#fc bayern women

[yeeterthek33per]

Meet you maybe never (Pernille Harder x Magdalena Eriksson x Reader)

A/n Sort of requested. This one's been in the to be done pile for a while, and I wasn't entirely sure about it, but I knew I wanted to write it. Hardersson need more love, and I will go to the grave saying this.

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, mild angst (really have to squint bc honestly), Artist R.

Part one in a new series of mine. Let me know how I went, guys.

Pernille's sigh of exhaustion holds a familiar weight in Magdalena's mind.

One that she shares greatly, considering she also shares the exact reason for it.

Moving is a pain in the ass.

However many boxes they'd carried up the stairs to their new shared Munich apartment remains to be seen, given that she didn't remember packing this many boxes.

The place has certainly been well maintained, and everything feels brand new too, so they were both very happy with the turnout.

In saying that, unpacking is going to be a nightmare.

Sure, it was a spacious place, and they have several other rooms to work with, but now with boxes in place, their concerns lie with furniture, only being left with a bare mattress and two camp chairs until they could get around to going furniture shopping.

Looking over from her position leant back against the wall, having set down the final box in the living room, she spots her girlfriend lying flat on her back on the cool floorboards, arm draped over her face dramatically.

An amused smile crosses her lips, and she chuckles, moving to sit cross-legged next to the blonde on the floor, hand patting her stomach.

"All good, Love?"

Pernille hums softly, although given the grimace on her face, it's more like a groan than anything.

"Perfect. Just perfect."

Magda holds back a laugh, letting her hand fall to rest on her girlfriend's arm, caressing the skin above where it had fallen to rest over her eyes.

"We'll get there, Love. It's not like you haven't done it before."

"And every single time, I'm reminded how painfully exhausting it is."

The defender simply chuckles, nodding her head as her hand migrates to the woman's hair, gently carding her fingers through the light blonde tresses.

Humming softly, she shifts to lay her head in the younger woman's lap, looking up at her with a small affectionate smile that's returned with a loving look in the swede's eyes.

"Hi."

She playfully taps the defender on the nose.

"Hi."

There's a soft giggle from the light blonde.

"Love you."

Magda's small smile turns into a bigger one as she moves her hand to cradle her face.

"Love you, too."

Maybe moving to Munich isn't all that bad.

--------------------------

"Magda, come look at this."

"One second love, this dining set would go pretty well with-"

She looks around her when she notices isn't beside her.

"Babe?"

She calls out.

"Come look."

She wanders over to where Pernille is pointing, a wall across the street visible through the furniture store's windows.

It's painted in varying stages of forest greens, baby blues, and over the top is a beautiful landscape of what they assume to be the German countryside.

A little cottage on a hill, in front of a rising morning sun, brilliant oranges, and reds contrasting the background greens and blues.

"That's gorgeous, we should go have a look later."

"Let's go look now."

"But we have to-"

Pernille's already out the door before Magda can stop her, leaving the swede to sigh softly and walk back out the door after her excited girlfriend.

The painting up close is intricate with little design details that you wouldn't find unless you looked up super close.

Little details, like the bricks on the little cottage, aren't actually solid bricks but aligned words like quiet, peace and home.

The sun is made up of faintly written words of bright, future, and Pernille tells Magda, the German word for Happiness.

It's feels so planned out and thought out, they spend a long time looking over each detail, feeling every line and ridge of paint on the wall.

A local actually stops to tell them about it when they ask.

It'd been there for a couple years, having no idea who'd painted it. It just appeared one day.

They decide they love the piece, snapping a photo of it to show to family and friends for later.

--------------------------

"Shit."

You barely feel the wall against your back in the cold.

Winter in Germany is not a fun time to be outside, and yet your stupid bored brain decided it needed to scratch an itch right now.

Waiting to be pick the perfect blank canvas, you had to duck behind a bricked off area while wearing your mask.

It covers most of your face bar a small gap for your eyes.

You hadn't exactly been subtle before and you'd already been photographed wearing it.

The last thing you needed right now was the press up your ass, or worse, the police.

Unfortunately, no matter where you are in the world, paparazzi are terrifyingly aggressive.

Quickly slipping away over another wall, you hop over a bin and find a blank, almost white wall, perfect height and size.

Assessing it for a second and checking for anu nearby vantage points that people could see you in and finding none in the low rise area.

You quickly drop your backpack, rifling through the old thing for your spray caps, and move to get to work.

It had come to you earlier and had been what had initially started the itch, said itch having been in the middle of a work meeting that you could not wait to get out of.

There would always be satisfaction in the way the lines matched up and swirled around others.

This time, though, it wasn't just a colourful background to look at.

You wanted to leave something on top of it, and you knew this one would take time.

Thankfully, you knew this area of buildings was mostly abandoned due to high levels of restructuring, so getting caught by locals wasn't an issue.

It was the occasional roaming tourist that gave you worry.

Pulling out a piece of charcoal, you use it to sketch out the baselines, not wanting to get ahead of yourself again, like you had last time when you spent far too long changing little mistakes made by using black paint first, leading to your biggest issue in the first place.

A public image to the mysterious artist of Munich.

Not something you need right now.

Sighing, you roll your head side to side, eyeing up the now line drawing in front of you

It looks pretty good.

It seems frustration helps you work better.

Unlike quite a few of the lackeys you know at work.

You roll your eyes at that.

Popping your achingly cold knuckles, you admire the lines for a moment longer.

This is one you want people to see, like many of your others, only more important.

It was a big thing for you, and you knew it would finally do something for the right people.

Now, just to fill it in and get the hell out of there.

--------------------------

Magdalena and Pernille get a welcoming party with the team.

The captain, Glódís, introduces herself to the pair.

They immediately find the woman incredibly welcoming from the get-go, a warm smile to pair with the kind words and introductions to the staff at the party.

"And finally, you've met him already, but, our beloved man in charge, Alex Straus."

Alex shakes both of their hands.

"Lovely seeing you ladies again, even if it's only been a couple of hours."

He pauses to chuckle softly and then gestures around him.

"I can only hope you're settling in well. The girls are eager to get started on the season with you both."

The nod from the Icelander confirms that with a small chuckle, herself, the lot of them pestering her about the team's newest signings, having to remain tight-lipped until they could meet them in person tonight.

She gestures over to the not-so-subtly excitedly waiting group of women in the room.

"Better go introduce yourselves. Otherwise, I fear they might have my head for hogging you both."

The couple giggle softly at that.

Pernille's the first to settle with the girls.

Having spent four years with Wolfsburg made it so she had to learn German if she wanted to keep up with the banter, so she's into the mix of things quite quickly.

Particularly with the international players who all find immediate common ground with someone who they've played against many times over the years, especially after the most recent World Cup.

Georgia tucks the Dane under her arm, officially claiming her already, and latches onto Magda not soon after, both of them attaching to the Englishwoman right away.

"Finally, after who knows how long of losing to these two at City, I get my transfer here and the find the next season, the ol' captain and striker who gave me so much strife playing against Chelsea, followed me here."

There's so good-natured ribbing, and Georgia pokes Magda in the ribs in particular.

"What, can't take a little Chelsea blue, Gee?"

Magda pushes back of course, competitive as she is.

"Pft, you and I both know Manchester Blue is the best blue."

The swede scoffs.

"You wish, Stanway."

"Nah, it's just facts, Eriksson."

The rest of the group giggles, knowing this fast friendship was going to be an entertaining one.

--------------------------

It seems it doesn't take long.

News of the artwork in Munich spreads like wildfire, catching the attention of your bosses almost immediately.

There was no way they would allow the media team to share this, considering the illegal nature of the piece, but they weren't displeased with it's sudden appearance, nor the traction it's gaining either.

It's a big thing for them.

It means more attention on the club, and it means more support from people because of how much they love the artwork.

That was an ego boost and a half.

Now, as you stare at the image on the projector board, you start doing what you always do and pick apart the piece.

Somethings not quite right with it, you think.

"Ms L/n, what do you think of this new development?"

Trying to appear as though you were paying attention, you look around at the other board members around you.

"I think it's the perfect opportunity for our latest news to gain attention. It certainly won't hurt that those players will gain attention, too."

