goodbye

thanks for reading what I wrote

[concreteblondies]

23. writer of women's soccer fics. minors, terfs, and anyone trying to start shit, dni. mostly just woso and sports content, but sometimes there are other things. feel free to stop by for a friendly chat or to read something.

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[palelipstick]

one bed trope with jill literally haunts me. maybe she’s only in her shirt and panties because she has no other pjs and it’s so hard to stay away from her but she’s so close and warm and soft #meow

Pre-Wesker Jill ran warm. She's a living furnace during winter and sleeping in her bed means waking up tangled in her long legs. But they're heavy and warm and they're like weighted plushies which you can't complain about. She favored thin fabrics for this exact reason, anything thicker and she'd overheat by 2am and now you're both up and freezing at 3 in the morning. Also an excuse for her to seduce you but usually she's too tired to even notice your reciprocation. She'd never forget your touches though, you did it unintentionally once, running a thumb along her arm during some half-asleep conversation and she stopped talking. You were just commenting on how soft her skin was. Now she begs for it every night, light scratches down her back, or rubbing her arms or upper stomach, she reminds you everytime.

Before you were official, she'd mess up her own sofa the moment the temperature dropped. Books on the cushions, a damp towel "forgotten" there, anything to make it messy so that by the time it's too late for you to go home she could shrug like it wasn't her doing at all and side-eye her bed. She loves a good thunderstorm, prayed for it everytime you were over because bad weather was the only excuse she could use to make you sleep at her place, again.

Once, she caught herself in a department store in December, holding a set of bed sheets in your favorite color, putting them back so fast after realizing how suspicious her intentions seemed. Now she doesn't bother hiding it, so if you don't stay over to appreciate the effort, she'll complain that you have no idea what she does for you.

[projenitor]

caitlyn being soft with you during sex ♡

warnings: fem!reader. scissoring. fingering. mature content ahead; minors do not interact.

“behave.” caitlyn’s words hit your ears as she leans over you. they sound as sharp and serious as ever, yet for some reason, your brain doesn't register the firmness in her tone.

she’s above you, wedged between your parted thighs, holding your leg out of the way so she can hit that perfect spot over and over as her clit rubs against yours. but you won’t stop squirming. hips twitching and back arching underneath her like a little animal writhing under a predator.

caitlyn is fit and plenty capable of handling you, but she’s already breathless from humping your pussy, and trying to wrestle your limbs still isn’t exactly helping. she huffs your name, bordering on frustrated. her hips slow to a reluctant stop.

“why is it so hard for you to stay still?” caitlyn rasps. it’s more of an act than genuine anger. she nearly spits out the syllables, but something in her chest twinges as she gazes down at you.

you’re staring up at her with glassy eyes and a lopsided smile, watching her every movement with an almost worshipful expression. it gets to caitlyn. she prides herself on her composure. on being able to hold it together around you, especially, even when you're making her heart flutter and her cunt throb.

her hand leaves your thigh momentarily and instead reaches for your face. her knuckles grazing against your cheekbone feel more like a whisper than a real touch. you can see the way her demeanor changes slowly. no longer the strict and borderline ruthless woman she was just seconds ago.

caitlyn shifts once more on top of you, taking a second to catch her breath as her iron grip on you relaxes. a chunk of her hair slips and falls into your face. dark, silky strands tickling across your nose and in your eyes with how closely she’s leaning over you. you sputter with a sudden gasp of laughter, and the sound makes caitlyn’s own smile widen.

you’re so cute. letting her pin you down and listening to all her grumbling and just giggling about it. she wonders if she should be concerned or endeared by how it feels as though her heart skips a beat when you reach for her.

your grabby hands are all over her, one palm wrapping around her bicep and the other sliding into her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder and holding it out of her good eye while she fucks you into the mattress. such a sweet girl. her girl.

“you’re lucky i love you.” caitlyn lowers her head to kiss your eyebrow, eyelid, nose. lightly, anywhere she can reach. “i should start tying your hands up.”

“but then i couldn’t hold your hair for you when—ah.” your breath catches mid-sentence when caitlyn eases her hips off yours, switching from scissoring to replace the feeling of her clit on yours with her middle and ring finger. slow, firm circles over and over the swollen nub.

she likes the way you twitch. really likes watching the muscles in your thighs tense. the way your body can’t hide any little reaction to her touch. maybe it's an unfair thought, but caitlyn likes to think she knows your body better than you do sometimes.

“i’ll manage,” caitlyn reassures softly. she slips a finger through your puffy folds, gathering your slick on her long digits as she starts pushing into your cunt slowly, stretching you out all over again. the sound of your moan sends her pulse racing harder. “what number are we on?”

it’s hard to think through the arousal clouding your brain, and the way she’s no longer chastising your behavior, but leaning into the fact that you can’t seem to stay serious. caitlyn huffs an amused sound when you blink in contemplation.

how many times have you cum already?

“mm… three. i think,” you mumble.

“that’s right, darling. good,” caitlyn croons, still circling the pad of her thumb over your clit, pumping her fingers in and out, gentler now. working you through the moment with a careful crook of her fingers against the warmth of your inner walls, massaging with the pads of her fingers.

“keep counting. i’ve got you.”

[delphi-shield]

ᴀ ɴᴏɴ-ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ & ɢʀɪᴇꜰ // claire redfield

Claire Redfield x Reader hurt/comfort, fluff wc: 1.4k read on ao3 we always talk abt leon's raccoon city trauma but claire was there toooo she had hopes and dreams and her aspirations were ripped away from her in one night!!!

summary: Raccoon City took parts of Claire that she can never get back. She suffers prettily most days, a poster-child for how to handle survivor's guilt. Others, she torments herself with what could have been.

Or;

Claire decides to go back to finish her interrupted undergraduate degree.

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, reader's pov

Claire keeps washing the same damn coffee mug.

It's been like this for the past five minutes. Claire half-heartedly scrubs at the cup, her mind somewhere far away, eyes glazed over.

That's what you picture, at least. From where you're seated, you can only see her back, her profile carved from the warm light of your apartment. It would be idyllic if you didn't know better. Stress suspends her at the kitchen sink, a string wound between her limbs that pulls her taut.

“You're gonna scrub the design off,” you warn. It takes a moment for your voice to penetrate her stupor. You picture her blinking, shaking her head slightly. Her ponytail swings gently, the image of her in your mind transposed into your kitchen.

