#catalan numbers

[useless-catalanfacts]

Just found out there's a rugby team in France named Catalans Dragons.. 😳

It's the rugby team from Perpinyà, the capital city of Northern Catalonia. The team's colours are the colour of the Catalan flag and the team's anthem is Els segadors, the anthem of Catalonia.

Northern Catalonia has suffered a very strong ethnocide at the hands of France. The French public school system, media, government, etc has been discriminating them and repressing them for over a century in a very psychological way as well as beating children for speaking Catalan. This results in a population that has to fight with extreme amounts of self-hatred, and where many families have stopped passing down Catalan to their children because they are so ashamed of it, that they think their children will have a better future if they're not tainted by this "inferior" language. In this context, Dragons Catalans and USAP are a place to express Catalanity and come together as a community (like Barça was for Southern Catalans during the Franco dictatorship).

[spacespheal]

Funny how my mom was surprised I read 5 manga volumes in one sitting when she has read whole books in a day or two, and I'm talking thick ass books. Aside from the fact that everybody in our family reads awfully fast and has a tendency to binge books

[factoidfactory]

Random Fact #6,552

How different Romance languages say ninety eight when translated back to English:

Portuguese: Ninety and eight

Galician: Ninety and eight

Romanian: Ninety and eight

Spanish/Castilian: Ninety and eight

Catalan: Ninety-eight

Corsican: Ninety eight

Italian: Ninetyeight

French: Forty-twenty-ten-eight

[aroaceofthesea]

I had the great idea today to put the numbers 16 and 17 in the examples today in a programming class in spanish 💀💀💀

[quatregats]

Because I am nothing if not an insufferable little numbers guy, and also I hadn’t yet posted my October review of my yearly “songs I repeated too much or that got stuck in my head for a week straight” playlist, I thought it might be interesting to compare the numbers between that and my Wrapped. The personal playlist usually includes things that are more salient to me or that I actively listen to, and the Spotify Wrapped one includes things from playlists that I might have listened to over and over but the specific songs didn’t stick out. On the other hand, Spotify Wrapped’s version is weighted towards the songs that I listened to more, whereas the other one could include songs that I liked for a week and then forgot to ever listen to again. In light of that, I think it’s very notable how much more music in Welsh I listened to this year. Part of that was thanks to making some playlists for friends (as was the Basque) but also there really were just a whole bunch of songs that I had on repeat, and that makes me really happy! I feel like I enjoy learning languages a lot more when I like listening to music in them, especially when I start understanding the lyrics, which I’m really starting to for Welsh and Basque. Anyways, this year I hopefully discover lots more good music, and hopefully start to get into more stuff in Amharic, Malayalam, and other of the languages I want to improve at as well.

[waru-chan8]

Gerloff move your ass and overtake public enemy

[no-passaran]

Spain lied about not selling weapons to Israel.

Even after October 7th, Spain has sold more than 1 million € of weapons to Israel. Norway and Finland make it possible.

In January, Spain made headlines word-wide when the government's Minister of Exteriors, José Manuel Albares (PSOE), claimed in Congress and later again in a radio interview that Spain had stopped selling weapons to Israel ever since October 7th. Israel's intensification of violence in Gaza following October 7th meant that, on top of decades of apartheid and ethnic cleansing, between October 7th and January 23rd Israel had already killed 28,000 people and forced 2 million out of their home. In this context, many people were demanding their governments stop arming and funding the genocide of the Palestinian people, and here on Tumblr and other social media sites like Twitter I think we all saw the many posts praising the Spanish government for this.

Well, it turns out it was a lie.

According to Albares, "Since October 7th there are no more weapons exportations [from Spain] to Israel". But in November alone, Spain exported weapons to Israel for 987,000€, as was published on the Spanish Government's official website dedicated to exterior commerce (Comex). A researcher from Centre Delàs (an independent centre for peace studies) found it and published it, and it has also been verified by newspapers such as elDiario.es.

This 987,000€ worth of weapons in November was not the only ammunition that Spain has sent to Israel in 2023. In 2023, Spain exported a total of 1.48 million € in war material to Israel.

All of the weapons sent in November come from the factory of Nammo Palencia (Castilla y León), a corporation that is 50% property of the Government of Norway and 50% owned by a public Finnish business. However, even if the owners are foreigners, the ammunition was sent from Spain and thus it had to be authorized by the an organism of the Spanish Government named Junta Interministerial de Defensa y Doble Uso, whose deliberations on whether a weapons exportation is accepted or denied are kept secret. The only cases where they have denied exporting weapons to Israel have been when they thought that Israel would re-sell these weapons to the Philippines.

Spain has had a close relation with Israel for years. As published by the Spanish Government, Spain has sold 20 million € of weapons to Israel between 2012 and 2022. Spain also buys weapons and military software from Israel (for example, the Spanish Intelligence Service has been using the Israeli software Pegasus to illegally spy on Catalan activists, journalists, politicians and civil society members and their relatives to attack the Catalan independence movement), and Spain has continued buying from Israel and allocating defense contracts to Israel even after the October 7th attacks. It is very difficult to track the concessions of public contracts such as buying weapons, but some contracts have been known. For example, on November 24th 2023, Spain bought 287.5 million € of missiles from Israel. This is not unusual: between 2011 and 2021, it is publicly known that Spain bought war material from Israel for at least 268 million €, but experts say that the real number could be two or three times as much.

Spain has also continued allocating concessions to Israel. For example, on December 15th 2023 Spain allocated a contract worth over 576 million € to Israel for a rocket launcher programme. On November 22nd, Spain allocated another another Israeli company to provide missiles for 237 million € at the same time as the Spanish army bought Israeli inhibitors for 1.4 million €. The very next day, November 23rd, Spain signed another military allocation to Israel for 82,600€. The following week, Spain signed yet another allocation with a different Israeli military corporation for 3.7 million €.

