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meazalykov · 2 days ago

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please (don't) go

salma paralluelo x reader

summary: friends to lovers, and lovers to strangers

warnings: angst

the first time salma held your hand, her thumb grazed over your knuckles like she was afraid you’d pull away.

you didn’t.

instead, you interlocked your fingers tighter, smiled up at her, looking at her brown colored eyes which sparkled with love. your heart raced inside of your chest in a way you hadn’t known was possible.

that moment inside of the barcelona locker room was the beginning of something beautiful, something you hadn’t expected to happen but somehow couldn’t imagine living without.

a few months go by and that spark did not dim.

if anything, it burns brighter. salma has a way of making you feel seen, like the rest of the world fades into the background when she looks at you. on the pitch, she’s this force of nature…speed, power, and precision.

off the pitch, she’s your salma. she’s soft, affectionate, and always knows how to bring a smile to your face, even on the hardest days when you feel like you have no energy to do what you needed to do.

winning the champions league together for the first time back in 2021 was something out of a dream.

the night before the final, you barely slept. obviously, you and salma were not going to be starters since you both were callups from la masia.

however, it was huge being on the lineup. you tossed and turned in your bed and salma noticed, of course she did. she always notices.

“you okay?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the hotel air conditioning.

“yeah,” you lied, staring up at the ceiling.

she didn’t buy it. salma rolled over, propping herself up on one elbow as she looked down at you.

“you’re not. talk to me.”

salma says in spanish.

you sighed, turning your head to meet her gaze. her brown eyes were warm and filled with concern, and it made your chest ache in the best way.

“i just... i don’t want us to lose tomorrow. it’s such a big game, salma. what if…”

“stop,” she interrupted gently, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“if we get any playing time.. most likely it will be you since we need another right back.. you’re going to be amazing.”

her words settled over you like a blanket, calming the storm in your mind.

“are you saying this because you think i am a good player, or because i am your girlfriend?”

you teased.

“shut up!”

salma laughed.

“no.. seriously?”

you smirked.

“its both, okay!”

salma and you laughed.

you reached up to cup her cheek, pulling her down for a soft kiss.

“i love you,” you murmured against her lips.

“i love you more,” she replied, her smile so radiant it made your heart skip a beat.

the final was everything you hoped it would be..and more.

the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you sat on the bench for 87 minutes before being subbed on, the way your clearance in the 90 + 2 minute sent the stadium into a frenzy.

you dropped to your knees at the final whistle, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. la masia became your home a few years ago, when they brought you over from your childhood club. an amazing right-back you were, it was going to be time before the senior team needed your 18 year old self.

salma found you seconds later after the whistle, pulling you into a tight hug as tears streamed down both your faces.

“we did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

“we did it,” you echoed, holding her like she was your lifeline.

your first champions league title.

the celebrations that night were unforgettable. you and salma danced in the locker room, champagne soaking through your jerseys as the team sang and laughed. at one point, salma grabbed your hand, spinning you around like you were in some dumb cheesy rom-com, and you couldn’t stop laughing.

a few days afterwards.. the trip to ibiza was the perfect way to unwind after the season. just you, salma, and the sun-soaked beaches. the two of you rented a small villa with a private pool, thanks to the bonus of winning the champions league.

all you and your girlfriend did was spend your days lounging in the sun and your nights exploring the island’s vibrant nightlife. you're young, of course you guys wanted to have fun without one of the older barcelona girls watching the both of you.

one evening, well the evening before the start of the next season.. you both sat together on the barcelona beach, her arm draped over your shoulders.

“i do not want this to end, as much as i love football,” you said softly, leaning your head on salma’s shoulder.

“it doesn’t have to,” she replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

two years go by, and its the world cup in australia. it was your first, and the excitement of representing your country on the biggest stage was unparalleled.

you were one of the few barcelona girls that did not play for spain. so, you had to be seprated from salma throughout this whole thing. that was okay though, you understand the concept of space and so did she.

however, salma’s world cup journey would last way longer than yours. after holding two of your teammates on each side.. you look ahead at the scoreboard on the stadium screen.. the clock hit full time, and the score was still level.

your legs felt like they were made of lead, your lungs burning with every breath. this knockout game had drained every ounce of energy from you, but there was no time to dwell on the fatigue.

penalties.

it was all going to come down to penalties.

as the team gathered in a huddle, your coach spoke quickly, assigning the penalty takers. you weren’t first, but you were on the list.

you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you nodded, trying to steady your breathing.

“we’ve got this,” your captain said, her voice steady despite the tension radiating from the group.

“trust yourselves.”

strangely.. you weren’t thinking about your girlfriend throughout all of this. it just was not the time.. but salma’s voice echoed in your head:

you’re an incredible player. trust yourself.

that is something she used to tell you before barcelona games.

however, it was hard to believe it now, standing on this stage with so much at stake.

sweden took the first penalty, and your goalkeeper dove the wrong way.

1–0.

your teammate stepped up next, slotting the ball into the bottom corner.

1–1.

the tension was unbearable, every kick feeling like a dagger to your chest. you watched, helpless, as sweden scored their second, then their third.

when it was your turn, the weight of the moment hit you like a freight train.

walking up to the spot, the noise of the crowd felt distant, like it was coming from underwater. the ball sat there, mocking you, as the swedish goalkeeper stared you down.

you tried to block out the sound, the pressure, everything, focusing only on the ball.

the twenty year old penalty taker… you…took a deep breath, ran up, and struck it.

the sound of the ball hitting the post was deafening.

you froze, staring in disbelief as it bounced away. your heart sank, and your legs nearly gave out as you walked back to the center circle, your head hung low. your teammates patted your back, whispering words of encouragement, but none of it stuck.

all you could think about was that missed opportunity, that moment where you let everyone down.

sweden scored again, and now it was all riding on the final kick. your goalkeeper needed a save to keep your team in it.

she guessed right, diving to her left, but the ball was just out of reach.

the whistle blew, and it was over.

you stood frozen as the swedish players erupted in celebration, their cheers drowning out everything else. the way that the wave of yellow stormed the pitch seemed to be mocking.

your teammates collapsed around you, some crying, some staring blankly ahead.

someone grabbed your arm, emily you think…trying to pull you into a hug, but you couldn’t move.

your chest felt hollow, your vision blurred with tears you refused to let fall in front of the crowd. you were not going to let the opposition get the joy of seeing you in tears.

you had given everything, left it all out on the pitch, and it still wasn’t enough. the sting of failure was unfamiliar, and no amount of words or gestures from your teammates could dull it.

you sank to the ground, your knees digging into the grass as you buried your face in your hands. the weight of it all…the missed penalty, the heartbreak, the dreams that ended with that final whistle…crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

the swedish players walked past, some offering gestures of comfort, even fridolina.

the barcelona player, your club teammate, stayed with you as you sat on the grass. you zoned out as she told you how amazing you still were, and to please not be discouraged by this moment.

it didn’t matter. nothing mattered in that moment.

you felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to see your captain crouching beside you.

“y/n,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

“it’s not your fault. you hear me? it’s not your fault.”

it felt like it was. no matter how much she said otherwise, no matter how much your teammates tried to console you, the guilt was suffocating. you had trained your whole life for this, dreamed of this moment, and now it was gone.

when the team finally made its way back to the locker room, you sat in silence, staring at the floor as your teammates cried and tried to comfort each other. someone handed you a water bottle, but you barely noticed.

the noise around you felt distant, like you were trapped in a bubble of your own despair.

your phone buzzed in your bag, but you didn’t have the energy to check it. you already knew who it was.

salma.

she was probably watching the game from her hotel room with the rest of your barcelona teammates like alexia and aitana.

the thought of her seeing you like this, knowing how much you were hurting, made the tears finally fall.

you wiped them away quickly, not wanting anyone to see.

that night, you checked your phone. you had to.

of course you were not going to doom scroll at the thousands of tweets that rae probably bullying you.you just wanted to see salma’s name lighting up the screen.

it did, and you answered immediately, her voice soothing as it filled the silence.

“hey, amor,” she said, her tone gentle.

“i am so sorry..”

salma frowned.

“its whatever,”

you sigh.

“its not ‘whatever’, i know exactly how you are..”

salma says.

“huh?”

your eyebrows flared.

“you’re going to come back to barcelona and think about that penalty for months. you cannot self-destruct over that. you still did great throughout that match, trust me when i say that you were the best defender on that pitch.”

salma explains.

“still wasn’t enough.. it did not pay off.”

you mumble, laying in your hotel room bed, staring at your packed luggage.

“it didn’t now, but it will later, amor.”

“i don’t think the future is important right now, salma,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion.

“i feel like i let everyone down.”

“stop that,” she said firmly, but not unkindly.

“you didn’t let anyone down. you gave everything you had. that’s all anyone can ask for.”

you didn’t respond, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

“i wish i was there with you,” she continued.

“to hold you and tell you how proud i am of you in person. since i can’t be, you need to know this: you’re an incredible player and an even more incredible person. and i love you, no matter what.”

her words broke the dam, tears streaming down your face as you whispered, “i love you too.”

salma stayed on the phone with you for hours that night, talking about anything and everything to distract you from the pain. however, you made her go to sleep at some point since she still had the world cup to win.. even if it was not you.

when spain went on to win the world cup, you were in the stands, cheering louder than anyone else. seeing salma lift the young player of the tournament trophy was a moment you’ll never forget, her smile so bright it could have lit up the entire stadium.

a year later, at the start of the 24/25 season.. you were heartbroken.

it started after the champions league final against lyon. it was supposed to be another high point for you and your girlfriend.. another moment to celebrate together like back in 2023 and 2021.

somewhere in the aftermath of victory, you felt her slipping away.

the texts became shorter, the kisses less frequent, the way she used to look at you, like you were the center of her world, was gone. you tried to convince yourself it was just the stress of the season, and the upcoming olympics.. that maybe she was dealing with something she didn’t want to share yet.

however, the distance grew, and with every passing day, you felt more like a stranger in her life.

especially when you won the olympics with your country and salma did not win anything. she sent you a simple, “congrats.” but with no excitement or happiness added. you were happy for her when she won the world cup, why can’t she be happy for you here?

in your apartment. she was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone, barely acknowledging you as you stood in the kitchen, watching her.

you had spent the entire day trying to think of what to say, how to bring it up without making it worse. as the silence stretched on, the knot in your chest tightened until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“salma,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

she looked up, her brows furrowing slightly.

“yeah?”

“we need to talk.”

salma’s expression shifted, guarded now.

“about what?”

you took a deep breath, walking over to sit across from her.

“about us. about how... distant you’ve been. i don’t know what’s going on with you, but it feels like you’re not here anymore. not really.”

she sighed, putting her phone down and leaning back against the couch.

