#the odd ball squad

[samlssms]

I Pee in Pools

He's a menace, he would pee in pools. I drew this just to be cursed I'm so sorry.

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[taco-bee]

Thank you Monster High, thank you MLP freindship is magic, thank you Powerpuff Girls, thank you Tinkerbell

AND MY PBS BLORBOS: Thank you Odd Squad, thank you Ready Jet Go, thank you Arthur, thank you Cyberspace

AND THE ANIMES I WATCHED AT AGE 5???? INYUASHA AND DRAGON BALL (I WATCHED ALL OF THEM [except GT I couldn't stomach it])

THANK YOU ALL MY CHILDHOOD SHOWS!!!!

REEEEEEEEEEEEE

[oceansreducedtoshallowcreeks]

it's the same place

[samkerrworshipper]

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barca x reader, platonic!alexia putellas x reader

warnings: talks of narcotics addiction, angst, depression

Spain is different. It’s more freeing than France ever was, less dark. There isn’t the same constant bustle and stimulation that you were surrounded by in Paris. Paris was survival, but Barcelona is the weird halfway between living and being alive. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in years, but yet you still hover a few metres below the surface. Drowning is still drowning no matter how deep you are.

Barcelona was a shock to put it lightly. After Paris, after the mess that had been your life and then had turned into your career your everything had blown up. A good situation for you was showing your face outside of your apartment, maybe kicking a ball around again if you could work up the courage. You’d never thought that you would get another shot at football, it just hadn’t been an option in your mind. You were blacklisted in the world of soccer, whilst it wasn’t public knowledge why, courtesy of PSG being extremely cautious of keeping a good public image, it was well known that your leave had been anything but honourable.

You really hadn’t kept up with any football afterwards, hell you hardly kept up with anything when you were playing, but supposedly Barcelona had fallen into a crisis of major season ending injuries and were struggling to find money to acquire many players.

You weren’t even aware you had an agent anymore, you certainly weren’t paying agents fees, yet the calls came, and the door knocking, and the zoom meetings, and the visits and eventually a hasty contract signing was done half an hour after you’d hopped on a plane to Barcelona.

It was over a year since you’d stepped foot on a football pitch, possibly a year and a half since you’d trained with a team.

Your new teammates, who you hadn’t bothered to touch up on all , stood to the sides and watched you train for the first time, getting in some private time with Pere before your first proper training session.

“She played in Lyon, no?”

You were a bit of a mystery, the first the team had heard of you was the day before when Pere had alerted them that you would be joining the squad along with some girls from the Barca B side. Afterwards, in the locker rooms they’d tried to find as much information as they could, but the most they could find was your wikipedia page. No social media, no interviews, no features on other players' social media, nothing. You were an enigma, this person that seemingly existed yet none of them could put a face to your name.

“No, PSG, Liverpool beforehand, remember?”

You’re rough at the edges, that much is clear. With your mane of hair in a ponytail that looks like it’s seconds away from falling from your head yet it never does. The ear piercings adorning every single inch of cartilage and tissue along your ear and the tattoos that don’t seem to stop or start.

“And she played for England?”

You don’t look English, not in how you play. You’re so… edgy? You play like you’re straggling to do everything, like you know what it is to struggle.

“Up until U23s, had a short stint in the senior team before she retired.”

Your eyes are bloodshot, like you don’t know what sleep is. It’s almost endearing and yet terrifying in the same way. In an odd way it reminds Alexia so much of Jenni, you look and play nothing like her, but it’s the same ferocity, the same hunt in your expressions.

“And she’s only 21?”

It’s hard to believe that you are the same age as Esmee or Salma, you just look so much older. Like you’ve seen so much more than that.

“Stop leering at her, how would you feel if we all did this to you on your first day?”

Irene’s voice seems to be enough to shake everybody out of their trance hovering to the side of the training ground. You’ve noticed everybody, but you shake it off in the same way you seem to shake off every comment from Pere and every ball you lose. Alexia smiles at you when you look over at her, your facial expression doesn’t deviate from the same pulled back that it’s been stuck in since Alexia started watching you.

You don’t know why you thought you were capable of doing any kind of football, yet alone trying to compete with the best football players in the world. Training with Pere on your own had been brutal enough, you were unfit to put it simply and fearful in a way you’d never been before. Then introducing some of the best midfielders and forwards to your game, well it was a recipe for disaster.

By the time you made it to your first drink break your lungs were burning more from intake of oxygen then exhaling. Your calves are cramping up like they’ve never been used for more than walking and you feel like you’re one sprint away from hurling up your whole stomach's contents.

By the time you make it to the end of training you seriously feel like you might be dying, potentially dramatic but you’ve genuinely never hated your body more than you do.

You leave the field as soon as you’ve been assisted, you want to leave. You’re here for one simple reason, money. Barcelona were desperate and whilst your salary wasn’t anything exorbitant it was enough to guarantee that you would be able to live off of yourself for a few more years before you figured out what to do with your life beyond football.

You’d been shown the locker rooms on your tour, but you don’t bother. You duck into the first bathroom you can find, tugging your cleats off and throwing them into the same carry-on bag you’d gotten through the airport. Your training gear comes off next, you switch it for the spare clothes you’d left in your bag. You feel disgusting, you want a shower and a bottle of vodka. You’d rather feel disgusting though then be thrown into a room of women who you’ve never met and don’t intend to make friends with.

You try to sneak away as easily as possible, but you get caught when you run into a few of your teammates on your way out.

“Hola.”

You would love to pretend that you don’t notice the three people walking your way but it’s hard when you’ve already made eye contact.

“Hey.”

You hope that’ll be it, you try and make it past the three of them but it’s hard when they’ve all stopped directly in front of you expectantly.

“I’m-.”

This is what you want to avoid.

“Alexia Putellas, I don’t live under a rock.”

The woman seems to falter at the sound of your voice, you don’t mind the shocked look on her face.

“Well it’s nice to meet you. This is Jana and Vicky.”

You nod at the other two, Vicky you’re familiar with from your time in the England team, though not enough that you can remember ever playing against her.

“Cool.”

The three women are very clear about their discomfort around your bluntness, it’s good, it’s what you want.

“We-The team, were going to head down to a favourite bar of ours later, weekend off and all, we’d love it if you could join?”

Jana nods along with Alexia and Vicky just smiles.

“The food is to die for and if you’re lucky Alexia will drink enough that she’ll shout our tab.”

Alexia hits Vicky over the back of the head and Vicky looks like she’s about to lunge to retaliate but one darting look at you from Jana stops her.

“I don’t drink, and I don’t do dinners.”

Both Vicky and Jana frown, as if you’ve directly said something to offend them. Alexia looks less surprised.

“Well plenty of the team don’t drink, Irene and Marta and Ingrid.”

You decide you’ve had enough socialisation.

“Thanks but no thanks, if you know what I mean.”

None of the three women know what you mean, and you leave them wondering as you push past the wall to escape their eyes.

“I heard that she was fucking one of the trainers, and they got caught by one of the coaches.”

“I heard that she was stealing from the girls on the team, taking stuff and selling it on ebay.”

“I heard that she went off of her meds and had a breakdown and cursed out the coach.”

“I heard that she-.”

You’re the topic of conversation for the night, your absence from dinner has left such a point of intrigue that even after food and drinks everyone still keeps coming back to it.

“Stop it, you’re all horrible, you’re all making stuff up.”

The younger girls have been the main ones fueling it, there’s so little information on you that it’s so easy to fall into a rhythm of rumours and whispers.

“Ellie, she played in England, surely you know something?”

Ellie’s normally a quieter presence at team events, and as all the eyes fall to her she’s very glad that she hardly harnesses the attention of the group.

“Absolutely not, I’m not feeding into your theories. If you want to know something, ask her yourself.”

The younger girls all groan, Alexia knows why, they’re all far too scared to ask you a single thing, even she's hesitant. With most of the new girls she takes up a caring role, helping people during their transition. Yet even with your number in her phone, courtesy of the team's manager, she can’t find any words that would be appropriate to send to you.

“C’mon Roebuck, you must know something.”

Ellie does, Alexia can just tell by the way she itches at her neck and reaches for her drink immediately.

“I know that she’s been through a lot and definitely didn’t plan on playing football again. That’s all I’m saying.”

Even though you’re rough, and play in such a way that Alexia can’t quite find words for. You have natural talent, it’s raw, but even as you’d struggled she’d seen it.

Then she’d inevitably gotten curious, and went into a deep dive of watching old PSG game videos in search of something. She’d found it, or she’d found you. She wasn’t quite sure how you’d alluded her two years ago, because as she watched game video after game video, she saw magic. There was so little footage and even less of you in an England shirt, but what’s there is brilliant. There’s less of the push and shove, more refined but it’s the same player.

She doesn’t like being left in the dark when it comes to teammates or people in her life, yet when it comes to you she’s completely lost, and extremely curious.

“Ellie’s right, it’s none of our business and if we want to know we should ask her or wait for her to tell us, she’s clearly guarded from past experiences.”

Irene’s voice has the kind of finality that tells everybody the discussion is over. The conversation shifts to something about the upcoming Champions League fixtures and you’ve once again stayed a closed book to everybody.

Alexia would love to say she has a breakthrough with you, but she doesn’t, not for a week.

For the first week it’s fairly quiet. One training or gym session a day. It’s not until 8 days after your arrival that the team has a day longer than a single session, forcing you to stick around for team lunch.

You’re sitting at your own table, headphones on and head stuck in your phone when Alexia comes in after some time in the physio room.

Instead of heading straight towards her normal table she beelines towards you.

You look up at her as she sits down across from you, give Alexia a bit of a squint and then look back down at your phone.

“How are you finding it here?”

You don’t even flinch at Alexia’s voice, and for a second she’s a bit taken aback by your rudeness. But then she remembers you have headphones on.

Alexia foot nudges you from under the table and you try to not look utterly pissed off as your eyes lift from your phone.

Her lips are moving and apparently she’s talking to you and whilst you have zero wishes to converse with her you have enough decency to reach up and slide your headphones off.

“You’re settling in okay?”

You’re glad she can speak English because you haven’t bothered to attend any of the Spanish lessons that the club has set up for you. You’re happy in your blissful bubble.

“Fine.”

You attempt to slide your headphones back on but Alexia’s voice stops you.

“You haven’t come to any of the team nights, we added the right number to the group chats, right?”

It’s almost laughable, how Alexia is trying to pawn your antisocial behaviour off.

“No, you’ve got the right number.”

You hadn’t gotten any food, so you’re left to awkwardly sip at your water whilst Alexia ponders over how to respond to that.

“If Spanish is an issue, most of us speak english and we’re happy to translate, there are plenty of girls who speak english primarily.”

You pick at your nails and as Alexia focuses on you she takes in certain parts of your appearance. Your nail beds are a wreck, or more specifically your hands. You’ve clearly picked and bitten them to the point of bleeding, and even as you continue to pick at the scabs and scars you don’t flinch away whatsoever.

She also notices the way you’re always shaking, your hands, your legs, your arms, you don't stop moving, Your body is in a constant state of awakeness. It mirrors the same exhausted look on your face, it’s like how sharks never stop swimming, you never seem to stop moving.

The scars on your face extend up your arms, it’s hidden between the ink but there are little scabs everywhere, little white healed marks that fall so randomly across your skin it’s hard to keep track.

“Spanish isn’t an issue.”

Alexia knows nothing about you, and yet she feels this weird empathy towards you. She doesn;t know if it’s because you remind her of Jenni in some weird way that makes no sense, or if it’s just the ominous feeling you radiate but she just feels it.

“Look, I get if you feel overwhelmed by it all, this team is a lot. How about you come to my house tonight, just you and I. I’ll cook dinner, or we can order in. It’s got to be hard moving to a city all by yourself without anyone here for you.”

You don’t know why Alexia’s taken an interest in you and you are getting slightly ticked off by her insistence.

“I’m perfectly fine, I’ve been moving since i was 6 for football this is no different.”

This time you didn’t move for football though, you moved because for the first time in your life you had no other options. Every other time it had been because you had endless options, because you were that good that you were wanted. This was all you had though now.

“I just thought you might want some support, or a friend after what happened.”

Alexia is dipping a toe in the water, there’s still so many rumours going around about what’s happened with you. Not a single person has come up with a theory that has factual evidence, even the girls with friends at PSG have come up empty handed. Ellie knows something, but she’s a vault that cannot be opened and Alexia thinks she’s doing so for good reason.

“After what happened? Don’t talk about something you have absolutely no idea about, it’s an ugly look.”

Alexia exhales at the way your body language immediately shifts, your shoulders go tight and your picking at your nails becomes more incessant.

“Tell me then, or at least let me see a side of you beyond football, I’d love to get to know the person beyond all of this.”

Alexia doesn’t know enough about you to know how to interact best with you, but she’s trying.

“I don’t really give a shit what you or anybody else thinks about me and who I am.”

Alexia is screwing this up big time.

“Look, just come for dinner, I’ll send you the address to my house and you can stay for as long or as little as you like. I don’t know what it’s like to be new but I can’t imagine it’s easy. Come tonight and I’ll get you a free pass for all team dinners for the month, I know Pere must have bugged you about coming to the next one.”

You don’t know what’s worse, having to hang out with the whole team or individually with Alexia. You opt for the option that is less likely to put you into a sensory overload panic attack.

“Fine, I’ll come for dinner.”

Alexia smiles like she's a child who’s won a prize.

“Awesome, I’ll send you my address, how about 6?”

You nod along because you feel like you have to. There have been a lot of you doing things because you have to recently, it’s like you’re stuck in the never ending cycle of having to do things because of your past actions.

By the time 6 rolls around you’re sore, have a headache and generally feel so exhausted that you want nothing more than to crawl into your bed and stay there forever. It’s been hard to remove yourself from your routine, for the past year all you’d done was lie in bed all day. Eat, nap, go to NA, sleep. That was your life, four simple steps that held you together. Now though you were adding in a boatload more that you were struggling to handle.

Alexia’s door swings open before you even knock, you try to not feel intimidated by the big smile on her face but it’s hard. You’ve done the cat and mouse before with new teammates, this time though you really don’t have the energy for the charade.

“Hola, come in, come in.”

You allow yourself to be ushered into Alexia’s house, you try to take in your passing surroundings. Alexia’s house is very… spanish? The entryway is fairly simple, photos here and there but the decor is fairly simple. As you enter her living room and kitchen though you get more of a sense. There are jerseys and trophies dotted in random spots, photos and paintings fill the walls and overall the feeling of the house is warm. It’s a big difference from your clinical apartment, which is as bare as it was when you’d moved in.

“Do you want something to drink? Wine, beer, water, tea?”

You doubt Alexia’s abilities to make tea the proper way, and anything with alcohol is an immediate no for you.

“Water is just fine.”

You settle against Alexia’s island counter, leaning against the stone top as she picks two glasses from her shelves.

“I’m warming up some of my Mami’s paella, trust me once you try it you’ll be back for more.”

You can’t take away from the fact that whatever is cooking on Alexia’s stove smells delicious.

“Smells good.”

Alexia smiles, up until this interaction all you’ve seen of her is football. Football awards, football games, football training. It’s weird seeing her outside of football, especially considering how you’d come to idolise her a few years ago.

“Thank you. I thought it was about time I gave you the proper introduction to some proper Spanish food.”

You don’t know if you're still in denial or if you just don’t care, sometimes it’s hard to distinguish between feelings for you. You do know though that the last thing on your list of discovering Spain has been food.

Alexia hands you your glass of water and the two of you fall into a weird silence.

“That’s your girlfriend?”

It’s all you can think of, there’s a photo right in front of you sitting on the island of Alexia and another woman who you’ve never seen before, in a hug that seems too intimate to just be friends.

“Sí, that’s Olga, she’s in Madrid right now for work.”

You nod, it’s odd in your world for people to not be dating other players. Less messy you suppose.

“How about you?”

You laugh, it’s almost funny, and then it’s kind of sad.

“I did, not anymore.”

Not anymore is kind of everything in your life. Your decisions have meant that you don’t get a lot of things, you don’t get the nice things.

Alexia cooks in silence, you observe her house in silence. It could be awkward but it’s not, it’s nice in a way that you haven’t experienced in such a long time. Even when you weren’t off the rails in Paris there were so many barriers between you and your teammates, it was impossible to feel like you weren’t alone.

Alexia plates up the meal and ushers you over to her dining table.

The meal starts silent, but eventually Alexia starts talking.

“So have you been living in Paris or did you move back home after PSG?”

You mostly pick at the food, your appetite nowadays is hardly there, you just can’t stomach most things.

“No, I got out of Paris as soon as I could. Was in London for a while and then mostly in Liverpool.”

Alexia nods thoughtfully, it’s impossible to feel like she isn’t interviewing you. You could ask her some questions back, but there isn’t a single one that comes to mind. You have no interest in learning more about this woman because it does nothing for you.

“Did you like it?”

Your eyebrows furrow, did you like moving from place to place because of your own actions?

“Did I like what?”

You push some of the rice and seafood around your place, the one bite you did take was delicious, but you really don’t want to lose your guts in a teammate's house.

“Paris, I’ve only really been for awards ceremonies.”

You chuckle, Ballon d’ors, Alexia’s well decorated with the awards. You’d wanted that once, it had been a realistic dream for you once, the past was a dangerous thing.

“That’s a can of worms that you don’t want to open.”

You wonder if the saying gets lost in translation as Alexia looks at you completely lost.

“What I mean is that we really don’t want to get into that, you really don’t want to get into that with me.”

Alexia looks even more lost, the silence all of a sudden feels a lot more awkward then it did.

“You got hurt?”

Alexia doesn’t know a thing, she genuinely feels so lost when it comes to you.

“I got hurt, and then I hurt myself, and then I hurt some other people and some other people hurt me.”

Alexia hasn’t learnt anything more, but she understands, as she looks into your eyes she understands to some extent what you’re saying.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, when you can’t hold it in anymore I’m here for you. I might not understand but I can try, or just be here for you when it’s too much.”

You have dinner at Alexia’s house twice a week every week after that. She sticks by her promise of having you excused from all the team dinners and the two of you develop a sort of understanding. She doesn’t push you to say anything, most of the time the conversation is surface level and about things that neither of you need to talk about but talk about anyways. You meet Olga and Alexia’s family, which is a bit overwhelming but you figure you need to branch out at some stage.

You don’t touch the field in your first month at Barcelona, the team is in injury trouble but they aren’t so desperate that they need you. You exist behind the scenes, avoid all the media team and teammates. Eventually though, inevitably really, photos of you surface and whilst it was public knowledge that you’d signed with Barcelona, pictures of you at training seems to be the sign of life that everyone in the football world needs. Your messages and emails flood, it’s the only way to contact you. Old England teammates, Paris teammates, Liverpool teammates, academy teammates. It’s overwhelming in the sense that people who knew that a year ago you were struggling and never reached out are all of a sudden interested now that you’re playing with the best team in the world.

It’s not until 6 weeks after your move that you get told to warm-up on the sidelines during the 50th minute of a game against Valencia. You try not to look shocked as Pere calls out your name around the 60th to go towards the substitute section.

You play like shit, or at least that’s how it feels. You’re sloppy, get messy fouls and add nothing to the team. You’re still unfit, still scared, still look like a feral dog as you run around the field and try to adapt to the style of your teammates around you.

After the game you do the same as you always do, pack up as quickly as possible, avoid every person that exists alongside you and get your ass out of the stadium before you have a breakdown.

You go home, and whilst you’ve had hundreds of bad games, far worse than the one you just played, you can’t shake the overwhelming feeling of shame as you look around your depressing apartment and think about everything that’s led you to this point.

You go to the only other place in Barcelona that you know besides the training grounds.

You don’t quite know how to feel when you knock on Alexia’s door, you don’t even know if she’s going to be home. You just know that you’re short circuiting, and a year ago if you were short circuiting you defaulted to a certain behaviour that you have no interest in engaging in now.

You stand on Alexia’s front porch, shaking and on the verge of tears for a few seconds before you hear noise on the other side of the door.

Olga’s the one who opens the door, and suddenly you feel a lot more vulnerable than you did a few minutes ago. You’re not a vulnerable person, ever, you’ve been through enough to hold standards for yourself now. You suddenly feel so stupid, like you’ve defied every rule you’ve ever set up for yourself.