Pausing to think for a moment before adding.

"Of course, there is always the risk of bad attention, especially from the press, but we can deal with that like we always do."

Another pause for a moment.

You glance over to the projector with the photo of the mural, rubbing your jawline softly, noting that something just felt off about the piece all of a sudden.

The eyes aren't right, there's not enough curve to the jaw.

You can't figure it out yet.

The itch returns for a moment before you continue, avoiding starting up too much on the itch.

"And with the good press, the club will gain more support from fans who will follow the players here, too. We should try and boost the promotion while we're at it. I'm aware the media team is doing the usual, but let's get in on the waves these two seem to be making while we're at it. Does anyone have any ideas?"

A woman further down the table pipes up.

"We can set up for some get to the know the players videos, have some meet and greets, send some of the veteran players with them over to a couple different plazas?"

A soft nod from you in agreement.

"Sounds good. We can let the media team handle the rest. Please. Stephen. Continue."

He nods before flipping to the next item on the agenda.

"Thank you, Director."

Nodding at the man, you turn back to your papers, scribbling small notations every so often, once again.

It seems the board aren't against it.

Good.

For now, you'd just have to encourage the publicity of the piece.

Not yourself.

--------------------------

With training beginning within a couple of days of moving to Germany, it doesn't take long for whispers of the piece to make it to the gossip in the changing room.

Magda and Pernille don't realise what it's about until they ask what all the fuss is.

Some of the younger girls had been fawning over a photo taken from a distance, the piece lit up perfectly under the early setting winter sun.

Catching the sight of it over the shoulder of one of them, they ask about the name attached to it.

Scrawled in the caption, something catches Pernille's eye, having some knowledge of written German.

'Straßengänger'

Streetwalker.

"Who's that?"

She directs the question towards the younger Dutch girl on the team, Jill Baijings.

"Eh, a popular street artist, though they aren't really known aside from the name. Their stuff is really good, though."

She holds the phone closer to the women.

"Have you seen this yet?"

Pernille looks closer at the image, brows raising in surprise, with a soft muttered 'oh'.

The red, blue and baby blue, apparently FC Bayern themed background, made the highly realistic greyscale portraits pop nicely.

It was a promotional image for them.

As in Magdalena and Pernille.

Words scribbled under the image read,

"Welcome to Munich, Magda and Pernille!"

The image itself is beautiful.

It's an image of their faces in what is most likely both stages of goal celebration, screaming with victory, eyes crinkled and wide smiles, paired together over the gorgeous pattern, highlighting it perfectly.

It almost doesn't look real in the photo. But it's still very awe-inspiring to see.

Fans always have the most talent when it came to art like that, and it never ceases to amaze them.

Magda peers over her shoulder beside her, letting her appreciation for the art be known with a low whistle.

"Honestly, you guys will have to see it in person, though. it's so much better when you can get up close to it. All of their artworks always are."

"What did you say the name was, again?"

"Straßengänger."

"What does that mean?"

It comes from Magda.

"Streetwalker. We don't actually know where the name came from, whether it was the artist themself or the locals but either way."

They both nod, humming thoughtfully.

Maybe they would have to check it out.

--------------------------

You know coming back is a bad idea, but you love the piece too much to not come back to it, knowing it would irk you to not get a better stance on anything that might need fixing, despite your best efforts to ignore the itch.

Of course, this time, without the mask on because that be even stupider.

Going back to the scene of the crime wearing exactly the attire that would incriminate you.

Standing back from a distance, you snap a photo under the settling sun in the cooling weather.

Something catches your attention off to the left, a pair walking down the sidewalk, well, more strolling slowly then anything.

Linked arm in arm and bundled far less than a lot of people would be for winter weather, they're wearing coats but braving the cold with thin material pants and shoes.

It's not that that catches your attention, though.

It's more your unabashedly gay side that notices them.

It seems you've caught the attention of your art's subjects.

Because here they are, noticing it finally, standing back admiring your work of them.

You quietly step away, but still close enough to hear the soft murmuring of them, being the only people on the street at this dying hour, you can hear them amongst the small breeze passing over the road.

They're definitely speaking Swedish because you can't make out what they're saying, only understanding the familiar lilt and tone of surprise in their words.

"Det är vackert."

"Varför oss?"

"Jag vet inte men det är fantastiskt."

You're about to walk away when Pernille walks closer to it, running her hand over the dried paint, her eyes moving over the piece slowly.

You notice she's tracing the underlying wording, realising she must have seen your art before to notice it that quickly.

As you keep a subtle eye on her, she's standing in the fading rays of sunlight, giving her a soft golden glow.

Her girlfriend moves to wrap her arms around her and it's then you see both of them a little differently to before you'd seen them in person.

They're absolutely beautiful, together and individually, and you realise you haven't captured that properly with your latest work.

It gives you another itch.

--------------------------

"You know, we have to meet this person."

Magdalena hums softly in agreement, hands running over Pernille's shoulders, staring up at the wall, eyes tracing the lines, the shading and the shape work, particular over the little footballs making up the swirls on the O in Welcome.

Her hand moves to her pupils in the portrait, paying attention to the way they're made up of shining stars.

The same with Magda's portrait.

There's a soft shuffle from behind them, and Magda's head swivels to look up at the source for a moment.

You're standing there, looking down at your phone, a soft smile on your face as you tap away at it.

She'd seen you standing there earlier already, taking photos, so she doesn't pay you much mind in the end, and you turn and walk away, putting the phone to your ear.

Although, there is mild niggle of curiosity, she brushes it off.

You're probably just another tourist looking at the piece.

"Come on, we have to head back soon or we'll start freezing out here."

"Few more minutes, Magda... Where's all those Swedish genes gone huh?"

Pernille teases the taller woman, poking her in the cheek.

Magda rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny, babe."

Pernille chuckles, leaning back into the Swede.

She was right, though.

She had to find whoever did this.

The curiosity was getting to Magda, too.

Why them?

Of any of the influential people in Munich.

Or just any of the women's players.

Why them?

She has so many questions.

--------------------------

"And last but certainly not least, welcome to our newest signings, Magdalena and Pernille. Thank you for joining us and we hope you enjoy your stay here at FC Bayern."

The FC Bayern committee room erupts with a small applause from the players and board members before them who were all called in for a club wide meeting, even receiving a small whoop from Georgia in the back that makes the players around her either chuckle or roll their eyes at her.

"Now, handing off to our creative director."

"Danke, Herbert."

Stepping up onto the podium, the person immediately catches Magda's attention.

It's you.

The woman from the other day in town, at the wall.

There you are, climbing the steps up to the podium, black blazer jacket and blue jeans, half tucked with a white button up and a FC Bayern logo embroidered on the jacket pocket.

Pernille notices it, too.

"Now, I know this probably going to be the boring part but I'll try and keep it simple and just go over what our plan is for the next few months."

Looking out over the group, you keep your best public smile on.

"Don't worry, you don't have to remember any of this, as you'll be reminded as each one comes up so we don't miss anybody."

As you start to list off each of the latest marketing events and programs, your eyes shift over the players in their seats, despite the usually tired response at your while lilted, droning about the business side of things, you make eye contact with a very vigilant looking certain pair.

Your eyes crinkle mildly as you fight off too much of wide smile.

"There's a few meet and greets we want to go ahead with before the start of the season, including our newest signings, men and women, we'll send the details to those involved later."

You pause for a moment, eyeing up the latest of the new men and women in the crowd, placing back on the Scandi couple for a second before drifting and continuing.

"And, finally, we have an unfortunately mandatory promotional event on the third of October. It is also a black-tie event, so even me, who as many of you know already, shows up to everything wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, will have to dress up, please do the same. Thank you for listening everyone."

"Thank you, Director."

Taking a seat back with the crowd, it's almost like you can feel a pair of eyes on the back of your head.

You don't turn to face them, though, already knowing exactly who it is.

After the meeting is adjourned, you stand and ready to leave back to your office when a body stands in front of you.

A familiar tall Swede.

"Hey, I don't believe we've met properly."

"I'm Y/n L/n, creative director here at FC Bayern München."