“i’ve just been busy, y/n. especially with the injury.. it’s nothing personal.”

“it feels personal,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“you barely talk to me anymore. you don’t hold my hand, you don’t kiss me, you don’t even look at me the same way. i feel like i’m losing you, and i don’t even know why.”

“you’re not losing me,” she said quickly, but the words felt hollow.

“then why does it feel like you don’t love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

the spanish woman’s silence was deafening. she looked away, her jaw tightening, and in that moment, you knew.

“salma,” you said, your throat tightening as tears pricked at your eyes.

“do you still love me?”

she hesitated. that hesitation was worse than any words she could’ve said. when she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost apologetic.

“i don’t know.”

the air left your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“you don’t know?”

“i’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.

“i didn’t want it to get to this point, but i’ve been feeling... off. something’s missing and i don’t know how to fix it.”

you stared at her, the woman you thought was your forever, and felt your heart shatter. “i love you,” you said, hoping that it would be enough to bring her back to you.

she didn’t say it back.

salma’s silence was the final blow, and you felt tears streaming down your face as you stood up.

“i think you should go,” you said, your voice trembling.

“y/n—”

“please,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“just go.”

she left without another word, and as the door closed behind her, you collapsed onto the couch, sobbing into your hands.

doing anything with the barcelona team became unbearable after that. seeing her every day, pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t, was a constant reminder of what you had lost.

salma was always there…laughing with your teammates, scoring goals in practice, living her life as if nothing had happened.

meanwhile, you were barely holding it together.

every time you heard someone mention her name, your stomach twisted. when esmee casually mentioned seeing her on a date, it felt like a punch to the gut. you plastered on a fake smile, nodding along like it didn’t matter, but inside, you were breaking.

your performance on the pitch started to suffer. you couldn’t focus, your touches were off, your passes lacked precision. it wasn’t long before people started to notice.

your coach pulled you aside after practice one day, his tone gentle but firm.

“y/n, is everything okay?” he asked.

you nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze.

“yeah, i’m fine.”

“you don’t look fine,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“you’re not playing like yourself, and i’m worried about you.”

“i’m just tired,” you lied.

he didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it.

“if you need to talk, my door’s always open.”

later that night, your agent called.

they had noticed too, and after a long conversation, they suggested you needed a change.

“as long as you’re in barcelona, you’re not going to be able to move on from your ex,” they said.

“you need a fresh start, somewhere you can focus on yourself and your career without all this... baggage.”

you were stunned. leaving barcelona had never crossed your mind, but the more they talked, the more it made sense.

every day here was a reminder of salma, of what you had lost. maybe getting away was the only way to heal.

when the winter transfer window opened, an offer from bayern munich came in. it was a good offer, one you couldn’t ignore. sydney, one of your friends outside of the barcelona team, played there and has for years. the thought of having a familiar face in a new city was comforting.

after a lot of thought…and even more tears…you made the decision.

telling your teammates about your leave was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done. after practice one day, you gathered everyone in the locker room, even salma.. your hands shaking as you tried to find the right words.

“i, uh...” you cleared your throat, looking around at the faces of your teammates, your friends.

“i just wanted to let you all know that i’m not staying with barcelona after the winter break.”

the room went silent.

“what?” alexia asked, her brow furrowing.

“i got an offer from bayern munich,” you explained, your voice trembling.

“and i’ve decided to take it. it’s been an amazing five years here, but... i think it’s time for a change.”

your teammates were shocked, but one by one, they came up to hug you, telling you how much they would miss you. you felt tears pricking at your eyes as you said goodbye to each of them, the reality of your decision hitting you all over again.

salma stood off to the side, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. the woman’s expression was unreadable, but you could see the sadness in her eyes.

when it was finally her turn, she stepped forward hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re leaving?” she asked, her voice cracking.

you nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“yeah.”

“why?”

you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“i need a fresh start,” you said finally.

salma’s face fell, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something more.

she didn’t.

instead, she just nodded, stepping back as keira came up to hug you.

the day you left for munich, you stood in the airport with your bags by your side, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

sydney had already called, promising to pick you up with georgia when you landed, but it didn’t make leaving any easier.

as you boarded the plane, you couldn’t help but think about salma. about the way she used to make you laugh, the way she held you after games, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

that was all in the past now.

back in barcelona, salma sat alone in her apartment, staring at the empty space where your things used to be.

it hit her all at once…the weight of what she had lost. you.

she thought back to the fight, to the distance she had put between you, to the moment she hesitated when you told her you loved her.

for the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

masterlist

#salma paralluelo #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona

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o-batll3 · 3 months ago

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hands - a.putellas x reader

warnings : none !

summary : alexia and reader are in a relationship hidden from the media. reader is a famous singer and asks alexia to have a small feature in the music video of her worldwide hit.

masterlist

you were sat in your studio with your management team , discussing options for your latest hit ‘i’m yours’. the song had gone insanely viral, reaching number one across the world.

‘what ideas do you have for your music video’ your manager asks.

‘i want someone in it’ you say, picturing the scene in your head.

— —

you had shot all of the scenes you needed in the music video except from one clip that would be split into two and repeated throughout the music video. the rest of the clips consisted of clips of your bare back in the shower, hands raking through your hair, as well as clips of you lip syncing in a pool in the nighttime. it was needless to say that the song was a suggestive song, and you knew as soon as your team started discussing a music video that you wanted her in it.

— —

you had been spotted at one barcelona women’s game, dressed in a barcelona shirt with a puffer coat on top layered with a scarf, no one knew what was on the back of your shirt.

your appearance at the game had been out of nowhere and fans were slightly confused why your were there, since you were born and lived in england.

— —

‘ale i want you in my music video’ you say, straight up. as soon as you say it you are terrified for the reaction of your girlfriend.

alexia slightly raises her eyebrows, your stomach is slightly uneasy.

‘you want me in your music video?’ she repeats back as you nod.

‘i need your hand to be in it, nothing else, just your hand.’ you day, watching her face shift with curiosity.

‘what will i be doing with my hand?’ she says, unsure of what to say.

‘i’ll show you the inspiration.’ you say, swiping through your phone to a video you had seen which had sparked an interest in you.

alexia furrowed her eyebrows as she watches the video.

it was a short clip.

just a hand moving lightly up a neck, with the collarbone visible.

‘si, i will do it.’ she says, smiling as she sees your eyes light up with happiness as you hug her.

you knew that alexia was not quite ready to fully announce their relationship, but the both of you had been having discussions of how to make subtle hints and hidden messages in posts, and this was one of the most perfect ways to do it.

— —

pretend there are rings xx

yourinstauser : go watch my newest music video for my latest hit im yours! 🖤

liked by alexiaputellas and others

view all comments

y/nfanpage - IM IN LOVEEE

mrsy/l/n - damn i have this playing on REPEAT

alexiaputellas - me encanta

marialeon16 - where was my invite?

reply | yourinstauser - sorry 😞 |

wosooy/n - a woso and y/n linkup?? my worlds colliding?? what is happening

lareinaaaa16 - am i going insane or is that alexia’s hand…

— —

you smiled into alexia’s neck as you lay on the bed on top of her whilst scrolling through social media.

alexia made a weird grunting noise, making you laugh.

‘are you okay?’ you ask, lifting your head up so you can see her face.

‘how do they know it is my hand amor?’ she said, frowning.

you tilted you head to the side, picking up her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it.

‘i don’t know baby.’ you say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she lets her head flop forward into your chest.

she then place a kiss on your neck.

‘te amo’

‘i love you too ale’

#woso #womens football #oneshot #oneshots #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexiaputellas #alexia putellas x reader #barcelona femeni

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purplereina11 · 11 days ago

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Why is her laughing at someone so f'ing adorable!

#barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #woso

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chelseacult · 2 months ago

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While You Were Sleeping

Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

Summary: post-movie date shenanigans

Word Count: 1.3k

The theater brightens as the ending credits roll. You begin to stir awake at the feeling of a gentle hand combing through your hair. Attempting to ignore all of the signs pointing toward your needing to get up, you nuzzle further into the plush leather seat. You feel movement in the seat next to you, followed by the press of soft lips against your forehead.

“You missed the ending,” Aitana whispers quietly. You feel her smile against your forehead before pulling back a sliver, still hovering. The continuous movement of her fingers in your hair aids only in increasing your desire to fall back asleep.

“Mmm. You should’ve woken me up,” you whisper back, tiredness evident in your voice. Her hand switches paths and moves to rest on your cheek, her thumb moving softly against your skin.

“It is okay. I explain to you later.” She’s still speaking quietly as if trying not to startle you. You open your eyes to the sight of her smiling down at you. Her smile brightens when you give her a tired smile in return.

“Bon dia, preciosa. Good sleep?” You nod, and your eyes flutter shut unconsciously. She makes a noise of disapproval, “Vinga, we need to go. They clean now.” She pulls away from you and stands up from her seat before turning to you. She raises an eyebrow when you make no move to stand up.

You sit up in your seat and reach out a hand towards her, wiggling your fingers, silently asking her to help you up. She rolls her eyes with a small smile and grasps your hand. Before she can attempt to help you up, you use your tangled fingers to pull her into you. She lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a gasp and a laugh. Her free hand moves back to its rightful place in your hair while your arms wrap around her waist, grasping her shirt lightly.

“I missed you,” you mumble before pecking her lips several times and pulling back.

“Cómo? I was here,” she laughs. She looks at you lovingly and starts to twirl a piece of your hair around her finger.

“You weren’t in my dream, so I missed you.” She laughs again and shakes her head before leaning forward to capture your lips again, a bit slower this time. You squeeze her hand lightly before she pulls away far too soon for your liking, leaving you to chase after her lips.

“I missed you too. And I miss how you talk during the movie,” she teases. You mock gasp and open your mouth to reply before the sounds of rolling carts and footsteps cut you off. Before you can even fully comprehend what you’re hearing, Aitana grabs your free hand and pulls you up, leading you both to the exit. “Mira! I told you. They clean.”

“Takes two to tango, baby.” You let go of her hand despite her protest and rush to open the theater door for her.

“You do not dance,” she responds with a slight pout, stopping to stand in front of you.

You stifle a laugh and gesture outside the door. She ignores your silent request and steps closer to you instead. “You do not!” she reiterates. You ignore her retort and smile at her, making no effort to hide the admiration in your eyes. The corners of her mouth turn up into a small smile, matching adoration present in her eyes. You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and she leans into your touch.

“You’re cute,” you say softly before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. You gently push her out into the hallway before she can reply.