“Hey Chica, come in.”

You take a step back, and you’re ready to bolt.

“I-Is Alexia here?”

You don’t normally feel your age, you matured so young that you’ve never really felt your age. But at this moment you feel so young, so much more inexperienced than you are.

“Yeah carino, she’s just inside. Come in, please.”

Olga manages to coo you into the house. Over the past few weeks you’d say that you’ve slowly become comfortable in Alexia’s home, but right now you’ve never felt more out of place. As soon as you spot Alexia though, you crumble.

Alexia’s brows furrow at the sight of you, Olga’s hand wrapped around your shoulders in an attempt to keep you inside the house.

“Hey chica.”

You don’t know what to say, because if you say anything it’s probably all going to start coming out in one big mess.

“How about you come outside with me?”

You can’t say no, so you follow Alexia blindly out onto her balcony. She takes a seat on one of the loungers and you opt for sitting on the one beside it.

Alexia’s never seen you shaken up. Yet the girl sitting beside her looks completely terrified. Your whole body is shaking, your hands are bloody and torn up, you have scratch marks all over your arms and face, your eyes are dark in a weird way and for the first time since she’s met you she can see the 21 year old in you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You don’t know how to answer that question, because you really don’t. You haven’t talked to anybody about it, not your sponsor, not your therapist, not your coaches, not your teammates, nobody. But right now all you want to do is talk about it, just voice everything that feels like it’s holding you down.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Alexia’s never given you a hug, you don’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys physical contact, but all she wants to do at this moment is bring you in, in any attempt to make you feel less distraught.

“Start wherever it makes sense.”

Nothing really makes sense to you.

“I went to Paris because I wanted freedom. My parents, everybody was in England and I felt strangled. Paris was good, I felt good when I went there. I was playing well, I was on track. Then I picked up a tear in my tricep, it was nothing to my game, but it hurt, so they gave me a prescription for painkillers, narcotics to get me through. Everyone in Paris was always drinking, always partying, always doing. I never slept, I never rested, it was football then parties and that was it. The doctor at PSG kept refilling my script, all they cared about was me playing on the field and I thought for a long time that the only way I could do that was by taking the pills and the doctor told me that. He didn’t care that I was abusing, that I was taking eight pills a day to get me through. Even after my tricep had healed, he kept filling them. Sure, I knew I was abusing but they validated me, I just kept taking them. I was so addicted I couldn’t go two hours without popping a pill. I would literally wake up every hour during the night just to take another.”

Alexia just sits and listens, it’s the first time you’ve ever brought up anything from the past in front of her.

“Then I got invited to England senior camp for the first time and they ran all my baseline medical tests and I popped up for having opiates in my system. I flipped out, they accused me of being an addict, I lost my shit. Screamed at Sarina, screamed at everybody else when they told me I needed help. I was so high, all the time, I was living in an alternate reality in Paris where I was floating on this cloud of constant drug fueled ecstasy. It felt like I was being tugged into a reality I had no interest in. Sarina called our PSG coach, who acted like he had no idea that I’d been abusing, as if he hadn’t been the one signing off on it all. Told Sarina that I was ungrateful and that I was a loose cannon and couldn’t be trusted, that I’d been fucking around my whole time there. The same guy who had been telling me that I was the future of the team and the person he trusted most on the field and he went behind my back and turned on me. Held a meeting the next day and turned the whole team on me as well. My girlfriend never spoke to me again, and said she had no clue who I was. My teammates all unfollowed and blocked me. Every physio, the team doctor, the coaches, the trainers, they all axed me. Sarina sent me back to Paris and my contract had already been terminated on ‘mutual’ grounds. The only thing PSG did was pay for me to be admitted to a 8 week rehab facility. By the time I was out my apartment had been sold, I had nobody in Paris to support me and everyone I knew had turned their back.”

Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she’s in a state of shock, because everything that you're telling her is horrible.

“I had offers from other teams, training spots, and other things. Sarina reached out but I was so mad I cursed her out and told her I would rather die than ever play in an England shirt again. I was so scared of getting injured again, getting addicted again, taking pills again. It wasn’t football that scared me, it was the same situation happening again that petrified me. So I just faded into the background. But then Barcelona called, and I couldn’t turn the offer down, I would have been stupid to. But now I’m terrified, I’m sick to my stomach thinking about all the bad things that could happen. Pere’s been supportive, and everyone else is lovely but that didn’t stop it from happening the first time.”

Your lip is bleeding now and you feel like you might actually vomit. You haven’t told anybody what you just told Alexia, somebody you met six weeks ago and have zero connection to besides the very little time you spend at her house every week.

Alexia looks at you, looks at your body shaking like a leaf. The way you clutch onto your t-shirt and tug at the hem of your pants every few seconds.

“Come inside with me for a minute. Sit down at the table.”

You follow Alexia inside, she leaves you alone in her living area, sitting at her dining table for a few minutes before she returns with a tub in her hands.

Alexia sits down across from you, pulling your hands into her own in a weird way that makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, you didn’t know better, you were so extremely young. You did not deserve what happened to you.”

Alexia reaches into the tub and pulls out a selection of nail polish bottles.

“Pick a colour.”

You're extremely confused, but you try not to show it.

You point to a dark red, almost brown, and Alexia nods her head.

“Olga paints my nails before every big game, it stops me from getting distracted. Gives me something to pick at if I’m nervous.”

You don’t quite know what it has to do with you but you nod along with her explanation.

Alexia uses a towel to clean up the mess that is your cuticles before applying a base coat.

“I’ve never had an addiction so I can’t tell you that I understand what you’ve gone through. What I can tell you is that you are not your addiction, and you are not defined by the actions you took in the past because of your addiction. You are allowed to be a different person to the person you were a year ago. We are always evolving as people. The person you were a year ago is not the person you are now.”

The varnish burns a bit when it connects with the parts of your fingers that are still open scars and cuts, you don’t flinch away from the pain though, not once.

“There is no point in being afraid of your past. Without your past you are not here, our past is what helps us learn. You’ve learnt that you can’t afford to be haphazard with pain medications, the fact that you can admit you had a problem is enough to show that you don’t want to be that person again. There is no validity in being afraid of a person you do not want to be. My uncle, he is a chain smoker, I know that I do not want to be the same but I do not live in fear that one day I will be him because that is not who I choose to be. You can make a choice and decide that your past is unchangeable but it no longer defines you. You do not want to be that person, correct?”

Alexia is gentle for the most part, focused as always as she covers each nail in the polish. It’s so platonically intimate, you feel so open in front of her.

“I don’t want to be that person.”

Alexia smiles, you really want to pick at your nails, it’s the first time in months that for longer than three minutes you haven’t fed into the habit.

“When I tore my ACL I chewed gum, every hour of every day. I couldn’t handle the sitting and the waiting and the lack of stimulation I was getting. It was horrible, my mouth would get all burnt and tingly from the mint flavouring and my jaw would get sore. It was awful, until Olga started painting my nails, and I started picking at the nail polish instead. It wasn’t the same but it gave me something to do when I would get antsy. I’m not saying stop, I’m saying that it’s not sustainable to be in a constant state of harming yourself, try this instead. Mapi uses stress balls when she does her knee, Kika taps her fingers, Ingrid braids hair. There are replacements.”

You want to point out that the pain is what makes your habit good, it gives a bit of relief from the constant fog you live in, but it doesn’t seem valid.

“As for being afraid of getting injured, I can guarantee you, from the deepest part of my heart that if you get injured I will advocate for you. I’m assuming Pere knows about some of this, he will advocate for you. There will be systems in place to stop what happened to you last time from happening again. Our team is here for you in whatever capacity you like, this is a fresh start for you, you are allowed to be whoever you want, you can be you. At the very least I can guarantee that no matter what happens, if you go back to drugs tomorrow I will be there for you, I care for you enough to help you. You can’t live in fear of a hypothetical, not when there are so many opportunities here for you to have more, you can have your career back if you want it. It’s all about how much you are willing to give, because I can guarantee if you give it all then you can be as good as you were, probably better.”

Alexia finishes with your first hand and moves onto your second. If she notices the tears rolling down your face she doesn’t say anything.

“The team doesn’t hate me?”

Alexia looks up at you, her eyes twinkling.

“No carino, absolutely not. They wish you’d open up some more, but they don’t hate you. They understand you’ve been through a lot and that you’re struggling.”

Struggle. You don’t feel like you’re ever not struggling, struggle is the word that defines you in your brain.

“I want to be better, I want to not feel scared all the time, I want to feel free.”

It’s hard to admit, when you’ve been trying to convince yourself of the opposite for months but it’s all a clear lie. You don’t want to feel like shit all the time.

“I think we can work that out.”

Alexia’s solutions aren’t perfect, but as the weeks pass and the seasons change life gets better.

You start to pick up more minutes at the club, your game is improving at a rapid rate and you manage to find a spot in the starting eleven. Alexia paints your nails at least three times a week, you pick at it at all hours, and sometimes you scratch or pick but overall it’s better. You branch out a bit as well, manage to find your place into multiple friend circles and connect with quite a few of the girls.

Kika decorates your apartment, Marta stocks your fridge with ‘proper’ food, Ingrid takes you shopping for clothes, Esmee goes book shopping with you and Mapi starts coming to your NA meetings with you when she has a spare night.

It’s so good, you settle into a lull for the first time in years.

You suppose comfort must be what comes to bite you in the ass.

It all lights up during a game against Levante.

You’re standing in the box for a free kick when a player pins your arm behind your bag and tugs, hard.

As soon as it happens you know exactly what's wrong. You know the feeling all too well.

The pain is the same excruciating feeling you’ve already experienced, you’d been doing so good, it had all been so good, until now.

You drop to the ground, you can feel the pain but it’s not what you're focusing on. All of the memories of the last year of your life flash right before your eyes like a movie, and you feel panic-stricken.

You feel like the exact same person you were a year ago, all the progress, all the changes, it’s all gone.

The medics come to your side in a matter of seconds, but you can’t talk, you can’t think, you can’t breathe.

It’s happening again. It’s all happening again. Everything you’d been running from is back.

The medics manage to pull you over to the sideline, they ask their questions but you can’t respond, you can’t think about anything besides your biggest fear now coming to fruition.

Everything had been so good. Hell, Sarina had come to watch you today, Pere was in talks with your agent about extending your contract, you were looking at new apartments with longer leases, you were looking at leasing a car. It was all too perfect, everything was too good.

They manage to usher you into one of the seats in the dugout, but you’re in an almost catatonic state as they try and assess you.

“Oi, pequena, I need you to focus, you need to tell us what hurts.”

Alexia’s face in front of you manages to pull you out of it a bit. She was sitting out today's match out in precaution due to a hamstring issue.

“M-My tricep.”

Alexia's face dims a bit, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head because it’s flashing through her own.

“Okay, it’s okay. Let’s get you back down into one of the physio rooms. I’m here, I’m coming with you, I’m here for you.”

Your brain feels heavy, every thought feels heavy. You’re so numb the pain is gone, the only thing that matters is what is about to happen, what could happen.

Alexia leads you out of the stadium and into the tunnel, the medics flank her on either side and lead you back into one of the medical rooms.

“Carino, the doctors need to examine your arm. They’re just going to look at it to make sure that nothings broken, okay? You’re being so brave for us right now, I just need you to hold on for a bit.”

Alexia goes to let go of you but you hold on. You don’t know what to say but she seems to understand.

“I’m staying okay, just let me move so that there’s some room.”

Alexia moves to the side of you, sitting down next to you on the physio bed you're perched on and interlocking your good hand with hers.

The medics are quick, you can hardly feel them.

“It’s probably a tear of some degree to her tricep. She'll need scans, we can get her a green whistle to deal with the pain now before we take her to the hospital for scans.”

Pain. Medication. Drugs. Addiction.

Chronic. It’s all a chronic issue. Addiction is chronic by nature, you have a chronic addiction that you will never be able to out live. You are in a cycle, and this is just the beginning of a new one. This was bound to happen, you knew this was going to happen, you were fearful for a reason. You are chronically living in your past, it’s going to keep happening over and over again. You could have avoided this if you weren’t greedy, if you weren’t so greedy this could have been avoided.

“No pain medication, nothing.”

The medics furrow their brows.

“Can you give us a minute, alone, please?”

The medics look hesitant but one glance from Alexia seems to convince them.

As soon as they’re gone Alexia lifts up from the bench next to you, her knees bumping with yours as she stands in front of you.

“I promised you I would be your advocate, right? I am here to support you. I am here to make sure that nothing happens that you don’t want. I know you’re up on adrenaline right now but your tricep is torn pequena, and in a few minutes it’s really going to hurt. The green whistle will stop that, it’s not drugs, it’s not your addiction. I will be with you every step of the way, but you don’t need to suffer. Whatever this is, I promise you it’s going to be okay. I am here to stop what happened last time from happening. I am here for you. Okay?”

You don’t know if you believe her, you don’t know if you can. Last time you were supposed to trust in other people to keep you safe. You couldn’t trust somebody to do the same this time around.

“Chica, look at me. Only at me. You’re going to take the whistle, not because you are an addict but because you are in serious pain. I’m going to come to the hospital with you and I will make sure that everything that happens is in your interest okay? No pills, if you don’t want pills, we will make it work.”

You concede, because the pain is starting to overwhelm you and you trust Alexia, properly trust her.

The green whistle helps, it helps you to feel less like you’re on the verge of a panic attack and it helps the team doctors to do a better inspection of your arm. They decide it definitely isn’t broken and that once the match has concluded they will take you straight to the hospital. Alexia sits with you for it all.

When the game does conclude Alexia walks you out and straight to the car of one of the medical staff. You’re both stopped on the way there though, by Sarina.

You feel like you’re going to hurl, but to throw being face-to-face with somebody you have so much shame for, you literally think you may vomit.

Alexia feels the way you tense up, and whilst she wants to pull you away she also doesn’t want to strip you from an opportunity that is clearly here for you. She’s watched you work your ass off for this moment.

“Ms Sarina, she would love to talk to you but we have to get her to the hospital.”

Alexia doesn’t really know what to say to the woman, she doesn’t want to say anything on your behalf.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m very impressed with you y/n, you’ve come a long way and if this isn’t too much of a setback it would be great to have you back in England at some point.”

You laugh, Alexia isn’t sure whether it’s the pain medication or just you, but you laugh, loudly and obviously.

“Wait, really? After what happened?”

Sarina smiles, in the way that makes Alexia feel comfortable.

“I’ll call you, we can talk about it, but it’s clear you’ve come a long way and there is no reason why your past should define you.”

Alexia smiles to herself, it’s the same thing she’s been telling you for weeks now, but hearing somebody else tell you it as well makes her think she must be doing something right.

“Thank you Sarina, thank you so much.”

The scan confirms what you already know, which is that your tricep has a tear through it. The only saving grace is that it’s not a full tear so you don’t need surgery. You cry when the doctor tells you, properly, full body sobs.

It can’t be happening again. You can’t survive it happening again.

You wait around in the hospital with Alexia for a few hours whilst the Barca medical team talks with the hospital team to figure out what your best course of action is.

You don’t know what to say to Alexia, you don’t know how to articulate just how sickeningly horrific this all is, about how reliving the worst part of your life is. She seems to understand though, you figure that she can at least relate to having a major injury impact a person's career. Even though it wasn’t your injury that affected your career, but the support system around you.

Some of your teammates flow in and out to come and check on you, you don’t pay much attention, you really can’t. You feel so utterly consumed by it all, in a way that you can’t comprehend in any way.

When the physios come out they ask to talk with you and you can’t really say no. All you want is to go home, or go to Alexia’s house. You need some space to be vulnerable enough to process the shitstorm that’s happening in your life.

“We’ll keep this short because it’s late. Our concern is purely with your mental and emotional health. If you don’t want to play through this then you do not have to. We can make a plan for you to but if that’s not what you want then you can take the time off. If you want to play then we will support you but we are also going to be conscious of your past. You’ll need pain medication but we’ll keep it in small amounts and it will be handed out only by the physios and in strict doses. Past week three you’ll be slowly weaned off, in the proper way. We can coordinate with your sponsor as well if that’s what you’d like and we can find a specific psychologist who specialises in addiction to come in to see you. This is all about what is going to make it easiest for you. We want you to be able to rehabilitate however it’s going to be easiest for you.”

Everything they are saying, it’s all too good. You feel like you can breathe, a little bit. It’s too much, it’s so different to what you’ve experienced in the past. Overwhelmingly different in all the good ways that make you sad that you didn’t have it in the past when you needed it the most.

You cry, it feels good.

Alexia hugs you, properly hugs you for the first time and you let yourself seek out the comfort you need.

“It’s over carino, it’s all over, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”

You don’t know what to say, you’re actually at a loss for words. Crying seems to do it for now, it feels like enough, when the time comes you’ll be grateful and so incredibly happy that you were put in a place that helped you so much. For now though, you just let yourself feel it all, because once you couldn’t, and you refuse to be that same person, you refuse to let your past dictate who you are now.

[wosov]

Not tired, just done

word count - 3k

trigger warnings - very poor mental health, autistic burnout, self harm mention, suicide attempt - do not read if you will be triggered -prioritise your own mental health please-

summary - you are a young breakthrough star for both Arsenal and the Lionesses but nobody truly knows how far your demons go.

______________________________________________________________

The roar of the crowd was a symphony you had learned to conduct. Each cheer, each groan and each drumming beat of expectation. You used it, you channelled it and turned it into fuel that spurred you on in big games. At eighteen, you were already a force to be reckoned with, a standout academy player and rising star within the Arsenal women's first team and a breakthrough player in the Lionesses squad. 

But behind the fierce exterior, fancy footwork and ability to break down plays in seconds was a struggling teenager. For years you had built a mask, a personality that would see yourself protected from hurtful comments or judgemental looks. Your parents had been the first people to make her realise that the world is unkind to people who are perhaps different to the norm. After you were told to leave your childhood home after your diagnosis of autism and adhd. 

The exterior everybody else sees is a carefully constructed algorithm of observed behaviours, a constant calculation of what to say, how to react and ways to blend in. The only person who truly understood who you were, was the psychologist employed by Arsenal football club. Dr Greene was her name and she had known you for just over 3 years, when you first made the transition from academy to professional football. 

The routines were the anchors in your life. Everyday was meticulously planned; wake up at 06:00 and make a protein shake (same bottle every time) then go for a light jog - same route, past the park every time. Back home for breakfast using the same oat milk with cereal to then get in the car with your pre-packed training bag to drive to training. Park in the same spot and walk through the doors for exactly 08:00 to enjoy some quiet time before the rest of the team walk through the doors ready for training at exactly 09:30. 

The pressure of expectation, the relentless media scrutiny nitpicking every aspect of you apart. It was all becoming too overwhelming and lately the familiar comfort of your routine had begun to feel less like an anchor and more like a heavy weight. A weight that dragged you below the surface and drowned you. 

You weren't quite sure when you had actually started to spiral. The self harm, a dark secret you have battled since your early teens had started to resurface. What had started out as pinches to your arms and thighs had turned into cuts. Strategically placed so as to not arouse suspicion. And your teammates were none the wiser. 

You couldn’t really blame them you supposed. Afterall, you had dedicated your life to blending into the background, to being a figment of the crowd and you were good at it. You gave the odd smile at your teammates' jokes and spoke when you were spoken too. But you never started a conversation yourself unless it was about football tactics or strategies. 

However there was one teammate who managed to see more than the others.

Beth had been there learning how to coach in the academy when you were still playing there. She was the one who brought your name up with Jonas and set the ball rolling for you to come up into the first team. She saw the talent in you and knew you were gonna go far. 

The beginning of the end started on a regular monday. You had woken up with the usual weight crushing your chest but for some reason you couldn’t get out of bed. 

You reached for your phone and invented a fake illness to buy yourself a few days with your manager. But that was it, no other messages to any of your teammates. You didn’t really feel the need to, which is why you were shocked when you received a message from Beth asking how you were. 

You were a little confused, but nevertheless you replied. Brief but concise, saying you just needed some time to rest and get better, which seemed to settle Beth’s mind a bit. 

