They Hate Each Other (No They Don't, Not Really) (Alex Morgan x Reader)
All would agree, your arch nemesis showing up absolutely anywhere you were would ruin your day, but that’s EXACTLY what happens to one veteran USWNT player, Alex Morgan, when she runs into her arch nemesis at the USWNT camp.
Alex Morgan’s eyes widen, pure rage running through her when you strut towards her, bag in hand.
“You shouldn’t look at your soon to be teammate like that Morgan, frowning gives you wrinkles.” You wink, the forward’s lip curling in a snarl.
“What’s she doing-
“I DON’T KNOW.” Alex yells, nearly making Kelley jump out of her skin.
Alex was absolutely livid, seeing you at the USWNT camp had been a surprise, and not a wonderful one.
The second Alex spotted Vlatko Andonovski she advances angrily on the man, who’s looking at her as if he expected this reaction.
“What the hell!? We’re you going to tell me? To tell US?!” She yells, louder than intended, but you’d riled her up in way no one had before.
“I didn’t know you were the coach this year Morgan, if I did, I would’ve stayed home.” You snark, your smirk making Alex growl.
“Shut UP!” She yells and you laugh.
“We should room together Morgan, I think we’d make GREAT roommates.”
Alex growls, mumbling under her breath.
“It’ll be easier to smother you in your sleep then.”
You smirk cockily.
Alex snarls angrily.
“Listen.” Vlatko holds a hand up, glancing your way before turning back to Alex.
“Y/N is one of the best players in the world, having her at our camp, and possibly on the team brings our team up to the next level. I saw a chance, and I took it.”
Alex shakes her head.
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry Alex.” He pats her on her shoulder before turning away and walking off.
Alex meanwhile is standing stock still, her mouth agape.
Her biggest rival had just joined the USWNT camp, and would PROBABLY join the USWNT.
If you were being honest, you absolutely hated Alex Patricia Morgan, the woman knew how to push your buttons and she did so whenever she could.
You’d met during college, of course, on rival teams, ultimately where your rivalry began, a rivalry that seeped into your NWNT career, and when Alex came overseas, donning the Tottenham Hotspur’s jersey, you were there, wearing a red and white Arsenal’s jersey.
Needless to say, when the two teams squared up, your rivalry continued.
Alex hated you just as much as you hated her, making the competition between the two of you even more fierce.
It surprised literally EVERYONE that the two of you hadn’t killed one another yet.
At this current moment in time though, you were currently literal moments from killing one another.
“I didn’t mean to step on your cleats Morgan, just go to the store when practice is over and buy another pair.” You snort.
Alex lets out a feral growl.
“You are SO fucking infuriating!”
You blow the woman a kiss, which only infuriates her more, the woman stomping her foot before she trudges off.
“Fuck off!” She yells over her shoulder and you scoff.
Vlatko rubs the back of his neck watching as you and Alex hurl insults at one another. He’d known about your rivalry, but he wasn’t aware that it went to the extent of actual hatred.
Alex was absolutely fuming as you walked past her, moments after sinking a goal in her team’s net.
“Don’t look so mad Morgan, we both know I’m better than you could ever dream of being.”
Alex stomps passed you, the woman’s shoulder slamming into yours.
You flip around, eyes full of absolute fire.
“Body check me again Morgan, I fucking dare you.” You growl in her face, so much so that your nose brushes hers.
Alex pushes you backwards.
“Nobody tells me what to do on MY FIELD.”
“Your field?” You throw your head back, barking out a laugh, though when you stop laughing you lean towards her, smirking.
“Let’s see how much longer this field is yours, you numpty.”
Alex growls as you walk towards the nearby benches with a confident strut.
“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?”
“I don’t get why you hate Y/N so much ANYWAY, she seems nice...”
The second the words leave Emily’s mouth she feels as if she’s about to burst into flames from the absolute fiery glare she’s getting from Alex.
Kelley immediately slips in between Alex and Emily, her hands held up in surrender.
“Jan, please don’t kill Emily, who else will carry on the Frat Daddy legacy!?” The defender asks, pleading for her child’s life.
Alex snarls, stomping away from the two of them, all the while mumbling angrily under her breath.
“Y/N NICE?! How could ANYONE put her and NICE in the same fucking sentence???” She snarls, deciding that some time on the field would clear her mind.
Though what Alex DOESN’T expect when she gets to the field is to find you there, the field between you and the goal littered with soccer balls.
Alex ducks down when you turn her way, an aggravated snarl leaving you.
“BLOODY HELL!” You yell, Alex’s eyes widening at the thickness of your accent.
She peeks out from her hiding place, watching as you drop down onto the pitch, sitting in a cross-legged position.
Alex frowns when she sees your face is buried in your hands.
“Fuck that shite.” You sigh as you move to your feet, wiping the sweat from your brow with your bare arm.
Alex isn’t sure what possess her to stay for so long, but nearly an hour later you’re still on field, sinking ball after ball in different angles, it’s when you miss one that you angrily snarl.
“Nothing but a right, cock-up!”
Alex shakes her head, her brows furrowed.
Why were you so hard on yourself after you’d done so well within an hours time?
Alex’s eyes widen when she sees you glance her way your brows furrowed.
“Oi! Is someone there?!” You shout, standing stock still.
When no one replies, you give your head a rapid shake, unaware that Alex is currently sprinting away from the scene.
“Must’ve imagined it.”
Alex had seen how hard you were on yourself that day, but that in no way quelled her anger entirely considering you were at each other's throats after the fact.
“You did that on fucking PURPOSE!” Alex growls as she’s helped to the bench, her leg injured from an accidental cleating by yours truly.
