meazalykov

[meazalykov]

Did you see Cat got a huge Nike contract?

yes!! I am so happy for her ;')

she deserves it so much!

[meazalykov]

what is in the norwegian water to have such lethal face cards.

[meazalykov]

Shhhh...

(Girl there's something wrong with me)

LOLLLLLL REALL

[meazalykov]

Mallorca- Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia ruins your couple's vacation by inviting the girls to tag along with you. You decide to make her pay for it.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: (+18) a little bit of smut, suggestive; fingering (r giving)

A/n: because I'm a whore

..

You were going on a vacation to Mallorca with Alexia.

She had promised she would take care of everything: the hotel, the flights, the yacht, everything. 

She told you not to worry about a single thing. So you absolutely didn't. 

You just made sure to stay pretty, to pack the smallest bikini you had, to pack the strap, the lube, and the handcuffs into your bag.

Alexia had grinned while watching you pack. She came from behind, biting your earlobe and promising she would worship you every day of the vacation.

That she would put you in so many positions you wouldn't even remember all of them.

She said she would eat you out on the private beach she had booked.

That she would finger you in the middle of the ocean, have your mouth wrapped around her strap on the sun deck of the yacht.

You trusted Alexia deeply. So you thought she would keep her word.

Your face fell flat the second you arrived at the airport with her and saw not only Patri and Ona, but Jana and Bruna there too, suitcases in their hands and bright smiles on their faces.

You couldn't help but feel confused by the coincidence. 

They were travelling too? To Mallorca? Wow. Small world, right?

You were hesitant as you greeted the girls, but you did your best to be nice. They were, after all, your and Alexia's friends.

"I'm so excited!" Jana said as the little group made their way toward the flight. "It's been so long since I had a vacation."

Alexia's hand was on your back, but she was weirdly quiet. Too quiet.

"Oh yeah," you said, watching Alexia out of the corner of your eye. "You guys totally deserve this vacation. The season was really hard."

"Definitely," Patri said, smiling at you, the sound of her suitcase wheels somehow managing to irritate you. "I can't remember the last time we had a vacation with all of us together!"

You stopped in your tracks. Alexia bumped into you, her hand catching your waist so you wouldn't fall.

"Ay, amor," she said grumpily. "Qué fue?" [Love, what's wrong?]

"What do you mean… 'all of us together', Patri?" you asked in a very calm voice, very deliberate.

"Umm…" Patri looked at Alexia, then back at you.

"Us? Like me, you, Alexia, and the girls? We were so happy when Alexia called and asked us to tag along, it's hard only seeing each other at training…we need some quality time together as a team"

Quality time together as a team?!

Your world shattered right in front of you. 

You always thought people were being dramatic when they said they saw red when they were angry.

But you were definitely seeing red now, maybe because the capillaries in your eyes were expanding as your heart started hammering against your chest.

You felt your nails digging into your skin as you turned to Alexia.

"I think I'll go to the bathroom before we board," you said, not looking at anyone as you left your suitcase behind and walked off. You didn't even know where the bathroom was, you just…walked.

You just knew you needed to be alone, or else you would scream at Alexia in the middle of a crowded airport, and you didn't want to make a scene.

Alexia clearly didn't realise that you wanted to be alone for her own well-being, because she followed you like a puppy.

"Amor…espera, por favor," she said, walking after you. [love, wait, please]

If it were you, you would be out of breath by now, but because Alexia was annoyingly fit, her breathing and tone were perfectly normal.

She also caught up faster than you would have liked, her hand wrapping around your wrist as she pulled you into some corner of the airport.

You were alone now, but it felt like the room was crowded because the air was thick.

It was hard to breathe, like your lungs were collapsing. You often felt that when you held your anger in. It hurt your chest.

So you decided to snap, finally.

"What is your problem?" you asked, furious.

Alexia didn't even try to defend herself. Guilt was scattered all over her face as she leaned her back against the wall, her hands were still holding your wrists.

You didn't like being restrained (not like that), so you tried to set yourself free, but she didn't budge.

"You said it was an us vacation. As in, you and me, not you and your teammatmes."

"Lo siento…" she said, pouting in a way that made you want to bite her lips off (not romantically). [I'm sorry]

"I asked Patri for a cool hotel to stay in, and she asked why, and I told her we wanted to go on a vacation," she explained, as you kept trying to set yourself free.

"Then she said she and the girls were also planning a vacation there, and she looked so excited, and I didn't have the heart to tell her not to join us."

You didn't bother to answer Alexia.

In the end, you walked back to where the girls were still standing, waiting for you and Alexia to return. If they noticed anything weird between the two of you, they didn't say a word.

The flight was annoying.

Nothing bad happened.

There wasn't a crying infant. No kid was kicking your seat, and the food was actually good. But you were still so mad that you couldn't see anything good about it.

Alexia kept quiet–she was smart when she wanted to be.

She did, however, try to keep her hand on your thigh for most of the flight.

Every time she did, you would take it off and place it back in her own lap without saying a word. Without giving her any sort of attention.

When you got to Mallorca, you were still silent.

You only spoke to the other girls, asking Jana how she was doing, asking Bruna how her season in London was.

You didn't even bother to grab your suitcase or any of the other bags.

Alexia walked behind you like a camel, slower than everyone else, because she was carrying all the weight, but you didn't care.

Alexia had ruined your vacation, and you were going to make her pay for it.

Day One.

You arrived at the hotel. And of course, there were problems with Jana and Bruna's room.

In the end, Jana had to share the room with you and Alexia for the night while the staff sorted it out.

The lights were already off. Alexia was lying on the left side of the bed, and you were on the right.

You made sure to build a pillow wall between you (to Alexia's disappointment) to create some distance. 

At one point, Alexia tried to sneak a hand onto your waist, but again, you gave it a little snap, and she retreated to her side of the bed with a quiet whine only you could hear.

Jana was curled up on the loveseat on the other side of the room, wrapped in a duvet.

Even in the dark, you could see the guilt written all over her face.

"I am so, so sorry," she said, her voice slightly muffled by her pillow. "I told the staff I could sleep in the lobby, but they said they couldn't allow it."

"It's okay, Jana, don't worry about it," you said, closing your eyes, trying to forget this whole trip was happening.

You should have listened to your sister. You should have gone on a family vacation. At least then, you wouldn't have created so many sexual expectations that were clearly not going to happen.

Now that it was night and you couldn't distract yourself anymore, you realised you weren't just annoyed.

You were sexually deprived.

You hadn't had sex with Alexia in two fucking weeks because of her stupid football calendar.

You had had to make do with your hand most nights, and it absolutely wasn't the same.

Now you were stuck on an island with Alexia and her teammates, and one of them was literally sleeping in your room.

You were just a girl with needs!! It was only fair that you felt this way.

The room was silent for a while, and you thought you might finally be able to sleep.

You even prayed that you would have a sex dream… Maybe then, you would get to experience some kind of sexual activity on this supposed vacation.

But apparently, Jana was not done making her point.

"But really," Jana continued, "I'm very sorry. If I knew the bugs in my room's mattress would mean I would be intruding on your and Alexia's privacy, I would have just slept there."

"With the bugs?" you asked, a bit grossed out by the idea.

"Yes," Jana replied seriously, as if she were ready to make that sacrifice. "I'm so, so–"

"Jana," Alexia said sternly, "shut up, please."

You felt yourself getting wet at Alexia's tone.

You liked it when she was stern. You liked it a lot. Although, of course, you weren't going to say it.

Day 2

You were at the hotel's pool.

Alexia was lying on the sun chair beside you.

She looked so incredibly delicious in her orange bikini that you wanted to put your mouth on every inch of her body.

You wanted a taste of her, and by the way she was looking at you, she wanted it too.

You watched as Bruna, Ona, Jana, and Patri played some kind of pool game; they were splashing water around and laughing like little kids.

That was when you felt Alexia's hand slide onto your waist.

In one swift motion, she pulled you into her chair, your was back pressing against her chest as she peppered your neck with light kisses.

It was intimate but not scandalous.

"Estás tan guapa," Alexia murmured in a low voice. "Muy, muy guapa." [You look so pretty/very, very pretty]

You hummed, tilting your neck to the left to give her more space. You felt her grinning against your skin.