Claire shuts the water off. She grabs a cloth to dry her mug. A new fixation. She's rubbing the damn thing hard enough that the ceramic squeals under her grip.

This is the part that takes patience.

Claire's been hemming and hawing like this for weeks now. It's never shaky hands and uncertain words with her - it's furrowed brow and loud huffs, a tumultuous battle within herself that leaves you in her wake. Dinners alone, late nights spent peering around the corner of her office, asking her if she's coming to bed. She returns your texts late, disjointed thoughts spilling into midday messages. You piece her meaning together from the shrapnel. Collateral damage.

As much as you'd love to light the spark in her eyes again, to smooth the worried creases from her forehead and ply what bothers her from pursed lips, you know it's futile. She needs the time and the space to tell you on her own, when she's ready. Push too hard and you'll get burned.

It's not work that's troubling her - you had checked. She presents at a conference next month, but in typical Claire fashion, she’ll do all her worrying about that the week before.

Chris is fine, too. That's the other big one that sets her teeth on edge. You'd checked in with him the other night. (Though you always suspected he alerted Claire of your calls. He wasn't good at keeping secrets where Claire was concerned. You're similar that way, you suppose.)

The cup stops squeaking. You lift your head up, dare to peer out of your foxhole. Claire's back is still turned to you. You duck back down, scroll on your phone to paint the illusion of casualty. Casualness, you correct yourself.

“I'm thinking about going back to school.”

You don't even pick your head up. “Oh, like for your master’s?”

Claire’s silence raises your eyes. Her shoulders are still drawn up high in her cream button-up.

“No,” she manages. Jesus, you've never heard her sound so small. “For my bachelor’s.”

You set your phone to the side and nod to the seat across from you. Your cheek squishes against your fist and you carefully curate your expression. A vulnerable Claire is a volatile Claire.

“So, like, a different major, or..?"

“I don't know.” Frustration sets her brow in a harsh crag. She huffs, swatting the question away with a hand.

Just gotta let her work this out, you remind yourself, biting your tongue. Something about this has her flayed open in her own home. She folds her arms across her chest, hands slotting against her ribs to stem the bleeding.

Claire's eyes flit to your phone. When you don't pick it back up, refuse to scroll aimlessly until the conversation is forgotten, she scowls.

“You know I never graduated, right?”

“Really?” You blink, shrug, anything to stay nonchalant. “I guess I just figured you had.”

“I finished my freshman year. Then Raccoon City happened.”

Your heart dips. It always comes back to Raccoon City eventually. You wonder if she spends more time in that burned out shell of a city than anywhere else, if her far-off looks always lead her back to the decimation and the rot.

You reach across to squeeze her hand. “You wanna go back?”

Claire nods. Her eyes filter past you, over your shoulder.

“I don't like leaving unfinished business.”

“I know.”

“God, it would be expensive. Like, a total waste of money.”

“Weren't you just bragging about TerraSave's tuition reimbursement plan like, a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah, but…” The argument dies on her tongue, her words splattering on the table between you. You trace idle shapes against the back of her hand, waiting for her to disarm herself.

You can think of any number of reasons to tell her not to. You're sure they're the same ones that spin in her head now. Realistically, she doesn't need the degree. Not having it isn't preventing her from progressing in her career. She's been more than successful without it. But this isn't about her future. It's about her past.

Finally, she takes her finger off the trigger. Her shoulders round. Whether it's in defeat or acceptance, it doesn't make much of a difference.

“I don't know, I just – I'm almost 40.” She rolls her eyes, trying to cover up the way her voice had softened. “It's kind of weird to go back and sit in Comp 101 with a bunch of eighteen year olds.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Claire snorts, but the set of her shoulders doesn't round like you'd hoped. You reach across the table, fingers loosely encircling her wrist. “I'm serious, baby. Who cares? You'd tell me the same thing.”

“You don't think it's a waste of time?”

I don't think anything that helps you bury Raccoon City is a waste of time, you want to say. You weave around the landmine instead.

“No way. What major are you going to pick?”

“I was a psych major before everything…” She gestures nebulously in the air between you. A soft tap-tap-tap stirs from beneath the table, her heel clicking against the floor anxiously. “You know.”

You hum and squeeze her hand a little tighter, try to drag her off the streets of Raccoon City. You bounce ideas off of each other, both serious and silly.

This is nothing that will be decided over The course of one night, but she ends up leaning away from psychology. It's more practical to study business, she says. More useful for her work.

You've long devolved into talking nonsense. Claire had asked about your college experience, and you'd picked the stupidest stories possible, trying to see her smile, to see her throw her head back with laughter.

You pause mid-sentence, gasp, eyes sparking bright. “Oh my god, you're gonna be a non-trad. Let's get you one of those backpacks with wheels.”

“Stop,” she laughs, swatting your arm.

“I'm serious. You gotta have the full experience.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“You have to walk down the middle of the sidewalk no matter what.”

“I'm probably just going to do online classes.”

“And you only have two speeds - really fast, or the slowest walker on campus.”

“I'm definitely doing online classes.”

You shake your head. You're definitely ordering her that bag, even if she won't use it. As much as she travels, she might actually get some use out of it, even if she isn't physically attending classes.

You rise from the table and fill her sparkling clean mug with a layer of honey (local, the farmer's market last Saturday, her hand in your back pocket and fresh banana bread dangling from from the bag in the crook of her arm) and switch the kettle on. While you rifle through the cabinet for her favorite tea, you drum up your courage to ask something that could sour the peace.

“How come you never went back to school before now?”

For a moment, you worry you've ruined things. You peer over your shoulder at her, evaluating the thoughtful look on her face carefully.

“I had a lot going on. There was this whole thing with Chris, and–” Claire looks over at you, mischief burning in her eyes. “Hey. Did I ever tell you I'm not allowed back into France?”

“What.”

“Yeah. Not kidding. Hope you didn't want to honeymoon in Paris.”

The kettle clicks off. You nearly spill the water on yourself trying to pour her tea. Bustling back over, you carefully place it in front of her and then careen into your seat. Your chin drops into your hand.

“Tell me everything.”

Claire laughs. Her limbs loosen, both hands curled around her favorite mug. She leans in close and starts her tale. Paris, Antarctica - you wouldn't believe her if she were anyone else.