Spain also allows Israeli weapon manufacturing companies to produce weapons through their branches located in Spain. This way, Israeli weapons make their way to markets with which Israel doesn't have diplomatic ties but Spain does, like Saudi Arabia. And since Spain is a member of NATO, Israeli weapons produced in Spain are approved according to NATO standards and access it easily. In the same way, these Israeli weapons manufacturers also access European Union defense funds through their branches in Spain. (source).

As I said, I saw a lot of positive posts around when Albares said Spain was going to embargo, but I haven't seen any post about how they didn't do it. I also (personally) haven't seen anything on international media, and barely anything on Spanish media, which is already busy with the PSOE covid material corruption scandal. So I share this in the hope of helping put pressure on Spain to cut all ties with Israel immediately.

SHAME ON EVERYONE WHO GIVES ISRAEL THE MATERIAL AND MONEY THAT WILL BE USED TO MASSACRE THE PALESTINIAN PEOPLE. SHAME ON SPAIN, NORWAY, AND FINLAND.

[amateurvoltaire]

I feel that one of the most overlooked aspects of studying the French Revolution is that, in 18th-century France, most people did not speak French. Yes, you read that correctly.

On 26 Prairial, Year II (14 June 1794), Abbé Henri Grégoire (1) stood before the Convention and delivered a report called The Report on the Necessity and Means of Annihilating Dialects and Universalising the Use of the French Language(2). This report, the culmination of a survey initiated four years earlier, sought to assess the state of languages in France. In 1790, Grégoire sent a 43-question survey to 49 informants across the departments, asking questions like: "Is the use of the French language universal in your area?" "Are one or more dialects spoken here?" and "What would be the religious and political impact of completely eradicating this dialect?"

The results were staggering. According to Grégoire's report:

“One can state without exaggeration that at least six million French people, especially in rural areas, do not know the national language; an equal number are more or less incapable of holding a sustained conversation; and, in the final analysis, those who speak it purely do not exceed three million; likely, even fewer write it correctly.” (3)

Considering that France’s population at the time was around 27 million, Grégoire’s assertion that 12 million people could barely hold a conversation in French is astonishing. This effectively meant that about 40% of the population couldn't communicate with the remaining 60%.

Now, it’s worth noting that Grégoire’s survey was heavily biased. His 49 informants (4) were educated men—clergy, lawyers, and doctors—likely sympathetic to his political views. Plus, the survey barely covered regions where dialects were close to standard French (the langue d’oïl areas) and focused heavily on the south and peripheral areas like Brittany, Flanders, and Alsace, where linguistic diversity was high.

Still, even if the numbers were inflated, the takeaway stands: a massive portion of France did not speak Standard French. “But surely,” you might ask, “they could understand each other somewhat, right? How different could those dialects really be?” Well, let’s put it this way: if Barère and Robespierre went to lunch and spoke in their regional dialects—Gascon and Picard, respectively—it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

The linguistic make-up of France in 1790

The notion that barely anyone spoke French wasn’t new in the 1790s. The Ancien Régime had wrestled with it for centuries. The Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts, issued in 1539, mandated the use of French in legal proceedings, banning Latin and various dialects. In the 17th and 18th centuries, numerous royal edicts enforced French in newly conquered provinces. The founding of the Académie Française in 1634 furthered this control, as the Académie aimed to standardise French, cementing its status as the kingdom's official language.

Despite these efforts, Grégoire tells us that 40% of the population could barely speak a word of French. So, if they didn’t speak French, what did they speak? Let’s take a look.

In 1790, the old provinces of the Ancien Régime were disbanded, and 83 departments named after mountains and rivers took their place. These 83 departments provide a good illustration of the incredibly diverse linguistic make-up of France.

Langue d’oïl dialects dominated the north and centre, spoken in 44 out of the 83 departments (53%). These included Picard, Norman, Champenois, Burgundian, and others—dialects sharing roots in Old French. In the south, however, the Occitan language group took over, with dialects like Languedocien, Provençal, Gascon, Limousin, and Auvergnat, making up 28 departments (34%).

Beyond these main groups, three departments in Brittany spoke Breton, a Celtic language (4%), while Alsatian and German dialects were prevalent along the eastern border (another 4%). Basque was spoken in Basses-Pyrénées, Catalan in Pyrénées-Orientales, and Corsican in the Corse department.

From a government’s perspective, this was a bit of a nightmare.

Why is linguistic diversity a governmental nightmare?

In one word: communication—or the lack of it. Try running a country when half of it doesn’t know what you’re saying.

Now, in more academic terms...

Standardising a language usually serves two main purposes: functional efficiency and national identity. Functional efficiency is self-evident. Just as with the adoption of the metric system, suppressing linguistic variation was supposed to make communication easier, reducing costly misunderstandings.

That being said, the Revolution, at first, tried to embrace linguistic diversity. After all, Standard French was, frankly, “the King’s French” and thus intrinsically elitist—available only to those who had the money to learn it. In January 1790, the deputy François-Joseph Bouchette proposed that the National Assembly publish decrees in every language spoken across France. His reasoning? “Thus, everyone will be free to read and write in the language they prefer.”

A lovely idea, but it didn’t last long. While they made some headway in translating important decrees, they soon realised that translating everything into every dialect was expensive. On top of that, finding translators for obscure dialects was its own nightmare. And so, the Republic’s brief flirtation with multilingualism was shut down rather unceremoniously.

Now, on to the more fascinating reason for linguistic standardisation: national identity.

