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meazalykov · 4 months ago

Text

filming

lena oberdorf x actress!reader

summary: while filming in london, you have a special guest visit you at work

you're standing on set, mentally exhausted but pushing through as you try to channel the villain you're playing.

the heavy makeup, the dark clothes, everything about the character feels so different from who you are. it's been a long day, and while you're focused on your next scene, your thoughts keep drifting to lena, knowing she's in london too, playing against arsenal with wolfsburg in the champions league semi-final.

you wish you could be there, but acting doesn’t exactly allow for last-minute trips across town.

"hey, can you turn around for a sec?" your costar says casually, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"uh, sure?" you respond, a little confused as you turn.

the sight that greets you makes your heart skip. lena's standing there, a playful smirk on her face, with sveindis right beside her.

you blink, trying to register that they’re actually here, in the flesh, on your film set.

"what the hell?!" you exclaim, rushing over to them. "what are you doing here?"

lena chuckles, taking in your costume. "i had to see this for myself. my girlfriend, the horror villain. you look... terrifying, baby."

you laugh, rolling your eyes. "yeah, yeah, i know i look like i just crawled out of the underworld and the SFX makeup doesn’t make this any better. but it's just a character, promise. i'm still me under all this."

"thank goodness," lena jokes, stepping closer and pulling you into a tight hug. "though, it kinda suits you."

"oh, shut up," you nudge her playfully, feeling a warmth settle in your chest at how easily she makes everything feel lighter. "i missed you."

"i missed you too," she murmurs, kissing your temple.

you turn to sveindis, grinning.

"and you! i can't believe you both came here. you know you’re my favorite of lena's friends, right?"

sveindis laughs, shaking her head. "i mean, i try."

"seriously though," you sigh, "i wish i could come to your game. it’s killing me that i can't be there."

"we know," lena says, her voice softening. "but you’re busy, and you're killing it here. we get it."

you nod, biting your lip. "yeah, but it still sucks."

"you'll see us in the final, though," sveindis adds confidently.

"damn right i will," you grin. "you better win."

"we'll try our best," lena says, squeezing your hand.

they don’t stay long, knowing you're in the middle of filming, but before they leave, lena gives you another quick hug, whispering, "i’m proud of you, you know that?"

"i'm proud of you too. now go crush arsenal," you whisper back, your heart swelling with love as they walk away.

you spend the rest of the day filming, but your mind keeps replaying the moment with lena, that grounding presence she always brings with her.

when the director finally calls cut for the day, you’re exhausted but relieved to be done.

as soon as you’re back in your trailer, you pull out your phone and check the score. wolfsburg won.

you waste no time pulling out your phone to call lena. as soon as the ringing stops, you hear her excited voice on the other end.

“hey, baby! we did it!” she practically yells, and you can hear the noise of celebration in the background.

you can’t help but laugh, her energy contagious. “i saw! i’ve been dying over here, refreshing the score like a maniac.”

“you should’ve seen it,” lena says breathlessly, still riding the high of the win. “it was insane. poppi scored the winner, and everyone lost their minds!”

“i’m so proud of you,” you say softly, smiling to yourself. “i wish i could’ve been there.”

“don’t worry about it. you’re working hard too,” she reassures, though you can hear a little hint of longing in her voice.

“well,” you pause, biting your lip, “i’ve got news. i’m taking time off to come to eindhoven for the final. i’m gonna be there.”

there’s a beat of silence before you hear her gasp. “you’re serious?”

“of course! there’s no way i’m missing this. i’ll be in the stands, screaming my head off for wolfsburg.”

“oh my god,” lena breathes out, and you can practically see her smiling.

“that’s... that’s amazing. i didn’t think you’d be able to make it.”

“well, i pulled some strings,” you tease, feeling a weight lift from your chest just knowing you’ll be there.

you didn’t really need to pull any strings. the champions league game happens to fall on the week break that filming has.

“and as soon as filming wraps for good, i’m coming back to germany. i promise we’ll have time again.”

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you,” lena says quietly, her voice soft now, intimate.

“it’s been so hard with both of us being so busy.”

��i know,” you whisper, “but we’ll get through it. we always do.”

“god, i can’t wait to see you,” she says, the happiness in her voice clear as day. “it’s going to be perfect.”

“i can’t wait either,” you reply, heart swelling with love. “and hey, tell sveindis she’s still my favorite for scoring the last three games, okay?”

lena laughs, a sound that makes you feel like you’re home even though you’re still on set.

“i’ll tell her. she’ll be so happy about it since she's a fan of yours.”

“awee,” you joke, leaning back in your chair.