"Fui una idiota por invitar a las chicas," she added. "Lo siento por eso." [I was an idiot for inviting the girls/I'm sorry for that]

You wanted Alexia so much.

There was nothing you wanted more than to grab her hand, drag her back to your shared hotel room (thankfully, the staff had fixed Jana's room situation that morning), and finally get Alexia all to yourself.

But no.

You couldn't get her off that easily.

As if Alexia were just an annoying little bug on your neck, you stood up suddenly, pulling her hands off your body. And, without a word, you threw yourself into the pool, completely ignoring her.

Alexia stayed behind in the sun chair, looking confused, but you didn't care.

You swam straight toward the girls.

"Are you guys playing Marco Polo?" you asked, wiping water from your cheeks. "I wanna play too."

..

You all decided to go out and eat at one of those restaurants on the beach. 

You and Alexia got ready without saying a word. Well, Alexia tried to talk to you. You just weren't the one responding.

You were putting blush on when Alexia apologised for the ninth time that day.

"I'm sorry, bebé," she practically whined, which was a great contrast to the way she looked.

She was wearing a long, white dress, and her hair was in a bun. She looked deliciously mature.

"I'm not talking to you," you said, not even glancing at her reflection in the mirror as you continued to do your makeup.

"But it's our vacation," Alexia said. "You can't be mad at me forever."

"Not forever," you replied, putting on some red lipstick. "I'll be mad for the number of days I find necessary."

Alexia went quiet again, and you continued to get ready.

You put on your earrings, then your necklaces.

You were too preoccupied checking if your dress matched your silver accessories to realise Alexia had once again pressed herself to your back.

"Me gusta cuando te pones así, tan brava," Alexia whispered, her lips brushing soft kisses along your jaw. "Me pone tan mojada." [I like when you get mad/It makes me wet]

She took your hand and slipped it under her dress.

Your breath hitched when you felt the warmth of her inner thighs, and then she lifted your hand even higher, until you were cupping her cunt.

Her bare, very wet and very warm cunt.

"Te quiero tanto ahora, amor," Alexia said, pushing your hand further inside until your fingers were inside of her. [I want you so much right now, love]

You slid one finger in, then another.

You wanted to pull away (no, not really), but you couldn't take your eyes away from the mirror; you couldn't look away from the way Alexia's face was filled with pleasure behind you, as if she needed this.

Maybe she wasn't the only one who was sexually frustrated out of the two of you.

You started moving your fingers deeper each time, reading her expression to know what she needed.

If the frown between her brows tightened, then you would slow down, but if her mouth fell open, you would push in deeper.

You angled your fingers slightly, hitting that spot inside her that made her hips stutter, that made her sound a little less dominant, a little more dumb, a little more helpless.

"Por favor…" she murmured, her lips brushing the back of your neck. "Lo necesito…" [Please/I need it]

"I'll get you to the edge," you promised her, "but you're not gonna cum. Not tonight."

"No," Alexia shook her head as you pushed your fingers harder. "No, por favor…"

"Shhh," you whispered. "Enjoy it, baby."

Whenever you felt Alexia contract around you, you'd pull your fingers away, taking them to your mouth.

You would lick them clean, tasting her sweetness, then you would slide them right back inside her.

You edged her more times than you could count. You even felt a little sorry for her.

When her makeup was a complete mess on her face, and when tears began falling from her eyes, you finally decided to put a (partial) end to her misery :)

You pulled your fingers away completely without a warning. Alexia whined, but you didn't put them back this time.

You let Alexia lean against your back. Her thighs were still shaking.

You turned around and kissed her face, her cheeks, her jaw, her lips.

"Yo–amor!" she breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "Necesitaba correrme–" [I-, love, I need to cum]

"Later," you promised. "We'll go to dinner, you'll behave, then we'll come back to this hotel and you're gonna fuck me with the strap until I drench the sheets, okay?" You took her jaw into your hands, making eyes contact with her.

"And then I'm gonna fuck you so good I'll have you squirting all over me. How does that sound?" 

Alexia looked at you with those soft hazel eyes.

"Sounds great, mi vida," She said, sounding a little dizzy. "Anything you want."

..

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13 , @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

A/n: 😝😝😝😝😝😝

[meazalykov]

ARE THEY INSANE????

[meazalykov]

home is where you are

selma bacha x f!exbayern!reader

you couldn't keep a secret. everyone knew why you were coming to france.

warnings: established relationship

the air felt different from what you were used to in germany.

yes, france is only on the western border of germany, but the air felt crispier and you noticed a faint scent of lavender coming from some distant field.

as you stepped out of the airport doors, seeing a row of cars and people pushing their suitcases along their walking feet, your heart thuds in your chest.

this is not from nerves about the new club or the weight of replacing dann v donk who left lyon, but because of selma.

the fired up french woman is your girlfriend of three years. everyone always suspected that you were the left-back's girlfriend.

neither of you never confirmed but never denied.

however, she has been the one who’s been your lifeline during each injury period, every match through late-night calls when you were in munich and she was here, in her childhood city, playing for her childhood club.

aka the best club with the most history in women's football.

you tug your black hoodie’s drawstrings tighter, hiding the grin that’s been plastered on your face since you signed the contract two weeks ago after lyon paid bayern the transfer fee.

it’s supposed to be a surprise.

you’ve been meticulous, dodging selma’s questions during your video calls, changing the subject when she asked why you seemed so giddy lately.

now, as you wheel your suitcase through the airport, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

you glance at it, and your stomach drops at the notification on your lock screen.

sel:

lindsey spilled. you’re coming to lyon, aren’t you?

your grin falters.

damn it, lindsey.

you wanted to see selma’s face when you told her, wanted to catch the way her eyes would light up, maybe even tear up.

you text back quickly, fingers fumbling.

you:

maybe i’m just visiting? 😏

sel:

don’t play with me, y/n.

magou told me that you said goodbye to the bayern locker room yesterday.

i’m at the training ground.

get here.

now.

you laugh under your breath, warmth spreading through your bones.

she’s onto you, but that doesn’t dim the excitement. you slide into a taxi, the driver glancing at you in the rearview mirror, probably recognizing you.

you don’t care.

all you can think about is selma waiting for you, probably pacing, probably trying to act cool in front of her teammates.

the drive to lyon’s training facility feels eternal, but when you finally pull up, you spot her immediately.

she’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed as she stands beside sara, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, and her lyon kit still damp from practice.

she’s trying to look stern, but the second your eyes meet, her lips twitch into a smile she cannot hide.

you grab your bag, thank the driver, and jog toward her.

she pushes off the fence, meeting you halfway, and before you can say anything, she’s in your arms, her face buried in your neck.

selma smells like grass and sweat.... and home.

“you’re such a terrible liar,” she mumbles against your skin, her voice soft but teasing.

“a surprise transfer? really? I'd call you corny for this but im more surprised that you thought you could keep this from me?”

you pull back just enough to look at her, your hands resting on her waist. selma's brown eyes are bright, a little glassy, and you swear your heart skips.

“i almost pulled it off,” you say, smirking.

“blame lindsey. she’s got a big mouth.”

selma laughs, the sound bubbling up like it always does when she’s trying to act mad but can’t.

“oh, i did. she told me two girls were coming from german clubs, and when i asked who, she just smirked and said, ‘well, jule from wolfsburg… maybe your special friend from bayern too.’”

selma mimics lindsey’s american accent, rolling her eyes.

“i knew it was you. i knew you’d do something stupidly romantic like this.”

“stupidly romantic?” you raise an eyebrow, stepping closer until there’s barely space between you.

“i’m moving across countries for you, selma. that’s, like, peak romance.”

selma's smile softens, and she reaches up, brushing her thumb along your cheek.

“you didn’t have to,” she whispers, her voice quieter now, like she’s letting herself be vulnerable.

“you were another captain at bayern. by that I mean you’re a star there. you could’ve stayed, and i would’ve—”

“no way,” you cut her off, shaking your head.

“you’re here. lyon’s your home. if one of us was gonna switch clubs, we all knew it was always gonna be me. besides,” you add with a grin, “i’m ready to boss the midfield for your childhood club. danielle’s shoes were big, but i’ve got this.”

selma’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and she pulls you into another hug, tighter this time.