Language and Nation

One of the major shifts during the French Revolution was in the concept of nationhood. Today, there are many ideas about what a nation is (personally, I lean towards Benedict Anderson’s definition of a nation as an “imagined community”), but definitions aside, what’s clear is that the Revolution brought a seismic change in the notion of French identity. Under the Ancien Régime, the French nation was defined as a collective that owed allegiance to the king: “One faith, one law, one king.” But after 1789, a nation became something you were meant to want to belong to. That was problematic.

Now, imagine being a peasant in the newly-created department of Vendée. (Hello, Jacques!) Between tending crops and trying to avoid trouble, Jacques hasn’t spent much time pondering his national identity. Vendéen? Well, that’s just a random name some guy in Paris gave his region. French? Unlikely—he has as much in common with Gascons as he does with the English. A subject of the King? He probably couldn’t name which king.

So, what’s left? Jacques is probably thinking about what is around him: family ties and language. It's no coincidence that the ‘brigands’ in the Vendée organised around their parishes— that’s where their identity lay.

The Revolutionary Government knew this. The monarchy had understood it too and managed to use Catholicism to legitimise their rule. The Republic didn't have such a luxury. As such, the revolutionary government found itself with the impossible task of convincing Jacques he was, in fact, French.

How to do that? Step one: ensure Jacques can actually understand them. How to accomplish that? Naturally, by teaching him.

Language Education during the Revolution

Under the Ancien Régime, education varied wildly by class, and literacy rates were abysmal. Most commoners received basic literacy from parish and Jesuit schools, while the wealthy enjoyed private tutors. In 1791, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand (5) presented a report on education to the Constituent Assembly (6), remarking:

“A striking peculiarity of the state from which we have freed ourselves is undoubtedly that the national language, which daily extends its conquests beyond France’s borders, remains inaccessible to so many of its inhabitants." (7)

He then proposed a solution:

“Primary schools will end this inequality: the language of the Constitution and laws will be taught to all; this multitude of corrupt dialects, the last vestige of feudalism, will be compelled to disappear: circumstances demand it." (8)

A sensible plan in theory, and it garnered support from various Assembly members, Condorcet chief among them (which is always a good sign).

But, France went to war with most of Europe in 1792, making linguistic diversity both inconvenient and dangerous. Paranoia grew daily, and ensuring the government’s communications were understood by every citizen became essential. The reverse, ensuring they could understand every citizen, was equally pressing. Since education required time and money—two things the First Republic didn’t have—repression quickly became Plan B.

The War on Patois

This repression of regional languages was driven by more than abstract notions of nation-building; it was a matter of survival. After all, if Jacques the peasant didn’t see himself as French and wasn’t loyal to those shadowy figures in Paris, who would he turn to? The local lord, who spoke his dialect and whose land his family had worked for generations.

Faced with internal and external threats, the revolutionary government viewed linguistic unity as essential to the Republic’s survival. From 1793 onwards, language policy became increasingly repressive, targeting regional dialects as symbols of counter-revolution and federalist resistance. Bertrand Barère spearheaded this campaign, famously saying:

“Federalism and superstition speak Breton; emigration and hatred of the Republic speak German; counter-revolution speaks Italian, and fanaticism speaks Basque. Let us break these instruments of harm and error... Among a free people, the language must be one and the same for all.”

This, combined with Grégoire’s report, led to the Décret du 8 Pluviôse 1794, which mandated French-speaking teachers in every rural commune of departments where Breton, Italian, Basque, and German were the main languages.

Did it work? Hardly. The idea of linguistic standardisation through education was sound in principle, but France was broke, and schools cost money. Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s.

What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

Notes

(1) Abbe Henri Grégoire was a French Catholic priest, revolutionary, and politician who championed linguistic and social reforms, notably advocating for the eradication of regional dialects to establish French as the national language during the French Revolution.

(2) "Sur la nécessité et les moyens d’anéantir les patois et d’universaliser l’usage de la langue francaise”

(3)On peut assurer sans exagération qu’au moins six millions de Français, sur-tout dans les campagnes, ignorent la langue nationale ; qu’un nombre égal est à-peu-près incapable de soutenir une conversation suivie ; qu’en dernier résultat, le nombre de ceux qui la parlent purement n’excède pas trois millions ; & probablement le nombre de ceux qui l’écrivent correctement est encore moindre.

(4) And, as someone who has done A LOT of statistics in my lifetime, 49 is not an appropriate sample size for a population of 27 million. At a confidence level of 95% and with a margin of error of 5%, he would need a sample size of 384 people. If he wanted to lower the margin of error at 3%, he would need 1,067. In this case, his margin of error is 14%.

That being said, this is a moot point anyway because the sampled population was not reflective of France, so the confidence level of the sample is much lower than 95%, which means the margin of error is much lower because we implicitly accept that his sample does not reflect the actual population.

(5) Yes. That Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand. It’s always him. He’s everywhere. If he hadn’t died in 1838, he’d probably still be part of Macron’s cabinet. Honestly, he’s probably haunting the Élysée as we speak — clearly the man cannot stay away from politics.

(6) For those new to the French Revolution and the First Republic, we usually refer to two legislative bodies, each with unique roles. The National Assembly (1789): formed by the Third Estate to tackle immediate social and economic issues. It later became the Constituent Assembly, drafting the 1791 Constitution and establishing a constitutional monarchy.

(7) Une singularité frappante de l'état dont nous sommes affranchis est sans doute que la langue nationale, qui chaque jour étendait ses conquêtes au-delà des limites de la France, soit restée au milieu de nous inaccessible à un si grand nombre de ses habitants.

