knows her speaks so highly about her as a person off the pitch as well as her obvious talent on it.

“Thanks, Alexia.”

“We’ll get through this. We’re injury partners now.”

“How about we say gym buddies instead of injury partners?” you suggest, gesturing around at the gym that will be your home for the foreseeable future until you get the all clear to go back out onto the training pitch. “Less depressing.”

Alexia grins at you.

“Deal.”

———

“Hola, gym buddy,” says Alexia, hurrying to catch up with you and draping an arm around your shoulders as you hobble into the gym on crutches two weeks into your rehab.

It’s been the hardest two weeks of your career, but you wouldn’t have been able to make it through without Alexia’s constant presence and support. You haven’t known her for long but she seems to know you better than anybody else on the team, she knows exactly what to say, when you need support and when you need space, and is rapidly becoming the sole reason you’re able to get out of bed each morning and motivate yourself to work through the slow progress of your rehab.

“Hey, Alexia,” you greet your captain.

“Ready for another day of hard work?” she asks you.

“I am now,” you joke.

Rehab is hard. And boring, too. You don’t yet feel like you’re actually making any progress, still unable to do any exercises that put unnecessary weight on your injured foot, you’re really just playing a waiting game until the boot can come off and the real work can begin.

“I’m hoping they let me use the bike today for the first time,” Alexia tells you, excitement barely contained in her voice.

“Ale, that’s huge!” you congratulate her. “I’m so happy for you.”

———

Recovery isn’t all good news. You learn that the hard way when your plastic boot comes off. What you thought would be a huge step forward in your recovery actually ends up just highlighting the mountain you have ahead of you. Perhaps naively you thought you’d be able to start ramping up the exercises pretty quickly, but the trainers are cautious and your rehab programme consists of the same old upper body workouts with only a handful of conditioning exercises for your ankle thrown in. Actually kicking a football again seems like it’s an eternity away.

But you’re not the only one who finds it difficult. Alexia presents such a strong exterior, full of motivation on your darkest days and always the one working hardest in the gym to get back to her best, but not even she is made entirely of stone.

You learn that when you go to the bathroom in the middle of a gym session and hear somebody crying in a locked cubicle.

Most of the team are outside on the training pitch, and of those of you doing recovery sessions indoors, all except one were accounted for when you left the gym a moment ago. There’s only one person this can be.

“Alexia?”

The sniffling stops and the subsequent silence that shrouds the bathroom is enough to confirm your hunch that your captain is the one crying in the locked cubicle.

“Alexia, it’s me.”

“I’m fine!” she calls back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

Silence. You want to support her but you’re not going to push it if she’s not comfortable.

“Okay, I’m going to go now but if you change your mind…”

You hear the bolt being slid across and the hinges creak as Alexia steps out. Her eyes are red and puffy and her cheeks glisten with tear tracks.

“I can’t do this,” she confesses, her voice cracking mid-sentence as she tries to stifle a fresh flood of tears.

You don’t know what to say. Alexia, the stoic captain, your rock since you picked up your own injury, standing before you more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen her before, and all you want to do is make sure that it’s all going to be okay. But telling her that doesn’t feel right - you know from your struggles with your own injury that those kinds of empty assurances are sometimes the exact opposite of what you need.

Alexia doesn’t need telling that, she needs to know that somebody understands her pain.

“I’m not going to tell you that you can do this,” you start, “but there have been so many times over the last couple of months that I’ve thought that I can’t do this. I’ve wanted to give up, to quit football. Some days I haven’t even wanted to get out of bed. Do you know the only reason why I did get up on those days?”

You pause for effect and Alexia says nothing, waiting for you to answer your own question. You place your hands on her arms as you look into her shimmering eyes.

“Because I know that when I get to the training ground, my gym buddy is going to be there to help me through the day.”

Alexia’s mouth twitches at the mention of the affection nickname you’ve been using for each other throughout your recovery.

You continue, “I’m working towards the day that I get to step out onto the grass and kick a ball around with the person who has saved me from my own worst demons. I want to play football with you. And just like you’ve been there for me, I’m here for you to make sure we get to that day together.”

“I can’t be strong every day.”

“You don’t have to be. But I think the strongest thing you’ve done since I met you is admitting that you’re not okay. I’m here for you today, so let it all out. Tomorrow we fight again together. Okay?”

Alexia throws her arms around you and pulls your body against hers for a tight hug.

“Okay,” she murmurs into your hair.

———

Something shifts after that moment. Before Alexia’s little breakdown, you had thought that it was her who was supporting you through your injury, but now you realise that you’re helping her just as much. You both have difficult moments - setbacks, or days where your return to the pitch seems an impossibly long way in the future - but you learn to read each other. Alexia can tell when you’re having a down day and gives you extra encouragement, hugs and humour, and you do the same when you can tell that she needs it too.

The months pass and the recovery intensifies. Somehow, despite your differing injuries, the timelines start to match up. You’re back running on the grass not long after Alexia, you rejoin the rest of the team for parts of the normal training within a week of each other, and when the time finally comes for you to return to the matchday squad, you and Alexia are both given approval to play again by the physios on the same weekend.

You even get subbed onto the pitch at the same time, when Barcelona are four goals up with twenty minutes left on the clock.

As the official gets the substitute board ready, Alexia’s hand finds yours and she squeezes your fingers. Your turn your head to look at her, to find her grinning at you.