But she isn't. She's Claire Redfield, and she's finally back in your apartment, hand curled around your thigh. There's no Raccoon City in her eyes anymore. It will be back - she will always be there, in part. You aren't naîve enough to think otherwise. Tonight is proof, though, that she won't be stuck there.

[flimsily-flimsy]

EXPRESS YOURSELF

Masterlist

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Felicia Hardy x Spiderwoman!fem!Reader

TW: Brief descriptions of injuries, Blood, A situationship

Synopsis: As the friendly, neighbourhood Spiderwoman, it’s not uncommon for you to get injured during fights. However, when you get injured more than usual, the infamous Black Cat comes to your aid.

A/N: This is for one of my irl besties (@tankajahari90) in order to help revive her wife’s tag :)

Being a superhero is much deeper than a flashy outfit or a catchy name. It’s not a brand to sell, it means becoming a symbol.

As Spiderwoman, you fight for the innocent people of New York. You protect the vulnerable, combat the corruption, make civilians feel safe and secure. To do that, you’re strong, protective, funny–if you’d say so yourself–and you take on this identity with a resilient grit.

Well, you don’t feel so resilient right now.

Faintly in the distance, you can hear the loud crashing of Lizard tearing through the office building. There’s the crumbling of cement walls, the bangs of furniture slamming to the floor and the horrified screams of civilians caught in the crossfire. You’re already anticipating the headlines calling this a “tragedy” or a “disaster” and it makes your heart hurt at the thought. You should stop this.

Yet, you’re pinned to the floor under a plethora of injuries and there’s a throbbing that powers through all of your senses. Perhaps it's the result of the multitude of slashes that came from your battle against Lizard or maybe you hit your head too hard at one point and it’s a concussion. You couldn’t care less about what it is, only how much of it you can take to get up.

Get up.

You suck in a deep, shaky breath, repeating those two words in your mind like a mantra as you push yourself up on your elbows. Even with how much your muscles scream and your arms shake under the effort, you keep going until you’re sat up.

“That’s progress.” You whisper to yourself under your breath, finally taking a moment to take note of your surroundings.

You’re in a deserted meeting room on the top floor of a colossal building. A long table is pressed up against the wall while its chairs are thrown across the grey carpet, coupled with a conveniently chair-shaped hole through the window that overlooks the city.

You hear a deafening roar before his unmistakably scaly form rampages past the door. It’s only a glimpse, enough to make a normal person run and hide, but to you, it’s an opportunity.

If you know where he is now, then you can more easily track him and stop him.

The motivation pulls at you and, before you've even thought about what you’re doing, you’re pushing yourself to your feet. You can feel tension within every inch of your body, your blood sticking your suit to your skin, it almost feels as if you’re trying to move a mountain. But then you remind yourself, you’re Spiderwoman; if anyone should do this, it’s you. You have to help those people.

Firmly setting your jaw, you set forward, out of the room and down the hallway, after Lizard. You’re grit your teeth as the edges of your vision blacken with the effort but you keep pushing yourself, stumbling down the space until it opens out into a larger atrium.

First you see the smudged tile, then the shattered glass railing and past it to the lobby it overlooks. As you approach its edge, you see the splayed out form of Lizard at the bottom, already being circled by the Police and the more decorated FBI. Even though this should mean everything’s resolved, the sight makes your breath catch in anticipation for him to explode into action.

He could rip all of them apart in seconds, ruin so many lives with one claw, their families too, you would’ve failed and–

“Well if that isn’t a sight.” Your thoughts are cut off by a velvety voice.

Your head snaps to look over your shoulder, instantly catching on the sight of Black Cat. From where she’s crouched on the edge of a smashed skylight, she peers down at you through her lashes. Her white hair flows in a breeze behind her like a picturesque cloud, her sleek, latex suit a stark silhouette against the evening sky while her signature, sly smirk plays on her lips.

Though the crazed look in your eyes must’ve conveyed through your mask, as her seductive gaze almost instantly dissolves into a concerned stare.

“What happened to you?” She asks, her voice now sharper with concern.

Your eyes flicker back over the edge to Lizard’s form being restrained, your panic breathing gradually evening out as you back away, muttering. “N-Nothing.” You wave a hand dismissively to her. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You are not ‘fine’, darling.” She responds, effortlessly sliding from the window to your side as her eyes scan over your form. “I’m sure you can’t even get out of this building alone.”

True to your nature, you flash her an unserious look. “You really think so low of me?”

“Right.” She huffs. “Clearly not injured enough to not act like yourself.”

You have to place a hand on the wall to keep your balance as you side-step her to get to the skylight.

“You can’t seriously be trying to get out of here by yourself.”

“You worried?” You murmur, smirking playfully under your mask as you begin to pull yourself up and through its frame. Groans involuntarily fall from your lips as stabs of pain shoot through your body, pulling all of your playful quips from your mind as you basically crawl up onto the gravelled roof.

You hear Black Cat–or Felicia, as she’d confessed to you one, quiet night–leap up behind you, undoubtedly watching as you shakily push yourself to your feet once again.

“I’ll be fine.” You mumble, though you're unsure if you’re reassuring her or yourself.

Still, when you peer over your shoulder again, you see the anxiety continuously present in her eyes where she stares at you.

It’s almost disconcerting to see. While it’s difficult to label your relationship–with you sometimes at odds, sometimes saving each other’s lives–you’ve never seen her scared. She navigates dangerous situations with ease, flirts with a nonchalant smirk plastered on her face and can even take down some of your villains with such pure strategy and skill that she almost makes it look easy. But you’ve never had her watch you as if you’re another injured civilian, a vulnerable person she wants to help.

You’re not vulnerable, you’re Spiderwoman. That’s… that’s your whole thing. You’re strong, protective and funny. Not… this.

She doesn’t even know your true identity, she shouldn’t be seeing you so weak. Right?

“Please don’t look at me like that.” You whisper, shaking your head.

“I want to help you.” She responds, stepping closer to you. “You’re hurt.”

You can feel yourself swaying slightly on the spot as you glance down your body. Your suit is marred with an uncountable number of tears, some bruises visible through them yet its the dark patches spreading over the fabric that really stings. It’s undoubtedly your own blood, though the numbness spreading through your form makes it impossible to tell where it’s from.

For a split second, your throat catches at the sight and you disorientingly stagger backwards.