"Magdalena Eriksson, although you already know that, it seems."

You smile, nodding and extending a hand out to her.

She shakes with a warm but firm grip, leaving the skin tingling a little.

She really is much more beautiful in person.

"It's lovely meeting you, Magdalena-"

"Call me Magda, feels a bit much for a full name, now."

"Lovely meeting you, Magda."

Letting go of her hand, you bid her as polite a goodbye as you can give, knowing any longer and you'd gay panic yourself into a problem, you make your way towards the door.

As you shift through the small crowd of players, nodding and smiling in acknowledgement to those who do know you or have met you, you exit the room swiftly, heart mildly racing.

You'd seen the look of recognition in her eyes, not from knowing who you are at Bayern, but perhaps somewhere else.

You aren't risking it.

--------------------------

First and second training with the team went as smoothly as it could for any new team members.

However, their third is a little less cathartic.

Having to do extra medical assessments and fitness testing before being able to join the team, everything had been hurting that day.

They arrive home to their shared apartment almost completely worn down from the session.

At home, in their new apartment, finally furnished, for the most part, they both agree to get an early night's rest.

Annoyingly though, they can't seem to find it in them to sit still and toss and turn for the next hour or so, both of them in agreement they weren't sleeping right now.

They head out for another stroll through the quieter parts of the city, instead, taking a bus out there for the first ten minutes or so.

Hand in hand, they stroll down the quiet village-esque side of Munich, just breathing in the cool air, occasionally stopping to admire the rustic, olden style.

It's in the really silent part of town that they notice something.

The distinct sound of... a rattling can?

A spray can to be exact.

Pernille nods in the direction of a small alley, Magda initially shaking her head no, not sure if they should really confront someone who could be possibly dangerous or someone associated with the law.

Of course, the Dane sneaks over anyway to peek into the alley.

There, a figure stands with their back to them, hand wrapped around a baby blue can of spray paint.

The painting looks halfway done.

It's a portrait.

Of Pernille.

The woman's eyebrows just about fall off her face at the surprise and she turns back to her girlfriend who's waiting anxiously, looking about three seconds from dragging Pernille to the next taxi back to their apartment.

She gestures quietly to whisper to her over the cold wind howling through the gaps in the buildings.

"It's that artist."

"I figured, but we really shouldn't be associating with them. C'mon, we have to leave."

"Magda, c'mon, this is our chance to meet the person behind that mural."

A bit of back and forth before Pernille peeks her head around the corner to look, again.

This time, though, the person is bent down, rifling through their backpack, and a spray cap.

When Pernille turns back to a now very concerned Magda, she whispers in her ear.

"Just another minute. Just have a look at least."

The Swede very reluctantly agrees, looking for herself.

Concern is the first thing to pop into her mind.

This one is just of Pernille, accentuating the woman's eye colour and bright smile.

Is the artist, infatuated?

A million thoughts an hour as she watches the smooth, almost mesmerising way their hands trace lines and fill gaps.

When you pull out a paint marker to start with smaller details, she turns back to her girlfriend.

"Are they obsessed with us or something? This feels a little weird at this point."

Pernille frowns, almost shaking her head to disagree.

As the woman's about to answer, there's suddenly some shuffling, almost unnoticeable jingling of zippers and a body sat up on a short wall on the other side of the walkway, bag back on their shoulders once more.

"Actually, I'd say it's more an appreciation for a pair of legends in Munich."

They both startle heavily, Magda going into protective mode, arm around Pernille, pulling herself in front of the woman fully.

--------------------------

The pair of them peeking on you were about as subtle as a whistle among bells.

Figuring you'd have to finish it later, you pack up swiftly, ensuring your mask sits on your face correctly before sneaking out of the alleyway to sit up on a wall above them.

After a not-so-much needed scare, you raise your hands in a surrender gesture.

"I won't hurt you. I just figured I should say hello personally since you're both here and all."

Magda looks nervous, and you can see the curiosity in Pernille's eyes from where you're casually seated.

"Although, I do suggest not sticking around. It's going to be a PR nightmare for the three of us if you're seen with the Straßengänger."

You punctuate the nickname with air quotes.

As you're about to jump up to climb onto the rook and make a swift disappearance of yourself, you hear one of them yell out to you.

Hesitating, you turn back to the pair.

"Why us?"

Pernille's brilliant grey-blue eyes look up at you, a radiance of dying curiosity in them as she holds her girlfriend's hand to calm the woman.

You stop for a moment before shrugging.

"A pair of beautiful women in the biggest sport and uprising for women. Why not you?"

It's there Magda gets a unrecognisable look on her face and you decide to leave it there.

With that, you scramble up onto the building, annoyed with yourself for having dragged ALL of your gear with you and also for leaving a half finished work behind.

A day or so later.

Luckily for you, no one else seems to stumble upon your work just yet, and with much scouting and caution, you find yourself back in that alley finishing what you started.

Making sure to adjust the shine in the subject's eyes to fit exactly how they shone up at you the day previously.

This time, the representation of the Danish captain seemed far closer to the spectacle she is in real life.

You're pleased with yourself for this one.

And it's scratched half the itch you'd had days prior.

Now for the other half.

--------------------------

After their sudden meeting with the Straßengänger, Magda and Pernille are left with more questions than answers.

They both agree to just return home for the night, knowing it's a question for another day when they aren't in the middle of an already chaotic media storm.

After that, they get swept up in everything Bayern and put everything about the artist to the back of their minds.

Their first match is approaching fast and Alex already has Pernille in the starting lineup, so she gets distracted in preparation for that, finding herself busy studying the formation and technique of an entirely new team.

So much so, that she almost... almost forgets about the mural maker.

Although...

There's just one question that bugs Pernille constantly, despite her best efforts to focus fully on their new path in Germany.

Magdalena feels much the same.

"Who are you, really, Straßengänger?"

--------------------------

[helen-with-an-a]

Something About Finals pt 2

Hiya. So this is Part 2 of Something About Finals. This was originally all 1 story but then it was almost 10K so oops. Anyways, have 2 stories ahahah

shout out to @lyak12 for fixing my google translated German

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: R and Finals do not get along

Word Count: 6.3k

also these pictures are doing something to me

And then you were off to the World Cup.

You were shocked to receive the phone call that informed you, you had made the final squad. Lena wasn’t though, she had seen the hours of work that you had put in, the dedication, the effort, the blood, sweat and tears. You had kissed her goodbye much like you had done before the Euros, reassuring each other that no matter what, you were there, and you loved the other with all your heart. You weren’t able to watch many of her matches since you often had some form of training or your own matches that got in the way. But you always had the score notifications on. England sailed through the group stages with comparative ease … well definitely easier than Germany had. You had flicked on the final seconds of her match to see Lena sink to her knees. You heart broke for her, a lump forming in your throat as you saw the love of your life look so devastated. You sent her a quick text asking her to call you when she had a moment and reaffirming your love.

“Hey, bubba,” you said softly as her facetime call connected.

“Hi, liebling.” You had never heard her sound so … down. Even after losing the Champions League and the Euros, there was still a little life to her voice. But not now. Now, she sounded so low, so unlike your usual Lena.

“It’s not your fault, you know that, right?” You cut straight to the point. You knew what would be going through her mind. She wouldn’t make eye contact with you through the phone. “Obi, my love. Das ist nicht deine Schuld.” You said emphatically.

“But, if I had just-” She started, trying to prove to you that it really was her fault

“Lena Sophie Oberdorf,” you snapped. “I will not hear it. Das ist nicht. Deine. Schuld.” She nodded but you could tell she didn’t believe you. You carried the rest of the phone call, telling her about the silly in-camp gossip and drama, nearly pulling out a whole stand up show to get her to laugh, or at least smile again. You had ended the conversation as the clock flashed 12, probably a bit too late for you to be up but you wanted to keep talking for as long as possible.

“Bubba, I need to go to sleep,” you said as you went about your night routine, grateful that FIFA had splurged on giving you your own rooms for the tournament.

“Don’t go,” she whined, equally as tired but just as unwilling to hang up the phone.