You pinch the bridge of your nose as you jog over to the bench.
“I didn’t!” You growl as you drop to your knees in front of her, the forward’s eyes wide and brows furrowed when you gently slip her cleat off her foot, along with her sock, now noticing the hints of blood dotting the fabric.
“Shite.” You mumble, swiping the nearby first aid kit from the team’s doctor.
“Yeah, I don’t like you, but I wouldn’t make you purposely bleed.”
Alex watches in something akin to disbelief when you begin to clean her injury with a delicacy that she hadn’t seen from you in, well, ever.
Your touch sent a jolt from her leg through her entire body, a warmth spreading throughout her from a delicate brush of your fingertips.
Moments after you finished dressing her wound, you glance up at her.
“This doesn’t mean I hate you any less.”
You move to your feet, sending the woman a glare before you head back on field.
“Don’t use your leg as an excuse for the shite way you’re playing, you know it’s just because I’m better than you.” You smirk cockily.
Alex’s eyes narrow.
“Better my ass.”
The first person who finds out about you making the USWNT, well, besides yourself, is Alex Morgan, considering you actively sought her out, a cocky smirk on your face.
Alex sighs in annoyance.
“I know you made the fucking team, go away.”
You grin grabbing an apple from the table in front of you and take a bite, the apple crunching loudly.
“I’m right where I’m supposed to be actually. Isn’t this where the USWNT members sit?” You grin, earning an eye roll from the forward.
“Yes, but your seat is over there.” She nods towards the trash and you laugh, sucking a piece of apple down your windpipe, garnering no help from the woman beside you.
“Blimey, let one of the ONLY reasons you’ll be winning any and all major tournaments this year die, real dull mate.”
“I’m not, ‘dull mate.’” She says, doing her best to mock you and your accent.
Your eyes widen.
“Oh my god, that was rank awful. That actually hurt to hear. My nan is rolling over in her grave right now.”
Alex blows a raspberry at you.
“Real mature love, real mature.”
“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” She growls.
“I’m busy bothering you right now.”
Alex snarls, jumping to her feet and storming off.
“See you later teammate!” You yell, waving over exaggeratedly at her as she marches off.
Where your feelings for Alex, at least off the field, were based more off of annoying her until the point of insanity, your feelings for her on the field was a competitive hate, something Alex mirrored, but her hate for you off field?
Well, it was complete unbridled hate.
“Seriously, if you’re going to play like that, then stay off the field, England needs you more than we do.” Alex shakes her head and you smirk.
“You over shot it! Not me!” You shake your head in disbelief.
Alex lets out a mock laugh.
“Maybe you should’ve actually ran faster.”
You throw your head back with a groan.
“If I was in your position, we would’ve scored.”
Alex stomps her foot, the look in her eyes something you’d seen before, but never to this extent.
“You’re not made for the USWNT and you’re NOT made for soccer at a national level, you sucked in college, and you still fucking suck now.”
The field goes silent, everyone turning to look at Alex, their eyes wide.
Meanwhile, Alex’s blue orbs are locked on your face, a face that holds literally no hints of the cockiness it TYPICALLY holds, instead, it holds what she reads, as a hint of sadness.
You clear your throat, your mouth opening and closing a few times before you nod.
Alex reaches out to you as you turn your back on her, the woman frowning as you make your way towards the bench, grabbing your things hastily before you head towards the bus.
Alex’s head hangs in shame, the looks of her teammates burning holes in her back.
“Alex-” Megan starts, only to be cut off by the forward moments later.
“I KNOW! OKAY!?” She yells, sending the rest of the USNWT a look.
Her shoulders hunch.
The second she steps on the bus you turn away, unwilling to look at the woman as she walks past, though, unfortunately for you, she doesn’t walk past, she instead sits right beside you.
“Are you lost?” You ask, voice rough.
Alex shakes her head.
“No, I’m not.”
You move to your feet.
“Well, if you’re not lost, then I’ll get lost.” You say, frowning when Alex doesn’t move so you can get out of your seat.
“Move Morgan.” You growl angrily.
She shakes her head.
“No can do, Y/L/N.” She shrugs and you growl, about to climb over the seat, but the look on Alex’s face stops you, causing you to flop back down into your seat in annoyance.
“Why are you holding me against my will Morgan?” You huff.
She sighs, rolling her eyes.
“Look, I’m sorry, I took it too far.”
Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing as you lean back, away from the woman.
“There’s no WAY that you’re Alex Morgan, she never apologizes, especially not to ME.” You bark out a laugh and she shakes her head.
“As much as it PAINS me to do so, I shouldn’t have said what I said on field, you do deserve to be on the team, and you don’t suck... That much.” She shrugs, and you can’t help but smile.
You begin chuckling, the woman looking at you in confusion.
“What’s so funny?”
“Yeah, you still suck.”
“Fuck you Y/N.”
“Right back at you love, right back at you.”
The lineup for the first match against Portugal was rather surprising, you weren’t expecting to start, not when players like Megan Rapinoe, Tobin Heath and Christen Press were on the team, but you were named to the starting lineup.
You wouldn’t show your surprise to the team, but you’d been sure to ask Vlatko multiple times if the lineup was correct, and he of course, told you repeatedly it was.
You did your best to not look nervous when standing in the tunnel, a number of Portugal’s players were glancing your way worriedly, everyone knew who you were, and everyone knew what you could do.
The crowd cheered as the USWNT and Portugal made their way onto the field, everyone excited to see the new editions to the USWNT and what they had to offer.
You completely blank out the National Anthem, standing stock still your eyes darting around the sold-out crowd.
It isn’t until you’re taking your place on field that you snap back out of it, your eyes unconsciously darting to the woman with a big 13 on her back.