Felicia instantly steps forward, tossing your arm over her shoulders until she can snake a hand around your waist. “Right, we’re not doing that.”

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you look meet her gaze, the genuine emotion staring back at you making giving in far too easy. “How would you help me?”

She sighs, some of the tension in her expression instantly dropping in relief. “I’ll try to patch you up myself. I assume you don’t want hospitals.”

“Where?” Your eyebrows furrow.

You notice her hesitate, though only for a moment before she responds. “A safehouse of mine. No one will find us, you’ll be safe.”

“You have the right supplies there?”

“Should do.” A weak smirk pulls at her lips. “Don’t you trust me, darling?”

Perhaps you should be more cautious with your trust, perhaps you should be scared that she might find out your identity through this. But the way she quietly coaxes you with a quiet: “Spider?” and looks at you like that, makes it impossible to refuse.

“Okay… okay, I’m trusting you.”

–

To say the trek to her safehouse was anything less than gruelling would be an understatement. It was an agonisingly drawn-out torture.

Traversing New York’s rooftops while teetering on the edge of passing out from blood loss isn’t a fun experience. Your usual balance has fallen out of whack and you keep tripping over yourself, the sun setting making you somehow even more prone to walking straight into vents and satellite dishes.

Of course, Felicia tried to help by leading you the entire way, even attempting to carry you at one point, though entirely to no avail.

By the time you reach the safehouse, you feel more than ready to just lay down and accept whatever fate the world decides for you… Except Felicia isn’t willing to accept that.

With her arm still cemented around your body, she briskly locks the door behind her before tugging you alongside her into the apartment.

Your eyes scan over the surroundings, taking note of the raggedy couch, the flickering light bulb, the falling-apart furniture. It’s dingy, dark, so unlike her that it’s almost startling. Though, admittedly, that should be the point of this safehouse; to be a safe haven that is so unsuspecting that no one would find her here.

Still, you’re not sure if she’s allowing you here as an act of vulnerability or a way to separate her true identity from you. You don’t ask.

“Sit here. I’ll get the medkit.” She mutters as she drops you down onto the sofa before walking into what you assume is a bathroom.

You instantly sink into the cushions, your eyes closing at the sheer relief of being able to finally rest.

It doesn’t last long as she speedily returns, snapping her fingers as she orders. “Don’t pass out. Wake up.”

“But I’m tired.” You find yourself practically whining under the effects of your injuries.

“Aren’t you always tired?” She teases even though her voice is weary and still heavy with concern.

“No.”

“We both know that’s not true, baby.” She murmurs as she crouches in front of you, digging through the medkit she’d retrieved from the bathroom.

You huff, watching her through half-lidded eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “You’re acting too serious.”

She pauses, flashing you a questioning look. “Well I can’t exactly flirt when you’re dying.”

“If it were the other way around, you’d be flirting with me.”

“You’re acting like you enjoy it, darling.” She responds, raising an eyebrow at you.

For a long moment, you stare back into her eyes before shaking your head and trying to dismiss it. “It’s just weird without it.”

“Well,” She starts, standing up in front of you. “If this all goes smoothly then you won’t have to miss it for too long.” Her gaze slides down your form. “There’s only one issue.”

Your suit. You feel your heart skip a beat. Anxiety or fluster? You dismiss it from your brain before you can figure it out. “Well, I– um,” You splutter out.

“It’s okay. It’s fine.” Felicia placates, holding up her hands reassuringly before you can work yourself too deep in panic. “I don’t need to know who you are. You don’t have to show me everything, just the worst injuries.”

You suck in a shaking breath, the brief alarm having brought enough clarity for you to understand. “Right… Okay.”

It takes another moment of mentally reassuring yourself before you begin to slip off your suit, leaving your mask on but revealing your skin and tank top underneath.

Even though it’s nothing scandalous, Felicia almost instantly turns away to gaze at a wall, shuffling awkwardly on her feet. Once again, it’s unlike her, almost as if the more barriers broken down between you–first the secrecy of the safehouse, now your suit–the more uncertain she becomes.

It’s not as if you haven’t thought of this: if she’d ever be so entertained by you if she knew your true identity. You know she lives for the thrill of a secret. You can sense the impulsive excitement of her actions when she flirts with you on patrol, you see how she grins when she strokes your arm, almost as if she’s staking her claim to something she knows isn’t hers. Sometimes it feels like she’s more into the mystery than anything.

But you can’t know for sure… and perhaps that’s why you’re here right now.

You slip the suit off of your shoulders until the top half pools around your waist, revealing a number of purpling bruises and seeping cuts that stain the fabric of your top.

“Those look pretty deep, spider.” Felicia murmurs as she finally looks back at you, her gaze sharpening as she scans over your form.

“Well, unluckily for me, Lizard doesn’t hold back.”

“Yeah… I can tell.”

She wastes no time in perching on the edge of the couch beside you, pulling out an antiseptic wipe to begin wiping down the blood staining your skin.

Your breath audibly catches at the sharp sting and she instantly murmurs. “It’ll be okay. It’s fine.”

But you still wince, clutching tightly onto the sofa cushions until the intense, sudden pain bubbles into words spluttering from your mouth. “Do you actually own any black cats or is it just your name?”

She momentarily pauses, her eyes snapping up to you incredulously. “What?” When you glare at her, trying to get through this struggle as quickly as possible, she instantly returns back to healing you. “I- No. I don’t own any cats.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have any time to care for them. I’m a burglar, darling. Remember?” She exclaims, then sighs and mutters under her breath. “I didn’t realise that you acted like this outside of the persona.”

“Hey,” You huff, immediately cut off by another groan as she presses the wipe to another slash.

“Don’t worry, I’d still love you, baby.”

You can’t help but simply stare at her in bewilderment. It’s flirting, you know it is, but you don’t just casually say that to someone! You know her first name and that’s it… or is it? She did just say she owns no cats after all so–

Oh. She finished with the antiseptic.

“That’s better.” She whispers, tossing the wipe effortlessly across the room and into the bin without looking before pulling out some gauze and bandages to finally patch you up.

“I don’t understand you.” You whisper.

She peers up at you through her lashes. It’s just as she’d done early, though now with a less romantic look, but rather a sincere gaze, packed with things unsaid. “Well doesn’t the mystery add to it all, hm?”