“Ok, honey. How about I stay on the phone until you fall asleep, yeh?” You could see her perk up slightly, despite the dark circles under her eyes that told you she was not getting enough sleep in the past few weeks. You waited until you heard her breaths even out, her phone in a similar position to you resting against the pillow. You smiled softly, wishing her sweet dreams as you hung up the phone. You sent two texts before you snuggled down to sleep yourself. One to Lena for her to see in the morning, telling her how proud you were of her and how much you loved her. The other was to Alex, sending her the biggest hugs and asking her to keep an eye on Lena for you until you could make it back to her.

The World Cup was a rollercoaster of emotions. But now you were in the final. Just like the Euro final, there was an aura of nervous calm across the England changing rooms … if that was even the best way to describe it. Everyone was doing their pre-match rituals and routine, getting themselves in the right headspace to step foot on the pitch. But there was a nervousness in the air, the anticipation of finally gaining that star above the badge.

Everything was not going to plan. You were still 1-0 down with just 5 minutes left of regular time. Hermoso had the ball as you crowded her out, pressing yourself against her to toe the ball away from her. You had succeeded too, letting Kiera tap it over to Georgia to start another press. You had the weirdest sense of Déjà vu as you turned around, separating yourself from the Spanish defender and moving into the open space. You gasped as you twisted, something popping in your right knee. The familiar pain radiated down your shin and up your thigh causing you to scream as you collapsed to the floor.

No, no, no. Not again. This could not be happening again.

“Kid, what’s wrong?” It was Lucy who appeared by your side first, exactly like the last time.

“Not again.” You whimpered, letting out a sob as you hit your fist on the grass, trying to push the pain away.

“Is it your knee?” Millie asked. This was all too similar to last time and it made you cry even harder. You couldn’t tell if you were nodding or not, but Millie just scratched your head. Just like last time. “It’s ok, honey. The medics are coming.” She patted your hand as you clutched at it. You groaned and whimpered as the medics moved you around, never letting go of Millie and staring straight at Lucy, the layer of tears making it hard to see properly.

Just like last time, the hideous orange stretcher lifted you away as you were clapped off the pitch. Just like last time, you were carried into the medical room and placed on the awaiting bed.

“Kid?” A voice called out as they ran down the corridor. Someone must have pointed whoever it was in the right direction as the next moment, a very flustered and out of breath Leah appeared, phone gripped in one hand. “Yeh, I’m with her now," she directed to whoever was on the phone. “Honey, I’ve got Lena on the phone," she said as she came to your side. You nodded, wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

“Hey, liebling.”

“H-hi.” It set you off on another round of tears, Leah drawing you into her.

“Oh, liebe. It’s ok.” Lena said so gently as she tried to fight her own tears.

She was sitting on the couch in your flat back in Wolfsburg watching the final with most of the team. The disappointment she felt when the ball bounced past Mary’s fingers was nothing compared to the fear she felt as you went to the floor. Not again. Please don’t let this happen again. She thanked the lucky stars she had the forethought years ago to ask for a few of your national friends phone numbers in case she needed to get a hold of you but couldn’t during international breaks. She had just pulled out her phone when Leah’s contact flashed on her screen. She accepted it before she really knew what was happening.

“I’m going down to see her now,” is what Leah had said as soon as the call went through. Alex had rubbed comforting circles on Lena’s back as Jule held tightly onto her open hand.

“Let me switch to facetime,” Leah said, gently taking the phone off you and pressing the right buttons. Lena’s concerned face popped up, taking in Leah’s frazzled expression and your hair pressed against her shoulder, hiding your face from the world. “C’mon, honey.” Leah coaxed you out from her neck, handing you her phone and moving to step away.

“Stay.” You croaked, clutching onto Leah like a lifeline. She nodded, moving her arms to support you as you rested your head back on her shoulder.

“Hallo, liebling.” Lena started again, moving off the sofa and into your bedroom, the soft expression of love visible on her features. “It is your knee?” You sniffed, nodding at her words. She hadn’t seen you look this small, this unsure … ever, she doesn’t think.

“I don’t think I can do this again,” you whispered. Leah knew you were talking to Lena, but she couldn’t help but squeeze you even tighter at your words, her heart breaking. Only you and Lena knew of the extent of your bad days. The days that getting out of bed seemed like too much effort and all you wanted to do was sleep and embrace the darkness. The days were all you could do was silently cry, gripping onto Lena so tightly your knuckles had turned white, and your fingers had started to cramp.

“Das kannst du, liebling. Das kannst du auf jeden Fall. Erinnerst du dich, an das, was ich nach dem EM-Finale gesagt habe? Du schaffst das, und ich gehe nirgendwo hin, du nusst das nicht alleine schaffen.”

“It hurts, bubba.”

“I know, liebe. I know.” Lena implored, Leah squeezing you again at you words. “Aber, du bist so, so stark. Du kannst das.” You shook your head, letting the tears roll steadily down your cheeks. “Ich liebe dich so sehr.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your lashes wet and face red. Did she really mean that? How could she love you after all you had put her through in the past year? Why would she want to stay with you after the nightmare you had been? And now, you were going to put her through it all again. You had clearly disappeared into your mind, certainly enough for Lena to notice. You eyes had unfocused, a faraway look on your face as the thoughts spiralled out of control. You couldn’t do this again. The last time was almost too much to bear. This time … you couldn’t let yourself lean on Lena like you did … she wouldn’t want you to. Why would anyone want a washed-up 21-year-old footballer as their girlfriend? Why would someone want a partner who struggled to keep the bad thoughts at bay? Your breathing had slowed down, the breaths coming far fewer than necessary.

“Hey, hey. Komm zu mir zurück.” Lena called out, catching Leah’s eye in the camera, and exchanging worried looks. Leah shook you gently when you made no effort to acknowledge what Lena had said. You jumped slightly, clearly coming back to the room around you.

“Ich denke … I think … ich denke das könnte mich kaputt machen.” You whispered, sounding so scared of what the future might hold. It was easier to say in your second language. It made it less real.

“Dann werde ich da sein, um dich wieder aufzubauen.” Lena promised. “We all will be.” You looked at her unsurely. How could she promise that? “I know what you’re thinking … stop it.” You looked away sheepishly, turning into Leah more. “I love you more than you will ever, ever understand,” Lena said emphatically, willing you to feel her love even though you were more than 10,000 miles away. She wanted nothing more than to be there in person. She should have stayed in Australia. She should have been at the final, cheering you on. She should have been in that small medical room, letting you cry into her chest.

A throat cleared from the door, a man in the England medical staff shirt sheepishly stuck his head through the gap.

“I’m sorry, duck. But we gotta run some more tests and stuff. Get you strapped up and whatnot.” His broad Yorkshire accent echoed in the small space. You nodded, looking up at Leah, then back to her phone.

“We’ll just be a minute,” Leah smiled at him. He frowned then realisation dawned on him. He smiled at you and shut the door.

“Bubba, I’ve got to go.” You said shyly.

“Ok, liebling. Stay safe, ja?” She smiled; even through the pixels, you could tell it wasn’t meeting her eyes all the way.

“Stets,” you replied automatically. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Ich liebe dich auch.”

“Don’t worry, Lena. She’s in safe hands until we can get her back to Germany,” Leah smiled, rubbing her hands up and down your arms and winking into the camera.

“She better be, Williamson. If she doesn’t make it home to me in one piece, England will never get their captain back.” She faux-threatened, grateful to see the small smile gracing you lips.

The flight back to Germany was nothing like the flight home from the Euros. Instead of Lena guiding you through the airport, sending intimidating glares at anyone in your path, you had Leah and Jill. Leah was absolutely useless. You gave her a little bit of grace considering she was still very much recovering from her own ACL injury but still, she was completely unhelpful and very much not the safe hands that she had promised Lena. Jill was … less useless. She at least took the initiative to wheel your suitcases along for you and helped guide you through to the right gate. But she was a horrible flyer. She was nervous and that led to the constant need to fidget. When she eventually fell asleep, it had been on your shoulder, pinning you in place for the majority of the flight which did not help you swollen knee. You had never been more grateful to hear the Captain announce your descent into Braunschweig airport. You were so thankful that Leah and Jill had diverted their flights to Wolfsburg for you instead of flying straight to Gatwick, but you couldn’t help the desire for them to, in the nicest way possible, fuck off. They were constantly bothering you; they were always checking if you needed anything or wanted something. You knew they meant well, and you were so, so appreciative of their efforts but it was very irritating when all you wanted to do was sleep away the flights and layovers.