You can feel it, the moment you’re about to make your first goal with the USWNT, your entire body shaking with excitement.
Alex can’t help but smile when you expertly slip the ball passed the Portugal player who’s on you and fire it in on goal, the ball with a bit of a spin on it.
You still, the ball looking like an overshot, but thanks to the spin on it, gravity pulls it downwards, passed the goalkeeper’s fingertips and into the back of the net.
You throw a fist in the air with a massive grin, a grin Alex mirrors when she walks over to you, patting your back, her reaction tame considering Tobin was currently hanging off your back, along with Kelley and Emily.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.”
Alex snorts even louder.
“I mean, I DID assist.”
You roll your eyes.
“Didn’t need your assistance.” You smirk, the forward’s eyes narrowing as she sends you a glare, receiving only a wink in return.
“Still so infuriating.”
By the end of the first half the score is 2-0, and by the end of the game, it’s 4-0, one of those goals being yours, and another belonging to Alex Morgan.
It’s when you’re heading to the bus that you turn to Alex with a smirk.
“Had to copy me, huh Morgan?”
“Copy? You got a goal before me, big deal.”
Tobin shakes her head as she takes a seat beside Christen on the bus.
“Do they argue about everything?” She asks and Christen giggles, watching as you and Alex bicker, though instead of sitting far away from one another, Alex sits right behind you.
“I mean, I guess that’s how they say they’re into each other.”
An incredibly loud laugh makes Christen jump, the woman turning to her bus buddy who is looking at her in shock.
“They literally want each other dead.”
Christen rolls her eyes.
“No, they don’t, they like each other.”
Ali turns around in her seat towards Christen and Tobin.
“I mean, it’s obvious.”
“Obvious that Y/N would poison Alex’s food if she could.”
Kelley, who comes in from out of nowhere snorts.
“Yeah, I mean, they’ve hated each other since college, Jan talks about it all the time.”
Christen and Ali share a glance, the two shaking their heads.
“They’re totally into each other.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Wait, there HAS to be a mistake...” You say as Vlatko turns to you, Alex’s eyes wide and filled with absolute horror.
“No, the two of you are rooming together. It seems.” He shrugs, knowing full well that it was he who decided the two of you would room together, and it wouldn’t be a onetime deal either.
The two of you glance at one another, eyes narrowed.
“I get the shower first.” Alex mumbles and you smirk, swiping the key from Vlatko before sprinting to the elevators.
“The FUCK you do!” You yell, Alex sprinting after you.
“Y/N YOU GET BACK HERE!”
Everyone watches as Alex chases after you, their eyes wide.
Tobin turns towards Christen.
“You call THAT being into each other?”
Christen turns towards Ali, the two yet again, shaking their heads.
“DON’T USE ALL THE HOT WATER!” Alex yells, smacking the bathroom door and you growl.
The door swings open moments later and you walk out, wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of boxers.
“Morgan, we’re in a hotel, that’s impossible.”
Alex watches as you head to your suitcase, riffling through its contents.
She can’t help but stare, the wide expanse of flesh and muscle usually hidden beneath your uniform now on display for her to see.
You turn around, holding a wad of clothes, your brows furrowed.
Alex jumps when you reach out, poking her in the forehead with your index finger.
“Hey!” She growls, slapping at your hand.
“I just wanted to see if you were still alive.”
Alex’s eyes rake down your front, stopping on your very prominent abdominal muscles.
You turn away and step in the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind you.
Alex stands there for a moment before she glances around.
Alex had TRIED to tell herself that she was in NO way ogling you like a horny frat boy, but when you walked out wearing basically the same thing to sleep in, she knew she was, for a fact, ogling you like a horny frat boy.
She’d made a quick retreat to the bathroom moments after, but she couldn’t avoid you forever.
You meanwhile were completely sprawled out in bed, Nintendo Switch in hand. You briefly wondered if Alex had drowned, but when the bathroom door swung open you sighed.
“I thought you might’ve drowned, I was going to see if you wanted to smash.”
Alex stops mid-stride, dropping her clothes on the floor.
Your brows furrow as you hold your Nintendo Switch up.
Alex clears her throat, her cheeks blood red.
“Christ Morgan.” You shake your head and she rolls her eyes, stomping to her bed.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, at least now I know you want in my trousers.” You smirk and she snarls, a pillow flying from her bed and smacking you right in the face.
“SEE!” You grin, throwing the pillow back on her bed.
“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
You shake your head.
“Get over here and we’ll smash.” You hold a controller out to her and her eyes narrow.
“Sure, you’re okay with losing?” She asks cockily and you grin.
“I’d never lose to you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Why do you look so tired?” Kelley asks Alex the following day and the forward yawns.
“Y/N and I were Smashing.”
Kelley’s brown orbs widen, as do Alex’s the forward punching her friend in the arm.
“Super Smash Brothers you bitch.”
“I mean I could see you and Y/N hate fucking each other.” She shrugs and Alex’s cheeks flush bright red.
Alex punches Kelley in the shoulder, the defender groaning.
“Jesus Christ, Jan. You didn’t have to hit me so hard.”
Alex turns her attention towards her breakfast and away from the pouting defender beside her.
Though you were absolutely irritating and Alex thought about killing you a total of 48 times last night, she enjoyed spending time with you.
You yawn as you make your way towards the table, sitting across from Alex.
“You have to get used to losing if we keep smashing every night.”
Suddenly a plate falls to the table, hard, the sound making everyone jump.
Tobin is standing beside you, her eyes wide, Ashlyn meanwhile is smirking as she sits down beside you.
“Who’s smashing?” Megan asks and you roll your eyes.
“Smash Bros.” You shake your head and Megan rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.