She was the one teammate who was overly concerned when you suddenly broke your routine. You hadn’t a day off for the first time since coming up into the senior team and maybe since playing in the academy (but Beth couldn’t be absolutely certain about that). What made Beth even more worried was the lack of messages from you. Knowing you were the type of person who would stress about being late and missing the first five minutes of practice. 

“She’s probably just come down with a cold or something. You are being way too dramatic” Lia joked. After noticing Beth staring at her phone whilst chewing her nails.

“Yeah or she is hungover and being sneaky about it! She is 18 afterall.” Kyra rebutted back trying to put Beth’s mind at ease.

It wasn't until Dr Greene came looking for you after you had missed your weekly session on Thursday morning. It was something so out of character for you that it had Dr Greene extremely worried for your wellbeing. Especially when she found out you had been missing from training due to ‘potentially eating something gone off’ according to the message Jonas received.  

So worried that she headed to the gym whilst the rest of the team was in there stretching and asked for a word. It was as if by some good luck that on her way there she found Leah, Beth and Kim walking down the corridor. 

Dr Greene, bound by confidentiality, couldn't reveal much but the tremor in her voice spoke volumes. “I think someone should check on her… Just in case.”

Panic instantly surged through Beth, knowing she should have trusted her gut feeling and when Leah was being given her address by Dr Greene, Beth was already halfway to Kim’s car, running as if her life depended on it, or yours.

Pulling up to your house was weird. It made Leah, Beth and Kim realise that they had never actually been there. You had never invited the team around for bonding nights nor just a quiet dinner. 

Beth was the first one out of the door and the first one to reach your front door. Hammering her fists on it as if to open it. Kim and Leah soon followed and Kim soon got to work searching for a spare key. 

Leah was the first to shove Beth out of the way and start kicking the door down. On any other day it may have been seen as dramatic but the therapists words were on repeat in all of their heads, and within 3 hard kicks your front door was off its hinges. 

Your house was quiet, eerily quiet as the three players made their way through your living room. Your living room curtains were drawn and everything was meticulously tidied away, likened to a showroom. Your name was shouted out by all three women as they split up to cover ground quickly. It was Kim who found your letter. The beautifully tragic letter that was sure to break the heart of anyone who read it. But what stunned Kim the most is the way you had addressed it. There was no name, nobody you wanted it to go to, just written on the front on the envelope was ‘To whomever it concerns’. 

That put the fear of god into Kim as she screamed for Leah and Beth to join her. 

They found you in the bathroom, eyes vacant, skin pale and an empty bottle of pills on the side to confirm their worst fears. Leah was the first person to run to you as Kim rang the ambulance. Meanwhile Beth was stood, frozen in shock.  

The ambulance arrived quickly, sirens shattering the quiet atmosphere of your suburban neighbourhood and it was quickly confirmed that it was too late. Too late for any hopes of saving you. You were gone. 

The news spread like wildfire through the team and staff first. Nobody was left unscathed by the news of your death and left the team in particularly grieving in different ways. 

Leah, for example, used self reflection a lot and sometimes after training she would sit and stare at your old spot in the changing room, particularly at the peg where your football kit used to hang. She would think about the person you would’ve grown up to be, the footballing accolades you would’ve achieved. 

Kim became a mother of sorts, helping everyone else out and organising rotas for everyone to have multiple sessions a week with a therapist. She organised for there to be a memorial garden for you at the training ground. A quiet place of reflection staff and players alike could go to, to sit, remember and talk about you. 

Beth was more willing to bury her head in the sand and pretend everything was fine. Like you weren’t dead, like you were just on holiday and coming back soon. She kept everything you had left at the training centre in the place you left it. Down to your favourite water bottle. 

It hit the newspapers and social media next, and soon posts of sorrow were made online. The outpouring of love, the memorial messages and the candlelit vigils outside the Emirates. 

The interviews with your former coaches, tear-streaked fans in the stands, the silence held before kickoff and black armbands at the next match all held the same message. It was just too late. 

The funeral was a sorrowful affair. The streets were lined with faithful football supporters and fans of yours. 

Afterall, the news of your death had travelled far and fast. It had made front pages across the UK and appeared in foreign headlines as well. “England’s Star Girl Dies at 18,” read one tabloid. “Arsenal Prodigy Found Dead in Tragic Circumstances,” another. Journalists scrambled to piece together who she was, to trace the arc of your career, and speculate on the causes behind the tragedy. Everyone wanted a piece of the story — not because they knew you, but because it sold.

There were some young girls clutched footballs and photos, their wide eyes betraying confusion, as if trying to make sense of the fact that you were no more. As the team pulled up to the church where your service was being held, Beth couldn’t help but admire just how many people had come out to pay their respects. But the thing that caught her eye the most was the fact that there were several people clinging football shirts in one hand and a permanent marker in the other as if to demand a signature like they were at a football match.

For a week or two, you were the talk of the town. You were everywhere, 

Social media was flooded with tributes: edits of your goals and special moments from both club and country, photos of you celebrating in red and white, quotes pulled from post-match interviews and promotional campaigns. Hashtags trended. Influencers posted about mental health. The club released a carefully-worded statement, followed by a sombre montage that aired before kickoff at the next match. There was a minute’s silence. A black armband. A tweet from the FA.

But after a few weeks of apparent mourning online, things had gone back to normal. The posts dried up. The headlines turned to new transfers, league standings, the next rising star. Your name began to fade from the trending list, pushed down by the algorithm’s ever-churning hunger for fresh content. The digital mourning soon became archived, another “memory” in people’s feeds.

But for those who knew you personally, nothing had returned to normal. And in truth, it probably never would. 

Not for Dr Greene, who couldn’t stop replaying every session, every sign she might have missed.

Not for Kim, who had read the letter more times than she could count, searching for something she could have done differently.

Not for Leah who still couldn’t drive past your street without feeling sick.

Not for Beth, who believed deep down she truly could have saved you. 

And not for the empty chair in the dressing room. The peg that remained untouched. The silence that followed every mention of your name.

In the days following the funeral, the team returned to training, as beyond your death the football season was still continuing, but something fundamental had shifted. The energy was fractured. Conversations were shorter, silences heavier, and your absence felt like a gaping wound no one could stitch shut.

Although Kim, bless her heart, would try. She took it upon herself to become the glue of the team. She organised group check-ins on Wednesdays — nothing mandatory, just space. A quiet room in the training centre with tea, a selection of biscuits and a stack of blank cards where players could write memories or just sit in silence. Some days it was full. Other times, it was just her.

As well as that, she also arranged for the club psychologist to offer more one-on-one sessions, and created rotas for the players to sign up.  She sent check-in texts. She stayed late to talk, to listen, to hold space. If someone cried during a drill, she didn’t flinch. If someone snapped during a meeting, she absorbed it, as if to stop the grief from spreading.

Beth, however, was the first to unravel.

At first, it was subtle, she stopped staying behind to joke in the changing room, and stopped replying in the group chat. Then came the silence. Cold, echoing silence when her teammates tried to check in. She couldn’t bring herself to look any of them in the eye. Because every time she did, all she could hear was that moment in the locker room — “She’s probably just come down with a cold or something. You’re being dramatic.”

The words haunted her. They followed her around like a persistent shadow.

The argument happened in the carpark after training, breaking through the quiet that usually followed after a session full of silent drills and strained conversations. Beth was already halfway to her car, keys clenched in her fist, jaw tight, when Leah called out.

“Beth, wait—can we talk?”

Beth stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I just…” Leah took a few steps closer, her voice soft but urgent. “I want to be here for you.”

Beth let out a bitter laugh and finally turned. “Now you do?”

Leah flinched. “Beth…”

“No,” Beth cut her off, her voice rising. “You don’t get to be here now like that fixes anything. You don’t get to act like this is something we’re all getting through together. Because it’s not. She’s gone. And you, you, talked me out of checking on her when it could have made a difference.”

Leah’s eyes widened, but Beth kept going, her voice trembling with fury and guilt.

“I knew something was wrong. I felt it. She never missed training. Never took a day off. I told you something didn’t feel right, and you made me feel like I was being overbearing. Like I was just paranoid.”

“Beth…” Leah’s voice cracked.

“No,” Beth snapped. “I should’ve gone to her house the first day she called in sick. I should’ve trusted my gut. But I listened to you. To all of you. And now she’s dead.”

Leah stepped forward, desperate. “You think I don’t blame myself too? You think I don’t go over every conversation I ever had with her, every moment I brushed something off, laughed at the wrong time, stayed silent when I should’ve asked more?”

Beth’s expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t know her like I did.”

“I know I didn’t,” Leah said, her voice almost a whisper. “I didn’t see her the way you did. But I cared. God, Beth, I cared so much, and I didn’t show it in the right way. I know that. But don’t push me away because I made a mistake. We all did.”

Beth shook her head, eyes full of grief and rage. “It wasn’t just a mistake, Leah. It was her life. You all acted like I was being too intense, like I was smothering her. And now you want to sit with me in grief, like this is something we all share?”

She stepped back. “You don’t deserve to grieve for her the way I do.”

Leah froze. The words landed like a slap. Her throat tightened, but she didn’t walk away. She refused to leave another of her teammates and friends alone in their pain.

“Just let me be here,” Leah said, her voice hoarse. “Please. I wasn’t there for her. And I will regret that for the rest of my life. Don’t let me make the same mistake again with you.”

Beth’s eyes flickered. She wanted to scream again, to throw the guilt back in Leah’s face — but her chest just hurt. Everything just hurts.

“She died Le, she fucking died alone thinking nobody cared about her.” Beth managed to whisper out.

She didn’t say anything else. She just turned, opened her car door, and got in, and Leah stood there in the fading light. Staring at the empty space where your car used to be.

And for the first time in days, she let herself cry.

______________________________________________________________

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

sorry for the sudden hiatus, I just had a lot of stuff going on in my life but I am hoping to be back now and taking requests.

[womenhoops]

AAU GAME p II

It was game day—and for the first time ever, Azzi was facing Paige in an official matchup.

They’d known each other for years—two, to be exact—but this was their first time squaring off in AAU. Different states, different teams, but the same competitive fire.

Not that Azzi was nervous or anything. Okay, maybe a little. Winning mattered—not just for the scoreboard, but for the bragging rights. So when she spotted Paige during warm-ups, she flashed a quick, confident smile and locked in.

At least, she tried to stay locked in—until the tip-off, when Paige casually strolled over to her side, leaned in, and whispered 

“You look so pretty, Azz. Can’t wait to beat you on the court.” 

Azzi’s eyes rolled so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull, and her stomach did a full somersault. But she wasn’t about to let Paige get in her head. So she hip-checked her, smirked, and shot back: 

“Good luck losing, P.”

The moment the whistle blew, it was war.

Azzi and Paige went at each other like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this—every drive, every shot, every defensive stop charged with something electric. The problem? Azzi’s team couldn’t keep up. Every perfect pass was fumbled. Every set play collapsed. By halftime, she’d already dropped 20 points—and they were still down 15.

Paige noticed.

She wanted to win—badly—but watching Azzi fight so hard, alone, made something twist in her chest. Azzi was having the kind of night players dreamed of, yet the score kept slipping further away.

Paige tightened her defense, face-guarding Azzi as they traded blows.

"Your shooting form is so perfect, Az," Paige teased, sticking to her like a shadow. "Let’s see if you can make it count."

Azzi, breathing hard, shot back, "Keep talking, P. I’ll still drop 40 on you." But she knew that the game was slipping away from her finger tips. 

Their banter was playful, but the tension was real. The crowd buzzed, mesmerized as they went bucket-for-bucket—Paige with the advantage of a stacked team, Azzi with nothing but sheer will. 

The crowd roared as Azzi pulled up from deep - nothing but net. 

Again. And Again. And Again. 

The gymnasium buzzed with electricity as she single-handedly kept her team within striking distance against Paige's powerhouse squad. Every time Azzi scored, the cheers grew louder, the energy more palpable. She wasn't just playing basketball - she was putting on a show, a masterclass in determination against impossible odds.

Paige wiped sweat from her brow, watching as Jason - that obnoxious guy from yesterday who needed to develop a sudden interest in Antarctic exploration - led a new chant: "A-Z-Z-I! Best game! Cutest dimples!" The entire gym picked it up, their voices bouncing off the rafters.

"Seriously?" Paige muttered under her breath, stealing a glance at Azzi, who was trying (and failing) to hide her grin as she backpedaled on defense. That dimpled smile only fueled Paige's competitive fire hotter.

Then came the play that changed everything.

Third quarter. Two minutes left. Paige's team up 28. The game should have been over, but Azzi kept coming, kept fighting. She split the defense with a vicious crossover, driving hard to the basket when-

CRACK.

Paige's teammate - Sarah, a senior with a mean streak and obvious jealousy issues (to be fair, Paige was never her biggest fan, she was not the best player and was definitely selfish which made no sense to a team sport like basketball)  - stepped in late and threw a dirty hip-check that sent Azzi airborne. 

Time seemed to stop as Azzi's body crashed to the hardwood, the sickening thud echoing through the suddenly silent gym.

Paige saw red.

In three long strides, she was in Sarah's face, shoving her backward. "What the actual hell was that?" Paige's voice shook with barely contained rage. "We don't play dirty!"

Sarah smirked, wiping her hands on her shorts. "Someone had to slow her down. She's making us look bad."

"We're up twenty-eight!" Paige's hands balled into fists at her sides. "You're just jealous because-"

"Because what?" Sarah challenged, stepping closer. "Because this whole tournament's in love with her? Including that little boy over there?" She jerked her chin toward Jason, who was looking worried from the stands… 

That girl - that jealous, 18-year-old senior - had just deliberately hurt her best friend. Her Azzi. The one who FaceTimed her every night until they both fell asleep mid-sentence. The one whose dimples appeared even when she was trying to be serious. The one who'd sobbed into Paige's shoulder when Olaf melted in Frozen, whispering "But he was just trying to help Anna" between hiccuping breaths.

And now she was on the ground, clutching her side in pain.

Paige's world narrowed to a single point of white-hot rage. The sounds of the gym faded - the shocked gasps, the concerned murmurs, even the referee's whistle disappeared. All she could see was Sarah's smug face and Azzi's pained expression. Her hands trembled with barely restrained fury as she took another threatening step forward, muscles coiled like a spring-

"Paige."

That voice—Azzi's voice, strained but achingly familiar—sliced through Paige's red haze like dawn breaking through a storm. It had always been her anchor, this connection that transcended distance and circumstance. When they were states apart and Paige's late-night frustration texts came through in all caps. When that careless turnover during the U17 championships nearly cost them everything, and Azzi's quiet "We got this, P" steadied her trembling hands. When narrow-minded whispers about Azzi's skin tone curled through Argentinian gyms like poison smoke, and Paige felt her fists clench until Azzi's fingers laced through hers—wordless, unshakable.

Just one word. Just her name. But it was enough to make the world start turning again.

Azzi was still on the ground, clutching her ribs, but her eyes were locked on Paige. Not the trainers rushing over. Not her own teammates. Paige.

The blonde exhaled sharply, the fight draining from her shoulders as she turned away from Sarah and dropped to one knee beside Azzi. 

"You okay?" The words came out rougher than she intended.

Azzi winced as she tried to sit up. "Oh now you care?" Despite the pain, that trademark smirk played at her lips.

"Shut up," Paige shot back, but there was no heat in it. She slipped an arm behind Azzi's shoulders to help her up. "Can you stand or not?"

Behind them, Sarah's venomous whisper cut through the murmuring crowd: "Unbelievable. Queen Paige bending the rules for her little crush.”

Paige didn't bother turning. Her response came low and dangerous, each word measured like a knife thrust: "It's called sportsmanship. Look it up sometime." Then, barely audible but razor-sharp, she added: "And that's my best friend, you bitch."

Her fingers lingered on Azzi's elbow - a fleeting touch that said everything her words couldn't. The warmth of contact, the unspoken check-in, the silent promise that this wasn't over.

The arena erupted as Azzi waved off the trainer with that stubborn set to her jaw Paige knew so well. When she tested her weight, rolling her ankle with careful precision, that trademark grin flashed - bright enough to make Paige's chest tighten.

"Might wanna leash your attack dog," Azzi teased, eyes glinting with challenge, "before I return the favor."

Paige snorted, the sound equal parts exasperation and reluctant admiration. "Please. Like you'd fight dirty." But her gaze betrayed her, scanning every microexpression on Azzi's face for signs of real pain - the slight tightening around her eyes, the barely-there hitch in her breathing that no one else would notice.

The gym fell into that charged silence unique to crucial free throws. Paige remained rooted, watching with singular focus as Azzi's routine unfolded - two precise dribbles, that steadying exhale Paige had watched her practice a thousand times, then-

Swish.

The explosion of sound was deafening. Jason and his cronies leapt up like puppets on strings, their obnoxious cheers grating on Paige's nerves. (She hated how his eyes tracked Azzi's every move, hated how he reduced her best friend to "hot" when Azzi was so much more - and if that realization made Paige's stomach twist, well, that was nobody's business.)

But all that noise faded to static as Paige watched Azzi's face transform - the way her eyes lit up with that pure, unfiltered joy that made the scoreboard irrelevant, the pain meaningless, the whole world narrow to this moment.

The whistle's shrill note brought them back. As they retreated on defense, Paige caught Azzi's eye across the court and mouthed two familiar words - their words: "Show off."

And when Azzi grinned back - that full, dimpled smile that had been Paige's favorite since they were fourteen - it felt like winning something far more important than a game.

By the fourth quarter, both Azzi and Paige were benched—each on their own team’s sidelines, but their eyes kept finding each other across the court. Paige couldn’t help but watch in awe. Even down by 32, Azzi was still leading. Leaning forward on the bench, calling out plays, clapping for teammates who—let’s be real—probably shouldn’t have been playing competitive basketball. But that was Azzi. Relentless, even in a lost cause.

And when one of her drawn-up plays actually worked, her smile lit up the entire gym. Paige had seen that grin a thousand times—during late-night snack runs where Paige sad she would drive azzi to get her favorite type of ice cream, when they’d FaceTimed each other after stupid fights—but it still hit her the same way every time. 

Like sunlight breaking through clouds.

When the final buzzer sounded, Paige’s team won by 29. But as the players lined up for post-game handshakes, Azzi tugged Paige closer by the jersey, her lips brushing Paige’s ear.

"You won," she whispered, breath warm against Paige’s skin. "But I still dropped more points than you."

Paige’s stomach did a backflip. She should’ve fired back with some cocky remark, should’ve rolled her eyes and called Azzi a sore loser. But instead, she just smiled—genuine, unguarded, proud. Because damn it, Azzi had been unreal tonight.

Then Sarah ruined the moment. Again. 

When Azzi extended her fist for the customary bump, Sarah pretended not to see, walking right past her with a dismissive scoff.  And, Paige’s blood went from warm to boiling in half a second.

Before Azzi could even react, Paige grabbed Sarah’s wrist, yanking her back hard enough to make her stumble. 

"What the hell is your problem?" Paige hissed, voice low and dangerous.

Sarah jerked her arm free, glaring. "You’re really picking her over your own team?"

"I’m picking respect over whatever petty bullshit you’re on," Paige shot back. "Apologize. Now."

The gym had gone eerily quiet. Even the refs were watching.

Sarah’s jaw tightened, but under Paige’s furious stare, she finally muttered, "Whatever. Sorry, I guess."

Azzi, still standing there, just arched a brow. "Wow. That was almost convincing."

Paige bit back a laugh.

As Sarah stormed off, Paige felt Azzi's shoulder bump against hers, their fingers brushing in that silent language only they understood. The contact lasted barely a second, but it carried volumes - admiration, solidarity, something warmer than either would name.

Then came the Fudd family, cutting through the dispersing crowd like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. "My two favorite warriors!" Azzi's mom beamed, already raising her phone. "We need pictures - this was historic!"

Azzi groaned but didn't resist as her parents pulled them together. "Mom, we just got our butts kicked-"

"Nonsense!" Her father interjected, throwing an arm around both girls. His coaching instincts surfaced as he addressed Paige: "You played lights out, kid, but..." He tapped his temple knowingly. "Third quarter? Should've forced left more often. Right side was overplaying you all night."

Paige felt her cheeks flush - not from criticism, but from how effortlessly he included her in his basketball wisdom. The way he analyzed her game with the same attentive care he gave Azzi.