“We did it,” she tells you.

“Yeah, we did.”

There’s so much more you want to say, so much you need to thank her for, because you wouldn’t have made it to this point without her by your side, but this isn’t the moment.

The teammates you’re replacing high five you as they come off and just like that, you’re back on a football pitch for an actual competitive game for the first time in forever.

The stadium erupts into monumental applause, and while you know that the Barcelona fans are mostly cheering the return of La Reina after ten months off the pitch, Alexia makes sure to direct her own applause to you as you both jog onto the pitch, and that’s all that matters to you.

Alexia ends up scoring Barcelona’s fifth and final goal, a free kick from just outside the box, because how else does a double Ballon D’Or winner announce their return to competitive football? As the back of the net ripples and the crowd roars, she runs straight over to you and wraps you in an embrace so tight that she physically lifts you off the ground, and your feet only touch the grass again when the rest of your teammates join the huddle to congratulate their captain.

The match ends not too long after and Alexia once again seeks you out straight away. She puts a hand on either side of your head and looks you straight in the eye, her face cracking open into a grin.

“We’re back,” Alexia says.

“We are,” you agree. “And you scored.”

“That goal was for you.”

You don’t get to respond because the rest of the team bundles into you and you can only watch as they work together to lift Alexia up and start throwing her into the air. Then before you know it they’ve gone for you too, and you find yourself lifted off the ground in celebration of your return to the matchday squad.

You have a brief moment of worry that they’re going to drop you and inflict another injury on you, but then you hear Alexia’s laughter rippling through the air and you feel at ease again.

She always has a way of settling your anxieties, whether she’s trying or not.

———

Some time later, when you’ve showered and changed and the dressing room is almost empty, you look around for Alexia but can’t see her anywhere.

Lucy, who is supposed to be giving you a lift home after the match, nudges you and says, “She went back onto the pitch.”

You turn to look at her quizzically, because she can’t possibly know who you’re looking for.

“What?”

“Alexia. Go on, I’ll wait in the car. Tell her how you feel.”

Your cheeks burn.

“It’s not … I don’t …”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from my own past injuries,” Lucy interrupts your stammering, “it’s that life is too short to live with any regrets. Go and talk to her. I think you’ll be surprised.”

You don’t say anything but nod your thanks to Lucy, hoisting your boot bag onto your shoulder and exiting the dressing room. You wander back down the tunnel and out to the edge of the pitch. Alexia is nowhere to be seen, but when you turn around, you spot a lone figure sitting up in the stands, surveying the empty pitch in front of her.

You climb the steps two at a time and walk between the rows of seats, before sitting down next to Alexia.

“I’ve been playing on this pitch in a Barcelona jersey for longer than I can remember,” Alexia tells you, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Every time it’s special. I can’t tell you how many times in the last few months I thought I’d never get that honour ever again.”

You laugh, ready to tell Alexia that she’s insane, because while you had similar moments of worry in your own rehab journey, you never for once doubted that Alexia wouldn’t make it back, but she turns to you and continues speaking.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have got here without you,” she tells you.

“I definitely wouldn’t have done it without you,” you admit. “My gym buddy.”

Lucy’s words ring in your ears. Now is the moment to tell Alexia how you feel, but you clam up at the prospect, unable to find the words to tell Alexia how much she means to you.

Luckily, Alexia seems to be stronger than you, and finds the words you can’t.

“You’re so much more than my gym buddy,” Alexia tells you, reaching across and taking your hand. “You entered my life at exactly the right moment and I’m so lucky to have you.”

You let your fingers tangle with Alexia’s, you heart hammering in your chest as you steel yourself for a moment that seems harder than any you went through during your recovery.

“I’m the lucky one,” you confess. “I wouldn’t have wanted to do this with anybody else by my side. You’re more than my teammate, more than my friend. I think I’m falling for you.”

There. It’s out. You finally admitted it. Your heart is out there for Alexia to bruise in a way that will be much harder to heal from than a stupid ankle injury.

But Alexia lets out a deep breath and her mouth curls up into a smile, a look of adoration in her eyes as she squeezes your fingers.

“Me too. I’m so glad you feel the same. I thought I was being stupid.”

“Can I kiss you?” you blurt out.

“Please,” Alexia nods.

You lean in and the moment that your lips touch Alexia’s is even more euphoric than kicking a football again after months of rehab. A memorable day becomes even more special as Alexia reciprocates your kiss, lips moving slowly against each other, a reward and a thank you for months of helping each other through the tough times to get to today.

You pull apart when you’re getting breathless, and though you’d happily spend the rest of the night here, kissing Alexia in the stands at the Estadi Johan Cruyff until long after the sun has gone down, you know you should probably head home.

“I really don’t want to go, but Lucy’s waiting in the car to drive me home,” you tell Alexia, still holding onto her hand as you start your goodbyes. “But thank you again for everything.”

“I don’t think I’m going to forget today for a long time,” Alexia says. “For more than one reason.”

“Me neither,” you agree. You lean in for one more kiss, unable to get enough of Alexia’s lips, before you pull away and reluctantly let go of her hand as you stand up. “See you in training?”

“Or sooner,” suggests Alexia, with a smile that causes your heart to do a little flip. “I’ll text you.”

“I can’t wait.”

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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