Next match should be inside a psychiatric facility.
Kids these days…
Adding this as a context, JUST CONTEXT (again not a fucking diagnosis, I'm just trying to find a clearer way to describe their behavior)
Loki: Grandiose Narcissism and Megalomania (my analysis on Loki)
Kaiser: Complex PTSD and Vulnerable Narcissism (my analysis on Kaiser)
Bunny: Persistent Depression
Lorenzo: Complex PTSD with something called Transactional Defense, that's basically viewing all interactions/decisions with a cost-benefit lens using money to get a sense of control and clarity
Sae: Traumatic De-Idealization with Reaction Formation, which is like a brutal collapse of a romanticized idea and turning to the polar opposite (ex. love to disgust) in an extreme way
Hugo: Mild Autism with Systemizing Cognition, loosely described as the hyper analysis of people or situations with a rigid predictability system
Teddy: Chronic Low Self-Esteem and I would argue some Depersonalization
Of course this is not super accurate, besides there are a lot of backstories we haven't seen or weren't completely developed
-When ng11 men saw you mad for the first time during a match.
Characters: Sae, Kaiser, Lorenzo, Loki
╰┈➤ Vivien, Bunny
You're a star player on your team, and it caught a certain player's attention because they like the way you adapt to the situation quickly and utilize your technique flawlessly with accurate, precise shots. Your most notable charm is that mysterious, cool, collected aura of yours.
However, during a match, your cool-headed demeanor seemed to crumble down.
3-4
The match was close, and some of your teammates look like they are near their limit. You glanced at your partner, number 6; she seemed to be doing fine despite the sprain that she had a couple of days ago from practice.
Only a few minutes left before they blew the final whistle. You were confident that you could pull this off. The other team is also in a rush to finish the game; maybe a change of pace will ruin their tempo.
"They look hungry," you stated as you circled the ball with your dominant foot. One player was looking intently at you. Their brows furrowed, and the tip of their tongue was sticking out, panting, trying to catch their breath as they chased you.
"You look disgusting." You looked at them indifferently and passed the ball to number 10. The ball was also passed from player to player as the game progressed. The ball was finally on number 6. Just when she was about to score, a player from the opposing team ran towards her with such brute force that made her tumble in the air.
She landed hard on the ground on her heel. The impact made her wince in pain, and she clutches her foot. You and the other team members gather around her to check up on her.
The two players approach the woman that did that to them, and some of the opposing team run up for backups.
They were yelling at each other at this point, and you let the medic guide number 6 in the stretcher, and you went to the scene to hold back your players.
"Let's go back to the game." You clapped your hands to get their attention. "Let's settle this later in a controlled environment," you stated and patted your teammate's shoulder.
The woman clicked her tongue and approached you, stopping just a few inches away from you. "Listen here, you dipshit. It was just an accident." Her jaw clenched, and veins were popping out of her forehead.
You know damn well that it isn't an accident but decided to let her slide since you don't plan on engaging in an endless nonsensical dispute with someone who won't admit their mistake.
They signaled you guys to go back into your position, and you obeyed the referee.
"Those bitches don't deserve to play in this field. Their country has no place for football."
Your eyes widened, and you turned your back to see them sneering.
It felt like Satan himself possessed you somehow. You walked fast towards them and called the woman that said that.
"What did you say?"
You walked toward her and gave her a slight push, but it was enough to make her stumble back.
Sae Itoshi
He was surprised. Sae watches as your teammates begin to hold you back. You were shouting at the opposing team. He was sure you were cursing in your language; he was quite disappointed at the disruption of the match.
"Boring. She should focus on the game first." He got the remote and turned up the volume as if it would make the audio audible to him.
Well, to be fair, he didn't know what the other women said or the degree to which it had affected you, so he was just getting the gist of it. When you finally calmed down, his eyes remained fixated on you. You seemed still preoccupied with what happened throughout the match.
After scoring the last goal, he said that you could've scored. another one if not for your distracted state.
When he heard online about what really happened, it kind of cleared his mind. After all, he couldn't help but wonder what made his favorite calm and collected player snap.
Michael Kaiser
He was grinning the whole time. He was entertained by your reaction and couldn't help but think of a million things that made you tick off. The way you glared at the camera when it was being pointed at you while capturing the scene where your teamates held you back will be rewatched later on by Kaiser again at his apartment.