(8) Les écoles primaires mettront fin à cette étrange inégalité : la langue de la Constitution et des lois y sera enseignée à tous ; et cette foule de dialectes corrompus, dernier reste de la féodalité, sera contraint de disparaître : la force des choses le commande

(9) Le fédéralisme et la superstition parlent bas-breton; l’émigration et la haine de la République parlent allemand; la contre révolution parle italien et le fanatisme parle basque. Brisons ces instruments de dommage et d’erreur. .. . La monarchie avait des raisons de ressembler a la tour de Babel; dans la démocratie, laisser les citoyens ignorants de la langue nationale, incapables de contréler le pouvoir, cest trahir la patrie, c'est méconnaitre les bienfaits de l'imprimerie, chaque imprimeur étant un instituteur de langue et de législation. . . . Chez un peuple libre la langue doit étre une et la méme pour tous.

(10) Patois means regional dialect in French.

[onsomenewsht]

De pelearnos y odiarnos y amarnos después

About when she was everything for you, but you were just one more fan

《 shout out to @p0orbaby for putting up with this shit, making it less shitty and being the only reason Alexia has feelings in the first place

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +3.7k

》 player [noun]: 1. a person who participates in or is skilled at some game or sport; 3. an actor: a theatrical performer, a person who plays parts on the stage; 5. a person who engages in casual and indiscriminate sexual relationships.

Barcelona is not that big of a city if you stop and think about it.

Especially when you end up in the same places with the same people, especially when your circle of family and friends is pretty tight. Especially when you work in a world as small as the women’s football one.

You and Alexia Putellas crossed paths a lot of times before coming up with the brilliant idea of braiding and twisting your lives together.

And it was fun.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

“I got your coffee”

“Oh, you’re still here”

The smile on your face doesn’t falter, even if her words will ricochet in your mind for a long time, so you keep sipping your coffee and mindlessly scrolling through your phone after booking your ride back home.

It’s quite early, you know she has training in an hour, but the late-night activities you indulged in must have tired the Catalan more than she expected as you woke up before her.

Usually, you don’t even find her in the apartment when you drift out of sleep, slowly collecting your things and leaving the empty place with a pair of keys to hide under a plant vase.

“I had time to go to the cafeteria around the corner, you slept through your first alarm”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”, it’s not really a question as she sprints up to the bathroom.

It’s known Alexia is quite strict with her routine and her absolute devotion to her passion and profession, you’re not really phased about her rush. Eating the pasties that came with your drinks is a good enough distraction as you leave the blonde to her morning rituals.

Your ride is going to be ten whole minutes later than expected anyway.

“Thank you”, she smiles at you.

When she joins you in the kitchen, already dressed in training attire, it’s clear she will not indulge and sit to have breakfast with you. Not deeming her of a look, you hand the footballer her coffee and favourite treat.

How Alexia manages to turn your day upside down in a matter of moments, just with casually cruel words or well-placed kisses, still goes beyond you.

Her lips on your neck are a proven method and a really effective distraction to keep herself on your good side, she’s out of the door as soon as she hears your moan and feels your shoulders relax under her hands.

~

The club is packed as you make your entrance, the sudden change of temperature causing a shiver to go down your exposed back.

Despite the number of bodies dancing around each other, you spot your friends pretty easily – the loudest group in the most secluded corner of the place. Laughs and screams are thundering above the reggaeton music as you get closer.

“Here she is, the princess herself, blessing us commoners with her presence!”

“Fuck you”, you hit your best friend Jordi with a forceful punch on his shoulder but a genuine smile lighting up your features.

“Not my fault we can barely remember your face nowadays”

“Yet I still have to look at your stupid one”

He doesn’t mind your hand on his face, annoyingly shoving him off as you take a free seat at the table and greet all your other friends. It’s been a while since the last time you went out with them.

The night gets intense quickly as you finish your third drink and hit the dance floor with Jordi. You two have been friends since even before you can remember, learning to walk together and bonding over shared happy memories and sad heartbreaks.

He was the first person you came out to, not regretting telling him even when he laughed in your face, claiming he knew as well as your high school Maths professor did – maybe your crush was not as good of a secret as you hoped for.

You were the first person he confessed his fear of turning into his own father, not regretting telling you even when you booked him an appointment with a therapist and assured him that people are allowed to not like their own parents, but still love them in some twisted way.

Jordi is a great friend, the one you’re most comfortable with. That’s how you find yourself with your arms around his shoulders and his hands on your waist as the music blasts in the club.

It’s a freeing sensation, to be able to let yourself go in the secure embrace of someone you love.

You knew it was a matter of time.

A strange feeling crumbles from the pit of your stomach as another pair of hands circles you from behind, but you don’t think too much about it. Your body is always reacting to Alexia.

She doesn’t even have to touch you, somehow feeling her eyes on you the moment she entered the club with a bunch of cheering friends.

“Can I steal you for a dance?”

You nod with a smile before turning around in Alexia’s arms.

Jordi shoots you a raised eyebrow and a silent question, not amused with the whole situation and not quite happy with the way you’re handling this relationship with the blonde girl. He’s too supportive to say anything right this moment, but you know he has opinions – strong ones.

“He doesn’t like me”, her hands on your waist but her eyes fixed on Jordi.

“You don’t even know him”

“I don’t need to, he looks at me like I kicked his dog”

The tension is quite annoying for you, so you don’t even dignify her with an answer, merely acknowledging her disappointment by tracing her frown with your fingers. The Catalan hands are firmer as she pushes your bodies closer, following the music and the beats of your hearts.

“Wanna come to my place?”

“I’m here with my friends”, you half-smile, you told her a couple days ago you were going out to celebrate a colleague’s promotion.

“I leave for camp tomorrow”

You know, you plan a lot of your commitments around her crazy schedule.

~

All Alexia needs to do to convince you to leave the club is move her surprisingly caring hands up and down your exposed back, whispering nice words in your ear.

