Little Mewis

We're Here. I've Got You

TW: Self-worth issues, anxiety
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You, Katie, and Viv had all been allowed a few days off of training to ease back into your normal schedules since returning from your respective friendlies, but you'd wanted to hop right back in and train.

You'd never settle for being less than the best, and the thought of what the media would say if you underperformed was terrifying.

You'd seen the way that footballers, both male and female had been shit on by the public for one bad game, one missed goal, or even a missed practice.

As a 16-year old World Cup and Ballon d'Or winner, the expectations were high. Especially with your newly appointed role of Arsenal WFC co-captain, the media would pounce at any opportunity they were given to comment their negativity on a bad move that you would inevitably make at some point on the pitch.

It was terrifying. Every time you stepped out onto the field, you worried what the public would say if you'd angled the ball slightly in the wrong direction. If you missed a pass. If you allowed the opposition to score a goal. The possibilities were endless, and it was only a matter of time before you cracked under the pressure.

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"Y/N?" Kim nudged you, pausing her pre-game speech once she'd realized you'd spaced out. "Are ye' in there?"

Shaken out of your daze, you cleared your throat. "Yea', sorry."

Kim shook her head in concern. "You've been zoned out all day, are ye' feeling okay? Are ye' still sick?"

You swatted her hand away grumpily. "I'm fine, leave it be."

She held her hands up in surrender, resuming what she had previously been announcing to the team.

When stressed, you typically responded with anger. Unfortunately for you, this match would be against one of the best teams in the league, Manchester United.

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"Fookin' 'ell," you growled as Millie Turner stole the ball from you for the fifth time that game and made the score 3-1 in favor of Man U. "I swear I'm 'bout to throw hands."

From the bench, your teammates watched on worriedly as your fists were clenched and face colored a deep crimson, clearly not just from exercise.

"She's gonna blow up," Jen said worriedly. "We should ask Jonas to take her off."

"We need her," Lotte argued, shaking her head. "If she blows up... then we'll have to deal with it."

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You let out a frustrated yell as Ella Toone tapped the ball through your legs and sprinted around you, sending you a cheeky smirk as she did so.

You were clearly not playing your best, and it didn't help that you could already see the articles and the social media posts claiming that you were unfit for professional Football.

Football had been your life ever since you were young, and if it were to be taken away, all the pent-up anger and frustration that you refused to talk to anybody about would have no where to go.

You felt numb. Well, sort of. You weren't numb per se, more so only able to experience one emotion at the time.

Instead of worry, doubt, or panic, you felt something, one feeling that you'd promised yourself you'd never give in to. No matter what.

Fear.

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"Move out the way!" You hissed, bodying Leah to the side while a City player was being attended to by medics. "I haven't got time for this!"