The faint smell of old popcorn and burnt butter takes over your senses as you walk past the concession stand. That, and the feeling of your girlfriend grabbing your hand. “We should see that next!” she gestures excitedly toward a horror movie poster.

“So you can hide in my shoulder the whole time?” you tease her with a smile. She blushes slightly before bumping her shoulder into yours. “No.”

“Yes,” you press and bump her shoulder back.

“No. Only at home. The theater has a barrier, so I cannot reach you.”

You chuckle lightly. “You’ll find a way. I have faith in you.” She drops your hand with a roll of her eyes and walks ahead to open the exit door for you, reversing the roles from earlier.

“Mi amor,” she nods, a big smile on her face as she stands there holding the door. You smile back at her with a tilt of your head before thanking her. You walk out of the building, Aitana not far behind you. A chill takes over your body as a gust of wind comes by.

“Told you so,” she quips from behind you, laughing affectionately under her breath. You open your mouth to reply but stop yourself upon feeling her touch on your shoulders. Her hands begin to follow a steady path up and down your arms, attempting to warm you up. The sweetness of the gesture causes warmth to swarm through your body, even more so than the gesture itself.

“Helping?” The smirk is evident in her voice. You hum in approval. “Remember I told you bring a jacket?”

“Mhm,” you hum again. “You’re always right, babe. Happy?”

“Yes, I am. Right and happy,” the midfielder says with a soft squeeze of your shoulders, leaning forward to kiss one of them. She wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you into her. “You make me happy,” she whispers in your ear. The feeling of her breath on your ear makes you shiver slightly again.

You turn around in her arms and wrap yours around her neck. That same adoration from earlier is back in Aitana’s eyes. Or maybe it never left. You’re sure it never leaves yours. You pull her closer to you and rest your forehead on hers. You can feel every breath she takes, and the warmth from the wool sweater she’s wearing radiates off of her. She closes her eyes as you gently scratch the back of her neck.

“I love you.” She doesn’t wait for you to say it back before she presses her lips to yours. Warmth once again engulfs your body to the point that you can’t believe you were ever cold. You smile into the kiss at her accented words, the declaration itself, the feeling of her hands squeezing your waist and her lips slowly moving against yours. Just her.

You pull back hesitantly and open your eyes. She doesn’t let you go too far, keeping you close and resting her forehead on yours. There’s just enough space between your bodies to allow you to breathe out an “I love you” against her lips. She finally opens her eyes at that, and you share a smile as you both catch your breaths.

“Me more,” she counters. Your attempt to oppose her claim of loving you more comes to a halt when she pulls back a bit. A serious look befalls her features.

“Okay, carinyo. Serious question for you now.” You might’ve been more nervous at her ominousness if it weren’t for her hands reaching down to play with yours.

“What’s your question?”

She waits a beat. Her facade of seriousness starts to falter the longer she looks at you.

“Do you remember where we parked the car?” she finally asks, dropping the serious act altogether and smiling at you.

You scoff but can’t help the laugh she pulls from you. Her laugh follows shortly after.

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #fcb femeni #barcelona femeni #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso one shot #woso community #aitana bonmatí #aitana bonmatí x reader #aitana bonmatí imagine #fcb femení #barcelona femení

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mrchiipchrome · 3 months ago

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Girlfriends?

W.C. - 5.7 k

a/n: wonze kid is backkkkkkkkkk and with a bang.

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Growing up in Sevilla, life was perfect. Three older brothers that encouraged your footballing ability practically from the second you took your first breath, a set of parents that pushed you to be the very best at everything, and an academy that proved to be the absolute best for your development made for a good childhood.

A quick learner by far, you had already started playing with girls twice your age when you were 10, and by age 12 (and a half) you had already started to train with the senior girls, not old enough to be allowed to play in matches.

It was a weekly routine you had built up over the years, go train with the senior girls during the weekdays, school work completed during the afternoon, games with the girls your age on fridays, games with the U21s during the sunday afternoon. It was hectic, sure, but you were good, really good.

Some weeks you would have to skip the U21 matches in favor of tournaments with the other youth teams, which in turn gave you perhaps the best gift of your lifetime, a (by now) 5’6 brunette with the most encaptivating greenish eyes and the feistiest demeanor you’ll ever encounter.

Julia Romero, una true madridista.

Her white clad frame had been a constant in your life since you were practically too short to reach the kitchen table, as feisty as she always had been.

That almost chaotic energy always translated onto the pitch, with creative passes and shots from distance being a regular occurrence in her game. She had your heart captured since the moment you’d first laid eyes on her.

Through the multitude of years you’d come to know each other, you had formed a special partnership both on and off the field, a connection that led to more than a few trophies for the youth national teams.

A package deal as most would label you two as, playing for teams miles upon miles away from each other. It was funny when they (mostly parents of the other kids) would refer to you as that, a package deal.

It was even funnier when they’d refer to you as twins, each fiery and competitive in your own rights, but knowing the hidden affections quickly developing, it just felt wrong.

The weekends you were meeting up to play against each other quickly became the highlights of your weeks, waiting patiently for the next opportunity to challenge the other.

When, at the ripe age of 13, you both got your very own cell phones, communication became ten million times easier and in turn you became ten times more in love with the breakout madrid star. Best in Spain, Y/n/n and Juli.

Strangely enough though, neither of you clocked the fact that you were both madly, undoubtedly, so in love with each other until that night when you both turned 14.

Julia always liked to boast about the fact that she was 10 minutes older than you, born right before midnight, whilst you were born right after midnight.

Sitting on the hotel bed in your shared room at the under 21 Spain camp, the only players under the age of 17, you and your best friend obviously got to room together.

Right across from you sat Julia, with her normal mischievous smile, looking deeply into your eyes as the clock ticked down to midnight, anticipation filling her body more than your own. Your knees touch hers ever so slightly, you both sitting crisscrossed so that you’d be able to even fit on the bed in the first place.

“What are you going to wish for?” She asks, eyes wide in suspense, as if the answer had been something she had been waiting for since the dawn of time. Leaning back into the headboard, you look up towards the ceiling, contemplating (but not really at the same time) about what you would wish for as you blew out the lit match only minutes from now.

“Maybe a contract from Barcelona.” You tease, looking down at her unamused face, shrieking when she ‘attacks’ you, jumping onto your body and tickling your sides. “No, no, stop, stop, I won’t, I promise.” You gasp out between fits of laughter, Julia quickly retreating with a satisfied look on her face.

“Mhm, better keep that promise. I can’t stand seeing your little sad face when I beat you.” Laying down beside you, Julia starts the teasing again, the look on her face one of amusement, eyes widening as she notices the arms of the clock on the wall almost at midnight.

Watching her spring up from the bed, your eyes follow her all the way until she stops at her bag, pulling a box of matches out of the front compartment.

Pretending you weren’t just studying her entire being when she turns around, Julia makes her way back to the bed, resuming her position on the bed.

“Sit up lazy.” You roll your eyes at the playful insult slipping from her lips, begrudgingly sitting up and facing the shorter girl.

She pulls out a match and strikes it against the match board, lighting up in the span of milliseconds before she holds it out closer to you, waiting for you to blow the flame out. It was the next best thing to a cake, with diets and all.

Actually pondering over what you would wish, only one thing comes to mind.

Closing your eyes, you blow the flame out quickly, only one thing repeating in your mind as you do.

‘All I wish for is you, Julia.’

It puts a small smile on your lips, that much you can’t deny, and as you open your eyes you see the smile is mirrored by the girl across from you, her soft, plump lips stretching into that familiar smile you love oh so much.

“Soooo, what did you wish for?” She asks playfully, smirking at the silly smile painted on your face.

“I don’t wish and tell Juli, those are the rules.” You make a play on the popular saying, backing away from her slowly, as if she wouldn’t notice. Her eyes narrow at you, like she knew something you didn’t.

“Oh really, that’s how it is?” She moves closer to you on the bed, knees just about touching now as she continues her interrogation, looking up at you through her painted lashes.

“Mhm, that’s exactly how it is mi amor.” The casual nickname slips out from between your lips as she leans in closer to you, face only centimeters from your own. You see the way her eyes flick down to rest on your lips for just a second, her hands creeping onto your knees carefully, like she didn’t want to startle you.

You copy her, eyes looking down at the soft lips not too far away from yours, wanting nothing other than to just close the gap between you.

“Do it.” The faint whisper comes from the girl across from you, her lips barely parted as she speaks in that low faint tone, her eyes briefly meeting yours as they look up from your lips. Your eyes look back down at her lips, tongue peeking out to wet your lips quickly. “Kiss me.”

You don’t waste another second after that, leaning in and capturing her lips with your own. They were everything you could have hoped for and more, sweet like the candy you had shared before, with just the smallest hint of mango from the lipgloss she had put on earlier in the day. Her lips were soft like pillows and it felt like you were dreaming, in what world could she not be a figment of your imagination.

When she starts to pull away you chase after her lips, one taste of her and you were already hooked on the drug that is Julia Romero.

“Was that what you wished for?” She asks, her hand pressing against the middle of your chest to almost stop you from catching her lips with yours again.

“Yes, you, all I wished for was you.” Julia smiles with her whole face, looking at you all sweetly like she always did, that love in her eyes stronger than ever.

“Good, because that’s what I wished for too.” Your expression turns confused, like you couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“You wished for yourself too?” The girl has to keep herself from rolling her eyes at your stupidity, instead laying down on the bed just beside where you’re still sitting up and extending her arms out for you to crawl into.

“You’re a dumbass.” She says, laughing as you bury your face in her neck and sigh loudly, throwing your leg around her hips and pulling her entire body into yours.

“Yeah but I’m your dumbass.” Now that you knew she liked you, you would never let her go. And based on the way she laughed and hummed in agreement, you were pretty sure she liked the idea of that too.

—----------------------

The next few months go surprisingly well, with Julia coming down to visit on the weekends every month and you going up to Madrid two weeks after that. The months neither of you had time to visit, that’s when facetime was used the most.

It hurt, not being able to see each other every day, but that was simply life. School and training started picking up again, especially as you had finally been moved up to the senior team permanently, playing in the dying minutes of games and even scoring at times.

But you knew that it would pay off, all the time spent on the pitch and away from your girlfriend, as you got to dedicate all the goals you scored to her. When you scored, the first thing you did was kiss the tape you always had around your wrist (from an old injury that still caused some pain), her name hidden beneath a layer of it, before you ran towards the camera at the corner flag to do your half of the duo celebration you’d both come up with years ago.

In reality it was just a handshake, but you did your half of it in front of the camera every time, no matter what, because you knew she was at home doing the other half.

That was until the last game of the 21/22 season, Sevilla v Barcelona. The team hadn’t lost a game the whole season, undefeated in Liga F and you wanted to break their streak.