“you’re such a dummy,” she says, but her french accent is thick, like she’s holding back tears, “i can’t believe you’re here. like… really here.”

you rest your chin on her head, swaying slightly, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

“i’m here,” you murmur, “and i’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

she pulls back, giving you a playful shove.

“don’t tempt me. you’re gonna have to fight for your spot, you know. lyon’s not bayern. you know our history. we don’t just hand out starting roles to defensive mids who think they’re hot stuff.”

“oh, but you know i’m hot stuff,” you tease and give your girlfriend a wink, “and i’ll earn it. just wait till you see me breaking up plays and pinging balls to forward up top. we’re gonna run this league, selma.”

she grins, grabbing your hand and lacing her fingers through yours.

“we better since we already do,” she says, tugging you toward the training ground.

“come on, the team’s dying to see you. they’ve been buzzing since lindsey let it slip.”

you follow her, your bag slung over your shoulder, her hand warm in yours.

the large lyon facility sprawls ahead, all sleek lines and green pitches, but it’s selma’s excitement that makes it feel like home already.

she glances back at you, her smile wide and unguarded, and you know, without a doubt, that moving here was the best decision you’ve ever made.

“hey,” you say softly, stopping her for a second. she turns, eyebrows raised.

“i love you, you know that?”

sel's expression melts, and she steps closer, smiling at you gently, right there in the open, like she doesn’t care who sees.

“i know,” she says, smiling.

“i love you too, y/n. welcome to lyon.”

masterlist

authors note: this was a request from @sleepychelseafan :) thank you for your patience I hope you loved this :)

[meazalykov]

parents

Magda's smile looking at her ring 🥹🥹

[meazalykov]

I am in love with your fanfictions but you take too long to update them 💔 it's difficult to keep up with writing like that. That's why most of us read complete fanfictions it's annoying to wait for the next part

Ok, so I think some people forget that writing fanfics is a hobby?? Not a job?? Writers don't owe anyone updates. We share our work because we want to, not because anyone is idkk entitled to it. And writing is hard, sometimes you go days without writing a single word, other times you put out a 4K fic in one go... Writing is something we do for fun. I don't feel like anyone gets to demand when or how that happens, you know?

If your preference is to only read completed fics, then that's fine, your choice. But keep in mind that ongoing fics are cool because we get to connect, leave feedback, and build a little community around the story, the plot and the characters.

And honestly? A lot of writers stop updating and writing because they feel like NO ONE is reading, or just passive reading (which is also kinda of bad). So....yeah, if you love a fic, just support it. And I don't mean it by leaving big comments, just a "I like it" or sharing, makes writers feel really happy and supported.

[meazalykov]

Have you seen Cat's reaction to Becky Sauerbrunn's pregnancy announcement? Girl was gagged, had no clue she was pregnant, and then Girma was just absolutely cracking up at her reaction

YES LMAOOOOOO she said '😧' then turned to naomi LMAOOOOO

girly had no clue lol!!!

[meazalykov]

Catarina Macario 🇺🇸

International Friendly vs. China (May 31, 2025)

[meazalykov]

Hii can you write another selma bacha fic please 😀

yes!!! give me a few days :D

[meazalykov]

BRAIDS AND SHADE Salma Paralluelo x Reader

Summary : you and salma have a beach day while you also help her take out her braids in the sunny shades ⛱

Warning : slight cursing Summary, this is a report from my old account that got deactivate.

Today was on of those days where yours and salma off days macht.

meaning you both could spend the whole day together without one of you having a busy schedule and not being able to make it to any of your plans or having to leave mid-date.

Today would be very different as you both had three days off that ended up matching both your schedule.

Excitement filled both you and salma. Because both already planned what to do together.

a divider date where one person plans the beginning while the other planes the rest. You've already done your part in planning the first half, which consisted of surprising salma with breakfast in bed, which was rare as she always had to be up bright and early for training, making it impossible.

But today, she slept over her alarm, making it easy for you except the part you had to get out of her giant grip without her noticing which happened successfully.

After that, you both got ready for your massage appointment that you booked, knowing well she needed it having complained about random cramps that felt after heavy training or game days.

The next few hours had been filled with shopping and sneaky kisses.

Helping salma look for some pants that she's been wanting to get. and some Fifa games she wanted to get.

So her and vicky could play with it when she comes over, getting sweet treats and some makeup and other products you both needed around your shared apartment.

that would be the your part of date that you planned. now it was salma trun for the other half of the date.

"So where are we going that you got our suitcases packed with three different outfits, with four different bikini placed on our bed?" you asked her ?.

"You just gotta wait til we arrive there".she told you before leaving a kiss on your lips.

grabbing your hand, leading you into the car before placing the location onto GPS so you know where to drive.

Salma was a passenger princess as she didn't know how to drive and hadn't gotten her drivers license. this woman would rather run to her destination than drive, which you found funny and would tease her about it.

You've almost arrived at the place the GPS was leading you into until you where able to see somewhat of a beachy report.

"You did not just book us to one of these beach resort did you". you asked her with a smile on your face

"I may have known that I'll days off would macht and decided to book here I know how the beach is one your favorite places and the offer was too good to miss". she told you

This would be one of salma best qualities that you loved about her when she does stuff for you without you knowing or asking.

Once you both managed to get everything done and head to the beach. salam had asked if you could help her take out her braids while you both chill out for the rest of the day which you didn't mind doing.

You both found a spot under the beautiful beach shades and decided to lay there and that when you started getting rid of her braids one by one which surprisingly didn't take you that long. as you we're used to taking braids.

you'd finally finish taking out her braids and one thing you admire about salma was when her curly where out it made her look like some type of goddess especially with that body of hers.

you loved this woman down bad and would do anything for her.

this day had to be the best day ever enjoy half the day with the love of your life while finishing it off a the beach with a beautiful sunset.

And it couldn't have been done without a small makeout session with the sunset right behind you both.

[meazalykov]

im free asf fuck arsenal never again

[meazalykov]

Hello, my lovelies. This is part two of this request. I hope you enjoy it. I am also in my Lena Oberdorf era again, so if anyone has any ideas, please send them my way. I wasn't too sure on how to end it, so sorry if it's a bit shit.

The Dream (18+) // The Reality (18+)

The Reality (18+)

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: You finally turn Lena's dream into a reality

TW: Smut, 18+, Cunnilingus (R giving), Strap action (R giving), Dirty Talk

You had a plan. A plan that started to form a few hours after Lena had nervously whispered her confession about letting you take control. It had started after she had fallen asleep on the couch, legs tangled up with yours as you scratched lightly at her scalp, her weight the perfect blanket as you watched some random show you were only half listening too.

You couldn’t deny it, from the moment Lena had told you about her dream, the ins and outs of it, the highly detailed, perfectly recounted story had your imagination running wild. You could imagine it quite well, the way she gasped and sighed at every touch, the way her body moved in tandem with yours, the way her face contorted in pleasure. It had you squirming.

It had taken a few weeks to sort it all out. You were blissfully stress free. You had saved a lot of time off in preparations for the Euros, but now, with Lena not being selected, you had a treat to yourself. A chance to just exist with Lena. But now, the sun was shining, the summer sun warming the world effortlessly, and you could finally put in motion your plan.

It had started off simple enough. You were naturally an early riser – something that annoying the living daylights out of Lena at times, but you secretly relished in. The chance to quietly sip at your drink as you read, Lena still peacefully tucked up beside you, her head often finding its way to your thighs as she slept the morning away.

You had waited a good few hours before slowly waking Lena up – the sun was most definitely high in the sky as you finished the final chapter of your book. You looked down at the sleeping woman beside you. Her hair was a messy shock of strands that stood out against the white of the pillow, her face calm as she slumbered, the blueish tinge to her undereyes slowly fading as her body caught up on much needed rest.

You started off gently, placing a few kisses to her exposed collarbone. When she didn’t stir, you moved further, gently pressing your weight against her as you nibbled a trail delicately up her neck and across her jaw.

“Mmmmm,” Lena hummed, groaning at the feeling that drew her from her sleep. You smirked into her skin, moving over the other side and sucking more harshly now that she was awake.

“Mmmmm-don’t stop,” she mumbled, voice still laden with sleep yet tinged with quiet pleasure.