By the time she’s finished bandaging your wounds, your head feels clearer now that you’re not losing so much blood. There’s still undoubtedly cuts all over your legs and your face, though that remains an uncharted territory for her. Doing all of this was already more than enough.

“Thank you.” You murmur sincerely, giving her a small nod.

“Of course, baby.” She murmurs, already standing up and walking back over to the bathroom to put the medkit away. “Just don’t go around telling your vigilante friends about this. This kind of service doesn’t come for free.”

You watch her disappear behind the door and let your eyes fall shut for a moment once more. Even though the overwhelming weariness that has settled in your frame feels heavier without the adrenaline, the sinking feeling of digging too deep grasps at your mind once again.

It feels like a constant alarm in your mind that you don’t truly know her… yet your connection just feels so genuine that it’s hard to shake. Some part of you is saying that you should remain professional and just leave, but another part of you–louder and more insistent–screams to give in.

Both quieten as she enters the room again. “You okay now?”

“Yeah.” You give her a tired thumbs up. “I’m good, just exhausted.”

“That’s fine, you can stay here.” She says nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.

“You don’t need to do that.” That part bubbles up now. “I’m sure I can work something out.”

But the persistent stubbornness that you’ve come to associate with her is already present on her face. “You just said you’re exhausted. There’s no way I’m letting you walk around at night like this.”

You can only stare back at her through your mask, any argument dying on your tongue under her care.

“I can stay at my apartment for the night, if you’re worried about your identity, then I’ll come back in the morning…” She watches you carefully. “You’re safe here.”

“It’s a lot…” You trail off, though she knows what you mean. It’s not just giving her a lot of trust, but also the amount of favours you’d need to make up for it.

Luckily, she doesn’t fuss too much when it’s you.

“I’d only want one thing in return, spider.” The seductive tone that was lost in her voice throughout this whole ordeal seeps back into her tone.

“What’s that?”

She smirks, crosses the room and then presses a kiss to your masked cheek, just under your eye with as much ease as if this were natural for her. Even through the fabric, it feels like electricity on your skin and your eyes helplessly follow after her when she pulls away.

“There,” She murmurs. The wickedly satisfied look in her eyes immediately telling you that she’d left some sort of lipstick mark that she’s proud of. “I’ll see you tomorrow, spider. You’re gonna need some rest after all this.”

You only muster a small: “Okay.” as you watch her turn and saunter out of the small apartment, sending one last adoring glance over her shoulder before the door clicks shut behind her.

What she doesn’t see is that as soon as she’s gone, you’re already lifting your hand to brush over where she’d kissed.

Is there even a line between your personas and real identities anymore?

Title’s song: Human Nature by Madonna

[concreteblondies]

"It's stupid, but I'll give you another chance. Just please don't hurt me again." with someone of the younger ones?

i'd be down to write this if you gave me a specific player please.

[concreteblondies]

This isnt from the promts or anything but could you write something with Torre and CGH? Maybe something fluff/cute, with Marta feeling like not enough and that she is just taking space from youngers on the team with still playing and Caro trying to get her into sences she is still needed, youngs look up to her and needs her in the locker room and she isnt "taking anyone's spot" on team 🥹

sorry, but i only write x reader stuff.

[concreteblondies]

"they are dead and its my fault" with footballer teen!reader and Irene Paredes as caretaker (and aunt)?

You had always hated this time of year. Every single time you closed your eyes, you saw the carnage left behind by the crash. Irene tried every year to help you through it, but this year felt different than the rest. You had just turned 16, making this the fifth year anniversary of losing the most important people in your life, all because you had gotten upset at a sleepover and wanted to leave. It felt so stupid now, and you wished that you could have gone back, even if it meant you wouldn't have gotten the chance to live with Irene.

"She'll be okay Alexia, don't worry about us here." You could hear Irene's voice through your door. Matteo hadn't been in your room to wake you up yet, and you knew why. Every single year she tried to reassure you that it wasn't your fault, but you knew different. You knew that your family would still be here if you had either stayed home or not been so sensitive to the other girls' jokes.

"Rene, I know you're there. I'm already awake," you told her as you opened the door. Irene looked surprised to see you up and dressed. Normally, it was a big deal getting you ready for the day. Irene said that you were like your dad in that respect, that he had never wanted to wake up on time either. "We're gonna be late for practice."

"We aren't going to practice. Today is a day to be with family," Irene said. Her words shifted something in the pit of your stomach, turning your sadness into anger towards yourself. Irene could see the shift in your face, subtle changes in your features that she had learned quickly to pick up on. You were good at hiding things unless someone knew what to look for, something you had also gotten from your father and aunt.

"I don't have a family, not like everyone else. Mine's dead. They're dead and I killed them!" Flash anger wasn't uncommon, it was why you had opted out of playing sports. Your emotions were wild, and the accident had only made things worse. Irene wished that things could be different for you more than she wished to have her older brother back. She could see the paths you were pushing yourself down with no way to pull you back or protect you from yourself. "I'm staying home."

"No, Mami specifically asked to see you. Come on, it's a long drive and I want to leave before Matteo wakes up in his carseat," Irene told you. You grabbed your backpack on the way out of your room, already knowing that this had been planned. Sometimes Irene let you stay by yourself, but she wasn't letting you out of her sight until the wild look in your eyes calmed down a bit.

[concreteblondies]

Dialogue Prompts

Angst

"Why do you keep punishing me? Just move on already!"

"Was it worth it?"

"Stop crying, we both know it's fake."

"I hate you."

"I can't trust you anymore."

"How could you think that I would ever love you?"

"Don't be fucking stupid, this was never gonna work out."

"I don't love you, and maybe I never did."

"Maybe I'd spend more time with you if you weren't insufferable!"

"Oh god, play the victim again why don't you?"

"They're dead, and it's my fault."

"Get away from me. I can't look at you after what you did."

"I'm leaving, and I can't come back. I just can't."

"Don't start now. You're just as much at fault as I am."

"What have you done to be any worth to me?"

"Get out of here, you're not worth the trouble!"

"I can't love someone like you, I just can't."

"Let's just cut our losses and go our separate ways."

"I am exhausted fighting with you all the time."

"All you've ever done is break my heart."

"You lost your right to be hurt when you ruined our relationship."

"Who in their right mind would pick you?"

"I don't know what they see in you."

"Can you really blame me? They were right there, and it's not like you've been interested in me lately."