She has you wrapped around her fingers, and she has no shame in turning it in her favour.

Football is a family business, flowing in your veins for generations with a grandfather who played for Barcelona and both your parents involved on some level in the sport.

You played for a bit, realising quite early you didn’t have what it takes to go professional, but you found your path toward the green pitch anyway. Making a name as a sports lawyer was quite eventful, now you watch a football game with one eye on the ball and the other on paperwork.

Finding time to just sit there, be present, and enjoy your favourite club play without thinking of the legal repercussions is not easy, yet you manage. It still comes with huge repercussions on your mental health, but that’s part of the fun.

When Alexia crushed your life, you thought it couldn’t really influence your already massive passion for the sport. You already watched Barça games, and you even already know some of the players.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The Blaugrana captain is like a magnet, always able to catch your eyes and lock them on her for the entire 90 minutes, filling your mind and somehow making you body reacts to her every movement. You don’t miss a game, you spot her immediately on the pitch or on the bench.

You smile just knowing she’s doing what she loves.

“They better win or I’ll personally go down there to kick their ass”

You laugh at Mapi outburst. Despite her attitude, you know it pains her to be in the stands to support her friends on the international stage, hidden behind a cap. Telling her how much you admire her stance on such an important cause, no matter the consequences on her own life, is not enough. You’re committed to changing the game for her too.

“Three goals are a lot to overcome”, Ingrid points out with a teasing smile.

“What side are you on?”

“Yours, always”

Seeing the Norwegian kiss her girlfriend’s hand puts a smile on your face, making it easier to bite down the bittersweet taste of jealousy for the amazing relationship they have.

Like if something shakes you, you drift your eyes on the pitch right on time. Alexia is going for a run as Aitana sends her a beautiful pass on her left. You’re on your feet even before the ball finds the back of the net and the crowd erupts in cheers.

Then Jenni is on her side and Alexia lets the tall woman hug her, smiling.

The celebration is cut short, there isn’t time to lose, but you can see something sparkling in the footballer’s eyes as she indulges in it a little, spurring the supporters to be louder when she retrieves the ball to restart the game as soon as possible.

Her teammates pat her back as they get back in position, getting just nods and prompts to keep the momentum going.

Is strange, the uneasy feeling that spreads inside your stomach. Your hands are closed in fists but your legs are trembling, as if your body can’t tell you’re on quite cramped seats.

Spain doesn’t manage to overcome the three goals, despite the team’s best efforts. You know the captain will be in a sour mood for who knows how long, and she’s not going to come to you for comfort – not the one you’re willing to give her anyway.

~

You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, you don’t even mean to be there in the first place.

A national team representative pulls you aside after noticing you on the stands and asks to talk to you – or better, trying to talk you out of a legal wrangle between the federation and one player you represent.

It’s a useless attempt, but you’re not ashamed to admit you enjoy quite a lot letting those men think they can overpower you.

You were just there, right behind the doors.

He guides you just outside the stadium, talking over himself. The first argument is reasonable enough, you can admit, but you lose interest pretty easily.

As soon as the players start to exit the facility, post-game rituals cut short after the defeat, you immediately take it like the best way out of the conversation.

“Cheer up, Ale, let her kiss it better!”, Jenni mocks the blonde with a tattooed arm around her shoulder.

“Shut up!”

“Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise already”

“No paradise, no troubles”, Alexia mumbles back, stopping by the door.

They’re probably waiting for someone, unaware of your frozen form just around the corner. A couple of steps, and they would see you. A couple of steps, and this torture would end. Yet you can’t move and they’re still arguing.

“She’s around a lot more, she sleeps at your place–”

“That happens when you have a fuck buddy, I can’t control what she does”

You never hear her talking about you with such spite, such annoyance in her voice. Alexia is not the best one when it comes to expressing her feelings, but you think she’d talk about your relationship with some emotion. Any kind of emotion, but this.

“Oh, come on! You’re cute together–”

“Jenni, drop it”, the Catalan’s tone is harsh and final, “We’re nothing at all”

You’d hope some respect is granted with the intimacy of it all.

Well aware your relationship is not defined by any terms, the casually cruel honesty in her words makes your head spin regardless.

You know the nature of the bond between the two of you is built on sex, physical attraction, and convenience for more than one reason.

When a couple of players finally exit the facility, Alexia is in the back of the group with a deep frown on her face. Your eyes meet immediately and you can easily tell she wishes you could disappear as much as you do.

~

“Are you fucking joking?”

“I said I’m sorry!”, the blonde scoffs as she reaches for her abandoned shirt in a corner of your bedroom.

Hiding the marks on your neck and on her thighs will be more difficult.

“That’s it, you say you’re sorry and that’s it for you”, you fear she doesn’t even know what she’s sorry for.

“I genuinely don’t understand, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to fucking care!”, you rise from your bed, marching toward her before she has the time to leave the room – not minding the height she has on you, “I want you to at least acknowledge your mistake, to really apologise for disrespecting–”

“My mistake?”

When she snorts right on your face, you lose it, shaking your head in disbelief. It’s pretty easy to believe though, it’s not the first time Alexia does or says something that genuinely hurts you and doesn’t even realise what the problem is.

This one time her dismissive behaviour and stubbornness are a bit too much.

The athlete tries to get your attention back, seeing you dressing up and pretending she’s not even in the room anymore.

It takes everything on you to ignore her hands and pleading words.

“You’re overreacting”

“You really should go, Alexia”

“Can we talk about it?”

“About what? You don’t think you have anything to apologise for, you have no idea how much you keep hurting me. Fuck, you were ready to leave a moment ago!”

Opening the front door for her, you feel her eyes studying your body as to read your mind and her action burning inside you in a way you can just hope will not scar you permanently.