“I won’t,” you smiled against her, feeling her legs wrap around your waist.

Eventually, she pulled you away from her neck, the skin now various shades of pink and red that would turn into blossoming bruises in the next few hours. “Good morning.” You beamed down at her, leaning into the hand that cupped your jaw.

“A very good morning indeed.” Her smile matched yours.

You leaned down, her lips pillowy soft as you kissed her. She tasted like honey and hope. She sighed happily as you deepened the kiss, both of you taking your time, neither of you rushing.

If it were up to you, you would be more than willing to let your life slip away if you got to kiss Lena forever. The way she tasted, the way she felt underneath you, the way she sounded as your hands ran softly under her t-shirt, scratching the indents of her muscles.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Lena asked, slightly dazed when you finally pulled back.

“Do you have to have done something in order for me to kiss you?” You asked cheekily, dipping down and pressing one, two, three kisses to her lips.

“I guess not, but that wasn’t just a kiss,” Lena smoothed the hair back from your forehead. “That was a make out like we use to back at home when we were like 15.” She laughed, a melodic sound that made your heart swell with love.

“Sue me for wanting to kiss my favourite girl.” You winked, wiggling your eyebrows too.

“What are you up to?” She knew you far too well.

“You’ll see.” You gave her another quick peck.

“You’re acting weird,” Lena looked at you as best she could. She was standing at the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. You stood with your chin resting on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist.

“Am I?” You quipped back, slowly turning her to face you.

“Yes, you are.” You let your fingers dance under the hem of her shirt and play with the waistband of her boxers.

You just shrugged, slowly drawing maddening circles against her hips.

“It’s our anniversary soon,” you offered instead, changing the subject.

“Nine years,” she smiled at you. That slow, spectacular smile that made your breath hitch.

“Best nine years of my life,” you smirked.

It truly had been. Yes, you were only teenagers when you had finally taken that step, but just 14 years old. But you knew you wouldn’t have achieved half the things you did without her by your side. All those late-night study sessions, the friendship dramas, the life dilemmas that all seemed so important at the time, Lena had been there to push and pull on, to help you weather the storms life threw your way.

Everyone had told you, you wouldn’t last. That you weren’t truly in love. That you and Lena would naturally just drift apart. But you knew that this … what you had with Lena … that was true love. Before you had even realised you had begun to fall in love with her, you were already in the middle.

You had been Lena’s rock. Throughout the whirlwind that was her career, you had been the one constant. You happily drove her to and from the training ground whenever you could back when she was at Essen and still living at home, using the time to complete your homework and then dutifully driving her exhausted-self back home. And then you moved in with her. The first flat you ever got together – it was absolutely tiny, barely 500 square feet in total, yet it was totally perfect. You were still studying, splitting your time between earning your degree and working at the café down in town.

And then she moved to Wolfsburg. She had been so nervous to tell you about the offer, of what it would mean for you and your relationship. She had cried when she showed you the email, the outline of the offer written down in black and white. She had cried herself to sleep that evening only to awaken to the sight of you on your beaten-up old laptop looking up jobs in the Wolfsburg area and houses for rent.

Moving to Munich had been a lot smoother – you knew she was wanting more, a different challenge, something else to conquer, and she knew there was only so much for you in Wolfsburg; you were passing up on promotions in order to stay in the city and she knew you were needing more.

It had been nine, amazing, wonderful, fantastic years.  And she couldn’t wait to live the rest of your lives together.

“Such a sap,” Lena smirked, pulling you in for another kiss.

“I’m your girlfriend, babe. You must allow me to tell you how much I admire and love you from time to time.” Winking, you relished at the moan she let out as you moved to gently squeeze over her breast. “You have bewitched me, body and soul.” You whispered against her lips, letting your breath flood her senses.

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you.” Her voice was soft and laden with love as you guided her back to the bedroom.

“Baby,” Lena gasped into your mouth when you slotted your thigh in between hers. It wasn’t the first time you had done that this afternoon, but it felt different this time. Her shirt had been shed a while ago – leaving you free grope and explore to your heart’s content.

“Yeah?” you questioning, not stopping your assault on her chest.

Lena didn’t even know what she wanted. Her hands tangled in your hair, pressing you into her.

“More,” she gasped as she slowly began to rock against you.

“Careful, my love,” you ordered gently. Moving back up to look at her, you smiled widely. “So … do you remember that dream you had a while ago …” you trailed off, letting her imagination go wild. “The one where I had my way with you?” you leaned down, gently biting her earlobe. “The one where I made you feel oh so good?” She whined softly, either at your words or the fingers that ghosted over her stomach you weren’t too sure. “I was thinking…” you kissed her, long and hard, savouring the way she felt underneath you. “How about I make your dream into a reality?”

She was already nodding before you finished your sentence. “Please, please,” she smiled up at you, eyes blown wide with want.

“Is that what you want, baby? For me to ravish you so completely? For me to touch you? Manhandle you into whichever position I want? Only let you have I want you to have?” She was writhing beneath you, you could feel her boxers were already ruined, the fabric damp against your skin.

“Hmmm, maybe I could be mean? Touch you everywhere except where you really want it.” You shifted your weight to rest on your arm, looking at her body as you traced mindless shapes across her skin. “Bring you right to the edge, but never let you tip over.” You smirked, watching with unadulterated joy as she gasped at your words. “Or maybe … maybe I could be nice? Let you cum again and again. You’d look so pretty. You always do look pretty when you cum. But this time …” you dropped your voice to a whisper. “This time, I’d ruin you.”

“Oh my god,” Lena moaned, her eyes squeezing shut as you placed a firm hand on her hip, halting her movements.

“Good girl.”

You had fucked Lena plenty of times before, you had guided her to many orgasms from your strap. But she had never taken this particular one before. It was newer to your collection. Dark green with a thick vein running along the underside. You were fairly sure it was wider than anything she had taken before.

You took your time, slowly making your way down her naked body, stopping to suck on her nipple and leave a pretty hickey just under her boob. By the time you finally made it between her thighs, she was a whimpering, moaning, desperate mess.

“Please, my love, do something,” Lena begged, bucking her hips up in frustration.

You didn’t respond, only moving to kiss along her inner thighs. “Not that,” she groaned. “Touch me.”

Again, you didn’t respond. Instead, you wrapped your arms around her thighs to settle your hands on her toned stomach. “Please, baby.” She tried again, this time pulling at your roots, hoping you would make eye contact with her.

“Listen to me closely, pretty girl.” You smiled softly, watching as she sat up a little. “This pussy … is mine.” You used you fingers to spread her lips a little, exposing her clit. “This body … this beautiful, stunning, sexy body … is mine.” You leant down, inhaling her salty tangy scent. “I own you, baby. Forever and always.” You relished at the way she tried so hard not to squirm, the way you could see her clench at your words.

With a cheeky wink, you surged forwards, licking a wide stripe across her cunt. She let out an almost pornographic moan. Loud and raw. Lena had never been the most vocal of lovers, it was usually softer huffs of happy pleasure, but this was a welcomed sound. “Shit,” she gasped as you circled her clit expertly.

It didn’t take you long to work Lena up. After all, you knew her body like it was your own – where to tease and touch, where to suck and where to ghost gently over. She took one finger easily, her hips arching as you grazed the spongey spot inside of her. You quickly added a second and then finally a third – humming contentedly at the all-consuming taste of her.

“Oh my god, shit, fucking hell.” Lena matched your thrusts expertly. “I’m gonna cum, holy shit.” Lena could feel the band growing tighter and tighter, the bubble threatening to burst. “Don’t stop, Jesus.” You kept up that maddening pace. Her toes began to curl as her eyes screwed tightly shut.

She came with a shout, a loud moan following as the electricity coursed through her veins like a tsunami of white-hot pleasure. You were relentless, guiding her through it as she rode the waves, her breathing deep and heavy as if she had just run a marathon.

“Fucking hell,” you groaned, rubbing your own thighs together as you pulled out of her, smiling at her quiet whimper. “You’re so hot.”

“You make me feel so good.” Lena replied, her voice a little scratchy. You rested your head on her thigh, not breaking eye contact as you sucked your fingers clean.

“Ready for me?” You asked, lining the toy up with her slit.