Hurt/Comfort

"I don't think you're a screw up."

"You're not my ex, and if I have anything to say about it, you never will be."

"Are we going to be okay?"

"Shh, I know it hurts, but I've got you."

"My whole world fell apart, and you were the only one who stayed."

"It's always been you, hasn't it?"

"Come here, you need a hug."

"I know you wouldn't do something like that, but it hurt to see you look at them that way."

"This isn't something an apology will just fix, but I don't see the point if throwing everything away if we'll work to make it right."

"I know I'm not the one yo wanted, but I'm here."

"They're stupid, okay? You're a catch."

"I regret leaving like I did, but we were fighting too much."

"It's stupid, but I'll give you another chance. Just please don't hurt me again."

"That was mean, I'm sorry. I just worry about you."

"We can't always get what we want, but we can always work to move on."

"It's gonna get better, you just have to wait it out."

"You're not a failure. Everybody finds their way on their own time."

"Nobody is ever going to make you feel this way again if I can help it."

"I'd never use you like that. I love you."

"See, I told you that we'd get through this."

"It's okay to not always like what you see in the mirror."

"You are every bit of the person that you should be."

"I wanted to be the best version of myself for you."

"We could be a whole galaxy away and I'd never let my eyes wander."

"I was afraid that you stopped loving me."

Fluff

"You're so cute."

"Will you come cuddle with me?"

"I love seeing you smile."

"What's the harm in a puppy?"

"I didn't know you were so good with kids."

"Do you want to hold my hand?"

"I love you."

"You're my soulmate. I didn't believe in that before you."

"We look good together. I bet everyone else is jealous."

"Did you just call me babe?"

"You know you love it."

"Kisses please. Hmm, one more."

"I know you love me, but I wouldn't mind hearing you say it again."

"I've never been so happy with someone before."

"Isn't it nice to get away to spend some time together?"

"There's something about the way the sun hits your eyes."

"Sorry we're late, someone wouldn't let me leave without a kiss."

"Some pick up lines work, how do you think I impressed her/him/them?"

"Wait, let me get the door for you!"

"I know that it wasn't anything fancy, but I'm glad that I got to spend tonight with you."

"How do you take your eggs?"

"Shh, they just fell asleep."

"I know the movie wasn't that scary, but I can stay over and cuddle with you if you want."

Smut/Suggestive

"Come over here and show me how much you want me."

"I'd like you better if we slept together."

"Good girl/boy."

"That's it. You're taking me so well."

"Why don't you come over and let me take your mind off of today?"

"Please, I need you."

Stop that or I'll have to tie your hands back."

"You look so pretty after I ruin you."

"Shh, you wouldn't want everyone to hear us, would you?"

"Touching yourself without me? Tsk, I thought you knew better."

"Just one more, I know you can do it. Come on, one more and we're done."

"Beg for it, and I'll give you everything you could ever want."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're so hot."

"I've been away for so long, I want you so badly."

"Show me how you like it."

"All of this just for me?"

"Well, aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen?"

"I've ever seen someone so soaked before. It's kind of pathetic babe."

"I want you so bad."

"Please don't make me beg."

"Get on your knees, now."

"Get on top. I want to watch you ride me."

"You really thought that you were in charge here? Look at yourself."

[concreteblondies]

prompt blurbs to celebrate a year of this blog (and get me back into writing woso because I definitely fell off) ✌️

[zerozerozio]

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

[boimann]

reblog to let people know it's ok to bother you with questions and statements

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

SEND ME ASKS ANYTIME YOU WANT!!!! I’m still here!!!

[concreteblondies]

Closure || Leah Williamson x Reader ||

Your ex shows up at your album release party and insists your whole album is about her.

You were beyond nervous as you stared out at the crowd in front of you. Whenever your label had announced the party, you thought it would be a small thing like your debut and sophomore had been. Instead, the hype around your third album was huge, no doubt partially because of your messy and public breakup with Lioness captain, Leah Williamson.

The split had been all over the tabloids, and to stir up more headlines about your party, Leah had been invited. She was truly the last person you wanted to see there. In the nearly six years since you had met Leah, the two of you had been seeing each other on and off. Leah was always sweet at first, but after a couple of months, she was an awful girlfriend. It was pathetic the way you'd fold at the sight of her pouting at you for another chance. This time you swore it would be the last when you caught her with a formerly mutual friend at the club, but if there was any night for your resolve to weaken, it was tonight.

"Thank you all for coming tonight, I know there are probably more exciting things to do than sit around and listen to my music on a Saturday night, so I appreciate it. This album has been a long time coming, some of these songs I had written out before my first two had even come out. Back then, I was very careful about my image, but it's been a rough year, so I wanted something more authentic. Six is my first concept album, and the story around it is my life for the past six or so years. I've been through a lot, changed with my support system, and I hope that you enjoy the ways I have expressed myself through music. This one sounds a bit different."

Your hands were shaking at your sides as you walked off the stage. Leah held your gaze as the intro to the album started. She recognized it instantly as the audio to when you surprised her on her birthday when you started dating. Technically, she wasn't your girlfriend yet really, and Leah felt guilt crawl up her throat when she remembered the way she had yelled at you to leave her alone after that. She hadn't wanted anything serious, but you were a bit too young to understand the casual aspect of your arrangement.

The opening chords to the second song hit Leah like a truck. You had been writing this out when she left you for the first time. The lyrics had gone from happy to devastated, but your progression hadn't changed one bit. You still started out happy, but the change in the verses was felt deeply. She felt a lot as she listened to your music, never letting her gaze leave you, and ultimately, she settled on anger. Whether that was at herself or you had yet to be truly determined.

"Mate, you look like a creep staring at her," Katie laughed as she slung an arm around Leah's shoulders. Leah let out something between a growl and huff as she tried to wiggle away from Katie. "Come on now, you knew what this was gonna be. We all told you not to come. You're lucky that rugby player isn't around, she looked real cozy with (Y/n)."

"Katie, stop antagonizing Leah. It's bad enough that the whole world knows what a dickhead she's been for the past six years," Caitlin cut in. Leah felt her cheeks heat up, and if her friends weren't right, she would have blown up. Leah had mistreated you, but since it never got physical, Leah didn't see an issue until the last time. There was something about you walking away with such finality that really broke her. She had tried to move on, but she simply couldn't.