“you two better get some rest tonight. you’ve got a champions league final to win soon.”

“don’t worry,” lena says confidently, “we’ve got this. and knowing you’ll be there... that’s all the motivation i need.”

“i love you,” you say softly, letting the words settle between you.

“i love you too,” she replies, her voice warm and full of emotion. “see you soon, okay?”

“see you soon,” you echo, smiling to yourself as you hang up.

masterlist

#lena oberdorf #lena you're missed #come back stronger lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #gerwnt #bayern frauen #vfl wolfsburg women #sveindis jonsdottir

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meazalykov · 22 days ago

Text

the target

lynn wilms x reader

summary: lynn gets revenge for you

warnings: angst?, injury, swearing

it’s game day.

the quarterfinals of the champions league. real madrid. the first leg. it’s the kind of match you’ve dreamed about since you were a kid. well, as a kid you thought you would be playing for your childhood club back in england, but that is besides the point.

you’re starting in midfield with wolfsburg, and lynn will be out there too, holding down the right-back position. the thought of sharing the pitch with her always brings a certain calmness, even when the stakes are this high.

the walkout onto the field is exciting. the screams of the fans, the wolfsburg green against the madrid white—you’re excited.

you catch lynn’s eye during lineup panel, and she sends you a small smile. it’s grounding.

as soon as the whistle blows, madrid makes their intentions clear. they press hard, quick to close down any space, and their midfielders seem to be everywhere at once.

your first few touches are rushed, pressured by their relentless energy.

you catch glimpses of lynn darting up the right flank, always ready to support the attack or track back defensively.

the first twenty minutes fly by, a blur of challenges, quick passes, and constant movement.

madrid isn’t giving an inch, and neither are you.

lynn spots athenea darting down the wing, her control precise as she angles to cut inside. athenea believes that she is clean, but lynn stops her. she steps in with flawless timing, extending her leg to cleanly take the ball away just as athenea tries to make her next move.

the crowd erupts in appreciation as lynn doesn’t just win possession... she transitions it forward instantly. the blonde head lifts, scanning the field before threading a perfectly weighted pass up to jule, who’s already running to an open space.

jule collects the ball smoothly, her pace causing madrid’s defenders to scramble. she draws two players toward her.

you, ever the playmaker, timed your next move perfectly, running on the right as the ball slipped into your path. it’s quick and seamless, giving you the chance to turn toward the goal with space ahead of you.

you take your first touch, the ball right at your feet as you eye the madrid backline. there’s no easy route through, but that’s never stopped you before.

antonia lunges in, and with a flick to your right followed by a sharp cut to your left, you leave her behind, her balance thrown off entirely.

adrenaline courses through you as you move toward the next challenge.

before you can make your next move, olga comes crashing in, her body slamming into yours with a brutal force that has nothing to do with getting the ball.

the woman’s left shoulder hits your side hard, knocking the air from your lungs as your momentum is thrown off.

your feet lose contact with the ground, and just as you’re falling forward, oihane adds insult to injury with a shove to your back, propelling you further into the grass. the crowd’s collective gasp rings out as your body hits the ground hard, your palms scraping against the rough surface of grass.

the whistle cuts through the chaos, sharp and clear. the referee’s arm is up, signaling the foul, but that doesn’t immediately soothe the tension that erupts around you.

you hear svenja’s voice almost immediately, protesting in both german and english, firm and unwavering as she marches toward the ref. your mentor’s protective instincts kicking in. she’s quick to defend you.

you push yourself up from the ground, brushing bits of grass from your raw hands and knees as you catch your breath. your body aches from the collision, but you’re fine—nothing you can’t handle.

looking up, you see lynn already moving toward olga, her expression a mixture of frustration and determination. the dutch's movements are purposeful, her jaw clenched, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

before she can close the distance, you step into her path, reaching out to place a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“hey, its fine,” you say softly, meeting her eyes. the tension in her posture eases just slightly as you shake your head, your silent way of telling her to let it go. it’s not worth it. she hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering between you and olga, but you nudge her back gently, guiding her away with you.

lynn exhales deeply, and the two of you retreat together, leaving svenja to handle the situation as the referee moves in.

“are you fine?” she mumbles.

“yes.” you mumble back.

the game ticks into the 40th minute, ten minutes after the crash between olga, oihane, and you. you find yourself in a pocket of space near the edge of the box, the ball at your feet. your instincts kick in as you glance up, scanning the field.

alex makes her run, her timing perfect as she slips between two defenders. without hesitation, you whip in a cross—a perfect arc curling toward the center of the goal. alex rises above the crowd, her header powerful and precise, sending the ball soaring past misa and into the back of the net.

the stadium erupts in cheers, a sea of green celebrating as alex takes off toward the corner flag, pumping her fist in the air. your excitement overtakes you as you sprint toward her, jumping onto her back as the rest of the team rushes in to join the celebration.