“Please, I need you.” It was your turn to moan at her words, the desperate way she pawed at your hips, urging you forwards.

Carefully, you pushed in, rubbing lazy circles over her clit, helping her adjust to the intrusion. You were torn between watched her face as it contorted in unbridled pleasure and in between her legs where she swallowed the toy up eagerly.

“That’s it …” you leaned forward, your lips meeting in a messy kiss.

“You’re big,” she whispered, mouth still millimetres from yours, a tiny crinkle in her brows.

“Too much?” You stopped, waiting to hear her answer.

“No, just … big.” You groaned at her words. You let your head drop onto her shoulder.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, baby,” you complained.

“Why not?” she asked, bringing a hand up to scratch at your scalp lovingly.

“’Cos it makes me want to absolutely rail you and I’m trying to be kind and gentle here.” You lifted your head, giving her an exasperated look. You had a plan. A plan that you had hoped to stick to.

“Maybe I want you to rail me?” she quipped.

Your mouth dropped open, not quite used to the brazen words she said. You were fairly sure your brain short-circuited as you registered her meaning.

“You have no idea.” You gave an experimental thrust, watching as she gasped at the movement. “First you tell me you want me to be on top,” you moved again, building a slow, pleasurable rhythm. “Then you go into detail about your sex dream.” You kissed her cheek. “Then I think I reach my limit when I finally get you underneath me, writhing and looking so, so pretty.” You started to move faster, watching as she pressed her head back into the pillows. “And then you tell me you want me to rail you? That you want me to split you open? To fuck you so hard you can’t walk? You’re killing me, baby.”

“Shit,” Lena gasped as you began to rub tighter, faster circles on her clit.

“Did I tell you how pretty you look?” You knew your words could easily turn Lena on. She always had a thing for dirty talk and most definitely had a praise kink you frequently used to your advantage. “You’re taking me so well, baby.”

“Looking so sexy,” you moaned as you grinded against the strap, the rough fabric giving your just the right amount of pressure. “You’re gonna make me cum too, y’know. A true vision, I don’t think I could have dreamed up something like this.”

You knew she was close to cumming again, her heels dug into your lower back pushing you deeper and deeper.

“Faster,” she panted, frantic for that little bit more that would send her soaring.

“Uh-uh, that’s not how good girls ask for things, is it baby?” you chided lightly. “How do good girls ask for what they want?”

“Oh,” Lena whimpered. “Please, my love. Please. Please, I need it, I need you. Please, go faster.” She was babbling at this point – close to tears with how full she felt.

You obliged happily, satisfied with her response as you leant down to kiss you deeply.

“I’m close,” Lena warned, her body alight with a love-filled fire.

“Not yet.” You were close yourself, your own moans mixing with hers in a melodic symphony. “Hold it,”

“C-can’t.” She could feel the tears prick at her eyes as she tried her hardest to hold back.

“Yes, you can.” Your breath was ragged now too, the bubble almost too big to contain.

“Three,” you rutted into her at the same steady speed, watching in awe as she fought against the waves that threated to break through.

“Two.” Your heart swelled at the idea that she had felt safe enough to feel this much pleasure with you nearby.

“One,” you finally let her go. “Cum for me, baby.”

Electricity streamed through your veins, every nerve a live wire as you fucked her through your own orgasm, the world’s colours seeming to brighten slightly as you took in the sight of her lost in her own little world.

“Holy …” she gasped when she finally came back down to earth.

“That was …” you started at the same time, both of you laughing tiredly.  

“Thank you,” Lena mumbled a little while later, her head resting on your bare chest as she soaked up the last of the summer evening sunlight streaming through the window.

“For what?” you asked, playing with her hair.

“For everything.”

[meazalykov]

running on empty

barcelona femeni x picadisordered!reader with features of platonic!alexia putellas x f!reader, and platonic!ingrid engen x f!reader

warnings: pica disorder, eating disorder mentions, health issues like anemia involved, fainting. id research what pica disorder is since some details might be uncomfortable or unfamiliar to read.

some people would call pica a mental disorder as much as it is a physical one. 

it’s not just about chewing things that aren’t food like ice, or napkins, or chalk. it’s the pull and relentless need that is buried deep into your thoughts.

for you it’s a secret you thought you’d left in your childhood, locked away with memories of sneaking paper scraps or nibbling on ice when no one was looking. 

secrets don’t stay buried, do they? 

they creep back when you’re not looking, when life gets too loud to notice the cracks forming under the facade of everything.

everything like the fact that you’ve been with barcelona for two seasons so far. fans adore you since you came from your last club in germany. all of your teammates rely on you for many things. 

alexia’s sharp passes find you on the pitch, kika’s need for advice all of the time keeps you busy off of the pitch, doing esmee’s hairstyles keeps you concentrated, and vicky and salma’s pranks keeps you alert. 

you’re a footballer and a person who’s fought for every inch to get here. 

unfortunately off the field, something’s shifting. 

it started after the olympics, that blur of gold medals and exhaustion with your national team. you forgot to keep taking your iron pills. it wasn’t deliberate; they just slipped from your routine, like a misplaced sock. 

you didn’t notice at first. 

you were fine while training, laughing, pushing through the ache in your legs. you simply ‘blamed it on the grind.’ 

with your low zinc and iron levels… those, yes those, cravings came back. it was so subtle at first, like a whisper. ice, crunching between your teeth in the locker room, passed off as a quirk. napkins, torn from the bottom of takeaway bags, chewed until they dissolve into nothing. 

things like cornstarch and chalk…god, the thought of it makes your mouth water, that dry, dusty texture calling like an old habit from your childhood. well, it was.

you haven’t given in to that one, but the urge is there, sharp and persistent. every time you pass the tactics board in the training room and notice the chalk. your heart races just thinking about it, a mix of want and shame.

you don’t tell anyone. 

how could you? 

your teammates would stare, their eyes flickering with confusion or pity. 

“y/n, you eat what?” 

you imagine the whispers, the sidelong glances. you’re the one who’s supposed to have it together, the one who scores under pressure and who fights for every ball. not the one who craves things that could break her and the inside of her body. 

pica’s one thing, but you’ve noticed other signs.

example.. the skipped meals, and the way hunger feels distant when you’re chewing ice or shredding napkins. it’s not just pica anymore; it’s teetering on the edge of something darker.

the thought makes your chest tighten, so you don't think about it much.

you hide it well. gum during training keeps your mouth busy. you dodge team meals when you can, slipping away to crunch ice in private or tear at paper when no one’s watching. 

you tell yourself it’s fine, just a phase, but at night, alone in your apartment, the cravings hit hardest. 

you sit on your bed, staring at a glass of water, ice cubes catching the light. you fish one out, feel its cold bite against your fingers. it’s not enough to hold it…you need it in your mouth, need the crack of it shattering. 

the sound soothes you, but the guilt doesn’t.

it’s heavy, that guilt. it is heavier than sprint drills or double sessions. you know this isn’t normal. you know you should tell someone…your doctor, a therapist, even patri, who’s always got your back and never judges you for even the weirdest shit. 

however, saying it out loud means admitting it’s real, that this thing from your past has its claws in you again. 

what if they think you’re weak? or stupid? what if they bench you, citing “health concerns”? what if this costs you barcelona? the new season’s coming, and you’re running out of time to keep this contained. 

your energy’s slipping, your focus fraying, and the line between pica and something worse, food wide, is blurring. 

you’re still fighting, still scoring, but it’s harder now. especially after coming back from the pre-season in the united states, you’re not sure how long you can keep this from spilling over.

in your apartment, you’re sprawled on the couch with the hum of the nugget ice machine in the kitchen a constant background noise. it’s late and  where the world feels too quiet, with your thoughts being too loud. 

you’re scrolling on your phone, mindlessly, when you stumble across a website selling edible chalk. it’s marketed as “safe” and “natural,” and the pictures…smooth, creamy sticks in pastel shades…make your mouth water in a way that feels both familiar and dangerous. 

you don’t think about it too much; you just order a pack. 

it arrives two days later, and now it’s sitting on your coffee table, a small box of chalk sticks staring back at you.