Seeing Lena at the arrivals gate was like a breath of fresh air, like breaking the surface of a pool after being under for too long, like stepping into an air-conditioned room on a hot summers day.

“Hey, liebling.”

“Hi, bubba.” You crutched your way into her embrace, her warm, soft, strong arms cementing themselves around your shoulders as you buried your nose in her hoodie, taking deep breaths of your favourite smell, letting the scent seep into your bones and ease your aching muscles.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to ours? We’ve got a pull-out couch and an air mattress.” She asked over your shoulder to Leah and Jill.

“Nah, it’s all good mate. We’ve got flights and stuff tomorrow so we’re just staying at the hotel here.” Leah explained. You lifted your head out of your hiding place and extending one arm towards Leah. She took you hand, and you squeezed tightly.

“Thank you.” You said to her, sending a tired smile her way. She smiled back.

“Of course, kid. You know I’d do anything for you, we all would.”

“Stay safe, yeh? Have lots of rest and drink plenty of water.” Jill reminded you, taking your hand from Leah and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Yes, mum.” You teased lightly, although Lena knew it was only a façade, an attempt to prove you were fine.

“Love you lots, kiddo.”

“Love you too, guys.” You watched them both walk away before turning back to Lena, never once leaving her embrace.

“Willkommen zu Hause, superstar,” Lena whispered in your ear, smiling as your arms tightened around her waist. “Let’s get you home, liebling.”

“Just … wait. Let me stay here for a minute.” You refused to loosen your grip. You took deep steady breaths that Lena could tell was your attempt at pushing away the darkness.

Eventually, you did make it home, Lena’s hand on your thigh the entire time. The movement of the car, Lena’s soft hum as she sang alone to the radio, the comforting smell … all of it was too much. As you entered your flat, you couldn’t help but let the tears flow. You had been doing that a lot recently. Your knee was hot and sore, the brace was itchy and ugly, Lena was too kind and comforting, you were tired and angry and scared and sad, and it was all too much.

“Liebe?” Lena asked as she came back from the bedroom. She rushed over to where you stood, in the middle of the tiny living room hysterically sobbing. “Oh, liebling.” She didn’t promise you it was all ok, that you were fine and that things would work out in the end. She knew that was not what you wanted to hear. “Es kann sein, dass es dir im Moment nicht gut geht,” she said as she pulled you to her, letting your tears soak her collar. “I can be ok for the both of us, right now,” she vowed. “I’m not going anywhere. You are safe. You are loved.”

You didn’t know how long you stood in the middle of your tiny flat with Lena whispering sweet nothings in your ear, but you did end up in bed, your leg elevated and iced and your girlfriend curling herself around you.

“I’m scared, bubba. Really, really scared,” you whispered into the darkness, long after you should have gone to sleep.

“And that’s ok, liebling. It’s ok to be scared. What happened was really scary, especially so close to last time.” She whispered back, her fingers drawing shapes on the exposed skin of your waist. Only 385 days in between tearing your left ACL and snapping your right one. 1 year and 20 days. 55 weeks. 9240 hours. 554,400 minutes. 33,264,000 seconds. “I love you. And I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

The next year of your life was the hardest you had ever done. Every time the shadows threatened to overwhelm you, to engulf your entire being and never let you back into the light, Lena was there. She didn’t even realise most of the time. The first few days after returning from Australia was tough but manageable. You had cried some more … a lot more, especially after you shut the door behind Jule and Sveindís as they left your home. It was controllable up until Lena had to go back to preseason training. She had delayed it as long as she could, the club had allowed her a few days to help you resettle into your routine. When her alarm chimed at 8 am that Monday morning, you knew it was going to a rough one. The tiredness, the ache that had settled deep within your soul felt extra heavy. Lena had been reluctant to leave you, and you had wanted her to stay so, so desperately but you slapped on a brave face and watched her from underneath your mound of blankets on the couch as she went about her morning routine. Bathroom. Shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Bathroom again. Out the door. It was a routine the two of you had mastered years ago had hardly ever deviated, yet here you were – catching the kisses she blew your way as she left for the day.

You had tried really hard to keep the darkness away, and you had almost … almost achieved it. It wasn’t until one late afternoon, a week or so before the regular season began, when you had tried to make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and had splashed boiling water of the side of the cup and dropped the mug that everything came to a head.

You were angry, and frightened, and unsure, and in so much pain. You screamed. It hurt your throat, but you didn’t care. You yelled, cursing the universe for doing this to you. It was pure emotion that bubbled up inside. You tugged at your hair, you scratched deep red lines across your stomach, rubbed harshly at your eyes. Anything … anything to make these feelings disappear. You didn’t even realise Lena had come home. She knew you hadn’t been doing well. The physio had pulled her aside after your session to ask for help. Every member of the team, staff and players alike, had recognised your slow descent into the blackness. It wasn’t like the previous time. You had been optimistic last time, excited to be reaching your milestones and goals. But this time it was a struggle to get you into the training centre, let alone the gym and to do any exercises. You weren’t yourself and it was painfully obvious that something was wrong.

She rushed to your side, dropping her bags carelessly on her way over.

“Ok, ok,” she shushed you, wrapping her arms tightly around you to stop yourself from hurting you even more. You struggled at first, out of shock or anger neither one of you was really sure. But you slowly started to calm down. Her body ground you, the warmth at you back providing an anchor to cling to. She rocked you gently from side to side, mindful of your knee but knowing the action soothed you. She stayed silent until you leant heavily against her, most of your weight now being held by her.

“I need help.” It was all you could say. This was no way to live, and you knew that. That’s what made it worse for you was that you knew you weren’t ok; you knew you needed some serious assistance and had been needing it for quite a while. She hummed in agreement, thankful that you could recognise how bad it was.

“We can talk about it later. But first a shower, and then snuggles in bed.” There was no room for argument, not when she was already guiding you to the bathroom. The shower was hot and steamy as Lena cleaned your skin with her body wash, littering kisses as the water washed the suds away. She massaged your head as she worked the shampoo and conditioner through your hair, taking care to untangle the knots. She worked your moisturiser across your body, taking time to go through your neglected skincare regime and pull the softest t-shirt she owned over your head. She took your hand as she guided you to the bedroom, picking up your brush and hairdryer on the way to the vanity. She was so gentle as she dried your hair, braiding it back for you once it was dried. She settled you against the pillows before she slipped in beside you, resting her head against your collarbone and throwing a leg across your waist.

“I’m sorry.” You stared at the ceiling trying very hard not to cry, instead letting your fingers card through the brown strands of hair that were loose down her back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she argued softly, squeezing you as she made her point

“Yes, I have. I’ve been a shite girlfriend.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been going through some real shit.”

“But,”

“Nein. Ich werde es nicht hören,” she refused, drawing shapes on your arm. “You have been through hell and back, yet you always ask about my day. You always stand next to me when I make dinner. You always hold me at night. You always let me choose what to watch on TV, even if you don’t like it. It might be a little dark for you right now, but I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. I told you I was in this for as long as you want me, remember?”

“Of course, I do.” How could you forget your unconventional way of getting together?

“And do you still want me?” she asked.

“Of course, I do.” You repeated, kind of shocked that she would ask such a thing. “I want you forever.”

“Then you have me forever. I’m not going anywhere, and it’s time you started realising that.” You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry for a totally different reason.

“You are perfect, Lena Oberdorf.”

“You are perfect, Y/F/N Y/S/N.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I think I need to talk to a professional, like go to therapy or something.” You said a little while later. Neither of you had moved, just soaking up each other’s presence.

“I think that a very smart idea,” she answered, choosing her words carefully. “Do you want it to be with the club or completely separate?”

“I don’t know,” you worried. You hadn’t really got that far in your thinking, you only recognised that you needed the professional intervention.

“That’s ok,” she reassured you. “The club can recommend someone, like a ... Sportpsychologe, or you can go to the doctors and sort something out by yourself.”