"I didn't know that she could lash out like that!"
Later on in the match he actually crossed paths with you. He said hi and lightheartedly joked about what happened earlier. Unfortunately for him, you were still in a bad mood despite winning at the last minute.
"Shut your mouth, you imbecile." You didn't spare him another glance and walked away, leaving him there alone. Kaiser blew a small whistle and grinned. "Feisty, aren't you?"
Don Lorenzo
He was munching his caramel popcorn, waiting for the match to resume when suddenly you started shouting at the opponent. You struggled on your teammate's grip as you tried to go closer to that woman.
"Holy shit!"
He paused at his snack time to fully enjoy the scene unfold. "Who! Get her!" He shouted, and his face actually showed on the big screen. His golden teeth were shining brightly as the camera zoomed in on his face.
You catch a glimpse of him in the middle of all this.
When you finally somewhat calmed down, you glanced to the side to distract yourself from those sore eyes. Your eyes met the guy who was cheering for you earlier. You couldn't help but huff and grinned at his reaction earlier.
When the whistle blew, you turned your attention back to the match, leaving him a blushing mess.
Julien Loki
He thought it would be just a quick talk before you got back on the match, but when you pushed the player down, he was confused. He had watched almost all the matches you've had, and in not one had you shown any signs of aggression.
"I guess you do have that side of you after all."
You held the reputation of being the dormant one in your team whenever you faced these types of situations. He watched in awe when you started pointing fingers at the other team, shouting something that he couldn't quite make out, but it seemed to get into the other's skin based on their reaction.
When the match finished, you were on the ground catching your breath while the other players pushed and punched each other. At this point you were too tired to hold them back and just minded your own business. He chuckled when he saw you seemingly at peace as the people on your back have each other in a chokehold.
new gen xi x fem reader — historical au, love game au
With practically no memories of your past life, you awaken one day to find that you’ve been wrongfully accused of witchcraft! The only thing guiding you out of this predicament? A strange diary that offers you mysterious advice!
— play the role of the heroine and gain the affection of the love interests.
content: isekai and transmigration, historical au, reverse harem, reader-insert, platonic love and romantic love, tw: dark themes, abuse and violence, capital punishment, self harm and suicidal ideation, period-typical sexism, religious imagery and symbolism, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn, multiple endings.
a/n: guys, i'm so excited for this, i've always wanted to write a multi gen 11 x reader fic for so long, and i finally can! i hope that all of you reading this like and enjoy this as much as i do, happy reading my thangachis <3
It waits there, patient and practiced, like a habit you never meant to build.
“Sorry—”
Sorry for walking too slowly.
Sorry for standing in the doorway a second too long.
Sorry for your shoulders.
Sorry for your height.
Sorry for the way your reflection seems to take up more space than you ever intended.
You don’t even notice when you say it anymore.
It just slips out, soft and automatic, like a nervous laugh.
You catch yourself mid-step and cringe. No one bumped into you. Nothing went wrong. You just… felt like it might. Like your existence had brushed against something fragile.
That’s when you realize something is off.
Because Lorenzo has stopped walking.
Not a casual pause. Not a distracted slow-down.
A full, dramatic, heels-dug-into-the-ground halt, like he just realized he forgot the oven on three countries away.
You nearly walk straight into his back.
“Sorry—!”
He turns slowly. Brows knitting together. Gold teeth flashing when he blinks at you.
“…Eh?” he says. “Per cosa? For what? Okay?”
You gesture vaguely at the air. Yourself. The sidewalk. The concept of being alive.
“I just—sorry.”
He stares at you.
Really stares.
Like you’ve just told him the sky is green.
Then he nods, very solemnly, like he’s made a life-altering decision.
“Ah,” he says. “I see.”
That’s… ominous.
When you reach the bench, you approach it like it might reject you.
You perch carefully on the very edge, knees tucked in, shoulders drawn tight, arms close to your sides.
You try to fold yourself smaller, smaller, smaller—
Like if you take up less space, you’ll look softer.
More delicate.
More… right.
More like the girls you see in photos.
Soft wrists.
Narrow shoulders.
Pretty silhouettes that don’t feel like exclamation marks.
Lorenzo watches you.
Then, with absolutely no warning, he throws himself across the bench.
And you mean throws.
Legs spread wide. One arm slung over the backrest. The other patting the space beside him like a crime boss inviting someone to sit.