you tear open the package, the powdery scent hitting you immediately. it’s not food, you know that, but the urge is overwhelming, a strange feeling crashing over your better judgment. you pick up a stick, roll it between your fingers, feel its grainy texture. 

your heart’s racing, part shame, part anticipation. you take a bite. it crumbles in your mouth, dry and earthy, coating your tongue in a way that’s both strange and satisfying. you chew slowly at first, savoring the texture, then faster, taking another stick, then another. 

you eat until your stomach feels heavy, full in a way it hasn’t in days. 

you don’t think about the protein shakes or the fiber-packed meals you’re supposed to be eating to fuel your body for the season. you don’t think about how this fullness isn’t the kind that nourishes. 

you just eat, and for a moment, the craving quiets.

it’s not enough. the next morning, you wake up and make breakfast…two pieces of toast, a scrambled egg, a handful of strawberries. it’s a good meal, one your nutritionist would approve of, but it’s only half of the truth. 

the other part of the truth is the bowl of nugget ice you crunch through while the eggs cook, the cold numbing your teeth, filling the empty spaces in your stomach. it’s not hunger, not exactly, but it’s something.

you tell yourself it’s fine, that you’re eating enough. deep down, you know you’re replacing real food with ice, with napkins, with chalk. you’re not starving, but you’re not feeding your body what it needs, either. 

at training, you’re warming up with the team, the barcelona sun already warming the pitch. alexia’s beside you, her presence grounds you. you’re close with her, always have been since even before you came to barcelona thanks to social media. 

she’s the captain, the one who knows when to push everyone and when to listen. 

before the last set of drills, your stomach rumbles which is loud enough to make her glance over with a chuckle. 

“did you eat breakfast, y/n?” she asks, tossing a ball your way.

“yeah,” you say, catching it with a forced grin. 

it’s not a lie since you had toast, eggs, and strawberries. again, it’s not the whole truth either. the ice takes up space in your mind, in your stomach, and you can’t tell her that. 

ale has no reason to doubt you, so she just nods. you both jog ahead to join the others. you push through the last drill, your legs moving and your lungs burning like usual. 

however, there’s a heaviness you can’t shake. by the end of the session, you’re weaker than usual. your passes are sloppier, your sprints are slower. 

irritation prickles under your skin, sharp. you bite it back, focusing on your breathing until it passes.

ingrid finds you after, her dark hair pulled back, her smile always so easy. you’re close with her too, her quiet strength a contrast to alexia’s. she notices you chugging your water bottle, nearly draining it in one go, and raises an eyebrow. 

“good practice?” she asks, leaning against the bench.

you snort, going for sarcasm to mask the exhaustion, “oh, yeah, best day of my life.” 

she laughs, taking it as a joke, not catching the edge in your voice. your stomach rumbles again, louder this time, and her expression shifts to concern. 

“come on,” the norwegian says while nudging you, “let’s hit the lounge. they’ve got lunch.”

you hesitate but follow her. 

the lounge is full of your teammates, plates piled with protein filled chicken tacos, rice, and vegetables. you grab a plate, load it with a few tacos, and sit across from ingrid. the napkin beside your plate catches your eye, thin and crinkly, and the craving hits hard as if you didn’t have real food right in front of you. 

it’s like an itch you can’t ignore, a pull stronger than hunger. when ingrid looks away to talk to frido, you tear off a corner of the napkin and slip it into your mouth. 

you chew slowly, the paper softening, dissolving. it’s not food, but it feels like it fills something. ingrid turns back, oblivious, assuming you’re chewing taco meat. 

you force a smile, swallow, and take a bite of your taco. 

a week later, the exhaustion is undeniable. 

your face shows it with dark circles under your eyes. 

it’s been three months since you stopped taking your iron and zinc pills, and your body’s screaming for them now. you’re tired all the time, your muscles aching even on rest days. training feels like wading through quicksand or mud. you’re snappier, less patient. 

you catch alexia watching you during a water break, her eyes narrowing. 

“you okay, y/n?” she asks, her english accented which is gentle and firm.

“yeah,” you say, too quick. 

she doesn’t buy it. you can tell by the way her lips press together, but you don’t give her a chance to push. 

“just tired. long week.” you turn away, focusing on your cleat laces, and your water bottle, anything to avoid her gaze. 

she lets it go, but you feel her eyes on you for the rest of the session.

that afternoon, the heat is brutal at 97 degrees (fahrenheit), the air is super thick and humid. you’re running drills, sweat soaking your kit, when the world tilts. 

dizziness hits like a wave, stars bursting in your vision. 

your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. you slow, then stop, sinking to the grass as your legs give out. 

you lie back, the ground cool against your burning skin, and try to breathe through the nausea. 

you’re not injured, not in the usual way, but something’s wrong.

alexia’s there first, her shadow falling over you. 

“y/n, what’s going on?” her voice is sharp with worry. 

ingrid and esmee are right behind her, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. the rest of the team stands ten feet away in confusion, not wanting to overwhelm you with so many faces at once. 

“where are you hurt?” ingrid asks, kneeling beside you.

“not hurt,” you mumble, your voice weak with your hands rised above and resting on your forehead. 

“just… dizzy. seeing stars.” your head spins, and you close your eyes, trying to keep the world still. 

you hear alexia call for the medic, her tone urgent. after a few minutes, some hands belonging to esmee and caro guide you up, and you’re half-carried to the medical area at the training center. 

the cool air inside is a relief, but the dizziness lingers. your body is heavy, and your mind is foggy. the medic checks your vitals, asks questions you answer in half-sentences. 

you don’t tell them about the chalk, the ice, the napkins, or the iron and zinc thing. you don’t tell them about the meals you’ve skipped, the way your hunger feels like a distant thing.

you just say you’re tired, dehydrated, maybe didn’t eat enough. 

it’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

you’re back in your apartment by 8pm, the sterile chill of the medical center still lingering on your skin. the doctors chalked it all up to dehydration, hooking you to a couple of IVs and sending you home with instructions to “drink more water” and “take it easy.” 

you nodded, mumbled your thanks, and left. your body feels heavy but you’re home now. 

you’re sprawled on your couch, crunching ice from a glass, when a knock at the door startles you. it’s just past 9pm. you walk slowly to your door and check the peephole…kika and esmee, your best friends on the team, stand outside, their faces a mix of concern.

you open the door, forcing a smile. 

“hey,” you say, stepping aside to let them in. 

kika’s quick to pull you into a hug, her energy as bright as ever, while esmee’s quieter, her eyes scanning you like she’s trying to read a playbook. 

“oh my– are you okay, love?” kika asks, plopping onto your couch. 

“you scared the hell out of us today.”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you lie, the words slipping out too easily. 

“just dehydrated, like the doc said.” you sit across from them, tucking your legs under you, hoping they don’t notice the tremor in your hands. 

believing you, kika launches into a rant about next week’s el clasico, her hands flying as she talks about madrid’s defense and how barcelona is going to tear through it. 

you nod, laugh at the right moments, even throw in a comment about the last clasico game. it’s easy to fall into the rhythm with kika… she has no filter, and it distracts you from the emptiness in your chest.

esmee’s different. 

she’s quieter tonight, her eyes drifting around your apartment. you catch her staring at the kitchen counter, where the open box of edible chalk sits, half-hidden behind a bag of grounded coffee. 

your stomach drops. 

you meant to put it away, but you were too tired, too distracted. 

esmee’s gaze lingers, her brow furrowing slightly. edible chalk? 

you can almost hear her thoughts…why would y/n have that? esmee joins the conversation, though, her voice soft as she teases kika about her obsession with beating madrid. but you see it…the way her eyes flick back to the box, the question she’s not asking yet.

“so, uh, what’s with the chalk?” esmee says finally, pointing at the counter with a casual tilt of her head. 

the dutch watches you closely. 

kika pauses mid-sentence, looking confused, and you feel your heart lurch.

you laugh, a little too loud, and wave it off. 