“Boring, there’s only one Smash that’s actually interesting.”
Tobin gasps dramatically, her hand on her heart.
“I beg to DIFFER.”
You shake your head, watching with amusement as the two bicker, leading to Ashlyn chiming in.
You glance at Alex.
“You just HAD to tell everyone we Smashed.”
Alex rolls her eyes.
“Of course, I did, because I won.”
You bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you sip your orange juice.
“Like one time, Morgan.”
“WELL, WE’LL SMASH AGAIN TONIGHT!” She yells, every single one of her teammates turning her way.
Alex clears her throat, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Are we talking about the SAME Smashing?” You smirk and Alex sends you a glare.
Alex rubs her temples angrily.
Playing in the rain had always been a hassle, but playing in the rain against SWEDEN was a nightmare.
Sweden was the USWNT’s rival and the fact that the USWNT were currently down by 2 of COURSE, didn’t sit well with Alex Morgan.
The whistle blows, signaling the end of the first half and Alex sighs in relief, she needed a break, not only for her tired legs, but to quell the irritation inside of her.
Someone bumps into her and she snarls.
“Watch where the FUCK you’re going.” She turns towards, who she now realizes is you, you who looks as equally pissed as she does.
“Listen Morgan, I’m seriously not in the fucking mood, I’m just as mad as you are, so don’t start your shit with me.” You snap, your USWNT teammates stopping to stare at the two of you with wide eyes.
“Fuck you.” She snarls turning to walk away and you sneer.
“Yeah? We’ll fuck you too!” You yell before you follow after her and into the locker room.
“Why are you following me!?” She yells and you scoff.
“WE SHARE A LOCKER ROOM.” You deadpan, flopping down on the nearby bench.
“Well, you can still sit away from me.” Alex gripes and you shake your head.
“I’m not moving Morgan.”
Alex, being purposely annoying sits down behind you, rather closely in fact.
“Well, I’m not either.” She mumbles and you snort.
“Mature Morgan, REALLLL mature.”
By the time the game ended the USWNT had a comeback, winning the game 3-2, much to Alex’s elation, as well as your own.
That elation didn’t erase the fact that the two of you had argued during the match, the two of you cold, wet and incredibly angry.
Alex is pulled out of her trance when the bathroom’s door in your and her hotel room swings open, a rush of steam flowing out as you leave the room.
Alex glances away from you, not only because you’re, yet again, barely dressed, but also because she’s ashamed of her behavior earlier that day.
You flop onto your bed without even looking at her, choosing to fall face down against its plush surface.
You remain silent, the air within the room incredibly heavy.
The silence is broken by Alex’s soft whisper.
“I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you.”
You remain silent as you roll over, your hand slipping into your suitcase.
You search blindly until you find what you’re looking for, holding the Nintendo Switch out to Alex.
“Smash?” You ask and Alex smiles.
Alex flops on the bed beside you, taking the controller she’d used a few nights prior.
You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m sorry too.”
Alex’s brows arch, the woman unable to bite back a smile, something that makes you send her a glare.
“Enough of this shite, ready to lose Morgan?”
“I should be asking you that.”
You grimace as the body beside you shifts, a pair of arms wrapping tightly around you from behind.
“I’m not the little spoon.” You growl, attempting to wiggle free from the hold you’re in.
“Get over it.”
Your eyes flash open, as do Alex’s the two of you abruptly sitting up when you realize you’d in fact fallen asleep together the night before.
You turn to face her, the two of you looking at one another in absolute horror.
“I was just-
Alex leaps out of bed, the woman making a beeline towards the bathroom the two of you share.
You nod, your cheeks flushed.
You clear your throat, turning away from the bathroom to instead look at the alarm clock beside you.
You grumble, annoyed at the fact that you’d woken up so early.
If you were honest with yourself, you were also annoyed that Alex wasn’t currently beside you, but you weren’t really in the mood for honesty at the moment.
You flop backwards, rolling towards the center of the bed where it just so happens Alex had been laying moments later, the smell of the woman’s perfume left behind on the sheets.
You attempt to resist temptation, but find yourself failing when you bury your nose into the sweet-smelling fabric, the smell clouding your senses.
The bathroom door creaks open sometime after, the sweet-smelling fabric lulling you to the cusp of sleep, as you fight your eyelids you watch as Alex tiptoes to her bed, the woman glancing over her shoulder at your ‘sleeping’ form with a smile before she makes her way to her own bed.
She falls down onto the cold sheets with a frown, thoughts of what the following day would bring running through her head.
Much to everyone’s surprise at practice the following day, neither you nor Alex had been at one another’s throats, in fact, you’d been ignoring each other as if the other had contracted the Black Death.
Even when you slip a ball passed Alex and into goal, you don’t gloat, instead choosing to just jog away as if you hadn’t scored.
“Okay, what the hell was that?” Kelley asks, her eyes narrowed as she stares inquisitively at Alex.
“What?” Alex asks dumbly.
“THAT, Y/N didn’t even gloat! She didn’t rub in your face that she scored passed you!” Kelley points at you and Alex shrugs.
Kelley’s eyes narrow even further as Alex walks away, the defender’s eyes burning holes in her back.
“I WILL FIND OUT WHAT’S GOING ON JAN!” She yells across field, drawing the attention of each and every one of her teammates, including you.
You clear your throat, your cheeks flushing when you realize Alex’s blue orbs are on you.
The two of you abruptly turn away from one another, thoughts of the events that transpired that morning running through your heads.
You clear your throat as you rub the back of your neck, your cheeks flushing further when you think about Alex’s arms around you, and how much you’d liked it.
That night was even worse considering the two of you were still rooming together.