Alexia has so much power over you.

You want to hold it all against her, keeping close to the last amount of respect you have for yourself. You want to scream in her face how disregarding she is, how much she keeps shaming your relationship. You want to lay out for her all the actions and all the feelings she has shown you so far, both full of love and full of shit.

“I’ll call tomorrow”

“Please, don’t”, you plead as you invite her to leave one more time.

“Then happy birthday”

Her lips on your forehead burn like a mark.

~

“This is bullshit!”, Alexia mumbles as she drops the papers with the speech you helped her write and rehearse for the past hour.

She has an interview on a famous British sports TV show in a couple of days, they give her a whole segment to talk about the development of women’s football in Europe, about her foundation, and her plans for the future. Then they informed her she should do it in English.

“I think is impressive you can hold your own in your third language, but you can’t pronounce this phrase to save your life”

“I think you’re making fun of me”

“I am, indeed”, you admit with a genuine smile on your face, reaching for her speech to find a way around the words for her.

The footballer watches as you revise the script one more time, her frustration softened looking at your pen dancing around the papers and your tongue trapped between your lips – a sign of your focus, she learned.

“I will cook dinner while you’re on it”, she states, rising from the spot on the sofa before you can meet her eyes.

It happens sometimes, Alexia could prove to you her effort, even her care, with nice little gestures out of nowhere.

A full breakfast could appear on your kitchen table as you wake up late after a long and rough night with the blonde, who left the apartment with the first rays of sunshine.

A ticket for a concert could light up your phone with a few days’ notice, making you cancel any plan and jumping in anticipation for what looks a lot like an actual date.

A bunch of flowers could be delivered at your place without an apparent reason, following weeks of radio silence, but you learned to read her inability to express gratitude with words when you hold her body and soul firmly after a particularly tough training session or media day.

There could be random gestures and small details, making you feel a fleeting sense of stability and a bittersweet taste of how it could be to be loved by Alexia.

~

“I think she could actually love you, if she tries”, Jordi states out of nowhere, half-empty drink in his hand and eyes fixed on your friends having their first dance.

“Excuse me?”

“The fucking queen of football”

“Yeah, I figured. Where’s that even coming from?”

Trembling hands find invisible creases to smooth on your dress, not a good enough distraction from everything around you. Your friends really went on and beyond with the wedding reception, soft music surrounding them as basically all the guests form a circle around couple.

“Just saying”

“You don’t even like her”, you bite back.

“I don’t like how she makes you feel”

“She makes me feel good too”

Letting her hurt you in the process, waiting for a change of heart that may never happen, makes you hate yourself a little bit. Never Alexia, just yourself.

The pity you let wash over yourself is enough to turn your cheeks red with embarrassment and something else you’re not quite ready to admit.

You know she’d love you, the signs are all there.

You know she knows too.

“You should put yourself first”, he finds your hand, holding it firmly.

The music changes subtly as your friends start to join the couple at the centre of the dance floor with their partner.

“You should go dance with Angelica, she can put up with you only so much”

~

You start to question if your love alone can bridge the gap between your lives.

Alexia welcomes you into her apartment more often, having dinner or sharing silent coffees in the morning instead of just letting you stay long enough to satisfy your needs.

And then fall off the face of the earth, ignoring your futile attempts to reach out.

Alexia invites you to nights out with her friends. Her hand holds possessively any part of your body within reach, sending cold stares to anyone who could move too close around you or no less touch you in a shy effort to get your attention.

And then pretends you’re not even there in the first place when someone calls her out on her behaviour.

Alexia saves her jersey for you after an important win, putting the piece of clothing on you herself in the family and friends section. She ignores her sister’s tease to turn the conversation around, talking about details of the game and weekend plans.

And then asks you to come up with some excuse to not attend the same plans she made right in front of you, the same plans you’re invited to by the people she loves most.

Alexia gives you something that looks a lot like love and then takes it all back, ripping away your affection and care without looking back at your deeming light.

“We need to talk”, she greets you into her apartment with unusual gravity and her lips curved at a strange angle.

“Hello to you too”

Fighting fire with fire is one thing you had to learn as your relationship with the Catalan grew, both in your heart and in your life – intertwining and rubbing off every single moment of your day and night.

Alexia takes the cold shoulder with almost a guilty nod, knowing inside she’s the reason for your harsh words and uneasy attitude around everyone lately. You show her colours she didn’t even know existed, and she manages to take them away from you.

“We should stop this”

You turn her voice off as soon as you register her decision.

The footballer tells you that this relationship, this agreement, isn’t working anymore. That you’re hurting each other. That she’s hurting you. She admits she needs to focus on herself, on giving everything she still has in her career.

She says you deserve better, you deserve someone who gives you as much attention and care as you give to them.

Not a sentence, not a single word, or apology matters.

A wave of shame washes over you as soon as you realise she has to be the one to end it all, granting you more respect than you had for yourself.

You stop her speech midway with a raised hand, you accept her decision with a knowing grimace, and you leave her apartment without looking back – allowing her to make any trace of tears disappear from her face.

~

In the weeks that followed, it became clear how deeply your lives intertwined over the time you spent together.

You have to buy a new set of your favourite body wash, your last one still in Alexia’s bathroom. The book you’re reading is still unfinished, letting you questioning if the sister was actually the murderer, as you remember you left it face down somewhere in her apartment. You accept the promotion they offered you months ago, booking a one-way ticket for a city that’s definitely not Barcelona but looks a lot like a new beginning.

You park up memories and try to let go of the hurt, both for yourself and for the end of something you know it’d be beautiful.

It was beautiful, but it was ugly and painful too.