Definitely not because a certain someone was in the crowd, waving enthusiastically every time your eyes met as you warmed up. No, it wasn’t her.

You wanted to impress her, not that you’d ever tell her that, seeing as you’d never hear the end of it if you did.

Like usual, you sat on the bench for most of the game, exchanging silly faces with your girl, not even batting an eye as Barcelona hit the net one, two, three, four, five times. She was all you could focus on when you sat on the uncomfortable bench, leg bouncing up and down in anticipation for the call to get on the pitch.

“Y/l/n, it’s time, go warm up.” Your coach told you, watching with careful eyes as you started going through the motions of warming up. It was only the 65th minute, so you had plenty of time to make your mark on the game, like you wanted to.

Only a minute or two later you’re standing at the sidelines, looking back to where your girl is sitting for a bit of reassurance, the girl flashing a big smile and two equally enthusiastic thumbs up your way. Taking a big breath in, you breathe out through your mouth, holding your hands up for your teammate to slap as she makes her way off the pitch for you to enter.

“This is surely not what Barcelona have expected from Sevilla, 14 year old superstar in the making Y/n Y/l/n stepping onto the pitch, towering over her grown opponents as she takes her place in the striker position.” The commentators explain to the people watching the game online, looking on as the game restarts, the ball in Barcelona’s half. You can feel the atmosphere in the stadium, the small section of Sevilla fans cheering louder than the Barcelona fans for just a moment as you step on.

The academy product, scoring against women twice her age most of the time, a superstar from their very own city. They had the right to be proud.

Loudest of all was your girlfriend, standing and cheering for you in one of your old Spain jerseys, as much as she did love you, there was no way that she would ever wear another team’s shirt.

The Barcelona team you were meeting was probably the most difficult team to play against, their skilled midfielders keeping the ball from you and the centerbacks keeping you from ever getting close to their goal. Still, you were nothing if not determined.

Getting the ball back to your feet, you think about all the videos you’d watched and analyzed of the opposing team, how they built up their attacks, how they closed down other teams, everything. All of it is in your head, you know them, you know how they play and you know how to use it to your advantage.

Starting your run through the middle of the pitch, the first player you encounter is Ana-Maria, her style was easy, and it was even easier to tap the ball between her open legs and push around her, continuing your run.

The next player running towards you is a certain Aitana Bonmatí, undoubtedly one of the best players in the world and a player that’s more difficult to get through, given not only the technical skill she possesses but also the pure physicality of the shorter woman. Switching the ball onto your non-dominant foot, you quickly maneuver it to the other one, flicking the ball up in the air before taking advantage of the height difference to run around her and head the ball back down to your foot.

Next up was Mapí Leon, a player that wouldn’t hesitate to use brute force to stop you from getting the ball in the goal, still, like Bonmati she was quite short. Running straight at her, like you predicted, she slides in to get the ball, only you’ve already chipped it straight over her outstretched legs, running to the edge of the penalty box.

The last line of defense, Paños, the one you have the most trouble reading. The goalkeeper rushes out towards you, making herself as big as possible to be able to deflect any shot from your foot. The one thing she doesn’t realize is the fact that you have a knack for curling the ball around the keeper in the most infuriating way possible.

The whole team watches with stunned expressions as the ball travels towards the goal, landing in the bottom corner with a satisfying swish. Two minutes, that’s all it took for you to make your mark on the game, two damn minutes.

Running towards the Sevilla fans on the opposite side of the pitch, you dutifully kiss the tape on your wrist, then tap the badge atop your heart before stopping in front of your girlfriend, holding your hand out to do your celebration.

Moments later, after the whole handshake is done, you wink at her before taking your leave, not forgetting to bow down in front of the screaming fans. Sure, you were still 5-1 down, but you had just scored against the biggest team in the country so you were allowed to celebrate.

Returning to your position, the game restarts and you immediately notice the increased mancoverage on you, you could barely even get the ball before there would be an annoying Barcelona player breathing down your neck.

Using this to your advantage, you distracted the women around you as your teammates built up attacking plays. At the same time, you were still freshly on with loads of energy, leaving the tired players to chase after you as you made runs upon runs.

In the 76th minute you see your teammate run up the wing and you just know she needs a head to meet the ball she plays into the box. Running as fast as you can, you launch yourself up towards the ball, angling it down to the ground just inside the goal with your head, like a bird of sorts.

A brace off the bench against one of the best teams in the world, yeah that’s just something you would do. This time you run towards the cornerflag, your team surrounding you as you get various pats on your head and shoulders. When the team starts to leave to their positions on the field, you decide to do one last thing in front of the furious Barcelona fans.

You blow a kiss to the crowd, laughing at their overreactions to the simple gesture.

In the 89th minute, you find yourself surrounded by shorter women, all trying to keep you from rising up above them and heading the ball from the corner into the goal. Like the slippery eel you are, you try to run circles around them, trying to confuse them with your position.

When you finally settle between two of their defenders you decide to be a little cheeky, one of your favorite pastime activities.

“So are all Barca defenders this short? Or have I just struck gold today?” You tease Mapi, who’s elbow meets your ribs harshly, almost making you double over in pain. There wasn’t much muscle protecting your dear ribs yet, or the rest of your body to be fair, so impact was felt to the full extent.

“Are you not meant to be doing your fifth grade homework?” She asks in the same tone as you had before, looking back at you with that oversure expression on her face. You just know that you have to wipe it off her face, with a goal preferably.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing bingo with the other elders? Or can you just not reach the table?” Before Mapi can retort, the ball is played into the box and with athleticism that only Zlatan could rival, you leap up into the air, twisting around so that your heel meets the ball with your back to the goal, a perfect scorpion kick. Well as perfect as it could be with you ending up on the ground in the goal.

Dying minute bangers, another specialty of yours.

Blowing another kiss, this time towards the Spanish defender standing dumbfounded in front of you, you get up off the floor, running past her to get back to your own half, not without yelling a quick “that one was for you” to the world class defender. All in good fun of course, you wouldn’t do it maliciously, especially not seeing as they were still leading.

The final whistle is blown only moments later, leaving you to collapse onto the pitch in pure exhaustion from the game. Considering the fact that you’d already played a full 90 against a U23 team earlier that week, you were pretty tired.

Wondering silently if you could just take a nap in the middle of the field, you’re interrupted in your daydreaming by a hand in front of your face, a hand leading up to a player in blaugrana.

“You had a good game kid, next time though, could you not score a hattrick off the bench?” Mapi helps you up and off the ground, shaking your hand properly as you just stand there, a silly smile on your face.

“I can score a double hat trick with a start if that would make you feel any better?” The older defender ruffles your hair quickly at the teasing before she lets you go, sending you on your merry way to wherever it is you went after games.

Trudging across the pitch, you almost fall into your girlfriend’s arms as soon as you get close enough, pretty much falling asleep in the crook of her neck. She giggles sweetly and the sound paints a smile on your face, her whispered complaints of how sweaty you were drowned out by your playful yawns.

Pulling away from her neck, your eyes meet and your cheeks turn even more red than before, the physical exertion from the match clearly catching up to you. But no kiss was exchanged, you two wanted to keep your blooming relationship to yourselves and away from the public eye, leading to the act of just being best friends continuing out in the open.

Your girlfriend’s eyes shift from your own to something behind you, eyes widening exponentially at what she found.

“What’s up?” You ask Julia, who just continues to stare at something over your shoulder.

“Enemy, 6 o’clock.” Is all she says in response, rolling her eyes when you just look at her confused, placing her hands on either side of your head to turn it back to where she was looking. A smiling Alexia Putellas making her way over to where you’re standing next to your girlfriend is the last thing you were expecting, but that’s exactly what was happening.

“What the fu-” You start before one of the hands placed on the sides of your head lands over your mouth, Julia clearly not wanting you to swear in front of a legend. Licking her palm, Julia snatches her hand back as quickly as she had put it there, wiping her hand on the front of her shirt.

Looking back at her with a smirk, Julia rolls her eyes again before she slaps the back of your head, Alexia having stopped right in front of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You played really good today Y/n, impressive for your age, don’t be surprised if you hear from your agent within the coming days.” She smiles before turning on her heel, almost whiplashing you with the quick statement.

Looking back at the brunette, she meets your gaze with a knowing look in her eyes and a smile stretched across her lips.

“Accept it.” Julia tells you silently, the fond look never disappearing off her face.

“What?” You ask the Real Madrid youth player, not understanding what she meant by that. There wasn’t a world wherein Julia Romero would tell you to join Barcelona.

“If you get a contract offer from them, you have to accept it.” She clarifies, looking you in the eyes deeply, like she was telling you that she was being fully truthful, which she was either way.

“Why?”

“It’s what’s best for your career, I won’t let a little rivalry destroy us. Plus it'll make El Clasico 10 times more fun when I’ll absolutely crush you.” She winks at the end, making you blush once again.

“Oh in your dreams, pretty girl.” Starting to walk back to your locker room, you keep up the conversation with your girl, walking backwards to see her.

“You know you are.” Stumbling over your feet, you fall back onto your butt at the words, the already visible blush on your face growing darker, both at the words but also what you had done.

It’s just like you to score a hattrick against the best team in the world then trip over your own feet walking backwards.

—---------------------------

Just like that, a few days later Barcelona offered you a contract and the rest was history. You moved out of the small house in Sevilla to Barcelona, where you moved into the home of the two overbearing English women. A key part in the 22/23 Champions League winning squad, you scored a goal in the final of the competition, the winning goal that got you the shiny gold medal hanging over your bed, which then led to you being called up to the senior national team and winning a World Cup gold, but that’s a story for another day.

You continued to see Julia on the weekends neither of you had anything to do, getting on a train to Madrid under the guise of having a sleepover with Vicky, meeting up with your girl, spending the night and then going back to Barcelona just in time for Lucy to pick you up from Vicky’s house. Sure it cost you a good 100 euros every time, with the train tickets and the so-called ‘Vicky bribe’, but it was so worth it.

You got a weekend with your girlfriend and Vicky got 20 euros. A win-win.

During the two years you’d lived with the English women, they hadn’t suspected anything, not that you had a girlfriend nor that you went and visited her as often as you possibly could.

Well they didn’t suspect anything until the Clasico, where they had seen you both laughing and smiling all secretly to each other, like something was going on between you and the Real Madrid player.

Coincidentally, that day was also the day when your girlfriend first met your unofficial parents.

—-------------------------

The first El Clásico you had played against your girl had ended in a 4-1 win to Barcelona, with you scoring a brace and Julia scoring Madrid’s sole goal. She had been moved up to the first team at the start of the 23/24 season and despite her technically being your enemy, you were still over the moon for her.