"You're absolutely right, Coach," she admitted, rubbing her neck. "I got too comfortable with the cross-court passes."

Azzi's dad grinned, squeezing them tighter. "Ah, but when you two matched up?" He whistled. "Best basketball I've seen all season. Even if someone-" he pinched Azzi's cheek, "-needs to work on her help defense."

"Dad!" Azzi swatted his hand away, but her protest dissolved into laughter when Paige joined in teasing her.

As camera flashes popped around them, Paige caught herself leaning into this moment - into the easy way Azzi's parents folded her into their family orbit. The way Mrs. Fudd fixed Paige's sweaty ponytail without asking, the way Coach Fudd's advice carried both challenge and belief.

Azzi met her eyes over their posed smiles, and in that glance Paige saw understanding. This family wasn't just becoming important to her. They were becoming hers.

"Mom, where are we eating? We’re starving."

Azzi’s voice was half-whine, half-laugh as she tugged at her jersey, still damp with sweat from the game.

Miss Fudd smiled sweetly at Paige—a smile that carried just a little too much knowing amusement—then turned to Azzi.

"Well," she said, tapping her chin, "Paige actually asked me earlier if she could take you out tonight. Just the two of you."

Azzi’s head whipped toward Paige so fast her braids smacked her own cheek. "You—what?"

Paige’s face burned. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Fudd to just announce it like that. She’d imagined pulling Azzi aside later, playing it cool—Hey, there’s this place I found, you wanna check it out?—not having it laid bare in front of her entire family.

“I mean, yeah,” Paige muttered, suddenly very interested in retying her shoelaces. “If you want. No big deal.” She kept her voice casual, but the words came out too fast. “Just thought since it’s our last night, and I’m flying back to Minnesota after lunch tomorrow, and we don’t have a game—”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, stoping Paige’s resembling to remember that Paige had asked her parents permission. "You asked my mom? Like, formally?"

"I was being polite," Paige shot back, defensive. "Unlike some people who just show up at my house unannounced and eat all my cereal."

Azzi opened her mouth to retaliate, but her mom cut in, laughter in her voice. "It’s settled, then. You two go have fun. But, Azzi—" She held up a warning finger. "Phone on. Loud. And back by eleven."

"Mom, we’re not twelve," Azzi groaned.

"And yet," her dad chimed in without looking up from his clipboard, "somehow, you still forget to text when you're running late."

Paige bit back a grin. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Azzi's ear as she whispered: "Go get ready, princess. I'll meet you in an hour at our hotel lobby."

The reaction was instant—Azzi’s breath hitched, her neck flushing pink where Paige’s words had touched skin. (Totally normal best friend behavior, she told herself.)

"Bold of you to assume I'm saying yes," she muttered, but the way her fingers twitched against her gym bag strap betrayed her.

Paige smirked, stepping back. “You will. And wear something white.” A pause, just long enough to make Azzi’s pulse jump. “So we can match.”

And of course—Azzi did.

——

Paige had changed four times before settling on dark jeans and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Casual but put-together—the perfect balance between I didn’t try too hard and I absolutely did, but I’ll deny it if you call me out.

(Which Azzi always did.)

Meanwhile, Azzi stood frozen in her bathroom, clutching a tube of mascara like it might bite her. Since when do you care this much? She’d swiped on a little makeup—just enough to make her eyes pop, just subtle enough to play it off as habit. The sweater was fine. The jeans were fine. Everything’s fine.

The elevator dinged, and there she was—soft blue sweater clinging to her shoulders, and white jeans that should’ve been illegal, hair still damp and curling at the ends where it brushed her collarbones. Paige’s throat went dry.

"You’re late," Paige said, checking her watch with exaggerated annoyance.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up. "By two minutes. And you’re staring."

"Am not."

"You literally haven’t blinked since the doors opened." Azzi stepped closer, tilting her head. Was the mascara too much? Did she notice? "What, do I have something on my face?"

Yes. Your face. Which is the problem. 

Paige swallowed hard. "Shut up and let’s go. We’re gonna miss our reservation."

Azzi grinned. "Oh, so it’s a reservation now? Not just ‘grabbing food’ like you said?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Paige’s chest tightened. Yeah. That’s the issue.

The walk to the place was quick, and in silence. Both teenagers immerse in their own thoughts. Paige had scouted this place carefully—a small Italian spot with dim lighting, great pasta, and, most importantly, atmosphere. Quiet enough to talk, but not so fancy they’d feel awkward. Just… intimate.

Not a date. Best friends can have intimate dinners.

The second they walked in, Azzi’s eyebrows shot up. "Ohhh. This kind of dinner."

Paige’s stomach dropped. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Azzi smirked, trailing a finger over the white tablecloth. "Just… candles? Fancy napkins? You reserved this, didn’t you?"

Paige had. She’d also requested the corner booth and may or may not have Googled best date spots in the city before remembering—not a date.

"Shut up," she muttered, sliding into the seat. "I just didn’t wanna end up at some chain place with your dad’s playbook spread over the table."

Azzi laughed, leaning forward. "You planned this. Admit it."

Paige’s pulse spiked. Azzi was too close, her grin too knowing. "Yeah, well," she deflected, "someone had to. You’d have dragged me to the first smoothie place you saw."

"Damn right." Azzi picked up the menu, then paused. "P… there’s nothing here you’d eat. No fries. No plain chicken tenders. Just… vegetables." She squinted. "Did you pick this place for me?"

Paige’s ears burned. "No. I just… wanted to try something new."

Azzi’s expression softened. "You hate new."

"I don’t hate it."

"You once cried over a menu because they ‘changed the fries.’"

"That was one time—"

Azzi reached across the table, her fingers brushing Paige’s wrist. "Hey." Her voice was quieter now, teasing but tender. "You could’ve just said you wanted to take me somewhere nice."

Paige’s breath caught. Because it’s you. Because I’d sit through a hundred vegetable plates if it meant watching you smile like this. Instead, she shrugged. "Figured you deserved a break from my culinary crimes."

Azzi squeezed her hand. "You’re ridiculous."

Their conversation flowed as easily as it always did—like they were picking up right where they’d left off, like no time had passed at all. Dinner was… perfect. And they’d missed each other so much - being best friends in different states was not for the weak. 

They argued over breadsticks (Paige dunked hers in ranch; which the brunette called it a "culinary crime"). They debated the best NBA players which was not a big discussion given that Azzi had very limites knowledge on the matter (Paige fought hard for Luka; Azzi, predictably, Steph). 

They laughed so hard at one point that the couple next to them shot them dirty looks, and Azzi had to press her napkin to her mouth to stifle a snort. And the blonde found that the most cute thing ever, but she would deny that with her life. 

But then, as the waiter cleared their plates, Azzi grew quiet. She traced the rim of her glass, her voice softer when she finally spoke.

"You didn’t have to do this, you know."

Paige frowned. "Do what, Az?”

"All of it." Azzi gestured between them. "The dinner, the… whatever this is. We could have done something casual. Your company Is more than enough, P.”

Paige’s chest tightened. 

"I didn’t want to," she said instead.

Azzi looked up, holding her gaze. "Why not?"

The air between them crackled. Paige’s mouth went dry. She was not quite sure of the “why”. 

But before she could answer, Azzi’s phone buzzed loudly on the table.

MOM: 30 minutes, Azzi. Don’t make me come find you.

The spell broke. Azzi groaned, flopping back in her seat. "Ugh, kill me."

Paige exhaled, equal parts relieved and frustrated.  "

C’mon, I will ask for the check, and we can still make it on time. Don’t worry princess.“ 

When the check came, Azzi immediately reached for her wallet. "Split it?"

The blonde snatched the bill before the younger girl’s fingers could graze it. "Nope."

Azzi rolled her eyes. "Come on, P. I ate half your breadsticks. Least I can do is—"

"I invited you," Paige said firmly, sliding her card into the leather folder before Azzi could protest. "My treat."

Azzi opened her mouth to argue—then stopped.

There was something in the way Paige said it. Not just stubborn, but certain. Like it mattered to her. Like this—taking care of Azzi, even in this small way—was something she wanted to do.

A strange warmth fluttered in Azzi’s chest.

Oh.

She’d always teased Paige for being competitive, but this wasn’t that. This was… intentional. The way Paige had picked the restaurant knowing Azzi would love it. The way she’d insisted on walking her back. The way she was looking at her now—chin tilted, eyes soft—like Azzi was something precious.

You do this a lot, don’t you?

The realization hit her like a delayed pass, right to the ribs.

Paige always took care of her.

The extra Gatorade in her bag when Azzi forgot hers. The way she’d text "You good?" after a tough loss. The time she’d had sent a care package all the way from Minessota because Azzi had mentioned feeling sick during a FaceTime. All these little things, piling up.

And Azzi—oblivious, glitchy Azzi—had never let herself think about why it made her stomach swoop.

So, she decided to be a little bold:  "You never answered my question," Azzi said lightly.

"What question?"

"Mean Streets," Azzi teased, bumping her shoulder. "You still owe me that movie night."

Paige’s pulse jumped. You have no idea what you do to me. "Yeah, well. Maybe next time we’re in the same hotel."

Azzi grinned. “How about you sneak into my room tonight given that I have no roommate? "

Paige's fingers twitched against her jeans. Just a movie. Just friends. But her throat had gone dry as desert asphalt in July. "Your mom would literally murder me if she caught me sneaking in after curfew."

Azzi's eyes glittered under the hotel's exterior lights, mischief written in the curve of her smile. "Since when do you care about rules?" She stepped closer, the toe of her sneaker bumping Paige's. "Come on. We've stayed up later at tournaments. And it's not like—" Her voice dropped, suddenly shy, "—it's not like we'd be doing anything wrong."

That's the problem, Paige thought wildly. I might lose control if you keep looking at me like that.

The confession nearly slipped out right there between the parked cars and humming streetlights. Instead, she cleared her throat. "What time's lights out?"

"Eleven." Azzi rocked back on her heels, suddenly nervous. "But you don't have to—"

"I'll be there at 10:45." The words left Paige's mouth before her brain caught up. "I can bring the snacks: Sour Patch Kids and those weird peanut butter crackers you like too.”

Azzi's resulting smile could've powered the entire hotel. 

"Deal." 

She turned toward the entrance, then glanced back over her shoulder, damp brunette curls catching the light. "Don't chicken out,  you already know my room number.”

And to be fair, Paige had actually memorized it the second azzi told her. 

10:42 PM - Third Floor Hallway

Paige counted doors with her heartbeat thundering in her ears. 1124...1126... The ice machine down the hall rattled like her nerves. This was stupid. This shouldn't feel so monumental. They'd shared beds before—crammed together in the Fudds' cabin last summer, limbs tangled during movie nights in Minnesota. 

But those times had been easy. Safe.

They were also never actually alone. 

Never after Azzi had looked at her like that over breadsticks.

She raised her hand to knock—then froze. 

She was freaking out because she knew what this meant. It was painfully clear she had a crush on her best friend. But did Azzi feel the same? What would that even mean for them? For their friendship? ? And then there was Jason—the guy Azzi had shut down, but still. He was a boy, and that somehow made it different.

She remembered their conversation last night—Azzi confessing she’d never kissed anyone, Paige admitting her own experiences weren’t as wild as people assumed. The way Azzi’s eyes had lingered when she’d said, "you already know my room number."

Before she could second-guess herself any longer, Paige knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately—like Azzi had been waiting on the other side.

And there she was: damp curls framing her face, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, pajama shorts that Paige was pretty sure were hers (stolen in Minnesota, no doubt).

"You gonna stand out here all night?" Azzi smirked. "Or are you coming in?"

Paige’s throat went dry. "Was working up to it."

"Scared, Bueckers?"

"Of you? Please." 

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the warm, vanilla-scented dark. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Illness

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You hide an illness

If you weren't delirious with a fever and sweating bullets, you would have described this moment as the most embarrassing moment of your life.

The semi-final El Clásico was one of the most important of the season and it was such bad luck that you had fallen ill the week before. It was most likely the flu but you never went to any doctor to get it checked out. Instead, you hunkered down in your apartment and refused to leave until you got better.

Only, you never did get fully better. Your immune system was as strong as a wall of feathers so you just decided to channel your inner Oscar winner and pretend you were fine.

You arrived at training every day after taking enough painkillers to fell an ox and hydrate yourself to the point that you were sure that your bladder had to force itself to grow.

It paid off though because you were part of the squad going to Madrid and you caught up on sleep during the train ride so could keep up your façade all the way up to the match day.

Your head was pounding as you finally stepped onto the pitch about ten minutes after half time, sliding easily into Lucy's position as the ball went back into play.

Thankfully, football was an instinct rather than a conscious thought at this point and even with a banging headache, achy limbs and a blocked nose, you played without much issue.

"Hey," Irene said as you took a little break from running to walk over to the corner that was being set up," You okay? You're slower than usual today."

You fanned yourself with your jersey. "Just a little hot."

She gave you an odd look. "It isn't that hot. You haven't been on the pitch for long."

You gave her a shrug and lied straight to her face," Really? I guess I'm just running warm today." You picked up the pace and slotted yourself between Athenea and Olga.

It was almost slow motion as Salma sent a cross into the box. Olga tried to push you forward and away while Athenea's elbow stabbed you straight in the eye.

You dropped like a brick backwards into Olga, who surprised by your sudden weight, dropped you on the floor. Your head banged painfully against the grass and you groaned.

There was a slight ringing in your ears but you couldn't focus on anything but the desperate churning of your stomach. You squeezed your eyes tight to try to stem the swirling but it just made stars explode behind your eyelids as your face throbbed from Athenea's elbow.

Your stomach bubbled up and you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, kid, you okay?" It was Irene and she jostled you slightly.

That was what did it and you rolled over onto your stomach just in time to surrender your dinner.

You burst into tears, sobbing into the grass.

"Holy shit, y/n," Mariona said," You're burning up! Are you sick?"

"You're sick?!"

You continued to cry into the grass. With your usual caretaker (Alexia) out of the team for the rest of the month, it meant Irene was in charge of you.

You couldn't decide if you would rather Alexia at this moment.

"Go away," You cried into the grass.

"Can't do that," Ingrid said as she crouched over you," The medics are coming to get you."

You turned your head to look at her.

"She got you good, huh?" Ingrid said, her fingers ghosting over your swollen eye.

"Ingrid," You croaked out," My head hurts."

"I'm sure. That was a nasty fall."

"Hurt before that too."

She made a sympathetic noise as she helped you sit up for the medics to have a proper look at you.

You were escorted straight off when they checked the dilation of your pupils.

Lucy trailed back with you along with Marta, who looked to already be on the phone with Alexia. You knew your caretaker would be watching the match so it wasn't a surprise that she had already called someone the moment you went down.

"Got quite the shiner there," Lucy commented as she inspected your bruised eye," Trying to look like Mapi?"

"At least it isn't bleeding," You said before descending into a coughing fit, thumping at your chest to try and regain your breath.

Lucy laughed but quietened when Marta held the phone out to you. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling you felt when you saw Alexia's contact picture.

You cleared your throat.

"Hola?"

"I knew it!" Alexia declared.

"Know what?" You tried to play dumb even though your whole body protested.

"When I saw you yesterday and you told me you were back to full health! I knew you were lying to me! You're still sick!"

"Barely." Your defence didn't help when you started coughing again.

"You sound horrible," Alexia said bluntly," You're not playing the final. I'll have you benched."

"I'll be benched anyway. I've got a bruise the size of my fucking country on my eye and a concussion, probably."

"We'll have a talk about hiding illness when you get home," Alexia said," And I'll have to leave a message for your captain."

You would have rolled your eyes if it didn't cause a whole new pain to shoot through your skull. Your nose was all blocked up again so the pressure in your head was only mounting. "You're my captain."

"Your national captain."

"Oh, what? You can't tell Leah! She'll go barmy! I'll be lectured for hours!"

"You're being lectured regardless, by me," Alexia said," Now, rest up, drinks lots and I'll see you in a few days."

You didn't even get the chance to watch the end of the match because Marta forced you back to the hotel and into your room.

"No screens," She said when you moved to turn on the tv.

"Well, what else am I meant to do?" You complained, blowing out your nose.

"Well, for one, you can use the bucket on the floor if you feel like you're going to be sick."

"I'm not going to throw up."

"You threw up on the pitch." Marta just had to remind you of the most embarrassing moment of your life and your cheeks flushed red out of embarrassment now instead of your fever.

"But I won't now."

Marta didn't get time to respond because the door to your room got thrown open and Patri sprawled herself next to you on the bed.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," She teased, dumping some chocolate onto your lap.

"Patri," Marta groaned," She's sick and injured. She needs rest."

"She needs company. She's still human. You can't just lock her in her room like she's Rapunzel."

Marta rolled her eyes and swatted at Patri. "She doesn't need you hindering her recovery. Go on, out with you."

"Nah," Patri said as she got comfortable," I think I'll stay here. Besides, y/n wants me to stay."

You sent Marta your most pathetic and sad look.

"Please, Marta?" You begged," I promise she'll help me. It'll be nice to have some company."

Marta sighed deeply. "Fine but just for now. This all might change by the time Alexia gets her."

You groaned and flopped back to lay against your pillows properly. "Don't remind me."

[woso-story]

Pregnancy

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon

Ingrid's pregnancy was a revelation that brought unparalleled joy to her and Mapi. From the moment they found out Ingrid was pregnant, their lives were awash with excitement, nervousness, and love. Mapi, in her typical fashion, vowed to take care of every single detail to make the pregnancy as smooth as possible.

---

It started with Ingrid’s cravings. At 2 a.m., she'd wake up craving churros and hot chocolate. Mapi, bleary-eyed but unwavering in her determination to keep Ingrid happy, would slip into sweats and head to their favorite late-night spot. “You know,” Ingrid said one night, watching Mapi bundle up, “I don’t need this churro. I just want it.”

“And I want to make sure you get it,” Mapi replied with a wink, planting a kiss on Ingrid's forehead before heading out.

Their fridge became a chaotic mix of pickles, mangoes, and other odd combinations. The team teased Ingrid mercilessly when she brought a jar of peanut butter and cucumbers to practice one day.

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Ingrid said with a shrug as she munched contentedly.

---

Despite her growing belly, Ingrid insisted on attending training sessions. She scaled back to light workouts, sticking to stretches, yoga, and some ball drills. It gave her a sense of normalcy, a way to stay connected to the team and the sport she loved.

Mapi, however, was a different story. She hovered constantly, adjusting water bottles, fetching towels, and shooting glares at anyone who came too close during drills. “She’s pregnant, not made of glass,” Alexia teased one day, only to be met with Mapi’s signature scowl.

When Ingrid bent over to tie her shoelaces during practice, Mapi sprinted across the pitch. “You shouldn’t bend like that! Let me do it,” she insisted, dropping to her knees to tie Ingrid’s shoes.

“Maria, I’m fine!” Ingrid protested, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re making me feel like I’m 80.”

“You’re pregnant. That’s basically a license for me to spoil you,” Mapi countered, grinning up at her.

---

The rest of the team found endless entertainment in Mapi’s overprotectiveness.

“Mapi, can I breathe near Ingrid, or is that off-limits too?” Patri joked one day during a team lunch.

“You can breathe,” Mapi shot back, “just don’t breathe too hard.”

But beneath the jokes was an undercurrent of admiration. The team adored how Mapi doted on Ingrid and often stepped in to help. Aitana once surprised Ingrid with a homemade lasagna when she heard about her sudden aversion to cooking smells. And when Ingrid mentioned how her back was sore, Alexia gifted her a plush heating pad that quickly became her favorite.

The entire team had taken to calling Ingrid "Mama Engen" and frequently joked about how the baby was already part of the squad. Alexia even gifted the baby its first tiny Barça jersey with "Baby Engen-León" on the back. Ingrid teared up at the gesture, and Mapi made a vow to frame it when the baby outgrew it.

---

At home, Mapi was unstoppable. She installed baby-proof locks on cupboards, "Maria, the baby isn’t even here yet!” Ingrid laughed, researched prenatal massages, and even downloaded meditation apps to help Ingrid relax.

“It’s sweet, really,” Ingrid told Alexia during one of their chats. “But sometimes I just want to remind her that I’m pregnant, not dying.”