When you find yourself in the stands of a filled stadium, surrounded by high-profile men in suits and the most influential people in football, you can’t hold back your genuine smile as soon as Alexia scores a last-minute goal, securing her team the victory.

You’ll always be Alexia’s supporter, even if that’s the only rule you’ll ever play in her life.

fine.

[totaly-obsessed]

A Lesson in Accepting

Barcelona Femení x reader

-> Despite reader's best efforts to hide her illness and join in training, a she learns the importance of listening to her body and her teammates

-> Wordcount: ≈ 1.770

-> The happiest birthday to @sleekswosobession - love you!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Oye! No chiqui - off!”

Hmmpf.

Out of all the older players, Lucy was usually the fun one. But today she didn’t want you climbing on her and she had gotten annoyed when you tried to steal her shoes. Maybe a new victim was needed for your shenanigans. But who?

Just as you started to look around for Vicky, the arm of Marta found its way onto your shoulder, Caroline now at the other side as they dragged you into the changing rooms. “Don’t even think about it.”

Music blasted through the room, with Salma by the speakers as her phone was connected to it, getting ready while swaying to her music. A quick look around made it obvious that your cubby for the day was between Frido and Ingrid.

Great.

You missed the days were you were at your rightful place between Patri and Cata, Claudia joining you after quickly changing into her kit. Those were the fun days when you had just joined the team. Fresh from Australia and full of energy and nerves Patri and Claudia had taken you under their wing.

Just two weeks later Alexia fell over her tied-together laces, just to see you laughing in a corner, hiding behind your new friends. The room had fallen quiet, everyone scared of what their captain would do.

Laugh.

Alexia Putellas, their strong and serious captain, started laughing at being tricked by a sixteen-year-old Australian rookie. Hesitantly the other players started to laugh, watching the blonde from the corner of their eyes, just to make sure that she wouldn’t get pissy at them laughing.

But now you were stuck between different adults every week, your number never hanging in the same spot, and for today's game, it was the space between two tall scandis. While they were incredibly nice, neither of them had a fable for letting you run wild - but they let you yap as much as you want. A win is a win. And at this point, you’d take anything.

Rainy games were your favorite games. You loved sliding around on the drenched pitch, tackling an opponent whenever you could, and getting your kit as dirty as possible. And that game was no different.

Sliding here - sliding there.

Mapi thought it was hilarious how you sprinted across the waterlogged pitch, stealing the ball of one opponent after the other.

“Chiqui come here and let me dry your hair, you’ll get sick.”

Irene was in mother mode, fussing over you and Vicky, who looked like the two happiest girls on the planet. Both of you had been in the starting eleven, something that didn’t happen as often. But with the weather conditions and the not-as-competitive opponent, Jona caved to your synchronized begging.

“I won’t. Promise!”

And with that, you were off again. Running outside, leaving the changing room early. Jona had been quick with his talk and the girls were just warming up and getting something to eat or massaged. But you run out to play on the field with the girls sitting on the bench.

Bruna and Jana made it a fun game, sending the ball just slightly wide every time, so that you had to be quick, falling over more than once during it.

Alexia just shook her head in amusement when she came back to the pitch, the other girls following in their captain's stride.

“Chiquitita wear a jacket for me please?” The Catalan’s English was great, even if she was too shy to speak it most of the time. Her hands held out a jacket to you, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’ll be okay, thank you, Ale!”

And you would be okay, at least for the rest of the night - giving it your all on the pitch and giving it your all when you were the entertainment of the following movie night. Mapi had given you one of those cheap Karaoke microphones and with that, you kept narrating the movies much to everyone else's annoyance.

Mapi thought you were hilarious though. And with everyone smiling at you even if they acted annoyed, you kept going all the way until Lucy and Ona dropped you off at the apartment Barcelona gave you.

In the beginning, the Team members had been worried about you living there, all alone at only sixteen. But Vicky had been fine - she was an angel as opposed to the whirlwind of an Australian that had been added to the team with you. You would be at training most days anyway and doing stuff with the girls even on days off, so you’d be fine. Right?

Well usually you would be fine, but waking up with an itchy throat, annoying cough, and a runny nose topped by a fever, was not a funny thing.

Just like that, all your plans with Vicky for the day had been canceled. The two of you wanted to explore the city and then visit the library closest to the Sagrada Familia, but all of that went to waste now as you were trying to get rid of this cold as fast as possible.

But it turns out it wasn’t that easy. A day later you were still sick, your voice so hoarse that it was hard to understand. You had debated calling Jona and letting him know, but then Alexia and Irene would have been right when it came to you getting sick. You just needed to power through. Tomorrow you will be all good again.

After oversleeping you practically raced to the training center for gym day. Well raced as fast as you can with public transport - a mask secure on your face. You looked sick enough that strangers raised a brow at your sweaty forehead.

To your luck the changing rooms were empty, all of the girls were already in the gym, so you could change in peace, trying to take deep breaths as well as you could. Man, you hated having a stuffy nose.

The bright lights and the loud music made you wince when you entered the big space, with everyone on different equipment. You quickly explained to Jona that your bus had been late, and just by his facial expression you could see that he didn’t believe a word out of your mouth.

He knew. Fuck. But he didn’t do or say anything, just going over the plan for today with you.

The other girls tried to get a good look at you, whispering to themselves. This wasn’t the first time you had been late. Sometimes the bus really didn’t come, and sometimes you overslept. But the training staff was never too mad at you - you were a growing girl after all, and needed your sleep.

But usually, when you came in, you would go around greeting the girls one by one, telling them the crazy stories of your bus driver. Today, however, you picked out an empty corner, starting to stretch all by yourself.

When one of the trainers called for partner exercises you were quick to kidnap Vicky, who didn’t even react as she was used to your antics by now. But then she looked at you.