"Surely there's got to be one good song about me. It wasn't all bad," Leah whined. She sat with her drink as she waited for a song that didn't make her out to be your evil ex. Finally it came as the second to last song, and Leah jumped up to talk to you about it. Your music had always been provocative, and Leah's ego was bursting at the seems at the mention of how good you thought she was in bed.

"Oh god, I was wondering if you'd show your face over here," you groaned as Leah slid up next to you at the bar. You were nursing a water, an executive decision having been made months ago to stop drinking in public. Leah had thoroughly wrecked you and it hurt to see her doing so well. "I didn't think you would come."

"Speculation was the album's about me, and mate, it definitely is. Can't stop telling people about us, can you?" Leah teased. You rolled your eyes and shoved her shoulder. "Hey, you can play nice or I'll just have to spill secrets too."

"Not everything is about you, Leah. Besides, think about the thing I haven't mentioned." You had more of a backbone than Leah remembered, but she liked it. You were feisty, something you had never really been before. There was an edge to your music now as drums and guitars replaced the synthetically produced beats from before. She was certain that you had even played on the album, you always had been gifted with the guitar.

"Not everything, but that song definitely was. I mean, who else was pinning your legs back like that and fu-,"

"God, you're so fucking vain. You probably think every song I've ever written like that is about you, but there were other people. I didn't just sit at home crying about you when you'd decide you didn't want me. I went out and met people Leah. I could argue you're not even the most famous footballer I've slept with," you reminded her. Leah's jaw clenched as she forced herself to look away from you. "If this is the game you want to play, it's one you'll lose."

"Maybe I came over here to reconcile," Leah muttered. She was making herself small, something that she only really ever did when she wanted you to pity her. Most of your relationship felt like it was built on that. Leah would get too cocky, fuck up, and then come crawling back to you like a puppy. "Too late for that now though."

"We could probably be friends in five years if that ego of yours ever dies, but I don't think we can be together. I will always love you because you were pretty much my first everything, but Leah, I cannot get back together with you. We're just not good for each other," you told her. Leah sat there dumbfounded as you walked away from her. The chat between the two of you had been quick, and Leah got to feel the same way you had for the last song. It was a goodbye, one that Leah knew would be used for every stupid breakup edit of the two of you from now on.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[marlinspirkhall]

[stargirl-russo]

blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff

[concreteblondies]

Just wanted to pop on and say I can now confirm that instead of singing “concrete jungle where dreams are made of” I sing “concrete blondie where dreams are made of” because every time I see you’ve posted a fic I get so happy I sing that line (because it’s what your username makes me think of) but incorrectly, and so now it is permanently ingrained in my brain incorrectly. Enjoy that knowledge :D

hi, thank you. i genuinely love this, it's very funny.

[concreteblondies]

heyy can i request teen!reader whos js joined the lionesses senior team?? maybe where she’s shy at first but over time she cracks and warms up to everyone?? thankss

hi, hope you enjoy the fic.

[concreteblondies]

rookie || lionesses x teen!reader ||

Your first senior camp with the Lionesses.

2.3

You were hyper aware of yourself as you walked through the parking lot. Most of the team had already flown in, but your mother had been insistent on driving you to your first day of camp on the senior team. They were coming off of a Euros win, and despite being such a well rounded team, they still seemed to want you. Admittedly, you had shown out in your last tournament, which your former teammates, friends, and family had insisted that had more than earned you this call up.

The reminder that despite your age, you had put the work in to get here was good for your mentality. You were still trying very hard to make a good impression on your new teammates. They were two time Euro champions after all, and you didn't want them to look at you like a giant baby. It was only recently that your parents had even agreed to let you attend a team academy, so it wasn't like you had actually been around any of them before in much capacity.

"(Y/n), you're early. I was just about to send a car for you," Sarina greeted you. She was the first one that you had met with, and after a lengthy conversation with your parents and a handful of other coaches, it had been decided that this would be your first camp. The matches were small friendlies, ones that Sarina thought you should be around to see up close. You wouldn't play for several camps, but she wanted you to practice as much as you could with the team.

"Thank you, Coach Wiegman." You bowed your head down towards your coach. You were a few inches shorter than her, but your doctors all believed that you had one more growth spurt in you. Out of the girls on your youth team, you were one of the tallest, but you knew that you'd feel much smaller once you got to playing with the professionals.

"Please, call me Sarina. Everyone else does in casual settings like this. I don't know how they ran things on your other team, but you can relax a little here. It does my players no good to be so wound up," Sarinatold you. You wanted to take her advice, but you genuinely weren't sure if it was actually possible for you to calm down. "The bellhop will take your bags, go mingle in the meeting room with the girls. You'll be seeing a lot of them this week, and find Keira, she'll be your roommate this time around."

"Yes ma'am," you said as you rushed off through the lobby. You handed your bags over to the man with the luggage cart, who seemed very amused with the way you zipped around. Sarina couldn't help but crack a smile as she watched you as well. You pushed on towards the meeting area without a second thought, only stopping once you opened the door. It was your first real record scratch moment. Your heart raced as you stood in front of your entire team, all of whom were staring at you. There was a quick pause before you had two women at your sides, guiding you into the room.

"Oh my god, they said you were coming from the youth teams, but you look so young. Come on, Kei is just this way. I'm Beth, by the way, and we are so excited to have you here," Beth rattled off her words just as quickly as your heart was pounding in your chest.

"Beth, calm down, you're scaring her!" You turned your head to see Leah on the other side of you. That made a bit more sense, even if it did shock you to have the captain of the Lionesses standing right next to you. "Breathe kid, there's nobody to impress here."

"'S just a lot," you mumbled. For a moment, your native accent slipped hard. You were proud of where you had come from, but your parents had paid a lot of money to give you the media-approved "general" British accent. They didn't want to sway any sort of opinions on you from interviews. The only reason you didn't brush it off as ridiculous was because of your father's decades long career as a pundit. Rugby fans weren't the same as soccer ones, but you knew they had hooligans all the same.

"Oh god, not another one," Beth groaned dramatically. Leah's face lit up at the closeness in your accents. "Don't you start or I'll call Elle right now."

"Not starting on anything. Hey, you ever need a little slice of home, you find me kid. Always good to hear another Mi-," Leah started, only to be cut off by Lucy sliding her arm around your shoulders and pulling you away. "Lucy!"