As soon as the final whistle had been blown, you dropped to the floor like you always did, ready to take an impromptu nap right there and then.

A recognisable giggle sounds from above you, opening one eye to look up at the white clad midfielder standing in front of you with a hand out, you don’t waste a second before taking the hand in your own, pulling the girl down onto the ground instead of pulling yourself up.

“Lia, my sweetheart, what are you doing down on the ground?” You ask her playfully as she slaps your shoulder, sitting up and looking down at you with that captivating smile on her face, rolling her eyes at you like you loved.

“You’re an idiot, you know that.” Nodding along with her words, you mirror her, sitting up and leaning your weight back onto your hands, smiling mischievously her way.

“Yeah, you’ve told me like a gazillion times.” Wifting your arms around as you speak, you don’t notice Lucy and Keira making their way over to you and your ‘friend’.

“Told you what?” Lucy interrupts, looking between you and Julia rapidly, trying to understand the relationship there, friends or something more.

“Nothing special Lucifer, did you want anything or did you just come to interrupt?” Stifling a laugh at Lucy's expression, you look at your girlfriend, thinking you’d see a smile stretched over her pillowy lips, instead finding what you assume to be a look of dread on her face.

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you stand up from your sitting position and dust yourself off before offering a courteous hand to your secret girlfriend, who takes it and stands up, half hiding behind you.

“Right, Robert, Keira, this is my childhood friend Julia, who unfortunately plays for Real Madrid which means she’ll never win anything ever.” You tease the brunette, like you always did, it was just too easy. Still, you were met with a slap to the back of your head, like usual, before she sticks her hand out to properly introduce herself to your pseudo moms.

“Julia Romero, nice to meet you both.” The way you’re looking at her definitely exposes you more than it should, but you don’t mind it, the two women in front of you knew nothing about your love life as it was.

“Childhood friends you say? Nothing else…?” Lucy really wasn’t smooth, or subtle for that matter as she tried asking you the question they were both thinking.

“Childhood friends, we’re actually best friends but I didn’t think that was a worthwhile distinction.” You respond sassily, Lucy ruffling your hair before you could even try to stop her, and whilst it was annoying for you, it did put a smile on Julia’s face and that was all that mattered.

“Alright, alright, just wrap it up soon, the bus leaves in 15.” The two leave after that, and suddenly you’re just standing with your girlfriend, all alone.

“Well, I should get going, my teammates are probably wondering where I am.” Her voice trails off as she points over her shoulder and you smile, raising your eyebrows softly.

“I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

As you both make your way back to your respective locker rooms, you’re both oblivious to the bets being placed on what your relationship actually is.

—------------------------------

Champions League final 2024, one of the biggest games of your career, big games that keep piling up as you play for Barcelona. A final, it was a final and Jona had insisted on starting you.

Big breath in, big breath out. It’s fine. You can do this.

Walking out onto the pitch, your eyes immediately search for her, the twinkling green that you love so so much. She waves at you all excited in the old and tattered spain jersey she had insisted on wearing. Breath in, breath out. It’s time.

The first 20 minutes or so are calm, filled with counter attacks and defending against another one of the best teams in the world, it’s just Lyon.

Weaving through defender after defender, not unlike how you had against your current team nearly two years before, your brain is on autopilot, just focusing on getting the ball in the goal no matter what. And that you do, curling the ball around the defenders, watching as it ends up in the top corner of the goal.

Champions League final, yeah right.

Pointing to the brunette in the stands, everyone in the arena understands that the goal was dedicated to her, no one seeing the wink you send her though before you return to restart the game.

The rest is pretty simple, Aitana scoring just before half time and then Alexia scoring only minutes after coming on as a substitute. It all goes so fast, because suddenly the final whistle goes and you’ve won another Champions League.

You won the Champions League.

You don’t realize it until after you’ve all gotten your medals and done the trophy lift. No, it isn’t until there’s a sprinting Julia Romero heading your way that you actually register it, you won.

There’s a split second between when you catch her and when you make the decision to kiss her that you can’t help but think about all that has happened since you first got together. Two Champions League finals won, a World Cup victory, a contract from Barcelona, her getting into the senior squad at Real Madrid, her winning various tournaments with the youth teams, her joining you in the senior national team. So much had happened in so little time, and yet she was the best thing of all.

And so, you kiss her. For the first time, you actually kiss her in public, in front of friends and family, but also the millions of people watching from behind their screens. Her legs wrap tightly around your waist, arms tangling around your neck, fingers running through your hair. Your hands settle under her thighs, supporting her body so that she wouldn’t be able to just fall off.

The kiss is just magical, PG enough so that you don’t get yelled at but still some tongue action going on. Her lips are as soft as the day you first kissed her, just as sweet but now there’s a hint of salt, wet tears rolling down her cheeks as she kisses you.

Pulling away, your hands roam up until they settle against the sides of her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that just seem to keep on falling. Her forehead leans against yours, nose nudging yours as she asks for another kiss.

Releasing her legs from their grip around your waist, Julia stands in front of you, her arms threading around your neck again as she brings you down for yet another kiss, this one not as passionate, more like a congratulations kiss. Pulling back, she pecks your lips twice before fully letting you go.

“Why are you crying baby?” Tears were still rolling down her face, no matter how much you tried to wipe them, they kept on coming.

“I’m just so proud of you, look at how far you’ve come. You won the Champions League.” Smiling at her adorable reasoning, you lean in to kiss her once more, well that is until you’re interrupted, yet again by a certain someone.

“Childhood friends huh? Nothing more? I knew you were together, I could see it.” Turning towards Lucy, you roll your eyes at the statement, clearly she did know a little, but obviously not everything.

“So you know that I actually didn’t sleep over at Vicky’s all those times then? That I was really in Madrid all those times?” You tease, which was probably a bad idea, considering the fact that you definitely were not allowed to go to Madrid over the weekends. “Amor, I’ll see you in a little.” You rush out before you start running, Lucy wasting no time and chasing after you.

A calmer looking Keira comes up to Julia, who’s standing there dumbfounded, and offers her the hand that’s not clutching onto the trophy.

“Welcome to our little family, they do that sometimes, same level of maturity, them two.” Julia shakes her head fondly, looking at the terrified expression you’re wearing as you get chased around the pitch. “They’ll calm down soon, then we can take some pictures together, all of us. You’ll come home with us later, right?”

And even though Julia knew she’d be teased for the rest of her life, she still stood and posed for photos with you and the CL trophy her rivals had won.

Photos that later got posted to your instagram with the caption;

My trophy and my wife, nothing better in life.

#woso #woso x reader #lionesses #barcelona femeni #woso imagines #parents universe #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #keira walsh #wonze kid #wonze x reader #wonze

459 notes · View notes

flemingology · 2 months ago

Note

soft alexia where she always looks for reader after a home game and runs to the stands or dedicates goals to her 🫠🥲🥺

siempre para ti ─ alexia putellas x reader

in which: alexia scores the winner in el clasico. for you.

warnings: none

wc: 1.3k

a/n: 2 posts in 2 days? who am i

Game days. Your worst favourite days. You loved going to watch your girlfriend do what she loves, really, but the nerves that came along with that weren’t as welcomed. Especially with El Clasico.

Alexia went through the motions, as she always did on game days. Had her usual breakfast, did some pre-pre-activation in your home gym and listened to the same 4 songs on repeat like she always did on matchdays. You could cite them all word for word now, but you wouldn’t dare complain and mess up her little routines.

She left you 4 hours before kick-off, a couple lingering kisses that would’ve lead to more if she didn’t have a 90-minute football game to go play, not without your promise that you’d be there and cheer for her if she scored. Alexia knew you’d be there and she knew you’d cheer the loudest of them all if she managed to get the ball in the back of the net, but who minds a little reassurance?

You made your way to the stadium well before the game started, not wanting to get caught in Barcelona’s rush hour traffic. You found your spot in the friends & family box, greeting Eli and Alba with a kiss on the cheek before settling in and glancing over at the Barça team who were already doing their warm-ups.

Alexia scanned the crowd when they were called inside, her gaze lighting up once her eyes found yours. You shot her a wave and an encouraging smile, which she reciprocated quickly – not without having to endure some teasing from Vicky.

The Spanish midfielder would never get used to seeing you in the stands. You probably hadn’t missed a home game yet in the past 4 years of dating each other, but she still felt fuzzy and warm inside when she saw the woman she loved most sitting in the stands of the football club she loved most. You were there for her, to watch her, in her shirt to cheer for her and she wanted to perform for you.

And that’s what she did. Barça took the game by the scruff of its neck, completely dominating and controlling the game from kick-off onwards. Chance after chance, shot after shot, the girls in blaugrana were all over their opponents. Aitana and Caro both had a big chance, but neither could convert. Much to your surprise and the team’s dismay, the 0-0 was still on the board when the referee blew the whistle for half-time.

They’d had the chances to be in front, but they hadn’t been clinical enough. This time, Alexia didn’t search for your eyes before she went into the tunnel, her professional demeanour never wavering a second once she was in game-mode. You hoped she wouldn’t be scolding herself too much over the promising free-kick she wasted.

The teams came back out 15 minutes later, and you finished up chatting to Alba as the game started again. More of the same, as expected, as Barça once again took control of the game. They were playing good football, passing the ball around, making runs in the channels and creating chances, but it felt like they couldn’t cross that final hurdle. Ingrid almost scored from a corner and they were claims for a penalty after a harsh tackle on Ewa, but nothing given.

It wasn’t until stoppage time that they had their best chance of the game. Some combinations at the back to play out of Madrid’s press, Patri was now rushing forward with the ball in midfield. She scanned the pitch, looking for options to lay the ball off to, sending it outside for Caro to chase. She got there first, beat her defender with a simple step over and sent a cross into the box.

It felt like slow motion, really. The final minutes ticking down on the clock, the ball sailing in the air, bodies pushing one another in the penalty area, until someone fell and they were shouts for a foul. You couldn’t make out who it was, who had fallen, but what you did make out was the whistle and the outstretched arm from the referee. Penalty.

Situations in football didn’t get much more pressure-loaded than this. A 93rd minute game-winning penalty in El Clasico. Your heart hammered against your chest, so you could only imagine how the players were feeling on the pitch. You’d been too caught up in a conversation with Eli to see Alexia had stepped up. She was stood near the ball, hands on her hips as she tried to calm her erratic breathing from having ran around the past 45 minutes.

The whistle sounded and Alexia took another couple deep breaths before beginning her run-up. A couple steps back. One to the side. Another deep breath. Short little steps to begin her run-up. A little pause. And then; the back of the net.