Alex refused to look in your direction and you refused to look in hers, making the situation even more awkward.
“Look.” Alex started, causing you to turn her way, when your eyes locked, she fell silent.
“This was easier when you weren’t looking at me.”
Your eyes widen momentarily before you turn away.
“Alright Morgan, go ahead.”
“I’m sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to, ummm...”
You chance a glance her way, smirking when you see how flushed her cheeks are.
“What?” Alex asks when she sees the smirk on your face and you shrug.
You fish your Nintendo Switch out of your bag and nod towards your bed.
“Let’s go Morgan, or are you too shy to Smash now?” You ask, a brow arched and Alex scoffs.
“Not a chance.”
It’s an hour into playing that it happens, though neither you, or Alex realized it was happening until your shoulders brush.
You both stiffen, your eyes widening, though neither of you dare look at the other.
Something else neither of you do though is scoot away from one another, your shoulders still brushing.
You clear your throat, your body untensing as you settle back against the pillow behind you, the feel of Alex’s blue orbs boring into you making goosebumps sprout on your flesh.
“Come on Morgan, head in the game.”
You miss the tiny smile that adorns Alex’s face as she focuses on the screen before you, though what you don’t miss is the brush of her leg against yours.
The inevitable of course happens when you feel Alex’s head rest on your shoulder, the woman fighting her fluttering eyelids.
You glance at the nearly unconscious woman on your shoulder and snort.
“Lay down Morgan.” You smile, the forward grumbling.
“But I don’t want to get up...”
You roll your eyes, taking her controller and laying your Switch on the table between your beds.
You wiggle until your head hits the pillow behind you, which results in Alex’s head falling onto your chest, the forward’s eyes widening.
You remain silent, waiting for her to make the next move, when she cuddles into your side, your cheeks flush, that flush spreading to the tips of your ears.
“Is this, okay?” Alex asks in a hushed whisper and you smile.
The two of you sharing a bed becomes a regular thing, so much so that Alex’s bed remains untouched 95% of the time, usually housing your luggage instead of Alex like it should be.
The rivalry you had on the field soon disappeared, something that came as a shock to literally everyone, even Vlatko.
You knew what you felt for Alex wasn’t friendship, it went well beyond that, your hatred for her turned into something you never ever expect, and that was love.
You loved Alex Morgan and there was no going back.
You were pissed, absolutely pissed, and how could you not be when no fouls were being called against Canada?
Fouls that were currently being directed at #13, Alex Morgan.
You snarl when yet again, Alex is taken down in the box, but YET AGAIN, the foul isn’t called.
“COME ON!” You yell, stomping towards the downed forward whose hand you take before you pull her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” You ask worriedly as you scan the forward who nods.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” She smiles and you nod.
“She better call the fouls or I swear-
The whistle blows and you growl.
“Nothing but a right bitch that one.” You mumble before jogging away, missing the snort that Alex lets out, the forward shaking her head.
Her cheeks flush from more than exertion when she realizes your anger that’s directed at the ref is because the fouls have been directed solely on her, considering she was the only one being fouled.
And that was about to happen yet again, but this time, Alex wasn’t going to get up.
The look on your face was one of pure horror when Alex went down with a cry, the Canadian player’s cleats digging into her skin, soaking her socked ankle with blood.
The whistle blows loudly, the ref finally carding the player who’d fouled Alex with a red card, but that wasn’t good enough for you, not when Alex was currently bleeding.
Alex watches from her place on the ground as you advance on the player in red, landing a right hook that would make any boxer jealous, the woman falling to the ground with a thud.
Time literally stands still, your knuckles throbbing in pain as the player cups her cheek, her eyes wide as she stares up at you in shock.
“OFF THE FIELD! NOW!” The ref yells, the woman producing a red card immediately and holding it high above her head.
“Bugger off, wanker.” You mumble as you make your way towards Alex, who’s currently surrounded by the medical team.
“What the hell did you do that for!?” She growls at you and you frown.
You glance around, watching as the Canadian player, you were so angry you didn’t know her name, is aided off field, the woman still clasping her cheek.
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, the taste of bile on the back of your tongue.
Deep down, you knew why your reaction had been so visceral, but you couldn’t tell Alex that could you?
So instead, you decided to do the only thing you could do, and that was turn on your heels and sprint towards the nearest exit.
Alex frowns as you sprint towards the exit, leaving her and the team behind.
The medical team hoists her to her feet, the woman limping off field, the fans clapping in respect for the USWNT player as the final whistle blows.
The second Alex gets off field though she pulls away from the medical team, choosing instead to limp after you, the forward hoping she wasn’t too late and was able to catch you.
Alex limped down the tunnel and rushed towards the nearest exit, hoping it was the exit you’d went through in your haste to put distance between the two of you.
She rounds the corner, a sigh of relief leaving her when she sees you marching down the sidewalk, away from her.
“Y/N!” She yells, causing you to stop in your tracks.
The dark clouds overhead that had been teasing rain all day had finally opened the proverbial floodgates, the soft sprinkles becoming somewhat of a downpour in literal moments.
Slowly, you turn around to face the forward who’s advancing on you, the woman limping as quickly as she can, closing the distance between the two of you.
You swallow hard, unable to look the woman in the eye as she tries catching your gaze,
“Y/N?! What was that!?” She yells, pointing back at the field and you shake your head.
“What was that!?” She yells again and you swallow hard.
“She was on your ass the entire game Al, and no one was calling the fouls! I had to do something!” You yell over the heavily pouring rain, the nickname slipping unknowingly off your tongue.
“That’s not your job, Y/N.” She frowns and you scoff.