“Would … would you come with me to talk to the club doctors?” You asked. It was silly really, she spent almost every waking hour reminding you that she was by your side.

“Natürlich. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else … unless you want to be alone,” she rushed.

“No, no. I want you there. You keep the bad thoughts away.” You had never told her that, you were sure she knew it in some way.

The next morning, you felt lighter, the ache in your body not as pronounced as previous days. Lena walked with you to the medics office, standing like a silent lighthouse to guide you through the choppy waters. She kissed you softly as you parted for training, her going out with the rest of the team as you went to the gym. It was a sudden change; it wasn’t like a switch had been flicked and suddenly you were all better. But with every passing training session and talk with the therapist, you stood slightly taller, you no longer looked at the weights with distain, you huffed at jokes and eventually started laughing again. You still had your dark days, but things were slowly looking up. The storm was clearing for you, the path more clear with every little success. Walking on one crutch. Walking with no crutches. Weighted exercises. Running on the treadmill with assistance. Running on the treadmill without assistance. Progress was slow, much slower than last time, but it was happening, nonetheless.

The biggest factor in your progress came from an unexpected source. Lena had been approached by her agent in November about an offer from Bayern. The two of you had talked it through at length and came to the conclusion that she should go for it. You had lamented over the idea of long distance, but you knew your love was one for the ages. If Lena could put up with you during the dark days (although she hated when described it as putting up with you. It had been the spark of a few arguments), you knew you could last the time. You still had a year left on your contract for you to be going on a free, so you also reached out to your agent to tell him to start the process of looking at a potential move. It was then that he said an email had come through from another team in Germany looking to sign you. You had questioned the legitimacy; how could a club want to sign you when you had so little playing time? You cried when the forwarded email arrived in your inbox. Bayern wanted you too. The email explained that they were willing to spend the necessary money to get both you and Lena on their team, recognising the undeniable chemistry you had. It was true; almost every goal Lena scored when you were on the pitch, you had been involved in. It was a no brainer – you were phoning the agency back to accept the deal before you even spoke to Lena. You kept it under lock and key for about 2 weeks, making sure your surprise was perfect.

“Liebling?” Lena shouted as she walked through the door, confused as to your location. Normally, when you were home before she was, you were either making a start on dinner or on the couch – both of which were visible from the entryway.

“Nur eine Minute,” you shouted, voice coming from the closed bedroom door. “Sit on the sofa please, I have something to show you.” Lena did what she was told, highly puzzled by your behaviour. Was she missing some important date? She quickly ran through the key ones in her mind, your birthday? No, her birthday? No, that was in December, your anniversary? No, that was in between Christmas and New Year's. Valentines Day? No, it was only mid-January. In all her worrying, she had missed you walking out of the bedroom. You waited for her to notice you and when that was not forthcoming, you nudged her gently with your foot. She jumped slightly, looking up at you. She drank in your smooth bare legs, blinking in surprise and smirking appreciatively when she realised that you only had on a shirt, your hair fluffed up and makeup done to perfection.

“What’s all this?” she asked, reaching out to hold your hips. You stepped back, chuckling at her pout.

“Look at my shirt, bubba,” you nodded down at your chest, hoping she would catch the logo. As she scanned up the red fabric, she began to recognise the material, the infamous Allianz logo splattered across your torso had the gears turning in her head. Finally, she made eye contact with the Bayern logo.

“Ein Bayern-Trikot?” You span around, showing her your back – although she was more focussed on your exposed arse than whose name was on it. “I am loving the view, liebe,” she teased.

“No, dipshit. Whose name is on the back?” She reluctantly broke her stare and scanned the writing.

“Y/S/N? Liebling, I don’t think Wolfsburg will like you wearing a personalised Bayern shirt.” God, she could be dense at times.

“No, bubs,” you sighed, turning back to face her and shoving lightly on her shoulders. She shuffled back on the couch, allowing you to straddle her lap. Her hands automatically went to your waist, although the confused expression still lingered on her features.

“You can be so thick sometimes, Obi,” you laughed at her offended squawk. “I got an email from my agent a few weeks ago,” you explained, pulling her hair out her ponytail. “I’ve got an offer,” you hinted, playing with the ends of her now-loose strands. You raised an eyebrow, looking from her to the logo on your shirt and back again.

“B-Bayern?” She whispered, trying to keep the hope and excitement at bay.

“Bayern,” you nodded, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“Scheisse … oh, mein Gott. Oh, mein Gott!” She launched her body forward, slamming you into a hug. “You’re going to Bayern?” She asked, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“We’re going to Bayern,” you corrected, drawing her head away from your collarbone.

“Ich liebe dich,” Her eyes flitted between yours and your lips.

“I love you,” you drew her to you, relishing in the quite hum she let out.

It took until the spring for you to start training with the team again. Lena had been with you the whole time. If you thought she was excited the first-time round, she was on cloud 9 this time. She had been buzzing with energy when you told her you were to go out on the grass again. You could see her practically vibrating with joy as you slipped on your underused boots again. She had bounded over to you, chatting away and generally irritating everyone, but her energy was infectious. Running again after so long was … words could not describe the feeling.

Slowly but surely, you were returning back to your old self. You and Tommy had sat down with the medical team discuss your return to match squad. You were performing well at training and things were looking up. You felt ready for the ‘less important’ matches. With the league mathematically won by Bayern with 2 match days to spare, Wolfsburg were more willing to let you return sooner rather than later. But with the Pokal final being the only chance at silverware, the management was reluctant to even sub you in. And honestly, you weren’t sure you were ready for a final just yet. The last three finals you had played in, the Euros, the Champions League, and the World Cup, had not gone your way, two of them being the worst games of your life. You agreed to be on the bench as an unused sub, you knew you had to start getting over the phobia and figured this would be a good way to start – just being in the atmosphere of a final with no pressure to play or perform. You could do that.

You stuck to your old match day routine, the known comforts helping to calm your nerves. It all started with the pitch inspection with Lena, hands brushing together as you walked too close to just be friends, although you had quickly darted over to see Georgia.

“Are you playing?” Georgia asked.

“What? No, oh my god, hi, I haven’t seen you in so long?” you teased, hugging her tightly.

“Hi,” she said bluntly, “are you playing?” squeezing you back just as tightly.

“No,” you shook your head. “Apparently, I’m to view this as a form of exposure therapy.” She looked at you quizzically. “Doing your ACL twice, both of which in a final, kinda fucks with your head,” you joked. She nodded solemnly. “Also, I have some news,” you added. “But you better keep your bloody mouth shut though, Stanway,” you pointed a finger at her. “No telling Leah or Kei or Luce or anyone else until at least the end of the season,” you threatened.

“Alright, alright, what’s the big news then, if it’s so top secret?”

“I got an offer, I’m leaving Wolfsburg.”

“Oh, my god. Where to?” She squealed. You had voiced your concerns to her over the phone about staying in Wolfsburg without Lena.

“Um …” you took a deep breath. “Bayern,” you said confidently. She paused, her mouth open slightly.

“You’re moving to Bayern?” She screeched.

“Lock and key, Stanway,” you emphasised but nodding and smiling anyway. You looked over your shoulder when you heard Lena call your name. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you soon, yeah?” You hugged her again.

“Love you lots and lots,” she said, shaking you jokingly.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, hope you play like shite,” you jested, laughing as she flipped you off.

The final was going well, you remained calm and collected. Lena had brushed your hair into your usual hairstyle, taking care to smooth your fly aways down. You returned the favour by lacing up her boots, pressing kisses to each knee as you finished. Things were going swimmingly, until Lena got tangled up with the Bayern keeper, and fell to the ground.

“Mein Knie.” You heard her shout from all away across the pitch. You blood froze, your heart sank. No, no, no, this could not … no. You reached blindly for Sveindís as the medics ran on, your eyes never leaving Lena’s body.

“It’s ok, she’s fine.” Sveindís promised, squeezing your hand.

“Her knee,” you croaked.