---

One evening, Ingrid came home to find Mapi assembling a crib in their living room. Tools were scattered everywhere, and she looked frazzled but determined.

“Babe, the baby won’t need a crib for months,” Ingrid said, sitting on the couch with a bemused smile.

“I know,” Mapi muttered, tightening a screw. “But I want everything to be perfect.”

Ingrid walked over, wrapping her arms around Mapi from behind. “It’s already perfect because it’s ours.”

---

The first ultrasound was a moment of pure magic. As they saw the tiny flutter of their baby’s heartbeat on the screen, Mapi’s eyes filled with tears.

“Can you believe it?” she whispered, clutching Ingrid’s hand.

Ingrid squeezed back, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “We’re really doing this.”

---

Though the journey had its overwhelming moments, Ingrid wouldn’t have had it any other way. Mapi’s protectiveness, while occasionally exasperating, was a constant reminder of how much she was loved. And as they lay in bed one night, Mapi’s hand resting gently on Ingrid’s belly, Ingrid couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re going to be such a good mom,” she whispered.

“You too,” Mapi replied, pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s temple. “But for now, my job is to take care of both of you.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes affectionately. “You already do. And you’re pretty good at it. Just don’t drive me too crazy in the meantime.”

Mapi laughed, “Deal.”

And as they drifted off to sleep, dreams of their growing family filled the room, wrapping them in warmth and hope for the future.

[mezzy-1]

Radiant Recruit (Valorant x Reader)

Name: Y/N 

Class: Radiant

Callsign - Nomad

You had been at odds with Kingdom for causing your abilities, and saw Valorant as nothing more than another group trying to reign you in.  Your power store radiant energy and unleash it proved difficult to contain.  Even worse, you could turn to pure energy and phase away.  It was a trick you used to escape Valorant time and time again.  Where you came from was only for you to know, until you were captured.

(An idea of what Nomad can do // source: Infamous: Second Son)

Fade 

“Stop Y/N!  There’s no place you can run to that I won’t find you!”  Fade yelled down the hallway.  She had you cornered in Bind, inside the Kingdom refinery

“Leave me ALONE!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of radiant power at nearby pipes.  Steam filled the hall and you sprinted further away

A screech behind you caught your attention as one of Fade’s nightmares spotted you.  A terror trail led from your feet

Snarling prowlers rushed towards you and lunged.  You raised a hand and blasted them as they pinned you down

One sunk its teeth into your leg and darkness filled your vision.  Whispers surrounded you as memories of Kingdom spying on you resurfaced

Radiant power surged into your eyes before blasting through your body.  In your fear, you burnt through the last reserves of energy

Suddenly a voice cut through the chaos

“I have you now, ”

Weak sparks shot from your palm in an attempt to block the ball of tendrils Fade tossed at your feet

Seized by her power, unable to destroy the bindings, you found yourself resorting to struggling against the tethers

Fade took a Sheriff from its holster, the gunmetal gleaming in the red alarm lights.  She began to raise it upward towards you

Then turned and emptied the cylinder, catching the bullets and storing them in a pocket

“Valorant is not what you think, we are trying to do something important for the world!”

“So was Kingdom, I don’t care about what your cause is.”

“I was where you are right now, Y/N.  I was hunted by Valorant too.”  Fade’s tone softened

“What are you talking about?” You were slightly intrigued

“I…blackmailed them.  They sent a squad to catch me and could’ve killed me.  They gave me a home instead.  I trust them.”

“Prove it, how do I know you aren’t lying to get my guard down.”

“You can’t, but you have my word that we will let you go if you want to leave.” She reached a hand to you.  “Deal?”

Against your better judgment you decided to come along.  In an hour you were being flown to a remote island in the middle of nowhere

“So you know my name, but what’s yours?” 

“Hazal.  Memnun oldum.”

Hazal sat with you, either for security or reassurance, in the conference room with Brimstone

“Y/N, I apologize for the methods we used but Valorant doesn’t have time for delicate approaches.  Fade has first hand experience with that.”

“I didn’t offer you another choice Brimstone,” Hazal seemed to feel some regret 

“We wanted to get your help with Omega Earth,” he directed you to a hologram that showed all current information

It was unnerving, the doppelgangers and your personal clone trying to destroy the world.  The situation didn’t leave you feeling like you could run away

“So…are you in Y/N?”

“Count me in,” you went over to shake Brimstone’s hand.  He took it and handed you a keycard to your room

“You’re part of Valorant now Y/N.”  Brimstone nodded to Fade and you exited the room with her

“You’ll be assigned a callsign Y/N,”  Fade said as she led you to your quarters.  “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Uh, I guess we should figure it out while we have time.”  Your opened the door to your room and took a seat on the bed

Fade took a seat at your desk, looking around at the sparse interior before settling on you

“Y/N, what do you think about going by Nomad?  It would fit, don't you think?”

Iso

“Oh shi-” you were surprised by a bullet ricocheting past you and putting a hole in the elevator controls

“Nice try Y/N, but you aren’t getting out of here unless you come with me.”  Iso chambered another round.  “Or else.”

“Go to hell!” you triggered a maelstrom of energy inside your body.  Radiant pulses fired from you and Iso lept to cover

Shifting into energy, you charged straight at him, ready to plant your glowing fists directly into his face

Hexagons spilled out under your feet.  Violet light blinded you before placing you into a strange space made of similar shapes

“You’re all mine Y/N.” a familiar voice echoed.  Iso had somehow captured you 

The structures around you disappeared and a single shot rang out against the silence of the realm you were in

A bullet hit your chest, but the ballistic plate underneath stopped it.  It didn’t stop the force from slamming into you though

“Y/N, I admire your spirit but you lost this fight.  I won’t hurt you, I just want to show you what Valorant is trying to do.”

“And if I refuse?”  

“You won’t leave here.  Ever.”

He wasn’t bluffing, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to condemn you to that fate either.  His aim was steady but his eyes were more focused on your response

“I’ll go with you, but if you try anything you’ll regret it.”

Iso sighed something in Mandarin

Purple energy wrapped you and placed you back in the building.  Iso waited for you to get to your feet and led you at gunpoint 

The elevator controls were shot, so you and Iso took stairs to the roof.  When you arrived at the helipad, the VTOL was just landing

“Remember, I can trap you at anytime Y/N.  Don’t try to escape until we get to the island and we brief you.”  Iso was dead serious

He left you in the cargo hold of the VTOL while it took off.  He returned later on his phone and looked over at you

“Any requests for music?  I don’t like silence.”  Iso pointed at the phone

“(Your favorite artist).”

“I have a playlist for them, tell me what you think.”

The ride to the HQ was more pleasant than you expected

Subsequently, you were lead to a room with the leader of Valorant for more information

Brimstone finished explaining the situation.  Needless to say the Omega Earth version of you destroying city blocks was a frightening prospect

“Y/N, if you help us out you’ll be giving us the advantage.  We can let you go but we can’t guarantee your mirror won’t try to come after you.”

“I’ll join your protocol if it means I can protect people from my double.”

“Welcome to the fight Y/N.  Iso, take Y/N to the armory and get them fitted for their gear and run a basic shooting test.”  Brimstone shook you hand warmly

Iso and you walked down the hall, passing a few other agents that gave you a wave or raised an eye at your presence

Once you were in the armory, Iso went over ballistics and you did some basic target practice

“Y/N, have you given any thought to your callsign?”  Iso finished marking your grade in a tablet

“Not really, I do want something that sounds good and makes sense.”  you placed your rifle down and began a field strip test

“Since you were constantly on the run, how does Nomad work for you?”  He raised the tablet with the name entered in

“Sounds good.”

“I can’t wait to work with you, Nomad.” Iso nodded to you and handed you a magazine

Viper

“Oh Y/N it’s precious that you think you can hide from me, but I like games of cat and mouse.”  Viper purred as you crept around Icebox

The woman had managed to cut off every escape from you, a fact she reveled in

“I assume you’re thinking that if you attack me, you can shut the toxins off and leave.” she was trying to draw you out, so you continued to sneak around

Viper turned and left 

Green fog began to empty from the vents everywhere, catching you off guard.  It was then you realized she had been waiting for the toxins to get in the system

“Is it hard to breathe?  Try not to die before I find you, I don’t want to explain that to Brimstone.”

Coughing loudly, you attempted to crawl away as vertigo set in.  The toxins smelled like acetone mixed with acrid sweetness

Viper’s silhouette appeared as you lost consciousness.  Her figure towered above you as your eyes shut

“You’re awake, good.  I need you to listen to me Y/N, can you do that?”  Viper had unmasked and was now looking you directly in the eye

You nodded your head weakly while taking account of your surroundings.  Toxins had rendered your powers and muscles useless

“What do you want from me?” you hissed

“Join Valorant, we could use your-”

“NOBODY’S using me.” you spat back.  Viper glared at you 

She removed a vial of poison and opened it.  She tilted the glass over your head, letting a drop hang over your eye

“Don’t interrupt me,” Viper narrowed her gaze, “Understood?”

“I’d rather die than be some kind of weapon for a bunch of sociopaths.”

“You aren’t in a position to argue, but we are going to play nice and show you the protocol.”

“Easy to do when I’m your prisoner.”

“Exactly Y/N.”  

Minutes later you were being flown somewhere new, but had no idea what was waiting for you once you regained your motor functions

Viper and Brimstone sat with you, going over confidential files on Omega Earth and their agents.  It was shocking to your face among them as well

“We know they’ll end up using your mirror against us, so we need all the support we can get.”  Brimstone passed a keycard to you

You took it and shook his hand

“I’ll take Y/N to the medical wing and run biometrics so we can plan countermeasures against their double.”  Viper motioned for you to join her

The biometrics were mainly just scans and a blood test, but Viper took time to explain what each piece would be used for

“Y/N, you need a callsign for me to enter your information under.  Any ideas?”

“Not really.  I guess there’s the fact I was always escaping, that could be something.”

“Well you didn’t escape me,” Viper smugly raised an eyebrow.  “But I do like that idea, how about Nomad?”

“I like that, it sounds mysterious.”

“Perfect, now let's get you to your quarters and finish the tour so I can get back to my lab.”

“Can I see the lab?”

“No.”

Neon 

“I thought you were supposed to be fast!  So much for the protocol’s ‘Sprinter.” you taunted as you sped away down a street in your energy form

Neon trailed behind you, each pace pulsing with electricity.  She had almost caught you but a quick energy burst saved you

Now it was a matter of running, which was easy for you to do because you could move through obstacles

That was your thought until you ran out of radiant power in the middle of the street

“Slow huh?” Neon was on you quickly.  You decided to fight, unleashing what little energy you had left in missiles of force

She dodged and closed the distance, using her speed to shift her target faster than you could aim

In the blink of an eye Neon grabbed your arm.  Volts spasmed down your body, paralyzing you

“No more running Y/N.”  Neon dragged you to the side of the road and away from the public.  She hid you under a bridge, seating you on a bench 

“So Valorant sends you to catch me and then what?  Lock me in a cell until you need to destroy something?”  

“No, we want you to learn how to control the power before you hurt anyone.”  Neon trailed off, lost in thought

“Do you really control your power or is it just them letting you loose on anyone they want?”  You needled at her doubt

“So you must have lost control at some point then, did they show up and lock you away?  Just like what you want to do to me?”  Provoking her was the only thing you could do

“It wasn’t like that!  They found me…but after I had lost control,” 

“Don’t lie to me, they can’t help me and they can’t you either!”

“SHUT UP!”  Sparks scorched the ground near Neon’s legs

Neon’s anger turned to regret “They gave me training for it and helped me make the best of it.”

Neon began to smile a bit as an arc of electricity moved up her hand

“I’m sure we’ll do the same for you.”

Once you could move, you and her walked back to a extraction point 

“Do you really think they don’t want to use my power for themselves?  You were sent on this mission right?”

“I volunteered for this, Y/N.  You won’t have to fight unless you want to but we have Radiants that want to help you control your abilities.”

It wasn’t much reassurance without definitive proof, but it was good to hear as you stepped onto the VTOL

“Plus you’ll train with me Y/N.  So I’m hoping you decide to stay with us so we can have a rematch.”

Neon fidgeted in her chair at the conference with Brimstone and Sage.  Reyna stood in the back eying you over and occasionally muttering something in Spanish

“Y/N, your power is going to make the difference in the fight against Omega Earth.  We need you to back us up.”

“I- I want to but I’m not,” 

Neon looked over at you and her nervousness switched something in you

“I can get ready for the field.  I’m on board sir.”  Neon relaxed at your response

“Good Y/N, glad to have you here.  We’ll enter some information for your file, in the meantime Neon can show you to the gym for a physical assessment.”

He passed her a tablet 

Neon led you around the protocol and took you to the training area.  She took the tablet Brimstone gave her and had you start the tests

It wasn’t a great couple of hours, especially because Neon kept her eyes on you struggling the entire time 

Finally the running test came up, and Neon readied a stopwatch

“Y/N, do you want to race?” Neon tossed the stopwatch in the air towards you

“Sure,” you caught the watch and readied it.  “Go!”

She cleared the mile in under 7 minutes without her power before taking the watch

“Beat that Y/N.” 

Your mile was about 9 minutes, which was expected from someone who didn’t run often.  Neon did tone her taunting down during the run which was a welcome change

“So…Y/N what callsign do you want?  I have to put one here so what do you want?”

“I don’t really have anything.  I would pick something about running or escaping-” Neon looked up disapprovingly “-but I guess that’s your thing right.”

“Well you aren’t fast, just hard to keep in the same place.  Like a nomad. Oh that could work!”

Neon put down Nomad in name entry

“We even sort of match too.  I like Nomad, enter it in!”  You nodded to her and got ready for the next step in becoming an agent

Reyna

“Tienes miedo?  I love a good chase Y/N.”  Reyna’s voice barely held her sadistic excitement back 

Carefully, you hid behind cover while Reyna stalked through the courtyard of Sunset.  Loading your pistol, you sprang from the cover and opened fire

A glaring eye filled your vision, and you shot blindly at the space.  The bullets dissipated the eye, but Reyna was gone

“I’ve heard so much about you, your power.  Don’t disappoint me.”  Reyna’s skin turned to shadows and glowed with unnatural energy

“I WON’T!” you bellowed.  Particles of radiant energy spiraled around your body and blasted straight through Reyna

She made no effort to dodge your most powerful blast as it corkscrewed into her.  At first you thought she was going to die

It was much more terrifying than that

Reyna walked calmly through the beam toward you, her intangible state keeping her from damage.  The blast lost power and stopped

“Que fuerte, but not enough.”  Reyna grabbed your throat and slammed you to the ground

“If you struggle, I will continue to have fun with you.”  Her grip tightened to emphasize the point

“I’m not joining your damn organization.  You and Kingdom are all the same, just preying on Radiants.”

“QUE DEMONIOS ME DIJISTE?”  Reyna yelled, she drove her nails into your neck.  “I- We are nothing like them.”

Her outrage was enough to quiet you down

“Kingdom is our enemy Y/N, we can bring them down together.  Join me and we will destroy them.”  Reyna reached a hand out

You took it

Reyna leaned in and whispered in your ear

“Somos unido, contra el mundo.  Do not forget they are terrified of us.”

Reyna sat at your side at the table in the conference room.  Brimstone and Sage went over the situation with Omega

“If Omega uses the mirror version of you, we would have a hell of a fight ahead of us without you to help us out.”  Brimstone gave a worried look to the holographic files

“Don’t worry, I’ll join the protocol if I can make a difference.”

“Come with me Y/N, we will see how useful you can be to us.”  Reyna took your arm and moved you to the training room

A few bots appeared and Reyna took a seat 

“Go on, end them Y/N.”

It took little effort to turn the bots into scrap metal and burnt plastic.  In your elation, you blasted a hole in the window near Reyna

“Que increible Y/N, you certainly have potential.”  She ran her fingers over the scorch marked bots

“The protocol requires a callsign,” she passed you a tablet with an input.  “I would put in my suggestions but I don’t want to speak for you.”

“Wait, what did you have in mind?” you looked over to Reyna while she leaned against the exit

“Pues, I was thinking something that felt unburdened.  Something freeing.  Viajero, no como se dice,” she paused feeling for the English word, “Nomad.”

“It means someone on the run or that moves around.  That does sound like me.” 

“Claro, I think it suits you perfectly Y/N.  Now, let's begin your training and sharpen your strength.”

She sauntered across the room and started up more bots

“Mataremos, Nomad.”  You and Reyna tore into them together

Sage

“Do not make me pursue you further Y/N, I wish no harm on you.”  Sage cried to you

“Then let me leave,” you readied an energy bolt, “I doubt you could even hurt me!”  You shot, directly into her chest

“So be it.” Sage muttered

Jade, tougher than steel, coated her hands and began to work into her skin.  Life energy flowed in and she rose up

Her skin healed as she charged you.  You burnt through your power to launch a vortex of radiant energy

The sphere engulfed her, but when it passed she was completely gone to your surprise.  A hand landed on your shoulder, then a chop connected to your temple

Sage had catapulted herself over the vortex using her wall, and gotten directly behind you

As a monk, she was adept in martial arts.  It didn’t help that the barrage of fists, palms, and kicks was hard as iron

You tried to swing back, but couldn’t move.  Sage coated you in jade, effectively restraining you with every blow

“Do you doubt I could hurt you now Y/N?”  Sage’s tone was retributive but took satisfaction in her position over you

“I don’t care what you try, you can’t force me to work with Valorant.  You chased me down like an animal, just like Kingdom.”  

“We did pursue you Y/N, but we aren’t like Kingdom.  We want to help you, not use you.”

“I’m not interested in what you have to say, I’ll break free eventually.”

“No you won’t, it is unmoving and you are too.  I want you to see what Valorant truly is, not what you think it is.”

“I don’t give a shit what Valorant is, you tracked me and trapped me in this.”  

“We tried to bring you in but you refused because you thought we were Kingdom.  I want to prove we’re better than them.”

“By encasing me in rock and hauling me somewhere against my will?  Just like Kingdom tried before?”

“You’d run away otherwise, and I went easy on you.  I could have broken your legs and healed them later, but I wanted you to see we aren’t cruel.”

It was true, she had held back enough not to render you unconscious or cripple you.  Plus she didn’t sound like she was lying, her tone was honest

“I don’t know if I can fully trust you, but if you want to show me Valorant I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“Not particularly, but I promise you are safe while under my watch.”

She had your petrified body loaded onto a VTOL and flown to the HQ

Once you had been briefed, and Sage released you, she passed you a keycard.  Brimstone finished his report on Omega

“Y/N, please lend us your aid.”  Sage pleaded

“I’m in, don’t worry.  I was wrong about you all, I’m happy to join.”  

“Sage, take Y/N to the clinic and give them a check up.  I’ll finish Y/N’s file and send word to the agents that we have a new member.”

You and her went over to the clinic and she sat you down on the table before taking a few instruments out

“Y/N, please remove your clothes.” she took a tablet and started marking things as you cautiously took your clothing off.  You blushed the entire time

Sage moved quickly, giving you questions while she looked you over.  She finished her check up and had you dress back up

“Y/N, do not worry I have seen the entire protocol naked.  I am just doing my job.”

“I know, it’s just strange because I don’t know you that well.”

“Then I hope we become close,” Sage smiled at you, “I must ask you about what you want to use for a callsign.”

“I didn’t think about that.  Do you have any ideas?”  

Sage responded with a long pause

“I suppose something that suggests your strengths.  You are flexible and spirited.”

“Do you have anything that sounds like either of those?”

“Would you accept Nomad?  It is the word for people that have no single place they call home.”

“Nomad…” you thought about it for a second.

“I love it!”

“Wonderful, now let’s finish your recruitment Nomad.”