“So, I’m just supposed to watch her hurt you? Watch her make you bleed!?” You cry, the feel of frustrated tears welling up in your eyes.
“Why does it matter so much to you!?” She asks, and you shake your head.
“Because I love you!”
Alex stiffens, as do you, your eyes widening in horror when you realize what you’d just said.
Your mouth opens and closes, the taste of bile on the back of your tongue as you take a step back from the injured USWNT forward.
Alex reaches out for you, her fingertips brushing the back of your hand.
“Y/N...” She whispers, taking a step towards you.
You’re about to take a step back when she grabs your wrist, effectively holding you in place, you weren’t about to jerk away, fearful that you may hurt her.
You swallow hard when she steps even closer, the distance between you closing as her chest brushes your own.
“Say it again.”
You shake your head as you turn away, though when Alex’s fingers intertwine with yours, you turn back towards her, the woman’s blue orbs focused on your hand in hers.
“Say it again...”
You shake your head, a lump forming in your throat.
“Please Y/N.” She whispers as she tucks a strand of hair, that had been stuck to your face, behind your ear.
You blink rapidly, Alex’s fingers tracing your jawline before she cups your cheek.
Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you find your voice.
“I-I...” You stammer, your eyes shutting as you swallow.
“I love you, Alex, and I think I always have I just-
You stiffen, your eyes wide and hands hovering in the air as Alex’s lips meet yours in a tentative, first kiss.
Just as your eyes flutter shut the team rounds the corner, their eyes widening before they turn Christen and Ali, the two smirking as they bump their shoulders together.
“We told you.”
Meanwhile your hands find purchase on Alex’s waist, the woman pulling back only to lean right back in, the brush of her lips sending a jolt throughout your entire body.
A crack of lightning makes the two of you jump, though neither of you pull back, your lips brushing as the two of you smile, toothy grins on full display.
Alex’s forehead rests against yours, her hair stuck to her face thanks to the water entirely soaking the two of you.
The reasonable members of the team usher the chaotics back into the arena, leaving you and Alex alone, the two of you so wrapped up in one another you hadn’t noticed them anyway.
Your tongue swipes at your lips, your Y/E/C orbs focused intently on Alex’s.
“When did you know?” Alex asks, her voice pulling you out of your trance, your cheeks flushing.
“Know what?” You ask dumbly, earning a look that says Alex knows you’re just playing dumb.
“The first time you yelled at me during a match in college.”
Alex’s brows arch.
“It was cute.”
“It wasn’t meant to be cute.”
“Well, it was to me, and I was right smitten.”
Alex’s lips split into a massive grin, the woman leaning in to bump her nose playfully against yours.
“Your nose crinkles up when you’re angry.” She giggles and you bite your bottom lip, your cheeks dusted pink.
Alex tilts her head back, kissing the tip of your nose, your lips splitting into a grin.
“I guess we better get back in there...” Alex sighs and you huff.
“I guess so.”
Alex reluctantly takes a step back before she turns around, the two of you walking back to the door that led back into the arena.
Before Alex can make her way through the tunnel, you grab her wrist, giving her a gentle tug until she’s back in your arms again, your nose brushing hers.
“I never ACTUALLY hated you.” You whisper softly, giving her wrist a squeeze.
Alex smiles, the forward closing the distance between you with a feather light kiss, her lips feeling as if they barely brush your own.
“And I never ACTUALLY hated you either.”
You cup Alex’s cheek, the woman’s blue orbs disappearing behind her fluttering eyelids as she leans into your touch.
It’s in that moment when you spot them out of the corner of your eye, a snort sounding in the back of your throat as you watch your teammates scramble to make themselves scarce.
Alex follows your gaze, the woman rolling her eyes in annoyance when she spots your nosy teammates.
You wrap your arms around her from behind, pulling the woman close, your chin resting on her shoulder.
“So, you yell at them, and I watch? I bet it’s even cuter when you’re yelling at someone else.” You grin, grunting when Alex elbows you in the stomach.
“It’s not cute when I’m angry.” She pouts and you grin, shrugging.
“Actually, it’s adorable.”
Alex growls, a furrow forming between her brows as she tries, and fails to scowl at you.
“Still so infuriating.” She grumbles, the woman about to turn away, but before she can you catch her lips, unable to bite back a smile as the two of you kiss.
“I’m so infuriating, but you still smitten, aren’t you love?” You ask and she rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushed red.
She gives your shoulder a playful slap and you snicker.
Looking into the pools of blue that are Alex Morgan’s eyes, you knew coming to the US was the best decision you’d ever made.
You lean in, tilting your head back to press a kiss to her forehead.
“What do you say we go kill our nosy teammates now?” You ask with a grin and Alex takes your hand, intertwining your fingers.
“Lead the way.”
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SKY’S STILL BLUE — Joe Liegbott
REQUESTED BY @floydtab —
requests are open!! could I request a Liebgott fluff please? xx much love 💘 . A reader insert, Liebgott fluff fic. Maybe the plot to be with the readers birthday? just because mine is on Friday ❤️
POSSIBLE TRIGGERS — blood, language
THE BITTER CRISP OF BASTONGE was an obscurer of time, an infiltrating poison to the concept of days, weeks, months.
Yet, the day of the week wasn’t much of a thought to ponder upon for Easy Company; minds wrapped around a prayer for survival in the next few seconds, legs stinging with an ache from desperate sprints across slippery snow, throats throbbing from a lack of hydration and an overload of grouses pertaining to the lack of winter clothing, the incompetence of a barely present lieutenant. A majority of them were cramped ass to ankles in foxholes to preserve warmth, something that was as fleeting as daylight nowadays.