1-0. it’s a massive moment.

however, that solidified madrid’s stance on you being a threat.

as the game resumes, it’s clear that madrid has shifted their focus entirely onto you. every time you touch the ball, their players close in aggressively. you can feel their frustration; they can’t stop you, so they’ve resorted to trying to break you.

your reputation precedes you. you’re known for your pinpoint assists and thunderous goals from a distance outside of the box.

you’re their biggest threat, and they know it.

the final five minutes of the first half feel like they stretch into eternity. madrid’s pressure is relentless, their challenges growing rougher with each passing moment. you’re dribbling upfield, looking for an opening to pass to svenja, when teresa closes in.

before you can react, her cleat comes down hard on your foot, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg. you cringe, instinctively bending down to rub your foot as you try to shake off the pain.

the referee doesn’t blow the whistle, and the game continues around you as if nothing happened.

svenja sees it all. she immediately stops play, her voice sharp as she confronts the referee. frustration is etched across her face, her gestures animated as she demands to know why no foul was called.

you straighten up, still wincing as you test your foot, and glance toward the bench where your coach looks equally concerned.

the lack of calls has the entire wolfsburg team irritable. madrid’s strategy is clear—they’re targeting you, and the referee’s inaction only fuels their boldness. even the fans are voicing their anger, their boos ringing out as the replay of the stomp flashes across the stadium’s screens. lynn is pacing on the right flank, visibly holding herself back. her hands are clenched into fists, her jaw tight as she tries to restrain herself.

you catch her eye briefly, and the frustration in her gaze is almost palpable. she’s respecting your choice, not wanting to escalate things, but it’s killing her to see you take hit after hit.

as the whistle finally signals halftime, you walk off the field with your teammates, your foot still throbbing. the coach pulls you aside in the tunnel, his tone serious.

“y/n, you’ve got to avoid getting injured. we need you for the second leg, not just tonight.”

before you can respond, alex speaks up, her voice filled with annoyance.

“they’re targeting her because they can’t stop her. it’s obvious! the ref’s letting them get away with it.” she’s practically seething in german, her protective nature mirroring the team’s collective frustration.

he second half starts with wolfsburg adjusting to the madness of the first. the coach’s strategy is clear: keep the ball moving quickly and limit your full possession to specific plays.

the focus shifts to jule, who takes on more of the ball-handling responsibilities in the midfield since the madrid players are slightly less aggressive with her, and everyone else who isn’t you.

your coach is making a tactical move meant to shield you from the worst of madrid’s aggressive targeting, but it leaves you lingering in pockets of space, watching and waiting for an opening. this is what you hate, you love a challenger. you need to have contact, but being injured would ruin all of that.

the clock ticks into the 49th minute when svenja, ever-reliable, sends a sharp pass your way. the ball zips across the field, and you’re quick to collect it, already scanning for options. you can feel the madrid players closing in, but you’re hoping, just hoping, they won’t try anything this time.

of course, they do.

as you push up the pitch, caroline suddenly grabs a fistful of your jersey, tugging hard enough to pull you off balance. the fabric stretches uncomfortably against your chest, and your frustration bubbles to the surface at the same time.

you reach behind you, your fingers finding hers, and pry her grip loose. it’s not a hard motion, but it’s deliberate. the ball rolls slightly ahead of you as you let it go, passing it cleanly to svedinis before turning back to face caroline.

you don’t hide your irritation as you step toward her, your voice steady but edged with anger.

“is there a problem?” the question hangs in the air, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the game. caroline’s hands shoot up defensively, palms out, as if to say she doesn’t want any trouble.

the scottish woman’s expression is neutral, almost dismissive, but she doesn’t say a word.

you back away slowly, your eyes still locked on hers for a moment longer before you turn. alex is there, her reassuring presence a balm against the frustration threatening to consume you. she pats your back firmly, her touch grounding you as she says something you can’t quite hear over the loudness of the german crowd ready to defend you.

the look in alex’s eyes is encouraging, a silent acknowledgment that you’ve done well to stand your ground.

across the pitch, lynn watches the entire interaction, her posture is tense, her hands clenching briefly before she forces them to relax.

you’re doing everything right, standing up for yourself with composure, but it’s clear to her how much it’s wearing on you. as much as she respects your wish for her to stay out of it, the sight of you being targeted again and again makes it almost unbearable for her to stay put.

still, she forces herself to remain where she is, her focus trained on the game, even though her heart aches for you.

the next play will change lynn’s mindset..