The stadium erupted, you cheered and jumped up and down to celebrate what would surely be the winning goal of the game. Alexia took off towards the corner flag to celebrate with the fans, her teammates soon barrelling in and tackling her down to the ground. You hugged Eli and Alba, the remnants of what had been a nerve-wracking game slowly washing away.

Alexia stood back up after a couple moments and her eyes scanned the friends and family box, looking for you. Your gazes locked and a toothy grin formed on her face, pointing her finger at the badge on her chest and then at you. She blew a kiss your way before turning back around and jogging over to her side of the pitch, leaving you with a warm feeling in your chest. No matter how many goals Alexia would dedicate to you, you’d never get tired of the fact it was your eyes she looked for after she made the ball hit the back of the net. It was you she blew a kiss, you she broke her stern captain bravado for.

It was much later when Alexia finally emerged from the changing room and into the friends and family area, surrounded by teammates and their speaker still playing loud music – clearly all very happy with the derby win. She was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt, clearly planning on celebrating the win. You could hear plans were made for a night out from where you were standing a little away from the group of players, as Alexia silently snuck away and walked over to you.

Your face lit up with a smile as the Barçelona captain come up to you with damp, disheveled hair, eyes tired with the exhaustion from running around for 90 minutes. “Hola, winner,” you teased, the brunette engulfing you in a tight hug. “Nice goal, hmm,” you said, lifting your shoulder a little so she would pull back. “Para ti,” Alexia whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “Siempre para ti.” Alexia accentuated her words with a soft kiss against your lips, pouring all her love for you in the short couple seconds of intimacy.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the soft moment, clutching onto the back of her shirt tightly before she’d inevitably be pulled away by her teammates to get their night out going. Alexia’s arms circled around your waist in that ever familiar way, and even though you were here in a friends and family box in a stadium an hour and a half away from where you lived, Alexia’s embrace felt like home.

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #barca femení #barca femeni #barcelona femeni

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writingxfootballl · 22 days ago

Text

and after all this time (i’m still into you) (alexia putellas x reader)

when arsenal plays barcelona in the champions league final, you finally get to see the girl who broke your heart years ago.

word count: 3105 ish

rating: C cheesy ending but i ran out of ideas. A for kind of angsty but not really.

title- still into you by paramore

a/n: this is unedited. clearing out my computer. don’t come at me for spelling mistakes and plot holes >:(

----

you don’t get nervous.

you’re always confident and composed before every game, and you knew that.

jonas knew that.

everyone knew that.

which is why you’ve been the captain at (almost) every team you’ve played for.

it only took half a season in london after your transfer from bayern for you to gain the title of vice captain.

now, two seasons after that, you’re sitting comfortably on your title as captain.

you’re confident and you knew it.

which is why you’re struggling to figure out why your heart is pounding as you put on your captain’s armband.

viv just blamed it on the nerves of the game.

after all, it is the champion’s league final.

who wouldn’t be nervous?

you that’s who.

you knew you wouldn’t be nervous.

you should be there to pep talk your team and get the kids like maanum excited for what was about to happen.

but you were a mess.

“snap out of it. people are beginning to notice.”

viv’s low hiss in dutch brought you out of it temporarily.

you felt a soft tap on the shoulder and turned to see malin’s nerve ridden face.

you briefly forget about your own troubles in place of comforting the younger players.

still, some people are beginning to notice.

lisa whispers to viv:

“is everything okay with y/n?”

viv just shrugs.

your hands don’t get clammy.

like being nervous, having clammy hands was out of the ordinary for you.

which is why you’re confused when you find yourself constantly having to wipe your hands on your shorts to keep them from persperating.

when the game is about to begin, you adjust your captains armband and make your way up front, making sure to wipe your hands again in order to save torrejón the misery of shaking hands with your hot and sweaty ones.

as you’re looking down and adjusting, you don’t notice barca’s new captain walking up towards you.

you don’t notice that it’s in fact not torrejón.

you don’t notice until she walks up right in front of you, and you’re hit with the smell of perfume, one that you were so enamored with many years ago.

and almost immediately, the memories you had suppressed come flooding back.

there’s a sharp intake of air.

and then you look up.

10 years ago

this was your last season with levante.

you knew that.

you had started talks with the staff at wolfsburg and barca, no longer wanting to stay in buñol anymore.

you had signed at the sweet age of 15, and two years later, you weren’t happy with where you were at.

now, 17, you’re more than happy to leave.

aside from being levante’s captain and star midfielder, the club didn’t offer you much.

regardless if you were leaving or not, you still were going to make sure you had one hell of a season.

making your way onto the pitch on the first day of training, you’re surprised to hear the swish of the ball hitting the back of the net.

you’re usually the first to arrive, so someone else being there was unusual to say the least.

you make your way behind the brunette girl, who doesn’t quite seem to register your presence.

you watch her take a few free kicks from behind.

the 11 on her jersey flows as the ball hits the back of the net each and every time.

putellas.

the name doesn’t ring a bell.

must be a new signing.

you clear your throat a little and the girl in front of you spins around so quickly she trips over the ball behind her.

her cheeks flush a little in embarrassment when her back hits the turf.

your cheeks flush too when you see her face.

she was… exactly your type.

high cheekbones… brown hair pulled up into a messy ponytail… arched eyebrows and-

you clear your throat quickly again to shake yourself out of your thoughts.

the girl is still looking up at you expectantly, and you blush before realizing she wanted you to help her up.

you stick an arm out and she grabs it without hesitation, smiling the whole time.

you smile back at her softly, desperately trying to ignore the sparks flying up your arm from the contact.

now infront of you, she was even more breathtaking up close.

“hola. soy alexia, mucho gusto.” (hi, i’m alexia, nice to meet you)

you grimaced slightly.

though you’ve played in spain for the past two years, your spanish was… subpar to say the least.

even then, you manage to get out a choppy, and heavily accented sentence.

“h-hola, uhh soy y/n?” (h-hi, uhh i’m y/n?)

alexia couldn’t hold in her chuckle.

you glare at her and mumble in dutch.

“hou je mond.” (shut up)

alexia laughs again and a quizzical look passes on her face before she tries again.

she sticks out her hand and this time what follows is spoken in heavily spanish accented english:

“i am alexia, nice to meet you.”

you smile and take her hand, replying with heavily dutch accented english in return:

“and i’m y/n. nice to meet you too.”

you were phasing in and out as your coach droned on and on about training rules and protocols.

“okay and now for the partners…”

your ears perked up.

“rodriguez and garcia, y/ln and putellas…”

you turned and your eyes met alexia’s, both of you grinning widely.

honestly, now in hindsight, putting the two of you together was probably a mistake.

in a good way.

separately, you were forces to be reckoned with.

you had an almost dance like way of getting around defenders, shifting your weight and moving your body in ways they just never quite expect.

you also had almost perfect crosses at this young age, leading to almost every one of your crosses becoming an assist.

alexia on the other hand, scored goals.

her free kicks were always shot with so much power that it’s a miracle the goalies don’t have broken wrists after their pitiful attempts to stop them.

so put the two of you together, and you were unstoppable.

there was no way for you to lose during training.

the two of you were unbeaten 2v2 champions.

some of your teammates even began to complain about it.

but it didn’t really matter.

the two of you worked together before training and after training, so much so that you knew her like the back of your hand.

you knew just by instinct what alexia wanted and alexia knew by instinct what you wanted.

it was for that reason that alexia, just after being with levante for a season, broke the club’s all time goal scoring record.

and in that season, you had the most assists out of any player in the primera division.

but your chemistry didn’t stop there.

the two of you were inseparable off the field too.

from sunrise to sunset, the two of you were together.

the weekdays were full of training, the weekends full of movies and late nights in, watching movies on your apartment couch.

it wasn’t long before you moved in together.

as friends of course.

you invited her one day after practice, since she spent so much time there you basically already lived together, and of course, she agreed.

now you were together literally 24/7, and you wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

present

when your eyes met alexia’s brown ones, you couldn’t think about the game anymore.

you think your brain has stopped working.

but luckily, alexia looks just as surprised as you.

you don’t mean for the breathy whisper that escapes to come out, but it does.

“ale…”

alexia’s breath hitches, and the two of you just stand there, dumbstruck, until the referee cuts in between the two of you.

“you’re supposed to shake hands now.”

alexia snaps out of it first.

“right.”

she sticks her hand out and smiles softly at you.

you try to compose yourself the best you can and take her hand.

you try not to make a fool of yourself on live television, but you think that’s impossible at this point.

you try to avoid it, but your heart is racing at the feeling of the girl’s hands in yours.

you both stand there a second longer than you probably should.

your hands linger just a bit too long, and even though you're trying to focus on anything but the electricity running between you, it’s hard not to notice how her touch still sends a jolt through you.

you can smell her perfume again, that same scent that used to be so familiar, and for a second, it feels like you’re back in another time, another life. everything around you fades out.

but then, the moment snaps back into place, and you pull your hand away, way too quickly, like it burned you.

you look down at your feet, just trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

“good luck,” you say, voice coming out a little quieter than you’d like.

“yeah,” alexia replies, her smile still there, soft but knowing.

there’s something in the way she says it, like it means more than just the words.

"you too."

she turns away then, and even though you should be focusing on the game, you’re just standing there, heart still racing in your chest.

your feet won’t move, not yet.

not until she’s far enough away.

you finally tear your eyes away, trying to focus on the pitch again, but it’s like the field’s become smaller, the sounds quieter.

all you can hear is your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

you try to shake it off.

you try to forget about her, but every time you glance over, she’s there—her every movement pulling your eyes like magnets.

you catch a glimpse of her during a break in play.

she's laughing with her teammates, but when she catches your gaze again, her expression shifts, just for a moment.

like she’s still feeling the same thing you are.

you swallow thickly, trying to get back in the zone, but it’s like you're running in circles, chasing something you can’t quite catch.

the match drags on, the final minutes creeping by.

barcelona’s up 2-0.

the crowd’s starting to lose energy, but you can feel your team pushing, fighting. trying to claw back into this.

then, a miracle.

a ball comes across to you. you hear viv's voice in your head, urging you to take control, to make something happen.

but just as you’re about to move, you see her—alexia—closing in, just like you always used to.

old habits die hard.

you move without thinking, instincts kicking in.

fake one way, then cut left.

the other defender chasing you trips for half a second, and that’s all the space you need.

you're in the clear, for a moment, and everything feels like it’s falling into place.

but then—

the ball’s gone.

in a flash, alexia slides in, intercepting just before you can make your pass.

you barely see her coming, but you feel the hit when she clears the ball away from you.

for one breathless second, time feels like it freezes.

of course. she still knows you just as well.

her eyes lock with yours—those same brown eyes, sharp and unreadable—and all the noise in your head falls away.

there’s nothing left between you but that look, the history, everything unsaid.

you stand there, heart racing, just staring.

she’s still the same alexia—strong, sharp, intense—but there's something more now. something different.

for a second, you forget you’re playing against her.

you forget everything: the game, the score, the rivalry. all of it.

you forget it all.

but then, the whistle blows. the game is over.

barcelona wins.

the roar of the crowd brings you back, and you turn, pulling yourself back into the moment.

you make your way dejectedly off the pitch, but alexia’s face lingers in your thoughts, her every movement replaying in your head.

as you reach the tunnel, you glance over your shoulder.

she's standing there, her teammates around her, but her eyes are locked on you. softer now. almost like she’s waiting for something.

you don’t know how long you stand there, caught between the moment and reality.

the world seems to blur around you.

but then, the noise of the stadium fades, and you find yourself walking toward the locker room, thoughts racing faster than your feet.