Y/N departed the squish of cold leather in the Jeep, a conscious miles away at the aid station she had presently returned from, hands twitching to reek a sickly penny odor of blood. All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart, of the memories when the sniper shredded the heads of the young boys in her platoon, of her boyfriend shrieking himself raw from a detainment of distressed soldiers. Their blood stroked over her calloused palms in a haunting reminder.
Y/N gazed tiredly at the billows of smoke contrasting the blue sky above, it being a beautifully tragic horizon to encapture her admiration for a final time. Her aching back was cradled subtly in the matted snow — it being drabbled with red from blood, a fine mixture of her own and other wounded soldiers. Her legs throbbed with oozing burns on skin that had been exposed by shrapnel from the explosion that had forced her down in the middle of a farmer’s field. Her legs were what made her a remarkable runner, her bloodied body holding the strength that had distinguished her from being a mere nurse, but also an esteemed soldier amongst a platoon teeming with men. And it all seemed to crumble at Y/N’s hands when a German soldier — in a move fueled by his last breath — propelled a mortar in the direction of the small group she was escorting across the field. The bodies of those soldiers now were scattered like ragdolls around her withered body, all their eyes glassily staring at her in their afterlives, as if mocking her apparent invincibility. You’re supposed to be better.
Eugene pardoned her hands when they absentmindedly extended to pluck the haggard box of supplies they scrounged up at the station, “It’s quiet for now, go and rest, Y/N, before ‘ya open up those stitches.” Stitches that had been meticulously sewn through her torn flesh by him at the aid station whilst they gathered themselves outside the church, hunched near a scanty fire in a metal can.
“I’ll make it just fine without ‘ya, chérie. I’m sure Liegbott will be looking for ‘ya,” he stifled whatever opposition was accumulating on her tongue, a swaying mouth indicating that she was prepared to leap to silence his concern, “Consider it an early Christmas present.”
Y/N’s glazed eyes impossibly widened as the remark registered for her spotty hearing, “What day is it?”
“It’s December 21st,” a rage of winter blast tousled his impossibly dark hair whilst he nonchalantly answered, scarred fingers working through a maze in the box of supplies. His eyes of an alike shade scoured the flicks of his curious hands until the crunch of snow and hastening footsteps of departure provoked a glimpse forward, the hunched silhouette of the female soldier vanishing beneath the rolling blanket of cloud.
Her boots were scathed with a veneer of icy powder as she trudged through the latest brushing of snow that evening, each step a prayer for the warmth of home. The home she perceived in the wisps of wheat in the fields that huddled around Camp Toccoa, the sooty forest path they run to Currahee's peak, the sporadic bursts of lavender amongst that wheat, hell, even in some of the starry-eyed privates mucking about the camp. A home where she’d be with her family, hands scrubbed of the grot and blood of innocents, a greeting of ‘happy birthdays’ from relatives. In a distant memory, a brief glitch of reality, she was amidst the Floridian warmth and beneath the shadow of palm trees with a party buzzing around her.
In another reality, she would be at home celebrating her birthday today.
There was no celebrating in the crisp hell of Bastogne, not when so many would never see another birthday again. It was a gnawing guilt in her core, a fiery frustration that juxtaposed the bitter snow that entombed those young men. Teenagers. No matter how good she was embellished to be, medic and soldier, no matter how good the medicine, no matter the strategy, boys died. Died in flashes of a sniper, an ambush, red. Streaming tears cleanser her red cheeks, a salty release congealing on the collar of her jacket whilst eyes scoured the snow. A few meters before her blurry vision was a stark crimson splotch of blood, nature scorning her by not concealing its presence with the dusting of snow. A scorn for her inability to save a starry-eyed replacement, Julian. Her nails were undoubtedly trenched with his dried blood.
Limp extremities groused and shattered under the pressure of her gear whilst she kneeled in a tremble against a cracked tree trunk. Her back constrained against the ridges with her rifle trembling in bloodied hands, the ghostly bodies of her platoon crumpled in the field around her. Y/N’s ringing ears were plagued by memories of Richard Winters screaming himself raw from the tree line, permitting Joseph Liegbott, her boyfriend, to despise her in that seemingly perpetual moment as he screeched above their superior.
She had already fled Death’s tendrils once that week, she couldn’t forever, and it was daft to recklessly evade him in a war. And, now, Y/N was okay with having the tendrils asphyxiate her properly, taking her away from bloodied fields littered with the bodies of those she couldn’t save. It’s okay. Nevertheless, she wanted to whimper for help, for a damn sign that someone was there for her.
And then Y/N peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; Joe was trudging furiously through the wreak of snow, the Bay Area hotspur a volcano amidst the frigid earth beneath his feet, his cigarette bouncing anxiously between his lips. It was almost disquieting with her ignorance of the dark crimson sheen over her uniform and exposed skin, how accompanying sickly penny odor was a normalcy to be encompassed by. It was just always there nowadays. Yet, it was the agitated churning in her chest, her soul, reminding her that there was some humanity enduring in her and that she was still very much whole and alive.
“Happy birthday,” he muttered with regard for the sound discipline presently, extinguishing his wrinkle of cigarette in the snow despite the warmth it flooded his bitter blood with.
She didn’t utter any extent of a retort, solely beholding his gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and adoration — spared for her in that moment and always. He was suppressing the wrath that had, undoubtedly, festered like a raging crimson welt in his conscious whilst she was away at the aid station. Joseph Liegbott was a man fused with an aura that distanced himself from others, decreed his content with a lack of company, and bombarded the empty crevices with a fiery temper. It was a ripple in his demeanor to care, love someone so fondly as he did with her. Her, the brash female paratrooper of Easy Company, the girl who had long since made a name for herself since Toccoa, got detested for her existence on this very planet by Sobel himself. Her, who led Easy Company as their first lieutenant. Her that could silence them herself by merely entering the room, authority a dark shadow eclipsing the light of her essence. Such silence is what implied that she had secured what she wanted — deserved — after enduring the constant lapses of confidence, the derision, the catcalling.