“Sie bewegt sich, siehst du, die Sanitäter sind jetzt bei ihr. Sie redet, sie bewegt sich. She’s ok.” Marina squeezed your shoulder from behind you, sending you a comforting smile, despite the fact you couldn’t see it. You kept your eyes on her even as she stood up, flexing her knee and walking off the pitch with the medics. Despite reassurances from all the team and the medical staff who had treated her, you never looked away from Lena. You had to make sure she was ok. You stared at her face, trying to register any slight look of discomfort.

When the half time whistle went, you were the first out of your seat, hovering by the tunnel entrance for Lena to appear. She must have seen your anxiousness from a mile away. You were fidgeting with your fingers, biting your lip as you scanned the incoming players.

“Hey,” she said, tapping you on the shoulder. You careened into her, your arms tightening around her waist. “I’m ok. I’m ok,” she repeated over and over again, her hand rubbing up and down your back, feeling you shakily take breaths to stop any waterworks.

“Don’t ever do that again!” You pulled back from her, keeping her in an embracing though.

“I’ll try not to,” she chuckled at your seriousness.

“I mean it, bubba. That was terrifying.” Your mouth setting to a firm line and eyebrows furrowing.

“I know, liebling. And I’m sorry I caused you so much stress.” She let her thumb move across your cheek. “Aber ich verspreche dir, mir geht es absolut gut. My knees are ok, your knees are ok. Alles ist gut.”

“Fucking hate finals,” you grumbled, twisting your body so you could walk back to the changing room without letting go.

“Ich weiß, dass du das tust, Liebling, ich weiß."

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

[paulamdm]

Their love 💖💕💘💞💓💗

[skipper1331]

Masterlist

Arsenal WFC

Chelsea FCW

Manchester United

Manchester City

FC Barcelona

FC Bayern

VfL Wolfsburg

Platonic

wips

[sapphicianthe]

syd joking about not getting any goals in recent times

[mischelmayleys]

Sam Kerr is giving her SOUL!

[everybodylovesmusiala]

fc bayer frauen "warming up" during a thunderstorm

[paulanna]

wyld feeling hearing P speak german again

[foreveraweirdone]

Going to the Vfl Wolfsburg - FC Bayern München match (women's bundesliga) today.

More than 20k tickets already sold. I'm hooked!

[thekitmanuk]

Special FC Bayern Women x LeGer Kit 2024 Unveiled

Football kit news from Germany as a special bespoke FC Bayern Women x LeGer kit 2024 made by Adidas has been unveiled. Special FC Bayern Women x LeGer Kit 2024 The special FC Bayern Women 2024 kit has been designed in collaboration with entrepreneur, fashion icon and model Lena Gercke with her brand LeGer. FC Bayern Women x LeGer Jersey 2024 The special edition 2024 FC Bayern Munich Women…

[yeeterthek33per]

Look at our girls, guys 🥺🤧

[summer-princess]

Far From Angry: Hardersson x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: You meet a stranger and her girlfriend at the bar. Things escalate quickly. Pairing: Hardersson x Reader Warnings: 🔞Smut. Mdni🔞 Disclaimer: Obviously fiction Words: 2778

Pt. 2

Ever since you entered the bar, the pretty blonde sitting a few stools away hadn’t taken her eyes off of you. 

You weren’t normally one for going out, especially without your friends, but the sound of music and unseasonably warm night air had drawn you out of your apartment, walking downtown to your favorite bar, ready to enjoy the evening. 

You were certainly enjoying the sight of the beautiful woman in the flowy white top, her sweet smile as she looked across the bar at you.

Her eyes didn’t leave you as she finished her drink, sliding her glass back across the bar. You blushed as she looked away, and you caught a hint of white teeth scraping across a pair of ruby lips. 

Fuck.

Taking a deep breath and gathering your courage, hoping you were interpreting her glances correctly, you hopped up from your stool and walked the few feet between you, hoping you looked more confident than you actually felt. As you sat down on the stool beside her, the pretty blonde tucked her hair behind her ears, turning her head to smile at you again. 

“Hi,” she said, and you caught the slightest hint of an accent, one you couldn’t quite place. 

“I’m Pernille,” she said, turning her stool to face you. She leaned forward, toward you, giving you the same  brilliant smile that had drawn you over in the first place.

You introduced yourself, pleasant shivers running up and down your spine as she made eye contact with you, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows, clearly waiting for you to continue.

“So, Pernille,” you said, matching her posture, hoping to convey just how interested you were in getting to know her and her pretty smile a whole lot better. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Before she could answer, another blonde appeared over Pernille’s shoulder. Her hair was darker than Pernille’s, and the hand she put on Pernille’s shoulder was attached to a muscled arm.

“What’s going on over here, love?”

Love?

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over your head as you processed the words.

Love.

She had a girlfriend.

Of course she had a girlfriend.

As the other woman, just as blonde and just as gorgeous, claimed Pernille’s lips with her own, you felt a humiliated blush rising to coat your cheeks. 

You wished that someone would break one of the legs off of the barstool and beat you over the head with it. Or that a freak sinkhole would open beneath the floor, somehow burying only you in the dirt. Because this was beyond your worst nightmares. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, not sure which one of them you were talking to as apologies began to spew from between your lips. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean… Fuck, I’ll just-”

You made to stand up, charting the path that would get you to the exit quickest, but before you could make your escape, Pernille reached out and grabbed your hand, clasping it in hers. You let out a tiny gasp, still on your stool, at the contact, your eyes flickering back and forth between your skin touching hers and the woman whose hand had moved from her shoulder to her waist, possessively gripping her flowy white top.

“Don’t go,” she said, voice somewhere between a command and a plea. Even though your heart was racing, your legs longing to carry you far away, it was enough to make you pause.

You looked back and forth between Pernille and her partner, beyond confused. There had been no mistaking the look in your eyes as you approached her, or the undertones when you asked to buy her a drink. But there was also no mistaking the fact that she had a girlfriend, a very pretty and very strong looking girlfriend who had, out of some miracle, not yet put you on the ground. 

“B-But,” you stuttered, trying to make sense of the increasingly odd situation in which you found yourself. 

“Y-You, your girlfriend- She’s already angry enough at me, I-”

You didn’t have time to finish your runaway train of thought before you were unceremoniously interrupted. 

“Do I look angry?”

You didn’t think you could stand looking at Pernille’s girlfriend any longer without wanting to light yourself on fire, so you didn’t. Instead, you stared at your nearly-empty drink, trying to think of how to escape this humiliating and bizarre situation with some of your dignity still intact.

You didn’t see the look they gave each other, but you definitely felt it when a hand grasped your chin, forcing your head upward. A pair of blue eyes met yours, clouded by mirth and something else you couldn’t quite place. Your eyebrow crinkled in confusion at the absence of anything identifiable as anger, a confusion that only grew when she spoke again.

“I’ll ask you again,” she said. “Do I look angry?”

Answering wasn’t optional this time, you could tell. So, trembling a little, you shook your head.

“N-Not really.” 

“Clever girl.”

Her voice, smooth and seductive and just a bit condescending, hit you like a jolt of electricity, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through your body at the tone, from the tips of your fingers to between your legs. You quickly lowered your eyes again, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. 

The self-satisfied smirk on her face made it clear that your hopes were in vain.

“Magda, baby,” said Pernille, standing and taking her place at her partner’s side, tucking herself under the taller woman’s free arm. “I think she likes it when you talk to her like that.” 

Your mouth was slightly open, gaping in shock as you pressed your thighs together, unable to deny the arousal beginning to pool in your core. No matter how embarrassing Pernille’s words might have been, they were undeniable- the condescending tone of Magda’s voice made your mouth water, the need for the two of them to do what they wanted with you taking over your mind. 

“Oh, she’s so cute,” said Pernille, relishing the way you shuddered as she placed her hand on your thigh, fingers sliding upward and creeping closer to the hem of your panties under your new skirt. Magda nodded in agreement.

“Her face is all red,” she said, the two of them exchanging comments as if you couldn’t hear them speaking. You had an idea of where this was going, one that you desperately hoped was correct, and the thought of it made you press your thighs together with need. 

“I wonder what she’d look like all spread out on our bed.”