..it all happens too fast.

the ball is thrown in from minge and you get the ball. you run just outside the box, lining up the perfect shot.

suddenly, a sharp, searing pain explodes in your ankle. antonia’s boot, studs up, slams directly into you with brutal force. she misses the ball entirely, and the impact sends you sprawling to the ground.

the ball goes away from the goal, forgotten as your scream pierces through the stadium noise.

you clutch your ankle instinctively, the pain so intense it feels like your entire leg is on fire. the blood pools quickly, soaking into your green socks, the vibrant red stark against the fabric. the agony grips you, but so does the shock.

your breath comes in short, ragged bursts as your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your chest. you want to cry, to let the pain out somehow, but the tears won’t come. something inside of you did not want to give madrid players and fans the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

instead, you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the shaking in your hands as they press tightly against your throbbing ankle.

“y/n love, it’s okay, we’re here,” jule’s voice breaks through the haze, soft but urgent. she’s kneeling next to you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. svedinis is beside her, her eyes filled with concern as she crouches down, holding your other hand that is not on your ankle.

your bestfriend’s words are comforting, grounding, even as the medics rush onto the pitch, their bags clutched tightly as they prepare to assess the damage.

the pain doesn’t lessen, but their closeness makes the swollen and bleeding ankle more bearable.

while you’re surrounded by support and calmness by the outside of the box, the rest of the pitch is erupting into chaos towards the goalpost.

lynn saw you on the ground, the blood, the pain etched across your face, and something inside her snaps. the calm restraint from earlier is gone. she storms toward antonia with a ferocity that makes her teammates hesitate to step in.

“are you stupid?!” lynn yells, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. her words ring out clearly, laced with anger and disbelief. antonia tries to wave it off, muttering,

“i didn’t do anything,” but lynn isn’t having it.

“shut up!” she yells again, pointing directly at antonia.

the madrid players begin to swarm, misa stepping in to try to break things apart. olga joins the fray, her posture defensive as she moves toward lynn, but wolfsburg’s players aren’t letting lynn getting jumped by the spanish team.

svenja, ever the captain, runs forward. marina and lineth flank her while alex positions herself near lynn, ready to intervene if things go too far.

lynn is beyond reason, her finger still jabbing in antonia’s direction as she yells,

“seriously though, what’s wrong with you guys? stop being so stupid!”

the medics finally reach you, but even their presence doesn’t fully distract you from the chaos unraveling around you. lynn keeps going, before minge wraps her arms around lynn, trying to pull her back.

“let it go,” minge pleads.

you’re lying there, your hands trembling as the medics begin their work, but your eyes flicker toward lynn. even through the chaos, you can feel her anger burning for you.

the ref finally raises the red card, pointing directly at antonia, who looks stunned for a moment before reluctantly walking off the pitch. it’s the right call.. her studs-up tackle was reckless and dangerous.

your teammates exchange frustrated glances, and you can see it in their faces: this never should have gotten to this point. if the referee had been stricter earlier, if fouls had been called, warnings given, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

you’re helped off the pitch, each step sending jolts of pain up your leg, and ariana comes on as your replacement. you watch her jog into position, her face set with determination, but your focus quickly shifts to your ankle.

minutes later seated in the medic room, you can’t help but cringe when you finally look down. your sock, once a pristine green, is stained with blood, and your ankle is swollen, an angry blue hue spreading up your skin.

it looks worse than it feels, though the pain is still there.

the team’s doctor, a kind woman you’ve rarely interacted with since you’re not one to often get injured, works quickly and efficiently. the touch is gentle, but you still wince as she cleans the wound and begins wrapping your ankle in layers of bandages.

“you might be out for a couple of weeks,” she says softly, her tone sympathetic but professional.

“we’ll need to do a deeper analysis tomorrow after the swelling goes down.”

you nod, accepting her words with a mix of disappointment and resignation. injuries are part of the sport but it doesn’t make it any easier to process.

you force yourself to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that your recovery is now the priority.

after she finishes wrapping your ankle, the doctor hands you a pair of crutches. using them feels awkward at first, but you manage as you make your way back toward the field.

the game is still 1-0, thanks to you and alex. you find a seat on the bench next to lineth, who is now also off the pitch. she gives you a sympathetic smile, her hand briefly resting on your shoulder.

“you okay?” she asks, her voice low enough not to draw attention.