Jett

“I’m not gonna work with the woman that destroyed Venice!” you screamed as you launched a volley of energy at Jett 

The backstreets of Split had turned into a storm of bullets and radiant explosions, Jett was lurking in the rafters while you stuck to the ground

She nimbly dashed from cover to avoid the bursts of plasma, then took aim with her Vandal

“Shut up!  You don’t know what you’re talking about!”  Jett’s serious tone cut through the chaos.  Her gun ran dry and she began to reload

“You can’t lie to me!  I’m never joining Valorant!”  A gathering of particles rushed through your hands, charging a pulse of energy that blasted Jett from cover

Her body flew through the air from the force, and you watched with satisfaction.  Then she suspended herself in midair, turning to you

“I’m done with your shit, Y/N.” Jett summoned her knives, and sent them for you

Acting quickly, you used the rest of your energy to blast the knives from their paths.  Each failed to connect as the knives moved on their own, weaving around 

Blades sped past you, then sinking into your clothes and pinning you to the ground.  Jett drifted down and knelt next to you, a smug grin painted on her face

“So,” a blade twirled over her finger, “care to correct what you said about me and Venice?”

“I saw the footage, it was you.  I won’t work for people who shelter a monster.”

“IT WASN’T ME!”  Jett’s control slipped and the knife embedded itself next to your neck

“She took everything from me,” a few tears fell down from Jett’s cheek.  “You of all people should know what being slandered feels like!”

It was true Kingdom had done their best to scare the public after they lost track of you, and wasted no time showing how dangerous you were

“You want me to feel bad for you when you’re hunting me like them?  They took so much from me and you’re no different.” 

“Y/N, you don’t have anywhere to go.  Valorant stood with me against the world, I stay with them because they know I’m not the enemy.”

Silence gave you time to digest how genuine she was being.  You could see how wounded she was and what Valorant meant to her

“I want them to help you Y/N.  We both had our lives ruined but Valorant is our second chance.”

“I’m not against it, but even if I was you’ve already caught me.”

Jett rolled her eyes and helped you up

“Valorant will help you, it’s like a second family to me.  I hope it becomes that for you too.”

The fact Jett’s double had ruined her life was made clear to you once you were in the care of Valorant

Her anger flared whenever the photo would appear in the report Brimstone gave you.  Wind would pick up in the room, moving papers about

You signed on immediately when you realized that you could make a difference and stop the mirrors from unleashing more Spikes

“Jett, I’m sure Y/N is going to need some help navigating the protocol.  Do you mind giving them a tour of the premises?”

“Yeah, let’s go Y/N.  This place is huge so we should start now.”

You and Jett took a walk through the corridors of Valorant.  Jett took you first to the training room and showed you the scoresheet

“As you can see, I have some high marks but no big deal.”  Jett gloated, making sure a nearby Phoenix could hear here

She took you next to the living quarters and introduced you to Killjoy and Raze, both of whom greeted you excitedly

Jett next took you to the cafeteria, mainly to flex the fact she cooked last night

“I bet you’re hungry after everything, we can probably take a minute here and have some of the chap chae I made.”

You and her reheated the noodles and added some onions and carrots to it

“So Y/N,” Jett practically inhaled her food, “what were you thinking for a codename?”

You finished a bit of food, “I don’t really know what I’d go with.”  

“How about Nomad?  I mean it makes sense ‘cause you’re hard to catch.  Plus it sounds cool.”

“It does, we should use that!” you agreed

You and her finished up and cleaned your plates, then finished the tour 

“Y/N, Nomad, tomorrow Phoenix, Neon, and I are gonna get together for movie night.  You should totally join us!”

“I’ll be there!”  

Deadlock

“Don’t try and run Y/N, you can’t escape me.”  Deadlock’s eyes trained on you, watching for any movement

She had you at gunpoint, pointing a Phantom at your chest ready to fire.  Her finger was slightly above the trigger

“Nobody is taking me prisoner!” you shouted before leaping out of the way and phasing into energy

Deadlock fired through you, the bullets disintegrating as they passed through you.  You sprinted through a wall and detransformed

That wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself as you began to make your way across the room you had entered

A beeping noise caught your attention as you exited, you searched for its source.  Then you looked to your left and saw the Sound Sensor

It concussed you and sent you reeling into the main room of the Kingdom outpost.  You spotted the exit on the second floor and dashed up the stairs

“YOU’RE NOT LEAVING MY TERRITORY Y/N!” a yell caught you off guard.  A blue string floated in front of your face for a single second

Then an onslaught of fibres wrapped your arms and legs, restraining you.  You did everything you could to escape but it was too late

The cocoon floated somewhere, but a brief minute later you felt yourself being picked up and carried outside

Bitter cold crept in through the gaps in the nanowire, causing you to shiver.  Then you felt yourself being rested on snow 

A knife cut through the web, a centimeter from your face.  It opened your face up to the chilling weather and Deadlock’s stoic expression

“Are you cold?  You keep moving like you’re shivering.”  Her voice was flat, unbothered by the freezing winds

“I-I’m f-f-fine, I don’t, n-need any he-help.” you did your best not to let her notice your teeth chattering

“You are an awful liar, we’re going back to the station.” Deadlock began a march back and threw you over her shoulder

“Put me down!” 

“You’ll freeze Y/N, I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“Why?  You opened fire at me why does it matter if I get cold?”

“I know you don’t deserve to suffer out here, and I didn’t shoot to kill.  Valorant sent me to collect you but we won’t mistreat you.”  

“You’re part of Kingdom, I know you are.”

“I’m not, when our extraction arrives we’ll take you to our headquarters and you can see that we have your best interests at heart.”

You went silent, confused at the fact she was taking you back to the outpost instead of directly to her allies.  It wasn’t something a typical mercenary or Kingdom would do

“How long until they arrive?”

“A few minutes from now.”  Deadlock shut the door and laid you against a wall near a heating vent

“Rest Y/N, I don’t want you to freeze.”

Hours later, you were in the tropics at the Valorant HQ

You exited Brimstone’s office with a newfound appreciation for Valorant.  Your Mirror concerned both you and the agents around you

Brimstone had finished signing you up with the protocol, and you agreed to go to the armory to get an idea of what you would be training with 

Deadlock led you through the headquarters, giving you a brief tour of the base before stopping at the weapon room

“Y/N, we are going to go over weaponry while the others finish notifying the protocol about you and readying your quarters.”  Deadlock handed you a Guardian

“Take it and see how it feels.”  She watched you explore the rifle and attempt to take it apart.  Field stripping was not your strength

Deadlock began to help you, as well as go over the rest of the armory’s collection.  You learned how to clean the guns which seemed to be enough for Deadlock

“I’ll have a kit sent to your room, but I have to ask what were you thinking for a code name?”

“Codename?”

“Every agent gets one, so we have to assign you one.”  She referred to her own ID card and took a seat at the firing range 

“Come on, I don’t have the slightest idea of what to put for one.  What would you put?”

Looking upwards in thought, Deadlock paused for a second before meeting your gaze

“They gave me my name because I can stall the enemy.  You specialize in moving and being unpredictable.”

You nodded in agreement

“Perhaps, Nomad?” Deadlock shrugged her shoulders

“You know that sounds good.  Put Nomad as my codename please.”  You felt the name around a bit before settling into the callsign

“Hey Deadlock,”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the name and for not letting me freeze.”

“It was no trouble at all.” 

(This might be the first of many -X Reader things, so follow me if you're interested. Comment your favorite parts so I know what people like to see!)

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 2: None the Wiser

series masterlist

You navigate your motorcycle down a quiet suburban street, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon.

The houses lining the street all have a sense of tranquility about them, each one seemingly occupied by a picture-perfect family.

Eventually, you come to the correct address, the number nailed to the mailbox in front of the home. You kill the engine of your motorcycle, the silence that envelopes you as it dies almost soothing.

A frown tugs at your lips as you remove your helmet, your fingers running idly through your hair.

The sight of the house Lorraine calls home surprises you, the image of the "American Dream" lifestyle seeming at odds with the person you knew her to be. The white picket fence, meticulously kept lawn, and cozy abode all seem too perfect, too generic.

But then again, five years can change a lot.

You kick down the kickstand, the sound of the metal connecting with the concrete almost too loud in the still air. You swing your leg over and slip off the bike, the metal still warm from the overbearing sun of the afternoon.

With your helmet still in your hand, you nervously fidget with it, the metal of the strap cool against your fingers.

Taking a deep breath, then hooking your helmet on your handlebar, you approach the fence surrounding the home with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

You reach the gate, its white paint unblemished and gleaming beneath the fading sunlight. Hesitantly, you grip the latch and pushes open the gate, the hinges creaking slightly. You carefully step through just as a shrill caw cuts through the air, boots thumping against the manicured lawn.

The house stands in front of you, its pristine exterior almost unnaturally perfect. The windows sparkle, the white paint of the siding gleams, and there's a manicured rosebush that borders the front walkway that has been neatly trimmed into a small ball. A stone walkway leads to the front door, its brass knocker polished and gleaming.

You raise your fist, ready to knock, when a sense of wrongness suddenly washes over you. Something about this house doesn’t sit right with you, though you can’t quite place your finger on what it is.

Just as you’re about to shake off the feeling and knock, the door suddenly swings open.

Your brain processes the sight in front of you in an instant. The perfectly styled blonde hair, the picture-perfect smile, the air of false politeness.

Oh, no now this makes more sense.

You feel none the wiser with exactly who would greet you at the door, and you should’ve known better than to think this was Lorraine’s residency.

Bobby-Lynn, prior captain of the cheer squad back when you were all in high school, stands before you. Her blue eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

You barely manage to mutter a disbelieving "you've gotta be fucking kidding me" before she envelopes you in a fierce hug.

The scent of her perfume fills your nostrils, the sickly-sweet scent almost suffocating. You stand there awkwardly, your arms remaining stiff at your sides as she grips you tightly.

“Oh my gosh! Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lorraine said you were comin’ but to be honest, I didn’t believe her-“

Lorraine? Oh. Oh, that little shit. She’s got some explaining to do.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally releases you, her perfectly manicured hands remaining on your arms as she steps back, her smile still plastered on her face. "I haven't seen you in years!" she exclaims, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

You forcing a smile, the gesture feeling more like a grimace than anything else. You take a step back, putting distance between yourself and her sticky sweetness. With a bluntness that masks your discomfort, you reply, "that was sorta the point”.

Her smile falters for a brief moment, not expecting your blunt response. Her gaze flickers for a moment, her eyes studying you closely, before that false smile returns, wider than before. "You never change, do you?" she quips, her voice dripping with artificial affection.

You ignore her question, the memories of high school and her presence causing your stomach to twist with unease. You glance over her shoulder, scanning the interior of the tidy living room for any sign of Lorraine. "Is Lorraine here or not?" you ask, your tone bordering on curt.

Bobby-Lynn’s false smile dips once more, but she quickly recovers, maintaining her sweet demeanor. "She’s in the kitchen, helping cook dinner as usual," she replies, her voice annoyingly cheerful.

You can’t help but make a face, your thoughts racing as you prepare to ask about Lorraine. You're about to speak, but before you can even ask, she links her arm through yours, the action nearly making you stumble.

“A lot has changed since high school, Rooks. Wipe that look off your face,” she says with a faux-chiding tone, her voice grating on your nerves.

You find yourself being pulled into the house, the door shutting behind you with an ominous finality. You cast a glance over your shoulder at the closed door, a frown tugging at your lips.

But before you can dwell on it, Bobby-Lynn guides you into the living room, her arm still linked through yours. As you look around, the space feels more like a lion's den than a comfortable living area. Every inch is meticulously arranged, the decor designed for maximum aesthetic appeal, yet everything feels cold and sterile.

Before you can even process your surroundings, the sight of Jackson — the once-star quarterback and now serving your country last you’d heard — standing to greet you catches you off guard.

His broad frame stands tall, his face a bit more weathered than when you last saw him in high school. But his greeting is what's most surprising, his face lit with an enthusiasm you've never witnessed him direct at you before.

“Rooks! You came!”

Jackson steps forward, his arms outstretched, and pulls you into a firm hug. You can smell a hint of his aftershave as he clasps you tightly, his broad chest pressing against yours. He pulls back slightly just as you register what’s going on, his hands remaining on your shoulders, and offers his condolences for your Pop.

"I'm real sorry for your loss," he says, his voice sincere as he gives your back a firm pat, your frame going rigid under his touch “best goddamn Mayor this town ever had”.

You remain still, your body taut as a bowstring, the forced embrace and pat on the back causing your skin to prickle with discomfort. You offer a nod of acknowledgment, but your expression remains stoic beneath his gaze.

Just as Jackson releases you fully, another voice intercedes, a familiar tone that causes your stomach to sink further. "Is that Rooks? Well, I'll be goddamn," the voice echoes, their tone filled with a mixture of surprise and a hint of mockery.

You turn, eyes landing on the source of the voice, and nearly laugh aloud at the sight of the man who stands before you. It's Wayne, his familiar face now sporting a hint of stubble and a few new lines around his eyes. But it's the woman who stands behind him that shocks you even more—Maxine, her red hair still as vibrant as your memories serve you.

Wayne continues speaking, his smooth voice layered with sarcasm and wit. "Well, look who decided to grace us with their presence again. Rooks, back from the dead. Never thought I'd see the day," he quips, a smirk on his lips.

Meanwhile, Maxine stands silently beside him, her gaze fixed on you. Her eyes study you intently, that vixen look you remember from high school still present beneath her lashes.

Bobby-Lynn's voice cuts in, admonishing Wayne. "Wayne, that's not funny. The poor thing’s Pop just passed. Show some respect," she says, her words laced with a hint of irritation.

Wayne's smirk falters slightly, and he offers a half-hearted apology, "sorry, Rooks. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers”.

Your irritation mounts at Wayne's sly remark, and you respond curtly, your eyes narrowing.

"Clever," you mutter dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. The sound of them using your old nickname only further adds to your annoyance.

You’ve never been fond of it, the name representing a part of your past you've been trying to leave behind.

Which gets brought to attention as Wayne sidles up to you, slinging his arm around your shoulders with a familiarity that sets your teeth on edge. He grins as he says, "I gotta ask, do you still see ‘em? Or did you finally grow out of that?"

His words sting, reminding you of the countless times he teased and belittle you for your ‘hallucinations’ way back when. A part of you wants to shrug off his arm, but you remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You push past your discomfort, your words filled with bitterness and sharp with anger. "I haven't been 'seeing things,' Wayne. That was just your and everyone else's bullshit way of making my life a living hell" you snap, your voice dripping with venom.

His arm drops from your shoulders as you step away, creating distance between you and the unwelcome touch.

Wayne raises his hands in a mock surrender, a smirk still on his lips “whoa, relax, Rooks. I was just messing around," he says, his voice dripping with false innocence. His apology is insincere, the sarcastic tone he uses making it clear he hasn't changed one bit.

Just as you're about to lose your temper, the front door opens and Lorraine appears from around the corner, her presence making you feel even more on edge.

Your eyes flicker to Bobby-Lynn, a sense of betrayal washing over you as you realize she lied to you. You shoot her an accusatory look, your expression giving away your anger.

Lorraine steps into the room, her sweet and timid demeanor immediately defusing the tension in the air. Her voice echoes through the room, asking with gentle concern, "everythin’ alright?"

The sound of her voice instantly has a calming effect on you, even though you're still seething on the inside.

Maxine, whose gaze has been studying you almost hungrily, finally pipes in, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh, we was just catchin’ up," she says, her gaze unabashedly raking over your form.

Yeah, definitely still the same manipulative snake she was in high school.

You turn your gaze to Lorraine, preparing to ask her about why she made you come here, only for your words to die in your throat as you spot another familiar figure behind her. Your heart drops as you recognize the face of the man you thought would rather be caught dead than be around this crowd.

It's RJ, a scrawny band geek from high school. He was the epitome of ‘weird’ back then, always lingering on the outskirts of social groups. Oddly enough, he stands right behind Lorraine now, his presence here seeming completely out of place.

As your eyes roam over his figure, the last person you would've expected to see in this gathering, you can't help but feel a mix of surprise and old memories resurfacing. After all, you were just as much a ‘freak’ to everyone in the room at one point in time.

The sudden appearance of RJ toting up and showing off two bottles of wine awkwardly, stuns you into silence, your mind struggling to catch up with the unfolding situation. Everyone else, seemingly used to RJ's odd behavior, voices their approval with enthusiasm.

Everyone except Lorraine, who remains unnervingly silent, observing you intently as her eyes studying your every reaction.

You're still trying to wrap your head around RJ's appearance at this gathering when Wayne pipes up from beside you, putting his hand on your shoulder once again, this time his touch slightly less mocking. He speaks with a more sincere tone, his voice lacking the previous sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, Rooks. I was just tryna cut the tension a bit. I didn't mean to come off so harsh," he offers apologetically, his eyes locking onto yours.

You take a moment, trying to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling in your mind. As you stand there, RJ leads the others with a surprising confidence into the kitchen, leaving you feeling lost in a sea of unexpected emotions.

You remain frozen, your mind struggling to process the flood of emotions coursing through you. Wayne's hand drops from your shoulder as he follows the rest of the group into the kitchen, leaving you standing alone in the living room.

Too much. Too much. Where do you even start?

Lorraine silently approaches, her gentle presence having an unexpected calming effect on your tumultuous emotions. She looks at you intently, observing your expression and demeanor with a careful eye. For a brief moment, the two of you simply stand there, the silence filling the air as she waits for you to speak.

Your voice is tight, almost strained, as you whisper to Lorraine, "are you fucking kidding me? Them? Of all people?" Your body is tense, your chest feeling like a coiled spring as you take in the situation at hand.

The sight of all those who tormented you both from your past all gathered in one place, is overwhelming, and you're struggling to keep your composure.

Lorraine's voice is soft and earnest as she whispers to you, her gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, her tone conveying a sense of understanding. "I know it must be overwhelming seeing them all here, but they've changed. You'll see”.

Her words cause a ripple of uncertainty to cross your features, but she adds a final thought, her tone gentle “you need people right now, and you wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

You clench your jaw, struggling to keep your emotions in check. A mixture of anger and disbelief washes over you as you glance towards the kitchen, where the sounds of boisterous laughter and conversation fill the air.

It's almost surreal to think that these people, who use to verbally crucify you on the daily, are now considered Lorraine's friends. Your anger and frustration bubble just beneath the surface, a bitter taste settling in your mouth.

Lorraine's gentle voice breaks through your thoughts, her soft "hey" drawing your attention back to her. Her eyes, wide and innocent, bring an unexpected sense of reassurance, grounding you for a moment.

"I'd never lead you astray," she says, her words filled with conviction. Looking into her earnest eyes, you can't help but believe her.

Your heart is racing, torn between anger, disbelief, and the unexpected comfort Lorraine manages to bring. You stand there, feeling the inner turmoil that threatens to spill over.

As Lorraine walks past you, her eyes never leaving yours until the last second, she offers a knowing look, as if she understands the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

With that, she continues on towards the kitchen, joining the others, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stand there for a moment, undecided. This is the point where you'd normally leave, walking away from the people who caused you so much pain. You don't owe them anything, including Lorraine.

The words echo in your mind as you think about the decision you're facing. Why on earth would you stay in this situation, surrounded by people who had made your life miserable in the past? But then you think of her.

It's Lorraine, for Christ sake.

She has never been anything but kind and true to you. She's the only one you consider anywhere close to a friend, the only one you could ever… is trust the right word?

You feel a strange pull, as if some invisible force is urging you to stay, to give it a chance. Your mind races, trying to evaluate the situation and reason with yourself. Despite your reservations, you can't help but wonder — what exactly do you have to lose?

You take a deep breath, running your tongue along your teeth and clicking it against the roof of your mouth. You shake your head, sighing in frustration.

But Lorraine's words echo in your head, and as much as you hate to admit it, you can't deny that you do need people right now.

You may have despised your Pop, but he was still your father. Besides, it’s either this or return to that goddamn house of horrors.

With a clenched jaw and stiff movements, you slowly pivot on your heels, forcing yourself to move forward towards the kitchen.

Your reluctance and trepidation are evident in every step, but you push yourself onward, accepting the reality of your situation.

As you get closer to the kitchen, laughter and chatter grow louder in your ears, and you mentally brace yourself for what lies ahead.

You must be out of your goddamn mind, that has to be the explanation. This town, this fucking town.

Internally, you pray this won’t be a mistake.

____________________________________________

Over the past two hours, you've silently observed and taken mental notes on this odd group of friends, your inner investigator at work. You've noticed the subtle changes in their personalities, the unexpected friendships, and the hints of something lurking beneath the surface.

It's clear that time and circumstances have altered these people, and they're not the same ones you remember from high school.

But then again, they are. It’s strange.