You gasped quietly, initial arousal only amplifying as they confirmed the thought that had been solidifying in your mind. With a squeeze of Pernille’s hand, Magda took a step forward towards you, her gaze piercing through you and making you whimper again. 

“Do you want this?”

Magda’s breath was hot against your neck as she whispered the question into your ear, and you were sure that she could hear your pulse pounding. 

You nodded so quickly that you could have given yourself whiplash, still gaping in disbelief even as she smirked, helping you to your feet and throwing a wad of cash behind her, payment for the drink you had tried to buy her girlfriend.  

This was actually happening. 

Their apartment was only a few blocks away from the bar, and when they guided you through the door, you had barely kicked off your shoes when you found yourself pressed against the wall by a pair of strong arms.

You hadn’t noticed Magda’s muscles back in the bar when you were refusing to look at her, but now that they were being used to pin you against the wall, they were difficult to ignore. You bit your lip, letting out a little moan, one which she immediately swallowed with her mouth. Magda’s tongue pressed insistently against your lips, and you didn’t waste any time before granting her access, letting her dominate the kiss. 

You weren’t normally this submissive- typically, you would have made at least a token effort to take back some control, but something about these women made that seem like a concept far too difficult and complex to grasp. So you let Magda devour your lips, her hands on your waist as you started to move again.

Guiding you backward into their bedroom, Magda’s hands migrated downward to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. You could vaguely sense Pernille nearby, a few steps ahead of you, but you couldn’t see the way she’d already shed her top, tossing it carelessly aside as she flicked on the light switch in their bedroom.

When Magda stopped moving, hands on your ass stilling you as well, you felt the other woman come up beside you, but still shivered when she whispered in your ear.

“You gonna do what we tell you, baby? You gonna be a good girl for us?”

The coaxing voice in your ear made you tilt your neck in the opposite direction, exposing the soft skin to Pernille as Magda broke your kiss, releasing you from her hold.

“Uh huh,” you said, and were rewarded by a new pair of warm lips pressed against your own. Pernille’s kiss was dirty and tender at the same time, her pink tongue gentler than Magda’s had been but with a similar level of control and the identical result of making you crave more of her touch. 

“Let us give you what you need, honey,” said Pernille, voice saccharine as she pulled away from your lips. “Let us fuck you like you need to be fucked.”

Your nod was desperate, her words only adding to the copious arousal between your thighs.

“Good. Then strip for us, pretty girl,” she whispered in your ear before releasing her hold on your body, raising an eyebrow and fixing you with a coaxing smirk.

Blinking a few times to regain even a modicum of composure, you blushed as you pulled your shirt over your head, both of the women’s eyes locked on you predatorily as you set the garment atop their wardrobe, revealing your lacy bra. 

“So pretty,” said Magda, as you reached for the hem of your skirt. You had to wiggle your hips to slide out of the slightly-too-small fabric, a sight which made both pairs of eyes locked on you darken, the couple exchanging a look full of hunger. When the garment finally dropped to the floor, leaving you in just your bra and matching panties, you looked back over at them and found the pair exchanging a heated kiss of their own. Sensing your gaze, Magda pulled away from Pernille’s lips to raise an eyebrow at you.

“All of it.”

Your flush deepened as you undid the clasp of your bra, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it join your skirt and top in the haphazard pile on the floor. With your breasts exposed to their hungry gaze and nipples beginning to harden, unprompted, into peaks, you reached for the waistband of your panties and let them slide down your legs, stepping out of them when they pooled around your ankles. 

You had somehow missed Pernille approaching you, the lighter blonde woman reaching out a hand and slipping it between your legs. You gasped at the sudden contact, unable to stop your hips from jutting forward, seeking friction against your throbbing cunt. 

It only lasted for a moment before she turned her head back towards Magda, giving her a smirk and a nod.

“Get on the bed, pretty girl.”

You nodded quickly, scurrying across the room and seating yourself on the edge of their sizeable mattress. One look from Magda told you that that wasn’t what she had meant and so, still blushing, you laid yourself carefully back against one of their pillows, hyper-aware of their eyes on you, gazes locked on the curve of your breasts and the copious arousal gathered between your pretty thighs.

You could tell what the order of things would be when Pernille walked toward the edge of the bed, lingering beside you without sitting down, and Magda climbed up immediately, her large hands pulling you just slightly further forwards to where she wanted you. 

“Open your fucking legs.”

Magda’s words weren’t a request, but the order was one that you were all too happy to obey. Letting your thighs fall apart, you watched, unbreathing, as the other woman pulled a hair elastic from her wrist and tied her blonde waves up into a careless bun. 

Feeling the bed dip beside you, you heard Pernille’s voice against your neck as she left a trail of kisses across the sensitive skin. 

“Magda’s going to taste you now.”

Barely had the words left her mouth then Magda’s tongue connected with your core, the woman wasting no time before licking a wet stripe over your soaking hole. You gasped, fingernails digging into your palm as you clenched your hands tightly, and the sound must have pleased the other woman, because her soft chuckle vibrated against your core. 

She took a minute to explore, warm appendage tracing a path up and down your cunt, unmoved by your breathy pleas for her to go faster, or to put her mouth on the one place you needed it most. 

“Patience, honey,” crooned Pernille, noticing your gyrating hips. “Stay still. Let her enjoy you.”

You sobbed in pleasure as Magda’s tongue swiped through your pussy again and again, Pernille’s soft hands tugging at your nipples. The woman between your thighs was talented, the wet muscle of her mouth lapping and kissing all the right spots, finally running her tongue across your swollen clit, even letting a hint of teeth scrape across your thigh once in a while.

You couldn’t have closed your legs if you wanted to, a combination of Magda’s shoulders and her hands combining to hold them open.

“Stay still,” she reminded you with a gentle smack to one of your thighs.

Still, you couldn’t help but buck against her tongue, trying to get her mouth back on your clit.

“I told you to stay still,” said Magda with a growl, strong hands pushing your hips back down to the mattress.

A shudder ran up and down your body at her harsh tone. Pernille, you noticed, now had one hand on each of your tits, the strength in her arms a warning that, if you moved again, she wouldn’t hesitate to use that muscle to keep you pinned down with no choice except to take what her partner gave.

Your body shook with the effort of keeping still, of not allowing your hips to rock against Magda’s tongue, but you were rewarded by attention lavished on your bud, able to feel the other woman’s smile against your cunt.

You shuddered, feeling your muscles tighten as your peak began to grow closer. Apparently Magda could sense it as well, because she pulled her mouth away from you and reached for her girlfriend.

Pernille obeyed the summons, leaving you writhing on the bed, whining pathetically at the loss of contact as Magda pulled her in for a deep kiss. Your eyes went to the two women, unable to stop a groan as you watched them, Magda’s hands wrapped around Pernille’s waist as their tongues battled. As hot as the sight was, it only made you wetter as you realized that they were sharing the taste of you between them. 

Even through your haze, you knew that, no matter how desperate your cunt was for their attention, you couldn’t let your fingers drift down between your legs. They had made it clear since you met that they held the reins of control, that you were their plaything for the night.

“Pernille,” said Magda, rocking her hips subtly as Pernille pressed a line of wet kisses along her neck. 

“Look at her.”

Pernille’s eyes drifted back toward you, wriggling desperately on the bed, twisting your hands in their covers as you fought not to touch yourself. 

“God,” said Pernille. “She’s desperate, isn’t she?”

You made no move to deny her claim, rather nodding in confirmation. Any shock or disbelief you had felt at the situation you were in had certainly vanished, replaced with pure, undiluted need. 

“Please,” you whimpered, soaking pussy still perfectly visible between your spread legs. “Please, I need…”

You trailed off, the blush that was quickly becoming a familiar companion returning once again to your cheeks. Luckily for you, Pernille was able to translate the low moan which replaced the words you couldn’t find.

“I think she needs your cock, Magda.”

[paulamdm]

LMAO

not Linda apologizing to adidas for wearing a nike sports bra

[skipper1331]

FC Bayern

Lina Magull

[sapphicianthe]

at least syd finally got a goal

[everybodylovesmusiala]

fc bayern frauen winning amos women's french cup (again) and celebrating in style

with the octoberfest song bayern des samma mia