10 years ago

you and alexia had always been in sync.

at levante, it felt like everything just clicked—on the pitch, off the pitch.

you could read each other’s movements without a second thought.

passes were seamless, runs were timed perfectly, and the moments you shared after training felt as natural as the game itself.

it was almost like you’d been playing together forever, the connection so strong it pulled you both closer in ways neither of you had expected.

in the beginning, it was easy to fall into each other.

there were quiet evenings spent talking about everything and nothing, laughing over ridiculous things, or just lying together, not needing words to say how much you meant to each other.

everything felt like it was falling into place. the world seemed right when you were with her, like it was always meant to be this way.

but then, the phone call came.

barcelona.

for alexia, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

the chance to play for one of the biggest clubs in the world, to push herself to the highest level.

it was everything she’d ever worked for.

it was her dream, and she couldn't turn it down. you knew that.

you knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d fought for it, but it didn't make it any easier.

you both knew this was coming. you had known for some time it was your last season together.

but the reality of her being in barcelona, and you… not with her, was a heavy weight.

“i have to do this,” alexia said one night, her eyes filled with determination but something else too, something harder.

“i can’t let anything distract me. not now. not when everything is finally falling into place.”

you tried to be understanding, but it was hard.

“i get it, i do. but… what about us?”

she paused, eyes softening for just a moment before she spoke again.

“this is bigger than us. i can't afford to divide my focus right now. it’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me either.”

the words hit harder than you expected.

it’s not fair to you—it was as though she was saying that this relationship, the one you thought was everything, wasn't important enough to fight for.

the weight of her ambition, her desire to reach the pinnacle of her career, was more than you could ever be.

“so that’s it then?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but she heard it.

you could see her struggling, torn between what she wanted and the love she had for you.

but there was no denying it—her focus was shifting, and it wasn’t on you anymore.

“i just… i need to focus on this. i need to focus on me.”

her words were gentle, but there was no mistaking the finality in them.

it stung, deeply.

you knew you had your own path, your own career to think about.

arsenal was calling too, and it felt like the universe was pushing both of you in different directions, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

she didn’t want to do long-distance.

she didn’t want to divide herself in a way that made her feel less than whole.

and, in the end, she wasn’t willing to make room for you in that vision. "

i can’t afford to keep looking back," she said. "i need to move forward."

you couldn’t hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore.

her decision was clear, even if you still didn’t understand it fully.

the love, the chemistry, everything you shared—it felt like it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you.

and so, just like that, you both moved on, but not together.

her future in barcelona, your future in arsenal—each heading toward something bigger, but no longer with each other.

the weight of it lingered.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t as important as you thought you were.

maybe the love you shared wasn’t enough to keep her tethered, to keep you in her world.

and you wondered, sometimes, if maybe you were just part of the past she was trying to leave behind.

present

later, after all the celebrations, the interviews, and the spotlight’s moved on to the next story, you find yourself standing outside the stadium. alone.

you need air. you need space to think.

and then, out of nowhere, you hear footsteps behind you.

you don’t turn around, but you don’t need to.

you already know who it is.

“y/n.”

it’s the same voice, and it feels like nothing’s changed.

"can we talk?"

you turn to face her.

for a moment, neither of you says anything.

it’s like the weight of years is pressing down on both of you, all the things unsaid hanging in the air.

and then the words you’ve been craving to hear.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s silent for a while. and finally, the question slips out before you can stop it.

“are you still the same person, ale?” once the words leave your lips, you wish you could take them back.

it sounds dumb. pointless, even.

alexia looks at you, a small, bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

“i think we both know the answer to that.”

she takes a step closer, but not too close. giving you space. giving you time.

you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all.

there’s tension in the air, so thick you can almost taste it.

everything you’ve both been holding back for so long hanging there.

and then, without a word, she pull you into a hug.

it’s not perfect, but it’s something. it's everything you both missed.

all the silence, the years, the distance—it falls away, like it never even mattered.

when you pull back, you finally manage a shaky smile.

“i guess some things don’t change after all.”

“no,” alexia replies, her eyes soft, “i guess not.”

and for the first time in years, everything feels calm again.

maybe the game wasn’t the only thing that needed to be won.

maybe it was you, too.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #barcelona femeni #barcelona women #woso imagine

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b14augrana · 8 months ago

Text

Scrubber

Your actions on the field are a product of your childhood idol

Barça Femení x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: reader suffers from the scrubber trait. 🥹

A/N: #yanited (not proofread as always x)

It was the last few minutes of the semi-final against Chelsea. If you kept the clean sheet at Stamford Bridge, you were sure to win it. If you didn’t… well, Fridolina tried explaining to you that you’d still win, but you weren’t willing to see for yourself.

“(Y/N), watch the wing!” yelled Mapi, who pointed to the flank. Lucy had overlapped and when the possession switched, you were left to take on Macario.

You glanced in the direction of the left wing, feeling slightly — no, very scared to go against Macario… on your own.

You could tell just by looking at her for a split second that Mapi was a bit worried for you too, and if she could deal with Macario she would, but unfortunately you were closer.

Nevertheless, you ran towards her side-on, trying to anticipate her next move. You knew what Mapi would say; hold her off until Lucy’s back in position, just delay her.

At the same time, you knew what Nemanja Vidić would do, and that is knock the living daylights out of her with a slide tackle. Guess what path you decided to take?

You sent yourself flying feet first towards the ball. As you slid across the grass, pushing the ball out of play. The last thing you saw before getting to your feet again was the distraught expression of Macario as she tumbled over your body, seemingly going headfirst towards the ground.

You could barely hear the groan she let out, because soon you were stood up and Mapi was at your side, patting you on the back for your tackle. Lucy ran to retrieve a ball and quickly toss it in to resume the play.

You hadn’t even registered your tackle until the side of your thigh started to hurt a little. A short glance beyond your shorts helped you discover that it was a bit red, but the tackle was worth any bruise that was sure to form in its place.

The game only started to pick up again when the red card was shown to Buchanan. Holding down the back line when the through balls and dribbles kept coming felt like a real Vidić-esque thing to do.

If it wasn’t already super obvious, Nemanja Vidić was your idol. You bled blaugrana in every shape and form, but that didn’t stop you from taking inspiration from the former Manchester United defender. If you hadn’t been a lifelong Barcelona fan, you would’ve trialed for the Manchester United academy and played for them just to say you played at your idol’s former club. You always had a pen and paper on hand in case you happened to come across him, and if that ever did happen you’d immediately get it tattooed (legal or not, you’d find a way).

The team found your love for Vidić very endearing. It was obvious that you admired his fearlessness because of how you tried to imitate it on the field by putting your body on the line, and Lucy loved that; she called you a ‘little brick wall’. Irene was a more solid defender than you, though. Your tactic was to just throw yourself at the ball whenever you were in doubt. She actually had tactics.

So, when Lauren James was at the edge of the box, winding her leg up to take a shot, you couldn’t find the time to think before flying in, cutting her out. You were smart enough to face the other way, and the ball deflected off your back instead of your face.

“¡Así es!” Ona yelled from the other side of the pitch, running into the box to defend further until Lucy cleared it down the wing.

The match ended with the scoreline being 2-0 to Barcelona. Everyone said your tackles were the defining factor that kept it that way, but you thought it was all thanks to Aitana, Frido and Cata. Regardless of who did what, you were happy your team were into the finals. You were happy you did something to keep them up on aggregate.

You ditched the celebrations a bit early to go sit down in the locker room and get your daily logins on Hay Day. The adrenaline wore off almost immediately after you sat on the bench, and your attention was brought to the minor grazes and bruises scattered along your legs. You felt one on your abdomen and somehow, you had a scratch on your shoulder.

You were glad. Vidić would never come out of a big match like that unscathed. You did your idol proud on the field, or so you hoped at least.

Most people often asked why you wanted to be a defender and subject yourself to the most physical parts of the game. Truth be told, you just really loved denying people of a goal. Lucy said you ‘played for the badge’ and despite not knowing what that meant, you hoped it was good.

You were also really bad at aiming and every time you cleared the ball or made a pass up field, you hoped and prayed it would at least go straight. You could never be a goal scorer like Caro or Aitana or Mariona.

“(Y/N),” a voice called out. You looked up from your phone to see Lucy. “Why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“I almost missed my Hay Day login. Have to do that before anything,” you replied. Lucy laughed, walking closer and sitting down on the bench beside you.

She put an arm around your shoulder, the way she always did. It felt older sister-y, and you liked that. “You really know how to tidy up back there,” she remarked. You smiled slightly, your cheeks burning up. Lucy was an insane defender so her praise meant the world to you. “Thanks, Luce.”

“They’re looking for you to give you the Player of the Match trophy, but you ran away too fast,” Lucy laughed, and your eyes bulged out of your skull.

“What about Aitana? She was the one that scored.”

“And you’re the one that kept out almost their entire team. You deserve this!” Lucy added, shaking you. You were a bit confused because you didn’t think your tackles were that vital, but you were proved wrong.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go out in a bit, after I put my slides on,” you responded. The woman smiled and gave you a tight side hug.

“Nemanja would be proud, scrubber. Good job today,” Lucy added while she stood up and began to walk away. Your face couldn’t help but form a smile of its own.

“But, don’t start slide tackling in every game. The last thing we need is for you to get hurt trying to wipe someone out with a Brexit,” she said sternly, suddenly turning around with a finger pointed at the plotting expression on your face. You raised your hands in defense.

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 month ago

Text

Head In The Clouds: Christmas

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Mcdreamy

"No! Don't touch!"

Irene yelps as a wooden spatula slams onto her knuckles.

"I just-"

"No!" You insist, waving the spatula around again in warning. "This is my kitchen! Don't touch!"

"I can help!"

"No! Go!"