“Guarda,” he says proudly. “This is taking up space. Okay?”
People stare.
A child points.
Someone drops a spoon.
You feel your soul detach from your body and float gently toward the ceiling.
“I—Lorenzo—please—”
“Sit,” he says brightly. “Before I take more.”
You sit.
Immediately, he scoots closer. Hip to hip. Shoulder pressing into yours.
Instead of asking you to move, he somehow makes himself look even bigger—elbow stretched, chest broad, posture screaming I exist and I’m not sorry.
“See?” he says. “Still room. You’re allowed to be here. Non scusarti. Don’t apologize. Okay.”
Your face burns.
But something in your chest loosens, just a little.
Later, you pass a shop window.
You catch your reflection—long limbs, strong shoulders, a frame that looks more like it was built for running than posing.
Next to you, Lorenzo looks… the same as always.
Confident. Loud. Entirely unbothered by the fact that he takes up enough space for three people and half a bicycle.
You look at yourself again.
Not soft enough.
Not small enough.
Not feminine enough.
“Sorry,” you mumble to the reflection.
Lorenzo’s head snaps toward you.
“…Did you just apologize to glass?”
You freeze.
“…No.”
He squints at you.
“You did. You apologized to a window. That is a new low. Even for you. Okay.”
You huff. “It was a very judgmental window.”
He gasps, scandalized.
“Ah! Then it deserves worse. Wait. Okay.”
Before you can stop him, he steps in front of the glass and poses.
And not a normal pose.
He puts one hand on his hip. Tilts his chin. Juts his leg out.
Full supermodel stance.
“Ciao,” he says to the window. “I am beauty. You are lucky to see me. Okay.”
You stare.
A woman nearly walks into a pole.
“You look ridiculous,” you whisper.
He grins. “But confident. Okay?”
You snort.
And the reflection doesn’t look quite as harsh anymore.
At the café, you stand to stretch.
Careful. Small.
Arms only halfway up.
Shoulders tight, like you’re bracing for someone to notice.
You catch a glance from another table and the word slips out again.
“Sorry—”
Lorenzo gasps like he’s been shot.
“No,” he says, standing up. “Unacceptable.”
Before you can stop him, he stretches too—arms fully extended, back arched, taking up an obscene amount of space. A chair scrapes loudly. Someone coughs.
He lets out a theatrical sigh.
“Ahh,” he says. “See? This is how you do it. Okay.”
A waiter walks past, staring.
“…Sir, are you all right?”
“Never better,” Lorenzo says proudly. “I am flourishing.”
You choke on a laugh.
Later, you’re in a clothing store.
You pick up a dress.
Soft. Pretty. Flowing.
The kind of thing that looks effortless on mannequins.
You hold it up to yourself.
It looks… wrong.
Like it belongs on someone else’s body.
Someone smaller.
Someone softer.
Your shoulders feel too broad.
Your hands too big.
Your presence too loud.
You put it back.
“Not your style?” Lorenzo asks.
You shrug. “Doesn’t really suit me.”
He studies you.
Then grabs the dress.
And puts it over his own clothes.
You stare.
“…What are you doing.”
He strikes another pose. One hand on his hip.
“Do I look delicate?”
“You look like you’ve lost a bet.”
He grins. “And yet, I still exist. Incredible. Okay?”
You laugh despite yourself.
He hands the dress back to you, voice softer now.
“Clothes are for bodies,” he says. “Not the other way around. Okay.”
Your throat tightens.
That evening, you sit beside him again.
This time, you don’t perch at the edge.
You sit properly.
Back against the bench.
Legs relaxed.
Shoulders open.
It still feels strange.
But not impossible.
Lorenzo notices immediately.
His face lights up like you’ve just won a championship.
“Oho,” he says. “Progress. I am proud. Very expensive progress. Top quality.”
You roll your eyes.
But you don’t apologize.
He shifts closer, arm slinging around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “if space was money, I’d still give you more. And I love money. Okay.”
Warmth spreads through your chest.
Soft and steady.
He looks at you like something precious.
Not loud about it.
Not comparing.
Not measuring.
Just sure.
“Sei perfetta dove sei, You’re perfect where you are. Okay?” he murmurs.
And this time, when you lean back—
You don’t fold in.
You don’t shrink.
You don’t apologize.
You just exist.
And somehow, that feels… softer than anything else ever has.