"It's quieter over here. You look stressed, relax. You're only gonna be shadowing the best of the best. Keira's excited to meet you," Lucy told you. She pulled a chair out for you across from Keira, who set her phone down to smile and wave at you. You returned the gesture, albeit quite a bit more awkward than you would have liked. "I'm Lucy Bronze."

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n), pleasure to meet you," you repeated the greeting that you had worked on all weekend with your mother. Lucy bit back a laugh at how obviously professional you were trying to sound, which earned her a kick under the table from Keira. "Big fan of both of you, really."

"Pretty big fan of you too, especially with what they've been whispering about you. You've only just signed any sort of contract? I heard you were doing all that in a kiddie club. That's brutal for the others," Lucy said. You blushed as you thought about all the disgruntled girls and boys you had played against growing up. It was a mix of natural talent and dedication, not thousands of pounds of private coaches like what everyone thought. Your parents hadn't even shelled out any money for a scout, despite knowing that you had more than earned one.

"Sarina isn't giving her to you," Keira cut in. Lucy pouted at that, but she didn't stop talking to you about the little things she thought were impressive about you. It was weird being praised like this by one of the reasons you wanted to play in the first place. You knew that it should have helped you feel more confident, but instead, it just instilled the feeling that you had to do your absolute best even deeper.

…

You walked calmly into an empty dining hall for breakfast. The hotel buffet was set out with a much better spread than what you were used to. It wasn't that the coaches skimped on the youth players, but you understood why there was never anything more than a couple of protein options and maybe a bit of cereal. Your teammates would have tore through this without a second thought, but you were mindful.

"It's been a long time since someone has beaten Lucy to breakfast." You looked up from your food to see a few of the Manchester girls standing around your table. They all joined you, with Maya and Jess sitting on either side of you. "You're gonna be done with school pretty soon, aren't you? Ever thought of moving away, maybe to Manchester?"

"Alex!" Millie hissed as she slapped at the older defender. Alex didn't even bother to look ashamed. You weren't just a good prospect player, you were THE prospect player, and you would be until someone poached you. Yes, you were signed with London City's youth academy, but that contract would be up when you turned 18, and then there was no telling where you'd go.

"Blue would look pretty good on you," Jess said as she nudged you. It felt a little weird to think about where you'd go. The realization that you could go anywhere you wanted hadn't quite settled yet. You still hoped that you proved yourself to be useful as you worked your way up to playing for your team. "City blue, I think it would really bring out your eyes."

"I like the academy a lot, so I might just stay with my club. Besides, Michelle thinks that with the way the team is growing, we'll be contenders for the championship by the time I'm out of school," you said excitedly. It was more than they expected from you, especially after a nearly completely silent dinner the night before. You were still new, but you couldn't even begin to contain your excitement about your team. The thought of being part of something so new was great, especially since it wasn't every day that a new professional club popped up.

"You're patient, way more than I was at your age. I don't know if I could wait that long if I had the chance to play it big now," Maya told you. "Just don't embarrass me too much when we're playing against each other out there."

"Oh don't worry, I'm not really the forward type. I can do it if I need to, but it's more fun to let them come to me," you said. You fell into an easy conversation about defensive play, and suddenly, Maya seemed a lot more certain that you'd make the whole lot of them look silly out there. She was glad to have figured out that you'd go on and on about things you were passionate about, and the more they got you talking about football, the more obvious it became to them that you were truly a generational talent.

…

"Not a forward player my ass," Millie grumbled as Maya helped her onto her feet. You had completely blown past everybody with ease. Your speed rivaled Lauren's, and Millie knew when she saw you rushing towards her that she had no chance. It was a last-ditch attempt to knock you off the ball, but somehow, you had seen it coming from the corner of your eye and spun around her.

"I mean, she didn't shoot the ball," Maya pointed out. Millie wasn't sure who to glare at when she heard Lucy start to laugh. "Come on, let's go congratulate the kid on the assist."

"So, um, London is a pretty great place. The north is probably the best part of it," Leah said as she slung her arm around your shoulder. You cocked an eyebrow at her very obvious attempt to poach you. Arsenal had once been a dream, but you were committed to the place you were now. Loyalty was everything, that was what your parents had taught you.

"I'm sure that it's beautiful, but I've got a club team. Arsenal's got a rich history, but I want to help make some for a new club," you told her. You had been shutting down attempts to convince you to move all camp, and it wasn't showing any signs of stopping. They were having a bit of fun with you and you knew it. Still, you weren't sure if you were annoyed or just thrown off by all the attention.

Everything you did seemed to garner attention from your teammates. They praised your work ethic for things like always being early and keeping your focus everywhere. You knew that not everyone your age was this put together, but nobody had ever really noticed before this. You were grateful for the recognition, even if it just felt like the way you had always been. Your old coaches had expected it of you, and you hoped that these ones would too.

"Next time, don't let up. If you've got a chance to shoot, do it. Show 'em what you've got, it's how you get your minutes," Keira said as she stole you away from Leah. The teams reset their positions, and you took Keira's advice next time the ball was at your feet. It was obvious that they were playing around you a little, so you made sure that they didn't waste their time on you.

You kept your head up as you carried the ball across the field. You passed the ball around a little, but it still ended up back at your feet by the time you neared the box. You could have tried to run inside their defensive line, but you noticed a clear opening for a shot instead. You watched a scramble as they realized what you were doing, but the ball soared above their heads and right into the back of the net.

"That's my rookie!" Beth cheered as she pulled you in for a hug. You were nearly knocked over by the force of it, but you stood steady. "Please tell me that someone got on tape. Viv has got to see that shot."

"Okay, for real, either join Arsenal or play somewhere far away where I don't have to try and defend against that. I've got a reputation, and you're gonna end up making me look silly," Leah said. You let out a small chuckle as you looked away from everyone. The praise was making you a bit flustered. You had made a shot like that a hundred times, there were just a few people in front of you now.

"No promises, but there a few foreign teams I'd like to play for. At least go on loan to," you told her. "That's how you get better, and I want to be one of the best someday."

"Just promise me that you'll win more Champion's League finals than Bronze, and I mean shatter her record."

"I'll try." You linked your pinky with Leah's as the two of you walked off the pitch to get water. Practice was nearly over, and you were grateful that they let you play defensively for the last bit of the scrimmage game.

[pwhl-mybeloved]