“oh, that? just some dumb tiktok trend,” you say, leaning back to seem relaxed, “you know, those weird food challenges people do.” 

it’s a weak excuse, and you know it. 

esmee’s lips twitch, like she’s holding back a response. 

the ditch girl is chronically online and she knows there’s no tiktok trend about eating chalk. hwoever, she just nods, says, “huh, weird,” and lets it drop. 

kika’s already back to talking about el clasico, oblivious, and you’re grateful for the distraction. 

you keep up the act, joking with them, but your mind’s racing. 

esmee isn't buying it, and that scares you more than the dizziness did.

they stay for an hour, the conversation looping from football to random gossip about things happening in the team. 

when they finally leave, you hug them both, promising you’re fine, that you’ll see them at training tomorrow. 

the second the door closes, you bolt to the kitchen, grab the chalk box, and shove it into a cabinet behind a stack of protein powders. 

your hands shake as you close the door, your pulse loud in your ears. you can’t risk anyone else seeing it…alexia, ingrid, anyone that is not already esmee and kika. you’re already skating on thin ice, your body betraying you with every skipped meal, every piece of ice or napkin you chew instead of real food. 

the chalk’s just the latest piece of a puzzle you’re too scared to look at, one that’s starting to look less like a pica disorder and more like something you can’t name.

you drag yourself to training the next day, your legs feeling super heavy. the weakness hasn’t let up since you fainted on the pitch last week, and it’s starting to show in every step. 

you’re in the dressing room, lacing up your boots, when alexia’s voice cuts through the chatter. she’s standing by your locker, arms crossed, her eyes locked on you with that intensity that makes it impossible to look away. 

“y/n, have you eaten today?” she asks, her voice full with concern.

you force a nod, the lie coming too easily. 

“yeah, i had breakfast.” 

it’s not true. you had a handful of nugget ice and half a protein bar you couldn’t finish because the chalk from last night still sat heavy in your stomach. you’re not hungry, not in the way you should be.

you try to meet alexia’s gaze, but her eyes narrow, and you know you’re caught.

“i don’t believe you?” she says flatly, stepping closer. 

the catalan’s voice is low, but it carries the weight of someone who’s seen you slipping and isn’t about to let it slide again. 

“you fainted last week, y/n. you’re pale, and you’re slow, which is unbelievable to say about the fastest player on the team yet here we are, and you look like you’re about to collapse again. you’re not going out to train until i see you eat something healthy.” 

ale is not asking since she’s telling you, her tone leaving no room for argument.

you sigh, long with the fight draining out of you. 

“fine,” you mutter, grabbing your water bottle to avoid her stare. 

you can feel esmee watching from across the dressing room, her eyes quiet. she hasn’t said anything, but you know she’s been piecing things together since she and kika visited your apartment. 

you’d caught the way she looked at the edible chalk box, the way the “tiktok trend” excuse didn’t land. 

you’re not sure what she knows, but the thought of her suspecting anything makes your stomach twist.

alexia gestures toward the door. 

“come on. upstairs, breakfast lounge. now.” you don’t argue since you can’t, not with her like this. 

you follow her out, feeling esmee’s gaze on your back as you leave. the walk to the lounge is silent, alexia’s presence is a pressure beside you. 

she’s not just your captain since she’s your friend, and one of the few you’ve let get close. 

this secret you’re carrying about the cravings is a wall you’ve built even against her.

back in the dressing room, esmee’s still sitting on the bench, her hands fidgeting with her shin guards. she’s been quiet since she left your apartment last week, her mind turning over what she saw. 

the edible chalk box stuck with her, nagging at her until she googled it later that night. 

“pica disorder,” the search results said about craving and consuming non-food items, often linked to nutritional deficiencies or stress. 

she read about ice, paper, chalk, even cornstarch, and her stomach sank as she thought of you, pale and dizzy on the pitch, your energy fading. 

she didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the pieces were starting to fit together.

ingrid notices esmee’s silence and slides onto the bench beside her. 

“is everything okay?” she asks, her voice soft but probing. 

the norwegian has always been good at reading people, her quiet aura pulling people out of silences.

esmee hesitates, then sighs, her shoulders slumping. 

“i don’t know,” she says, glancing at the door you and alexia just walked through. 

“it’s y/n. when kika and i went to her place last week, i saw this box on her counter. edible chalk. maybe im just overthinking it but she said it was some tiktok trend, but…” she trails off, shaking her head, “i looked it up. there’s no trend like that and then i found stuff about pica disorder. it’s when people crave things that aren’t food like chalk, ice, and paper whenever they are stressed or have low iron levels. it’s not normal, ingri. now she’s fainting, looking weak all the time. i don’t know if it’s serious, but it’s weird, right?”

ingrid’s face shifts, her dark brows moving as she processes esmee’s words. she’s quiet for a moment, her mind drifting back to you…specifically, to the way you always ask for extra ice in your drinks. 

she’d noticed it before, thought it was just a quirk. 

you’d down the liquid in seconds, then crunch through the ice like it was the main course. your jaw always works as if it was the most satisfying thing in the world. she’d laughed about it once, teasing you for “eating your drink,” but now it hits differently. 

pairing with esmee’s discovery, it feels like a warning sign, one she can’t ignore.

“ice,” ingrid murmurs, almost to herself. 

“she’s always chewing ice. i thought it was just… her thing. but if she’s eating chalk too…” her voice trails off, and she leans back, her expression heavy. 

“pica can be linked to deficiencies, right? like iron or zinc. i know what you’re talking about, es. if she’s not eating properly, if she’s replacing healthy food with… this stuff…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air. 

she’s scared now, wondering if you’ve been neglecting your health, unintentionally or not, chasing these cravings instead of the nutrients your body needs to survive the demands of football.

esmee nods, her eyes wide. 

“exactly. and she’s not herself. you saw her out there last week and she could barely stand. today, she looks worse. i didn’t want to say anything to her face, but i’m worried.”

ingrid’s mind races, piecing together the signs she’s missed. the skipped meals at team lunches, the way you’ve been quieter, more withdrawn. she thinks about the protein and fiber you’re supposed to be eating to keep up with the season’s intensity, and how your body must be screaming for nutrients you’re not giving it. 

pica’s one thing, but the way it’s intertwining with your eating habits by skipping real food, and filling up on ice and chalk…it’s starting to look like something worse. 

the thought makes her chest ache. 

you’re her friend, her teammate, and she feels like she’s failed you by not noticing sooner.

“we need to keep an eye on her,” ingrid says finally, her voice firm but quiet. 

“alexia’s already on it, but she doesn’t know about the cravings. we should tell her…carefully. y/n’s not going to like it, but she needs help.” 

esmee nods, but there’s a heaviness in her expression.

upstairs in the breakfast lounge, alexia’s watching you like a hawk. she’s pushed a plate of scrambled eggs, avocado, and whole-grain toast in front of you, her arms crossed as she waits. 

“now let's eat,” she says, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. 

you poke at the eggs, your stomach churning…not from hunger, but from that stupid piece of chalk you ate last night, and the ice you crunched this morning. 

you force a few bites, each one feeling like a chore. 

alexia’s eyes soften slightly, but she doesn’t let up. 

“all of it, y/n. you’re not leaving for training until you do.”

you nod, swallowing hard, the food tasting like ash compared to the chalk’s gritty pull. 

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up. 

the lies, the cravings, the weakness dragging you down. 

esmee’s suspicion, ingrid’s worry, alexia’s insistence…they’re closing in, and you’re running out of places to hide.

you’re sitting in the breakfast lounge, the plate in front of you holding the remnants of a protein bar and a few egg bites. alexia’s been watching you like a hawk. you’ve managed to get through most of it, the food sitting heavy in your stomach, but it’s not what you want. 

the thin, brown paper napkin beside your plate is calling to you, its crinkly texture practically begging to be chewed. 

your fingers twitch, itching to tear off a piece, to feel it dissolve in your mouth. you know it’s not food, but your body… aka your iron-deficient, zinc-starved body…craves it like it’s the only thing that matters.

ingrid interrupts your thoughts, she walks into the room but stays by the door, her voice is casual but its clear she needs something. 

“alexia, i need you in the locker room for a sec,” she says, standing up and giving you a quick glance. 

alexia hesitates, her eyes flicking to your plate. 

she’s seen you eat enough to satisfy her for now with the protein bar, and the egg bites so she nods, pushing her chair back. 