Through your observations, you've noticed that Bobby-Lynn and Jackson are a couple, which isn't surprising given their past. However, the revelation that Wayne and Maxine are together comes as a surprise.

But what truly shocks you is the revelation that RJ and Lorraine are a couple now. You never saw that one coming.

You've noticed how RJ tries so hard, but it seems like an uphill battle. His overzealous and awkward enthusiasm clashes with Lorraine's quiet and soft-spoken nature. It's like watching a fish and a bird try to dance together, it just doesn't quite fit.

You observe the group from the sidelines, sipping on the same half-filled glass of red wine you've been nursing for what feels like days, always the outsider looking in.

Your eyes roam over the scene in front of you — the raucous laughter and the growing tipsiness of your old classmates. The familiar feeling of being the quiet onlooker takes hold, keeping you firmly on the fringes.

While observing the group, you’ve noticed the subtle glances exchanged between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine, each silently communicating something unknown.

It disturbs you, how its sole focus seems to consistently shift to Lorraine, who has also been sipping the same glass of wine since the first bottle was opened. There's a strange energy in the air between all three women, and you almost want to assume there's something deeper going on beneath the surface.

You don’t trust Maxine nor Bobby-Lynn as far as you could throw them, and that’s not saying much considering you don’t even trust them at arms length.

Lorraine's fingers toy with the stem of her glass, her eyes darting between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine. The air is thick with something, and you can almost feel the undercurrents of unspoken words that linger in the air.

The way Lorraine glances back and forth between the two women, her gaze never quite settling, leaves you with a sense of unease. There's something going on here, but you can't quite figure out what it is.

You’ve also been observing RJ's behavior with Lorraine; he's being more touchy than necessary, and every time Lorraine responds with a forced smile, one you recognize as her plastering on a facade.

It makes you uncomfortable, you don’t like it.

Suddenly, your eyes inadvertently meet hers, gazes locking for a moment almost as if she’s finally begun to feel the weight of your attention.

You quickly look away, feeling like you've stumbled into something you weren't supposed to see, something more complicated and strained than it should be.

You find yourself looking back at Lorraine, your eyes drawn to her against your will, like a magnet pull. To your surprise, she's still looking at you.

When your eyes meet, she shakes her head subtly. A clear message telling you to drop it, then looks away herself. But for some reason, you can't seem to break the magnetic pull, your gaze remaining locked on her for a moment longer than it should.

You mindlessly fidget with the stem of your wine glass, your eyes darting around the room. Finally, they land on Maxine, who is watching you with a calculating gaze.

As soon as your eyes meet hers, she takes a sip from her own glass, her knowing look making you feel like she can read your thoughts. You quickly look away, trying to seem casual, as conversation continues around you.

You excuse yourself, citing the need to use the bathroom. Bobby-Lynn motions down the hall, informing you where it’s located before leaning back against Jackson, who’s engaged in a boisterous banter with Wayne.

You refuse to look at Lorraine and RJ, avoiding the sight of his possessive hold on her. You tell yourself that it’s their business, not yours, and yet the fact that it’s continuing to bother you makes you angrier than ever.

It’s maddening, this irrational sense of anger and protectiveness towards Lorraine, over a relationship that should mean nothing to you.

As you make your way down the hallway, you involuntarily stop just short of passing a bedroom. A strange feeling, almost like a tug on your awareness, makes you pause, as if something is drawing your attention.

Something about the room beyond the half-open door tugs at the back of your mind, an ominous undercurrent that raises the hairs on your arms. You stand there, staring at the door, feeling an intense sense of unease. Your heart races, the air almost heavy with a feeling of foreboding.

Something feels amiss, something that fills you with a sense of impending danger or revelation. Every instinct screams at you to turn away and keep walking, but you can’t, your feet rooted to the spot.

Against your own better judgment, you find yourself moving towards the room like a puppet on strings, your body acting on its own accord despite your logical mind protesting.

This unnerving sensation, the feeling of being tugged by something other than your own volition, is becoming a disturbingly familiar occurrence for you more and more these days.

You slowly step inside the dimly lit room, your eyes darting around the surroundings. There's a faint hint of burning sage in the air, mixed with the scent of herbs. As you tentatively walk around, your gaze lands on a small, worn velvet pouch resting on the bedside table.

It looks innocuous, but there's something about it that catches your attention. You walk over to it, almost in a trance, and pick it up. Feeling the weight of the contents shifting around inside.

Your eyes flit towards the open door, a brief moment of indecision passing over your face. Every instinct tells you that you shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s wrong, but your curiosity and strange compulsion propel you forward. With a sense of both trepidation and determination, you ignore the nagging guilt and pour the content of the pouch out and into your free hand.

As the contents of the pouch spill out into your palm, you're taken aback for a moment.

The first thing you notice are several strands of hair, clearly someone's locks collected and tied together with a thin strip of leather.

Then there's a collection of small bones, which range in size and shape, some from small animals and some human-looking, like phalanges. There are also a few dried and crushed herbs mixed in, the unmistakable scent of sage among them.

Your eyebrows furrow and your mind whirls, searching for a reasonable explanation.

What on earth would snooty, picture-perfect Bobby-Lynn have an assortment of witchcraft material on her nightstand for?

It doesn’t make sense, it all clashes with the image you have of her in your mind. Sure, she’s a snobby bitch, but this?

You hastily put the components back into the velvet pouch, taking care to place it back exactly as you had found it.

Your mind is a tangle of thoughts and conclusions, but you shake your head, refusing to let your thoughts jump to conclusions based on such limited evidence.

You take a deep breath and exit the room, cracking the door just a hair behind you, being mindful to leave everything as undisturbed as possible.

Yeah, no, fuck this. Time to go.

You feign nonchalance, forcing a yawn as you reenter the room. Upon rejoining them, you quickly offer up an excuse to leave, "I think I'm gonna head out," you announce, avoiding eye contact with no one in particular.

Liar.

The protests come all at once, a chorus of voices blending together as everyone tries to persuade you to stay. Amidst it all, the sound of RJ’s drunken voice stands out, loud and slurred. Your gaze drifts to Lorraine, who looks obviously disappointed.

Your better judgment tells you to stay silent and mind your own business, but you find yourself gesturing towards RJ and locking eyes with Lorraine. In a soft but resolute tone, you ask her, "did he drive you here?"

RJ, already a bit disheveled, attempts to defend himself, but he’s clearly inebriated. "I’m not that drunk-" he slurs, attempting to justify himself.

However, you cut him off and shut him down. "You're not driving anywhere tonight," you say resolutely, your tone brooking no argument.

A tension fills the air as Lorraine begins to speak, her voice soft and resigned. "It's fine, I'll drive us home," she says, attempting to brush off the situation.

It’s logical, because she’s a grown woman who can handle herself. Yet, it doesn’t sit right with you, the image of her driving home with a clearly intoxicated RJ in tow sends a jolt of unease through you.

You can’t help but blurt out a reason why it’s a bad idea, your concern for Lorraine’s safety overriding your usual reserve. "That’s not a good idea," you say, your voice firm “RJ’s in no condition to be a reasonable passenger, considering how he can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. It’s not safe for either of you or the people on the road”.

Your own outburst catches you off guard, and a wave of embarrassment should wash over you. But you find yourself surprisingly unbothered, too invested in the situation at hand to care about your lack of filter. The room goes silent as everyone looks at you, a bit taken aback by your vehemence.

Maxine mutters under her breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear, "loose cannon”.

Bobby-Lynn gives her a disapproving shush, which only has her roll her eyes. Wayne then speaks up, a sensible solution in his voice, "hows about I drive RJ home? It's on my way anyhow”.

The tension in the room rises as RJ puffs up his chest in protest, his inebriated state making him more volatile. But before even he can respond, Lorraine steps away from him and starts gathering her belongings with a steady and firm resolve.

RJ, still puffed up and tipsy, begins to ask "what are you—“ only for Lorraine to cut him off with a firm "stop, don’t even with me right now."

Her gaze then flicks to you, her expression unreadable, almost guarded. Without another word, she swiftly exits the kitchen, shaking her head in what appears to be frustration or disappointment.

RJ, still agitated, tries to follow Lorraine — shouting her name in anger. However, your actions are almost instinctively protective. You step in his path, creating a barrier between him and Lorraine as she exits the kitchen.

In his inebriated state, RJ becomes brutally honest, spitting the words in your face as he says "you don't get to just show up back here and think you have a place with us."

His words are harsh, fueled by a combination of alcohol and resentment. The sting of his words momentarily catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, hitting back with a truth of your own.

"That's rich coming from you," you reply, "considering I watched Wayne shove you into a locker Sophomore year”, your blunt response is delivered with a hint of bitterness, a reminder of old grievances and past tensions.

The others in the room murmur, no one is surprised by this revelation, simply watching with growing intrigue. RJ’s face colors with embarrassment, clearly not expecting his own past to be brought up like this. Wayne, uncharacteristically avoids your gaze, a flicker of guilt on his face.

As the tension in the room continues to mount, a soft touch on your arm brings a moment of clarity. Your head turns, and your gaze meets Lorraine's dark brown eyes. Her steady presence instantly has a calming effect on you, making you feel grounded and less on edge.

Her eyes remain locked with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Lorraine’s gentle tug on your sleeve, accompanied by her simple request, "take me home?", is enough to make you snap out of the tense exchange.

You quickly nod your agreement, the thought of leaving Lorraine alone with RJ in his current state and driving off with him not the ideal situation. You know she needs a safe ride home. Without another word, you turn away from RJ and the others in the room, guiding Lorraine towards the exit.

As Lorraine and you make your way towards the front door, RJ clumsily tries to follow, stumbling and calling after Lorraine in his drunken state.

However, Jackson steps in this time, stopping him from tagging along. Sensing RJ’s aggression, you cast a sharp glare their way, not keen on having any further confrontations.

You and Lorraine silently descend into the front yard, the sound of the gate creaking quietly as you pass through it. The night air is crisp and quiet, a stark contrast to the tension and noise of the house you've just left behind.

Before you can mount your motorcycle, Lorraine gently catches your arm, drawing your attention back to her. You turn completely to face her, your motorbike momentarily forgotten.

The streetlamp across the road casts a soft, warm glow on Lorraine, illuminating her delicate features. Her usually stoic eyes are softened, and in the dim twilight, they almost seem to sparkle.

In this moment, with the gentle light playing across her face, she looks truly beautiful. Your thoughts are momentarily muddled, caught in the spell her gaze seems to cast on you.

With a hint of frustration and genuine curiosity, Lorraine asks, "what the hell was that? Huh? It's been five years, haven't you changed any? Or did you just leave for nothin’?" Her voice is firm, a hint of irritation behind her words. She's not looking for a fight, but she wants to know what drove you to such a display back there.

You find yourself opening your mouth to provide an explanation, but the words get stuck in your throat. You feel like a teenager again, flustered and unsure how to articulate your thoughts.

Your mind races, but nothing coherent comes out, leaving you just staring at her, your mouth hanging open uselessly.

Lorraine's expression softens, her doe eyes studying yours intensely. A sigh escapes her lips, and she turns away from you, but casts a look over her shoulder at you.

She then murmurs a soft request, "I don't live far, could you walk me?" her voice is quieter now, the annoyance replaced by a hint of vulnerability.

There's a sense of frustration and confusion swirling through you as you struggle to make sense of your emotions and actions. You feel unsteady, off-balanced, as if walking on shifting sand.

It would mean walking there and then all the way back here for your bike.

Yet, at Lorraine’s request, you step up next to her without hesitation, falling into familiar steps beside her, just as you used to. The silence between you is both comfortable and strangely tense.

You walk together, the only sounds being the soft crunch of gravel under your feet and the occasional bird call in the distance.

But you ignore it, you always ignore it when they call to you.

After a few more minutes of silence, Lorraine finally breaks it, clearing her throat and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She looks at you with a sincere expression, her voice soft and slightly apologetic. "I'm... real sorry about that," she says, her voice sincere.

"I do mean it when I say they've changed. They're good people, y’know?” she speaks genuinely, trying to reassure you that the people you just left behind are decent, despite tonight's display saying otherwise.

Your mind drifts back to the odd bag you discovered in Bobby-Lynn's bedroom, filled with items that made your hairs stand on end. You haven’t had much a chance to process it, what it could be, what it means.

These thoughts spark a question to your tongue, which leads you to ask Lorraine, "how long have you been hangin’ around with them now?" your voice lacks accusation, yet hints at curiosity and maybe even a slightly protective tone.

Lorraine lets out a soft laugh, the sound echoing down the dark street. Her laughter prompts a reluctant smile to tug at the corners of your lips.

With a knowing look in her eyes, she replies, "long enough now that you ain't got nothin' to get your ass in a twist over” her response is playful yet resolute, asserting that she can take care of herself.

You hum and nod, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to appear nonchalant.

Then in a feigned casual tone that doesn't quite hide your curiosity, "and RJ?" you question, laced with subtle care as it falls from your lips despite knowing it's none of your business.

Perhaps you ask because despite the fact it’s been five years, you do care, more than you're willing to admit.

Dare you say, you always did care? Never.

Lorraine gives you a playfully chastising look before turning her gaze forward along with you. Her response, typical of her, is short and to the point.

She simply shrugs and says, "it’s good," her voice carrying a hint of resignation and perhaps a bit of frustration.

The ambiguity of her answer leaves you wondering if she really means it's ‘good’ or if she's just trying to downplay any issues.

Seeking to bring a bit of humor to the moment, you give her a lighthearted tease. "Good? Lorraine, that's about as vague as a politician's promise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're holdin’ back on me," you say, your voice filled with a touch of playful banter.

Your words seem to hit the mark, as Lorraine lets out a soft, amused scoff, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Oh, shut up," she responds, but her tone is lighter now, less guarded. There's a sliver of familiarity in her reaction, a flicker of the old spark between you.

Maybe your friendship did somewhat survive the wreckage you left in your wake before you abandoned the ship that is this sinking town five years ago.

As you continue walking side by side, a comfortable silence envelops the two of you. After a moment, conversation begins to flow effortlessly. It feels natural.

You catch up on the past five years, sharing stories, news, and everything in between. The conversation is light, filled with laughter and genuine connection. Despite the years of separation, it's as if no time has passed at all.

The easy banter and familiarity between you make it clear that some things, like your bond, never change. It was rare for you two to talk like this back then, but now?

It’s nice.

As the conversation continues, you realize that you've reached the heart of the town, having slowed your pace without realizing it. You look around, taking in the familiar surroundings, trying to figure out your exact location. The realization hits that you must have arrived at Lorraine's place.

Your curiosity prompts you to ask, "you live around here? In town?”

Lorraine nods her head in affirmation, gesturing upward towards the upper part of the small town library.

"Yeah, I got the loft up there, all to myself," she replies. The revelation gives you a mix of surprise and a sense of familiarity. It feels strange yet fitting that Lorraine would live above the library.

As Lorraine reveals her living situation, you let a playful smile tug at your lips, unable to resist a little teasing. "Livin’ in the library, huh? It's like you were meant to be a resident bibliophile," you jest, a hint of friendly mockery in your voice.

Lorraine instinctively swats at your arm, a gesture that is unexpected but also far too familiar, making the both of you laugh.

As the laughter slowly dies down, you find yourself taking in Lorraine's smile, watching how her brown eyes glimmer in the soft light. In this moment, you realize that you've never fully noticed just how pretty she is.

Has she always been, and you just never noticed?

The realization catches you off-guard, and you question why this thought is suddenly so prominent in your mind. Confused, you wonder what's wrong with you, why you're suddenly so focused on her beauty.

“Thank you,” her voice softer now as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Before you can respond, she continues, her voice filled with gratitude.

"It's nice havin’ someone around that makes me feel normal again," she says, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability "I… feel like I can breathe”.

The honesty in her confession reaches you, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the years you've been away. The implication that she hasn't felt normal all this time sits heavily on your shoulders.

You recall her isolation on her family farm, the strained relationship between her parents, and the weight of the unreachable expectations she faced from them both.

The realization hits you how deeply this town has affected her too, how it's left a lasting impact on her psyche as much as it did you.

That wasn’t your fault, you were drowning, you did what you had to do.

But this is Lorraine, you may not have been close but… maybe you were. More than you want to admit, and to admit that to yourself? That might shatter you.

You meet her eyes, your heart heavy with remorse "I'm sorry, Lorraine," you say, your voice sincere and filled with empathy. "I never meant to leave you here alone, dealin’ with all of... this... on your own” your words hang between you, the weight of your absence evident in the air.

There's a moment of silence as Lorraine looks away, her gaze drifting to the side as her thoughts race. The energy between you feels off, strained and awkward. You can't quite put your finger on what's causing this sudden shift, but the tension is palpable.

The words escape your lips before you can even think about it, “you should come by the manor whenever” you blurt out, the words leaving you like they have a mind of their own.

"I'll be there, gettin’ things together the next couple days. I wouldn't mind your company” you stumble over the words as they leave your mouth, surprised by your own impulsiveness.

Surprise flashes across Lorraine's face, but she quickly softens her expression into a small smile.

Concern fills her voice as she asks you, "are you doing okay? Bein’ there after everything?" Her eyes search yours, looking for some kind of confirmation that you're truly alright.

You start to open your mouth, intending to reassure her that you're fine. You're about to brush off her concern, even though you spent the night sleeping on a park bench with your backpack as a makeshift pillow. But something stops you. Instead of speaking, you remain silent, closing your mouth without a word.

Old habits die hard, you suppose.

After a moment of studying you, Lorraine gives you a small smile and reassures you, “I’ll stop by” her voice is gentle and sincere. She then follows it up with another “thank you”.

The weight of her words hangs in the air, and her gratitude seems to go beyond this conversation. It feels deeper somehow, as if there’s a hidden understanding between you.

As Lorraine turns to head up the stairs to the library, you find yourself lost in thought. The understanding you have between the two of you has always been there, but you never quite had the words to define it.

Perhaps it was a connection born from shared experiences, a bond that defied explanation.

As you consider this, you realize that even now after all this time, you still can't find the words to describe it.

And when she turns to give you one small departing wave before slipping inside, you find yourself forgetting what you were worried about in the first place.

previous, next

————————————————————————

Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

if you’d like to be added just let me know!

[neoarchipelago]

This is the first chapter of Paws and Claws (a long ass fic about Konig x reader with a tint of psycho Konig.)

I'm posting this to get a first impression on what you guys think... Bear in mind it'll take a while for you guys to get the full thing...

Bear with me this isn't even edited and proofread

Warnings: blood, gore, cursing, obsessive Konig.

You looked out of your window, eyes fixed on the house next to yours. The mountain of a man held the heavy boxes as if they weighed nothing at all. You shouldnt be prying. Shouldn't stare at the way his big arms flex. The man wore a black cap, hiding his hair, and a black surgical mask that partially hid his face, his eyes being the only thing you could see. From up there, in your room, your tried to figure out their color. They looked light, perhaps… blue? Green? Hazel? You bit your lip, trying to shake your head away from the curious character. 

The house had been empty for so long that it was unusual to see a new neighbor next door. You lived in your small house with a roommate as you waited for the third room to get a tenant too. 

Paws tapping the floor in a hurried pace made you glance at the door. You smiled in advance, thinking about the orange tabby cat who would soon jump on your bed. The cute pink nose and green eyes saw you and immediately darted to your bed, making you giggle. The fun was short term when you heard footsteps behind. You frowned as you looked at your roommate now angrily standing at the door. 

"When are you getting rid of that rat?!" He screamed. 

"What are you talking about?!" You yelled back. 

"He keeps putting fur everywhere!" 

"And you keep putting your dirty laundry on the living room floor, not doing the dishes and smoking weed with your friends on Tuesday nights!" You snapped back. 

He scoffed before turning around and walking out. You shook your head, turning to Sneaky who looked at you with a glint in his eyes. No. You wouldn't abandon him. 

–

For Konig, it was a drastic change to move into a house. At Kortac, dorms were the norm no matter the ranks. Now that he was part of squad 141, he was allowed to his own home, as long as it wasn't too far from base. He had found the perfect house, albeit too big for a single man, but the big garden with a pool was great. He had moved all his stuff, realizing how little things he truly had. 