“i’ll survive,” you reply, though your gaze drifts back to the game.

you sit on the bench trying to distract yourself from the dull ache in your ankle. your eyes naturally find lynn on the pitch, and for the first time in a long while, you’re watching her play from the sidelines instead of alongside her.

it’s strange, this perspective, but it gives you a chance to really notice her playing.

the way she moves is effortless—calculated yet fluid, her body a perfect balance of power and precision. lynn’s posture is strong despite the obvious frustration lingering from what happened to you. the dutch’s lips are pressed into a thin line, her usual calm replaced by a quiet intensity.

you can’t help but think about how hot she looks out there. the wanted distraction is welcome, pulling your attention away from the throbbing in your ankle. she’s a force to be reckoned with, and even though you already know that, seeing her from this angle makes you appreciate it even more.

in the 86th minute, lynn takes the ball up the right. you can see her eyes scan the field as she gauges her options.

lynn takes a perfect shot with the ball and at first, it looks like she’s targeting ariana, hoping for a header to mirror alex’s earlier goal.

however, the ball keeps going, and going. misa stretches out her fingers, desperate to make the save, but it’s too late—the ball flies just out of reach and into the back of the net.

the crowd erupts in cheers, the noise shaking the entire stadium. your heart leaps with excitement, and before you realize it, you’re on your feet, clapping and cheering as loudly as the rest of the bench.

you can’t help yourself—you’re so proud of her.

through the chaos, lynn’s eyes immediately find yours. it’s as if she’s tuning out everything else, seeking your validation first, as always. when she spots you, her expression softens for a moment, and she raises her hands, forming a heart in your direction.

your chest tightens at the sweet gesture, your cheeks heating up as you smile at her. lynn’s celebrations are never over the top, her focus always on the team rather than personal glory, but this small moment of acknowledgment is everything to you.

beside you, lineth snorts, leaning closer to mutter, “you two need to get a room.”

“shut up,” you shoot back, grinning despite yourself. lineth just laughs, shaking her head as she joins in the applause.

as the game winds down, you notice something curious: madrid’s aggression has noticeably cooled. they’re still pressing and defending, but the dirty fouls and unnecessary physicality have all but disappeared.

it hits you like a sudden realization. they weren’t playing rough because of wolfsburg—they were playing rough because of you.

i mean, you did play for barcelona before wolfsburg. however, that was four years ago. those heated el clasico matches were in your past. you shake your head, ignoring all of those possibilities.

the final whistle blows, and all of the wolfsburg players gather on the field, exchanging hugs and high-fives after the 2-0 victory. you remain seated on the bench, a quiet observer as the celebration unfolds.

the doctor’s words echo in your mind, reminding you to avoid walking on your ankle too much until your ankle can be properly assessed and placed in a boot tomorrow. the dull throb in your ankle keeps you grounded, but watching your team revel in their success brings a sense of satisfaction despite the earlier chaos.

lynn is still on the pitch, talking with svedinis near the sideline. though she’s engaged in conversation, you can tell her attention keeps flickering back to you. she’s rushing—her words quick, her movements slightly impatient. svedinis starts to notice and giggles, pushing lynn towards you as she goes to talk to alex.

the dutch jogs over to you, her green kit streaked with dirt and sweat.

she doesn’t hesitate, practically throwing herself onto you, careful to avoid your injured ankle. the tattooed arms wrap around you tightly, her weight a comforting presence as you let out a laugh.

“easy there, mvp,” you tease, your voice light for the first time since the injury.

lynn leans back slightly, a grin tugging at her lips.

“it’s just good to see you not looking so pissed off after everything that happened.”

you chuckle, tilting your head at her.

“yeah, but i wish i could say the same about you.”

she narrows her eyes playfully, a mock glare forming.

“can you blame me? watching you get beat up out there and not being able to do anything about it? i was ready to beat someone up myself.”

you nod, your tone softening. “true. but, for the record…” you pause, a mischievous smile spreading across your face.

“i thought it was kind of hot, seeing you all protective and storming the pitch.”

lynn groans, rolling her eyes dramatically, though the faint blush creeping up her cheeks gives her away.

“you’re insane, do you know that?” she mutters, but there’s no heat in her words.

you laugh again, reaching out to pull her into a proper hug. lynn’s body relaxes against yours, the stadium around you begins to empty, everyone into the cool night air as the crowd disperses.

it’s just the two of you now, in the quiet glow of the emptying arena.

“thanks for having my back out there,” you whisper, your voice sincere.

lynn presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice equally soft.

“always.”

masterlist

#lynn wilms #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #vfl wolfsburg women #oranjeleeuwinnen #sveindis jonsdottir #alex popp #real madrid femenino

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