When Joe first realized he was in love with Y/N, she was the one leading Easy Company — and him —up the dizzying steepness of Currahee, she not even being the commanding officer of the men, but domineering more than the ill-nature of Sobel. She was adorned in the same outfit any male soldier would have been, hardly sweating due to years in track and field and cross country back home, her lips curled into the most seraphic smile he had seen. He remembers the way she nudged his shoulder whenever the exhaustion slipped him and his robust facade up, how she’d flick away the cigarette pendant on his lips, rambling on about her fret over breathing issues and other health complications such a leisure could bring.
“Thanks,” she mumbled with a puzzling dip of her brow, a numb mind obscuring any response of depth.
Glancing up, Y/N could see Joe with horror petrified amidst the dirt on his face, a very foreign guise on his chiseled features; there was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed, one would assume she was dancing with the devil. Her face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by the explosion and blood that belonged to her and those that laid not too far now. Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most dangerous in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child.
“You’re ass will freeze to the ground if ‘ya don’t get up, doll,” he quipped to shatter the anchor of forebode bobbing in his core, extending a pale hand towards her. Dubiously, Y/N set a bloodied, scraped hand onto the chilled crook of his palm, him plucking her from the disturbed dirt as if she was nothing.
“They’re all dead, Joe,” Y/N breathed out, hands trembling and legs cramping painfully. There was no coaxing herself into composure now as the shock of it all was registering once death wasn’t looming over her to seize her away anymore.
“Nobody could’ve expected that to happen,” Joe reasoned, and winced like he was in anguish yet was swarmed with peace at the same time, and her own internal conflict released through a lump in her throat. He cracked a smirk her way, Y/N stared at him blankly, so lifelessly, slipping ever so slightly right before him, “I wish I could do more for you, doll. I can’t patch up your wounds and sure as hell can’t give you comfort. Hell, it’s your birthday and you’re all glum. You did everything anyone else would have, ‘ya know.”
A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest; she is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. She did everything she could have.
Y/N absentmindedly tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, “Twenty-three.”
His dark brows solidified into a furrow, shifting down his chin to gaze in inquiry towards her.
“I’m twenty-three today,” she clarified, a crooked smile emerged amidst her pale face.
Joe chuckled wryly; her eyes may have been horribly bloodshot from burst blood vessels, her lips chapped with blood in the crevices, and her entire uniform resembling the aftermath of an animal mauling, yet she was still there with him, smiling fondly from beneath the layers of destruction. Still beautiful.
"Dance with me," he spurted out, surely without much contemplation, eyes traveling along the lines of her face, the bold and free moon haloing her disheveled hair.
“Joseph Liegbott asking me to dance? You’re certainly ill now,” Y/N rolled her eyes, shook her head.
Crimson rose to the apple of his cheeks, red as the temper fussed with by her speculation, “Shut up.” His own exasperation challenged hers, not deliberately, but it was fair competition as it sought to bleed from him through gripes and cusses. He was humiliated enough that the words had dared leave a giddy thought.
Joe glowered teasingly at Y/N, who was a chaotic mess of stifled laughs, the fire and gold in her eyes dripping as her mind wandered away from the woe of the day. The moon’s expanding rays entangled with perfect molds in the curves of her hair, a kink of hair brushing her forehead teasingly. His chiseled jaw lifted with a hubristic yet pleasant smile after a few moments of wading in feigned irritation.
“Well, fuck me, I've managed to shut Joseph Liegbott up!" There emerged a meager pout of a smirk on her mouth, shedding a subtle shadow beneath the pinkish swell of lip. Y/N rolled her eyes when Joe bit his tongue, a playful scoff spurting from her parted lips, similar to a wisp of cigarette smoke, “I’ll dance with you.”
Her hand was tightly encompassed in his own as he hastily yanked her toward the shadow of a tree, more earnestness than the step before, and she kept good pace with his urgency. The second his foot securely adjusted onto the snow, he was facing her with his eyes sparkling with mischief and an almost melodic laugh cascading from his mouth, setting her heart a flutter. There he was, standing in his familiar army green uniform on a contrasting quartz floor of snow, grinning at her like she was the source of his content and life.
And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together, a sway naturally falling between them. A tentative shiver poured over her spine at the warm breath flittering against her skin, it vanishing just as abruptly as it manifested, and a desire blazing beneath indifference for more — more of the closeness.
“Too bad this is just for tonight,” she cracked one of her smiles, pushing off the warmth of his shoulder, his eyes blazing with life the second the loll of her head departed the plateau of his shoulder.
“Too bad,” he agreed in a mutter, eyes traveling along the lines of her face. He dared to think of a life after this war, where blood and grime wouldn’t be a typical concoction for people to have tarnishing their faces, where the two of them would always be physically clean of any remnant of war. This didn’t just have to be for tonight. “Come home with me to San Francisco, or wherever the fuck ‘ya want to go, I don’t care...give you all the best birthday’s I fucking can-”
Her chapped lips were pressed against his before he could continue his nervous bout of rambles, showing just how hastily she could move and shut him up. She could feel his lips form the bow of smirk, it being a rush in the tenderness of the kiss, his hands toying with the hem of her shirt.
“My oh my, Joseph, you’ve gone soft,” Y/N tsked when their lips temporarily wavered in a few inch distance, “But, I’m in. I’ll go home with you, just as long as a ring is put on my finger eventually.”
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