Rain poured outside, he walked through the house, making sure that everything was in order before slumping down on his couch to turn on his tv. It was odd to have such a moment of peace where he could indulge himself in such a normal activity. 

He sighed, feeling something twitch next to him. He blinked down before gazing again at the TV just to turn his eyes back to the couch next to him. A ball of fur sat there, looking up at him. 

"Ah… " he started, the cat's ear twitching. "Hi.." he added in a softer voice. 

The cat stretched before walking to him, climbing on his lap and rolling into a ball. 

Konig stared, slightly shocked. He turned his head trying to figure out how he possibly walked in? The two french doors were obviously open to the garden. He realized it. The cat must have been outside and searched for shelter once it started raining. 

Konig looked down at the cat on his lap, unsure of what to do. It seemed friendly. His large hand met the soft animal, petting it behind his ears. The cat purred, only spreading himself more comfortably on his lap. Konig snorted, letting the animal rest on him while he turned his attention back to the TV. 

A good hour later, a shy ring on his doorbell echoed through the house. He gently picked up the cat, smiling when he barely awoke before turning into a ball and resuming his nap on the couch. Konig grabbed a black facemask, heading for the door. He wasn't expecting the sight before him. 

A cute lady, hair wet, little droplets falling onto her shoulders, looking up with a worried expression. Your pretty soft eyes, looking up, accentuating his much larger size compared to you. 

"Hum… hi. I'm sorry to bother you sir.." you tried. He immediately noticed the slightest shake of your voice, the tiny sniffle that could have been hidden as the cold from the rain but he knew were from tears. He smiled, trying to ease your discomfort, his eyes wrinkling even though the lower part of his face was hidden. 

"Did you, happen to see a cat-?" You asked. 

Konig blinked. 

"Ah. The orange ball of fur?" He answered.

—-

You were slightly mesmerized by the green orbs of the man. It was the first time you saw him without his cap, his shoulder length brown hair half tied up in a bun. A small scar across his eyebrow. He was huge. Towering over you. His frame imposing, muscles bulking underneath the tight t-shirt. If you weren't so worried about Sneaky, you might have stepped away apologizing for even bothering him. So when he described your precious furry friend your face lit up. 

"Y-yes!" You didn't expect your voice to sound so happy. 

Something flashed in his eyes before he composed himself so fast you barely noticed it. 

"Ah.. já, he's here." You noticed now his slight accent. German perhaps? "Is it your cat?" He asked. 

"Yeah… my.. hum, roommate…" you pointed at your house, just next to his. "He, let him escape…" you said, the last word dripping sarcasm, clearly not believing the story. 

A flash of lightning eclipsed your frame before the thundering sound of the storm made you jump. You heard the man growl as he looked up at the sky before he extended a hand towards you. You shouldn't. You barely know this man. But, his eyes seemed to pull you in as your hand met his. He softly pulled you inside, the warmth of his home making you sigh. The door closed behind you, a pinch of fear running through you. 

"You're wet. I'll get a towel. You can stay until the rain calms." He smiled under the mask. "You should drink tea. You'll catch a cold." 

"I don't want to bother you…" you tried in a small voice. 

"You don't at all. But if you don't feel comfortable, I understand." He caught himself, raising his hands a bit. You thought a little bit, another fit of thunder rolling outside. Sneaky won't let you bring him home under the rain. You nodded softly. 

"Thank you sir…" 

"Konig." He corrected. You took a few seconds to think, printing his name in your mind.

"Y/N…" 

—

Konig's eyes were glued to you. You sat on the couch, the cat, Sneaky as you had told him, rolled up in your lap. He had chuckled at the name, then clenched his fists as you explained to him how he had been abandoned. Konig had seen you outside before. He knew you lived next door. He had often trailed your pretty features with his eyes but never got closer. 

He had indulged in small talk as you spoke to him. Your medic studies while you worked at a small cafe to pay for the school. You had already guessed he was in the army, seeing him arrive with his military gear once. Your amazed expression when he told you he was a colonel made something shake in him. 

It was dangerous. The way your pretty laugh seemed to be addictive. The way you curled up on his couch, mug of warm tea in hand, a blanket over your shoulders. He couldn't erase his memory of the soft blush on your cheeks when he had wrapped it around you. The rain slowly stopped, heavy gray clouds lowering the light of day in the living room. He had turned on the light, just to be able to look at you better. Cute little Hase. 

He had walked you back to your house as you held the cat in your arms. You had bid him goodbye before your roommate appeared behind you. 

"You got that shitty-" 

—

You turned to your roommate ready to cuss him out when you stopped at his expression. Wide eyed, mouth slightly agape as he was stopped in his trail. You turned back to Konig, your breath catching in your throat. The dark gaze he was throwing at your roommate made your blood run cold. Through his pretty long lashes, green piercing with a murderous look. Yes. You were sure you had witnessed a glimpse of what he could be on the battlefield. You weren't sure how you felt about it and you honestly tried not to think about it. 

Your roommate cleared his throat before walking away. You couldn't take your eyes off of Konig, his dark gaze locking on you. It was as if on cue that the lighting shone behind him, eyes shining as his frame was darkened by the bright light. You felt tiny in front of him. In front of a beast, who's hands probably murdered many men. It was a split second, a split second where you felt in the presence of someone entirely different from the soft smiles and tender eyes. It wasn't cold, it was freezing. It felt like frozen air in a deep cave, where no sun ever shone and where the damp air felt heavy. 

As soon as it came it vanished, back to the soft gaze as he held your hand in his, kissing the back of it through the mask. 

"Have a good evening Hase.." he said before walking away. 

You needed a moment to catch your breath when the door was closed, Sneaky jumping from your arms, stretching softly before going on his merry way, not once shaken by the last few minutes. 

"Who the fuck was that?" 

You blinked, turning to your roommate. 

"That's… the neighbor." You simply answered. 

"Try not to bring him here again…" he mumbled before walking away. 

After that day, you had met often with Konig. Unfortunately, since your roommate 'accidentally' let Sneaky out, the cat had managed to find various ways to actually escape to your neighbor's house. You both had explained it by the fact he probably missed his old home. Konig was absolutely thrilled to see you at his house. He was slightly worried he had scared you that first time but he made sure to draw you in again by being the softest he could. Truth be told, he wanted to keep you there in his house, where he could see you and make sure you were ok. 

He was furious when he heard that simple beginning of scolding from your roommate. He wasn't entirely sure how this had escalated so quickly but he found himself overprotective of you, only a few weeks after your official encounter. 

You, on the other side, tried to remain a step back. You truly enjoyed spending time with Konig, ending up spending time at his house everytime you tried to retrieve Sneaky from his place. You enjoyed the talking, the tea and the company. You enjoyed the small baking sessions. But something always made you remain at bay. That hungry terrifying look on his face when you held the brownie tray up to him as he was answering a work call. The way he brushed a strand of hair from your face with a look that made you freeze on the spot. The black facemask stayed on. It did. 

You had sauntered away upstairs once, looking for something in the upstairs bathroom when something caught your eye, draped on top of what seemed to be Konig's bed. You had stepped into the wolf's den, eyes glued to the piece of fabric. It was a mask. Roughly cut and tainted under the eye holes. The black fabric seemed to be tainted with droplets, the obviousness of what it was making your tension rise. You were about to grab it when a large hand wrapped around your wrist. 

You jumped before remaining still in his hold. He was behind you, the hulking man holding your wrist in a soft grasp, with hands you knew could probably snap it easily. 

"No.." his voice was firm, but he obviously was trying to hold back. You looked back at him, questioning. "Don't want you near that." He said firmly again. "Scheiss…" you recognized the curse he whispered under his breath. Often hearing him spur out words in German. You turned in his grasp, looking up at him. You were playing with fire. Taunting the wolf. He could hurt you. You barely knew him. Curiosity filled you, laced in between the fear. 

"Why..?" You asked. 

You didn't know if it was your soft innocent tone or gaze that made his breath hitch and quicken. But he gazed down at you hungrily again. 

"That… is dangerous Maus." He warned. 

"Dangerous?" You asked, just as innocently. He hummed in agreement. 

You looked down, biting your lip before looking back up. You wanted to ask him. Needed to. Absolutely needed to know. 

"Are you going to hurt me?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

"Never." He growled. Your skin filled with goosebumps. "That. Is for the battlefield. Not for you. It's soiled. Don't want you to touch it." He said, accent heavy on his tongue now. 

That new piece of information sent a delightful shiver through you. You weren't exactly sure why. He was clearly telling you that was the mask he wore when he was slaying his enemies. But the way he wanted to keep you safe from it, away from the bloody thing. 

"Ok.." you answered, almost out of breath. "I won't touch it. Sorry…" you added. 

"Good.." the praise made you bite your lip. 

He let go of your wrist, grabbing the hood before walking to go shove it in a big duffle bag on the ground. You held your hands behind your back, waiting for him to come back to you. He smiled down at you. 

"Come on Hase. Let's go back down, got cake for you." 

He held your hand, his other one on the small of your back, walking you out of the bedroom. He had to get you out of there before the thought of pinning you down on his bed and fucking you senseless managed to fully materialize in his brain. 

You felt a sense of safety you weren't sure was truly founded. As you sat down at the counter, eating a small piece of chocolate fudge cake, his eyes stuck to your frame. Watching you eat. His stance alone had changed since the interaction in his bedroom and you wondered why. 

"Konig..?" You called. He groaned, signaling you he was listening. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. 

"I won't let anything hurt you Hase.." 

His voice was deep, almost a growl, eyes back to the darkened one he had pierced your roommate with. You tried to keep your heartbeat from making you deaf. 

"Konig…" you called again. "You're a bit scary like that…" you told him honestly. 

"Don't be scared maus. I'll never hurt you." He reassured again. 

You took a deep breath. Two voices fought in your head, one wanting to simply give in and let him do as he wishes, and the other screaming to run away

[kokoshfts]

Just finished my odd squad script (imma have a ball in these tube things) I'm finna work overtime too (I'm only 9) ROOKIE NIGHTTTTT

[unitedbydevils]

Match Review: Manchester United 4-1 Athletic Club

That last half hour... ah, United.

Goals from Mason Mount, Casemiro, Rasmus Hojlund, and Mason Mount from 45 YARDS OUT ON HIS WEAKER FOOT turned a 1-0 deficit on the night into a big win.

The game wasn't especially good until Ruben Amorim made his substitutions. Mazraoui looked tired and thus off it, Maguire was bang average, Lindelof very poor, Onana poor, and that then filtered into Ugarte being sloppy on the ball... 5/11 people not pulling their weight, with Garnacho unable to finish either of two great chances and a shattered confidence Hojlund leading the line...

Luckily Bruno, Casemiro, Dorgu and Yoro were up for it tonight. Even with the odd mistake in there, lesser players crumble under the weight of their team shitting it. These lot will excel as their team improves.

And improve it did. Mount, Shaw and Amad came on for Ugarte, Mazraoui and Garnacho. Two goals followed - the first being absolute class from Mount and the second a fluke but prime placed Casemiro... shoulder?

The final subs followed, with Mainoo on for Case and Amass on for Lindelof. United kept up the intensity and the desire. We had tekkers. Mount's cheeky back flick off the 1-2 passing moves from Dorgu and Amad. I was nursing a semi, and if Amass had been brave enough to stride into the box and shoot... it could have been pants off and dancing round my apartment.

Amad and Dorgu's combination work on the right flank would lead to goal number 3, with a low pass actually finding Hojlund for once and an eaaaasy finish for 3-1, and then a great throughball from Amass for Hojlund was intercepted by the Bilbao keeper. Only, it didn't go high. It stayed low enough for an intercept. By Mason Mount. And the crowd said shoot. And he did. And it lofted over all, arcing, arcing, dropping... and it's 4-1 and we're all squealing. Scenes.

United this season have been a poor show. Amorim's said that enough times, and did again in his post-match with TNT.

A Europa League final win would not only be hilarious for beating Spurs, after losing to them 3 times this season but winning the 1 that matters, but it does so much more.

Silverware in his first HALF season, with a squad that's not his, silences the doubters and means he went unbeaten the entire campaign in Europe.

Champions League qualification.

The money for transfers.

The appeal for enticing new signings.

Support and trust to build the squad in his image.

United's banter era still delivering more silverware than most clubs can dream of.

A lot hangs on this final, but with Mount finding form, Garnacho and Hojlund scoring, Mainoo back from injury, Casemiro being a Rolls Royce, Bruno's elite talent... it feels like it's happening.

Avoid injuries to West Ham on Sunday and away at Chelsea the following Friday and we'll be in a strong place for the final. We also need people to have fitness and form though, so lets be resting Mazraoui for Sunday and give Mount a start. Lets make this happen.

[ducktoonsfanart]

Darkwing Duck and Duck Avenger (PKNA) with their families as superheroes in action (redraw) - Darkwing Duck, Duck comics and Quack Pack AU - Duckverse - Happy my birthday!

I haven't contacted you for a long time because of my problems, but here I am to say that the day has come, that is, today is my birthday (5th April). Yes, I celebrate the same day, when Akira Toriyama, the creator of Dragon Ball, the best manga and anime for me, was born on this day. Certainly a big thank you to him for that!

Well, considering that most people don't know about it, I'm going to publish my tribute, i.e. a redraw of my drawings and that I drew what I like the most. This is a redraw of an old drawing where I drew Duck Avenger (Donald Duck) and Darkwing Duck (Drake Mallard) together in action along with their wives, partners and their children as superheroes. By the way, it's part of my fanfiction that I'm currently writing and it's about that crossover between Duck Avenger and Darkwing Duck. For more stuff see my old drawing code: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/666638654144446464/ducklooney-now-a-big-surprise-especially-for

Yes, Drake and Donald have similar personalities and have the same angry jerk ego that puts them at odds together (and I love that), but they are also great superheroes and protect their towns (Duckburg and St. Canard) from various villains. And then there's Morgana Macawber, a witch from Transylvania and sometimes Drake's love interest who mostly deals with magic, Daisy Duck as She-Wenger (Paperinika, Super Daisy) as a special version, Uno (One-Uno Ducklair A.I. duck who helps and tasks Paperinik ), Launchpad McQuack, Gosalyn Mallard as Quiverwing Quack (yes Gosalyn is a teenager here and is the same number of years as HDL) and of course Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie (they are teenagers as from Quack Pack) as T-Squad superheroes (my version). Huey is the Red Shadow, Dewey is the Blue Cyclops and Louie is the Green Avenger. Similar to the old drawing, but significantly modified which I did in my own ways by combining various styles into one. I hope you like it! Also Happy Anniversary Darkwing Duck and PKNA Version Duck Avenger!

If you want to see more of this and if you liked this drawing, feel free to like and reblog this, but please don't use these same ideas and versions without my permission and without mentioning me! Thank you! And it's time for action! Let's Get Dangerous! And happy birthday to me!

[winterlogysblog]

Overanalyzing King's POV cause Imma defend my KING

part 1 cause this is a long one

I'm not saying King didn't mess up cause he did. Mistakes are made and there are severe consequences because of it. I'm here to defend him in some capacity cause I think some people (mostly people on reddit) are not really understanding him.

Let's start to where it all began. Kiane losing Nasiens, for them to lose their first born must have been heartbreaking and to top it all off it is caused by King's own kin.

Based on what Tioreh said here, there are only rumors going around that Kiane's first child is a changeling, which means that maybe the fairy that took Nasiens may not be from their forest and the changeling is done by secret and the reason why this rumor started spreading in the first place is because of Mertyl and how everyone questions his relation to Kiane.

Which leads me to one of my conspiracy theories

I made this post a while back discussing the possibility that Nasiens was intentionally taken from them and hidden as far away as possible.

But, regardless of who had the balls to steal away the first born of Kiane, Nasiens is still taken away from them and Mertyl is in the crib. Now, Kiane never found Nasiens which means there's no way for them to know whose Mertyl's real parents are so they decided to just take him as their own.

That decision takes a lot out of a person. Because adopting is one thing, a lot of good hearted people would do that in a heartbeat but this is different. Mertyl is a child that is switched with their real one, for a parent Mertyl's entire existence is a constant reminder of that. For Kiane to raise him, care for him and love him as their own, god I have no words to describe it.

Also, I noticed one odd detail. So far through this entire arc, characters clocked the similarities between Nasiens and Kiane and said that he looks like them. However, throughout the Percy Platoons entire journey no one of close association with Kiane has said anything about this especially because they should know that they have a missing child. Heck Lancelot, not once did he mentioned that he looked similar to someone he knows.

But we have this panel.

Chapter 83. The moment the squad first met Elizabeth and Meliodas for the first time and the group was knighted. Notice how both Anne and Donny's face is shown but when it comes to Nasiens it's just a simple shot of both him and Meliodas. It's a rather important moment for everyone that I find it weird that Nasiens face isn't shown unless Nakaba is trying to hide something. At this moment, Meliodas is face to face with Nasiens there's no way he couldn't tell. He should recognize that face and I think he did and that is why he sent them to the Fairy Kings Forest. It's his way of telling King that his kid is found even if at the time it's probably just an assumption.

Next time I'll be diving into the who Mertyl is adopted situation and Kiane keeping it a secret this entire time

[tesalicious2]

Freaks of the Corscant Guard Part One

Slick in the CG:

So obvi Fox saves Slick from decommissioning and is like ‘u work for me or die’

Slick chooses life and is like ‘what’s needed’

Fox doesn’t trust slick like at all, so he is forced to wear a shock collar and has a tracker implanted that’s attached to his intestines (slick doesn’t know where it is only that it’s there)

Slick essentially does Fox’s dirty work and he doesn’t mind, fox isn’t a bad boss at all

Slick becomes a part of the ‘crazies’ squad which is made up of a Psychopath (psycho), a sociopath (socio), a narcissist (narc), a pathological liar (false), and a serial arsonist who burned several natborns (burn)

All of them have trackers in them (diff locations) but burn is the only one who has a collar as well

Slick does enjoy these partners and their craziness

Psycho and socio are the only ones who’ve left the planet and worked with other squads

Fox has gotten them to cooperate by making the squads in question ‘their’ pets

Despite what that means, Socio and Psycho like their pets happy and healthy so completing the mission and keeping them all alive is perfect for their pets

Socio prefers to be alone so often solo missions on Coruscant that are off the books

Psycho enjoys working with new pets and has actually been able to keep one

On an off world mission, Psycho was given charge of a squad with the 41st

It went bad and Psycho was only able to save one pet (he was very upset at his pets being taken), a shiny that survived

The shiny (that Psycho named Baby) had asked for a transfer after the mission and Neyo decided to just let Fox have him

After all, if Baby liked Psycho and wanted to be his vod’ika, there must be something really wrong with Baby

Psycho was absolutely delighted to have a permanent pet! Usually, he kept pets for the length of the mission and then satiated with solo off the books missions on Coruscant

Psycho wanted nothing more than his pet to be happy and healthy, otherwise he’d look like a bad ori’vod and Baby would become a broken toy (no one likes a broke toy)

Baby (under Stone’s command) is given similar shifts as Psycho, well he has the same break times and days off. Otherwise he’s in the prison

Narc hates Baby, as Baby takes away attention from him (as Baby is something new and taking all of Psychos attention)

Narc ends up tormenting Baby when Psycho isn’t around which Psycho catches on too

Baby, who now sees Psycho as a safe place, ends up developing a dependency on Psycho that’s extreme when he’s not on shift

When he’s working, he’s fine, but when he’s free, he’s attached to psycho like a tumor

Slick likes Baby and attempts to get Fox to stop Narc (bc he’s not getting involved in that, no way) and leaves it at that

False gets along very well with Narc, as he is a great liar and has no problem inflating Narc’s ego

False mostly does info handling and spec ops, as he’s a great liar and it’s practically impossible to tell what’s the truth and a lie

It’s not hard for commanders to get the truth from him though, as False is entirely trustworthy and normal besides his lying

The problems only came when troopers stopped trusting him, not understanding that False pathologically lies when the information either doesn’t matter (so he’s lie through entire conversations) or he’s deflecting (captured and asked for info) but when it comes to commanders and brothers lives on the line, he’ll be truthful

Burn is surprisingly the odd ball of the group, as he gets along with everyone and no one

He’s likable enough but he has a habit of going absolutely psychotic around fires and sometimes he just wants to watch something burn