Irene looks like she wants to argue more but you raise the spatula again and she puts her hands up in a placating manner as she backs away onto the sofa.

Marta holds out a tray of tiny sausages to her. "You got kicked out of the kitchen too?"

"I was just trying to help."

Marta shrugs. "You know what she's like. Nothing comes between her and cooking."

"I swear she's been cooking for ages," Irene complains," She was up early too, I just know it."

"You can't prove it though," Patri says smugly, snatching some food for herself and munching away," Plausible deniability and all that."

"She needs a break."

"Don't bring that up with her," Frido says as she takes a seat on the arm of the sofa," You know she'd spend hours in that kitchen if she could. That's what we get for agreeing to dinner with a kid who's parents are chefs."

"No touching!" You yell from the kitchen and the little group cranes their hands to see your waving that spatula around in Alexia's face.

"I was just-"

"No! You're ruining! You're not allowed to touch! It's against the rules!"

"What rules?"

"My rules! The rules of my kitchen! That you are standing in!"

"Come on, just let me-"

"No!"

Irene smothers a laugh as you stamp your foot.

"You can fill up drinks or you can go away."

Keira laughs from the cosy armchair. "I'd listen to her, Ale! You're not going to get the best food if you distract her."

Alexia grumpily wedges herself onto the already over-full sofa. "I'm just trying to help. She's making this dinner for the whole team. I don't want her to get overwhelmed."

Keira rolls her eyes. "Her parents literally have Michelin stars. She grew up in the kitchen of world famous restaurants. I doubt doing a bit of cooking at home is going to overwhelm her."

Just as she finishes speaking, ten different timers ring out through the air, one after another, and Keira winces.

"I'm sure that's on purpose," She says as Alexia levels her a pointed look.

To be fair to you, you're not overwhelmed in the slightest and Alexia can see the moment the instinct takes over you like it does on the pitch, when everything around you completely disappears apart from what is directly in front of you.

Most of the time, it ends with a goal.

But here and now, it ends with the biggest spread of food she's ever seen cooked by one person before.

It's truly impressive what you've managed to produce for everyone, a buffet style meal that the whole team can pick and choose what they want from and still come back for seconds.

"You shouldn't eat too much," You say as you settle into your seat between Irene and Ingrid," Because I've got dessert as well. It's my Nana's recipe and I'd like you all to try it."

"We'll make sure to save room," Mapi promises as she reaches over the table to wrestle the stuffing away from Patri's clingy hands.

You beam at her. It's a wide smile, the same smile you get when you score a goal out of nowhere - making triumph out of nothing as you so often do after a pass that no one expects you to turn into an assist.

A big meal like this isn't a strange thing in your family back home. Your brothers are very busy people and your parents spend most of their time prepping for the dinner service of their restaurant every night.

But Christmas meant the whole family got together again. With your brothers mainly based in the Netherlands, you didn't see them as often until you and your parents were at arrivals at Heathrow Airport and the three of them came in after baggage claim.

With the family together again, it meant making a feast of a meal for Christmas with everyone in the kitchen, working around each other fluidly like your parents had taught you when you were little.

It felt nice to share this kind of meal with your teammates even after you came to the conclusion that none of them worked particularly fluidly in your kitchen and then had to get banned for your own peace of mind.

It filled you with pride to have your teammates eating and enjoying your food to such a degree that even the older, more responsible players like Marta and Alexia and Irene asked if you could box up some of the meal so they could eat some for leftovers the next day.

"You know," Alexia says when you finally allow her into your kitchen, if only to help you wash up," If you want to stay in Spain for Christmas, I can take you home with me. My family would love the food you cook."

"Don't joke around with stuff like that," Irene teases, dragging the drying up cloth over the plate that Mapi had just finished cleaning," Because if she's coming home with anyone for Christmas, it'll be me."

"I can't," You say simply as you put the lid on another portion of leftovers, this time for Salma," Because I've got to go home. My parents are closing the restaurant a couple of days early so we can pick up my brothers from the airport and I can't miss that."

"Well-"

"And I have to be home so my girlfriend can call and read me poetry on Christmas Eve. It's tradition."

"That's..." Irene clears her throat. "That's really sweet."

"And she always reads to me in French because she knows I'm trying to learn for her. So, I can't stay here because then I won't see my brothers and before my girlfriend reads me poetry, she likes seeing my pets at home and I can't show her my pets if I'm here."

Alexia laughs and you furrow your brows in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Alexia says, throwing an arm around your shoulder and squeezing you like she does when you score a goal," You're such a sweetheart, y/n. Don't ever change."

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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pollitodesplumado · 2 days ago

Text

Yo solo se que Frido y Lucy están muy orgullosas y felices de que las tradiciones siguen.

Cuantas pesadillas va a tener Athenea con esta sonrisa de Jana

#jana fernandez #woso #woso community #futfem #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona femeni

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meazalykov · 3 months ago

Text

first lady

barcelona femeni x uswnt!reader

summary: the girls give you a nickname for being the first american on the senior team

the day you arrive at barcelona feels like a dream. the journey from being just another girl playing in american youth leagues to standing in the famed blaugrana colors is something you never imagined happening.

you walk into the training grounds two days after your signing was official, trying to keep your nerves in check. the weight of being the first american on barcelona femení’s senior team presses on your shoulders.

keep in mind you’re the first american on the senior team.. there is an american at la masia, onyeka, who you’ve been in contact with– you hope to play with her someday. she has been telling you about the fun experience playing in barcelona.

you’re humble but you can’t wait to see what onyeka is talking about.

the first person you meet is alexia. she approaches you with a calm confidence, her presence demanding respect even though she doesn’t say much at first.

“bienvenida,” she says simply, her smile small but warm. it’s clear she’s sizing you up, trying to see if you’re up to the challenge. there’s no coldness in her eyes though, just curiosity.

you return the smile, trying not to seem too overwhelmed.

“gracias. it’s an honor to be here.”

“we’ll see how you do in training,” she says shortly after she gets to know you, teasing, but the underlying tone is serious.

alexia is known for her dedication, and she’s testing you without even needing to. her acceptance means everything here.

from that moment, she takes you under her wing. she doesn’t hover or smother, but she’s there when you need her on and off of the pitch. during drills, she’s quick to offer tips, showing you the ropes of how barcelona plays—fluid, fast, and always a step ahead.

it’s a steep learning curve, but you thrive on it. your dribbling skills, honed from years of street-style play and youth development back in the states, shine here in ways even you didn’t expect.

you notice the way some of your teammates watch you closely at first—wondering if you’ll live up to the hype. the media had already dubbed you the "american girl version of ronaldinho" for your flair and trickery with the ball, and it seems the team had caught wind of the nickname, too.

slowly, as you start dancing past defenders in the league and champions league— leaving them in your wake.

the skepticism by the team fades, replaced by respect.

alexia seems particularly impressed by your ball control. during the first el clasico, after you nutmeg two defenders and finish with a perfect strike, she pulls you aside.

“not bad,” she says, though her smirk tells you she’s genuinely impressed.

“keep playing like that, and you’ll fit in here just fine.”

you start to settle in over the next few weeks. the locker room becomes a second home, the banter flowing easier as the language barrier fades.

you’re still working on your spanish, but with every day, you pick up more phrases, understanding the jokes, and joining in on the conversations.

the younger players, especially vicky, start warming up to you quickly. she loves your laid-back vibe, but also the intensity you bring on the field.

alexia, though, remains your closest connection. she never hesitates to correct you or push you harder in training. she also pulls you into the social side of the team. the late-night dinners, the coffee stops after practice, the little moments that build a bond off the pitch as much as on it.

two months in, you feel like you’ve found your place. the media continues to talk about your dribbling, and your presence as the first american on the team still makes headlines.

the comparisons to ronaldinho haven’t stopped, though they’ve started to bother you less. you just want to be seen as you—not a copy of someone else, no matter how legendary.

it is after one particularly grueling training session that the idea of a new nickname starts floating around the locker room.

you’re outside on the pitch with patri, perfecting your penalties while the rest of the team heads into the locker room.

inside, vicky, ellie, and ewa sit around, chatting while everyone cools down.

“so, what do you think we should call her?” vicky asks, leaning back against her locker.

“i mean, she’s amazing, but we can’t keep calling her ‘the american ronaldinho.’”

“yeah, she’s her own player,” ellie agrees.

“we need something that fits her.”

ewa, sitting across from them, grins.

“but it has to tie in with her being american, right? i mean, it’s a big deal. maybe not to her– but she’s the first american to play on the senior team for the women.”

ellie nods, deep in thought.

“maybe something with ‘first’? i mean, she is the first…”

they go back and forth for a while, throwing out suggestions. nothing seems to stick, though, until ewa suddenly straightens up, her face lighting up like she’s cracked the code.

“wait, i’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers.

“how about ‘first lady’?”

the room goes quiet for a second as everyone processes it.

pina raises an eyebrow.

“first lady? like... the president’s wife?”

ewa shrugs, still grinning.

“yeah, but think about it. she’s the *first* american on the team. it’s perfect. and it’s an american term, so it’s fitting.

"plus, y/n got elegance on the ball." patri notes.

slowly, the others start to nod, the idea settling in. salma, sitting on the opposite side of the room, lets out a laugh.

“that’s genius. she’s literally our ‘first lady.’”

before long, everyone’s onboard, laughing and testing out the nickname as they get ready to head out.

the whole team seems to love it, and as they file out of the locker room, they’re excited to see how you’ll react.

meanwhile, you’re still out on the pitch, working through your penalties with patri. by the time you make your way back inside, you’re sweaty and tired, but satisfied with the extra work. as you step into the locker room, you immediately notice the way everyone is looking at you, a few smirking, some trying not to laugh.

salma is the first to break.

“hey, ‘first lady,’ how’d the penalties go?”

you blink in confusion, pausing mid-step.

“wait, what?”

salma grins wider, the rest of the team now barely holding back their laughter.

“you know, ‘first lady,’ since you’re the first american here.”

it takes a second for it to click, but when it does, you burst out laughing, doubling over as you process the absurdity of it.

“first lady? seriously?”

the whole room erupts into laughter with you, and suddenly, it feels right. the nickname sticks, and soon, it’s all anyone calls you.

at first, it’s a playful joke, but after a few weeks, you realize it’s become your new identity within the team.

even mapi starts using it, giving you a teasing smirk during passing drills.

“first lady, over here!” she calls during one session, and you can’t help but shake your head, grinning.

as the season rolls on, you know you’ll keep proving that you’re not just the first american here—you’re their first lady.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #esmee brugts #alexia putellas #vicky lopez #mapi leon #jana fernandez #keira walsh #aitana bonmati #kika nazareth

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