“i’ll be right back, y/n,” she says, her tone light but with that edge that means she’s still keeping an eye on you. 

they leave, and you’re alone, the napkin staring you down.

you don’t hesitate long. your fingers snatch the napkin, tearing off a corner and slipping it into your mouth. the paper is rough at first, then softens as you chew, the faint woody taste soothing something deep inside you. 

it’s not enough, but it’s something, and you keep going, tearing another piece, then another, until half the napkin is gone. 

your heart’s racing but not from guilt, not yet. 

it is from the relief of giving in.

down in the locker room, ingrid doesn’t waste time. the second they’re out of earshot from you, she turns to alexia with her expression too serious for a woman like her. 

“it’s y/n,” ingrid says, “esmee told me something last night. when she and kika went to y/n’s place, she saw a box of edible chalk on the counter. y/n said it was a tiktok trend, but esmee looked it up since there’s no trend about that. it’s a pica disorder. people crave non-food things, like chalk, ice, paper. i’ve noticed her with ice, ale. she’s always chewing it, like it’s her meal and now she’s fainting, losing weight, looking weaker every day. i’m worried she’s not eating enough real food, that this is turning into something worse.”

alexia’s face hardens, her jaw tightening as ingrid’s words sink in. 

she thinks back to your pallor, your sluggishness, the way you’ve been dodging team meals. she’d suspected something was off, but this is bigger than she thought. 

“pica,” she repeats, the word unfamiliar, “and you think she’s… what, not eating? like an eating disorder?”

ingrid nods, her eyes troubled. 

“maybe. pica can be tied to deficiencies, like iron or zinc. if she’s filling up on chalk or ice instead of food, her body’s not getting what it needs. we need to get her to the doctor, ale. she’s not okay.”

ale doesn’t wait. 

she turns on her heel, striding back to the lounge, ingrid close behind. when they walk in, you’re mid-chew, the napkin in your mouth, and you freeze. alexia’s eyes zero in on the empty spot where the napkin used to be. 

she steps closer, her voice calm but firm. 

“y/n, where’s the napkin that was right here?” she asks, pointing to the table.

your heart lurches. 

“i, uh, spilled some water,” you say, the lie is clumsy, “used it to clean up and threw it away.” there’s still a piece of napkin in your mouth, and you want to try and swallow it discreetly, but alexia’s not buying it.

“spit it out,” she says, her voice soft but strict, “whatever’s in your mouth, y/n. now.”

your heart drops, a cold sweat prickling your skin. 

you want to argue, but her eyes are locked on you, and there’s no escaping it. slowly, you lean over the plate and spit out a wet, chewed-up ball of brown napkin. 

it lands with a soft thud, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

ingrid frowns, her expression a mix of worry and sadness. 

alexia sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“how long has this been going on?” alexia asks, her voice still gentle but with a weight that makes your chest ache. 

“the pica and the cravings, y/n. how long?”

you look down, your hands trembling in your lap. 

“most of my life,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, “it… it went away for a while. but it came back after the olympics. i don’t know why.”

ingrid steps closer, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. 

“we’re getting you to the team doctor,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument, “today.”

you nod, too tired to fight. the walk to the medical area feels endless, alexia and ingrid flanking you like protective older sisters. when you reach the doctor’s office, you hesitate, the thought of spilling everything overwhelming. 

“can… can you both stay?” you ask, your voice small. 

they nod, no questions asked, and you’re grateful for it.

the doctor, a kind-faced woman who’s seen you through sprains and injuries, listens as you explain. you tell her about the ice, the napkins, the chalk and how you’ve been craving them, how they fill a void food doesn’t. 

she asks when you last ate a full meal, and you freeze. 

you can’t remember. a protein bar here, a few bites of eggs there, but a real, complete meal? 

it’s been weeks, maybe longer. 

ingrid and alexia exchange a glance, their worry palpable.

the doctor has you step on the scale. the number flashes…eight pounds lighter than your last weigh-in a month ago. 

“that’s not healthy, y/n,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact but kind, “have you been taking your iron pills?”

your heart sinks, the realization hitting you so hard that a tear threatens to come out of your eye.. 

“i… forgot,” you admit, “after the olympics, i forgot the pills in my paris hotel room and forgot to buy more… i stopped.”

the doctor sighs, nodding as if she expected this. 

“pica is often linked to deficiencies, especially iron and zinc. without those supplements, your body’s craving things to compensate. but this—” she gestures to the scale, “this is affecting your health. you’re not getting the nutrients you need, and it’s showing.”

alexia and ingrid listen, their faces a mix of concern and determination. 

the doctor lays out a plan: the club will administer your iron and zinc pills before training or game days to ensure you take them. on vacation, you’ll set phone reminders to take them with breakfast. she emphasizes eating full, balanced meals like protein, fiber, all of the works.

sge suggests keeping ice as a “dessert�� since it’s hydrating and less harmful. 

“but no more chalk, no more napkins,” she says firmly, “those aren’t food, y/n. theres dyes in the napkins that can harm you and your body needs real fuel.”

back at your apartment five hours later, ingrid’s with you. she's not overbearing thankfully. she hands you a trash bag, her eyes gentle. 

“you know what to do,” she says. 

you nod, your throat tight, and pull the box of edible chalk from the cabinet. it’s half-empty, the pastel sticks mocking you. you toss it into the bag, the weight of it hitting the bottom with a thud. 

next, you find the two containers of cornstarch which was another pica favorite you’d stashed away and throw them in too. 

your hands shake, but ingrid’s there, her hand on your back, grounding you.

“you’re doing the right thing,” she says softly. 

you nod, but it doesn’t feel right. it feels like losing a piece of yourself, even if that piece was hurting you.

the first few weeks are brutal. 

the cravings did not stop just because the chalk and cornstarch are gone. you catch yourself staring at napkins during team meals, your fingers itching to tear them apart. the ice is easier since you can still have it. 

you do, crunching it after meals like a lifeline. but eating real food feels like a chore. the protein shakes, the grilled chicken, the vegetables…they taste bland compared to the gritty pull of chalk or the soft dissolve of paper. 

you force yourself to eat, plate after plate. alexia and ingrid, along with the other older adults like marta and irene, are watching. 

the doctor checks in weekly, because you know you can’t keep feeling weak on the pitch.

your body’s still recovering, your energy low from months of neglect. 

you’re slower, your passes less sharp, and it frustrates you. people start to notice and wonder if you’ve been okay lately. is your passion for football still there? some fans wonder.

alexia notices your frustration, pulling you aside after a session to remind you to be patient. 

“you’re rebuilding,” she says, her voice kind, “it’s not going to happen overnight.” you nod, but the frustration still lingers. it is a constant reminder of how far you’ve slipped.

ingrid starts checking in daily, sometimes showing up at your apartment with groceries, cooking meals with you to make it less daunting. 

she doesn’t push, but she’s there, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce. 

one night, as you’re eating a bowl of quinoa and salmon she made, you catch yourself reaching for a napkin but not to wipe your hands, but to chew. 

you stop, your hand freezing mid-air, and ingrid notices. 

she doesn’t say anything, just slides the napkin out of reach and hands you a glass of water with ice. 

“dessert,” she says with a small smile, and you laugh, the tension breaking.

the iron and zinc pills help a lot, but slowly. the club’s staff hands you your iron and zinc before training, and you take them without fail, the routine becoming a small victory. you set reminders on your phone for off-days, the chime a nagging but necessary thing. 

your energy starts to creep back. a month goes by and you’re the fastest player on the team again along with salma, and your dribbling is up to excellent standards again. it feels nice that your sprints are less labored now. 

at least you’re eating again, wel at least eating real and edible food. it’s still a fight every day, a battle against the part of you that still craves the wrong things. 

luckily, you have so much physical and mental support that beats the unfortunate craving.

masterlist

[meazalykov]

Lo'eau LaBonta beating Korbin Albert for a spot on the USWNT makes my little gay heart SO happy.

[meazalykov]

https://www.tumblr.com/meazalykov/784636105151725568/do-you-have-any-idea-who-writes-actively-and-also?source=share

Anyone else who sees this having any idea?? But girl I respect and accept but sometimes just watch their game and more importantly get to know Serra, Judit, Alba, these B girls who also plays and travels with A girls 💕 They need and deserve more knowing about them, Serra especially, LOVELY human, ik I said same about Sydney and Vicky & Martina before that, before whole world really got to know them, but she really is!!

aww!!!