“You’re sick!”

“Shhh!”

With, what you thought, quick reflexes you pushed her head down so that she would lower her voice. “Don’t tell on me! Or I’ll tell Sandra.”

The young Spaniard was caught in an odd situation - realistically she knew she should tell Alexia, or at least someone - but she was terrified of the goalkeeper finding out. With a solemn nod, she gave in.

You didn’t believe her, holding onto her right hand as tightly as you could “No! "Promise me!”

“Fine. I promise. Now get your clammy hands off me please.”

Now it wasn’t just you who ran around like a headless chicken, stumbling over nothing and barely strong enough to lift any weight at all, but also Vicky, who desperately tried to avoid eye contact with someone else, whispering hushed annoyances in your ear.

“They’re weird, no?” Aitana had made her way to Alexia, who was watching the whole thing unfold in front of her. “Very weird..", she nodded.

When a break was called, you hurried off to the bathrooms, while Vicky tried to avoid anything and everyone.

But that didn’t hold on for too long, as she was cornered by Alexia, Irene, Aitana, and Ingrid. The other girls watched from a distance, knowing what was happening.

“I don’t know anything!”

“We didn’t say anything.” Irene was trying really hard not to let an amused smile crack through and instead keep up the intimidating frown.

One eyebrow went up. Then the other.

“Okay, fine!”

Alexia relaxed her face again, knowing that had been enough for Vicky to spill everything she knew.

“She’s sick.”

“Chiquitita!”

Ingrid didn’t get an answer and started looking around the facilities as quickly as she could while Aitana tried to console a guilt-ridden Vicky, telling her that she had done the right thing, emphasizing how dangerous it was that you were exercising.

They could hear you coughing before they even saw you, as Ingrid dragged you to the gym as gently as she could, nearly just carrying you.

“Ai Chiqui. What are you doing here, you’re sick amor, you need to rest.”

Alexia's soft mothering tone gave you the rest, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry… Just didn’t want to miss out.” Sobs wrecked your tired body as some of your letters got swallowed.

“Shhh, let’s get you home.” Your captain dried tears after tears as she helped you out of the room and into the showers.

Jona looked happy with how everything turned out, he knew that Alexia would take care of it - her heart was soft for the youngsters on the team, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

On your way out your eyes met Vicky's. “You promised not to tell Vic!”.

“Oye, keep walking, or we’ll call Catley. I’m sure she would love to hear about your situation.” It was Mapi that nudged you, a teasing smile on her face.

Hmmpf.

"Sandra Vicky put shaving cream in your gloves!"

And with that you let your captain drag you out of the room, smiling at the chaos that exploded behind you.

After getting washed up and changed, Ale helped you to her car and started driving to her home, not listening to the whines that you wanted to go to your apartment.

“You can say it now, Ale.”

She could see you were close to falling asleep, head resting on your seatbelt.

“I told you so. Now let’s get you healthy again.”

[copper-16]

Elena and Alexia Day!

Elena and Alexia’s tradition of spending a day together to celebrate the little girl’s birthday!

(a/n: give me allll the cute, fluffy moments rn, this was so much fun to write. Forgot how much I loved writing kid fics 🫠)

Mapi knew as soon as the door opened that nothing good was going to be happening that day. 

Alexia’s smile was simply too wide, and the midfielder was practically bouncing with an uncharacteristic amount of excitement, looking past her friend and into the apartment, her eyes eager. 

“Where's my child?” She asked hurriedly, practically breathing down Mapi’s throat in an attempt to get into the apartment. The center-back rolled her eyes, but she was fighting a smile at the same time. 

“Last I checked, she was my daughter,” the brunette pointed out, but she stepped aside just as Ingrid rounded the corner carrying Elena, and the blonde pushed past her, making a beeline for the baby. 

“Pequeña! How is the best little girl,” Alexia cooed softly, her heart bursting as the young girl immediately reached for her, being quickly transferred into her godmother's arms. 

“Tía!” Elena squealed, wrapping her arms around the Barcelona captain and pressing her cheek into the blonde’s shoulder. 

Even if Mapi pretended to be annoyed, she couldn’t ever bring herself to really mind it that much. She loved how much her daughter adored her godmother, and she loved that Alexia found just as much joy in interacting with her. 

“What are you doing here?” Elena asked, looking around at all the adults. The midfielder reached down with one hand to tickle her stomach slightly, sending her into a fit of giggles as Elena shoved her hand away playfully. 

“What am I doing here? It is Tía and Elena’s day, no?” Alexia asked secretly, whispering rather loudly as Mapi and Ingrid fought to contain their laughter. 

“Because it is my birthday soon, right?” The green-eyed girl’s face lit up in realization of what day it was, her excitement ballooning at the prospect of spending the day with Alexia. 

Every year before her birthday, Alexia came over and stole Elena for the day, and they did whatever the little girl asked. Last year they had gone to the zoo, where the Barcelona captain had carried the little girl around the whole zoo, much to the Spanish girl’s delight. Her Mami and Mama always made her walk more, but Alexia never complained about the opportunity to carry the dark-haired girl around, instead laughing that it was her arms workout for the day. 

“Si, si! What do you want to do today? We can do anything you want!” The older woman asked, her smile only growing when Elena’s forehead creased, the little girl clearly lost in thought. 

“Can we go to the park together?” She asked, her face hopeful. Alexia nodded instantly, looking back at Ingrid and Mapi, who both nodded. She set Elena down, helping her with her shoes and taking the offered bag with the little girl’s things before she began to fetter them out of the apartment. 

“Come on, let’s go!” Alexia exclaimed, her excitement getting the better of her as she swept the little girl out of the apartment, leaving Mapi to scramble after her. 

“You need the car seat!” She hollered after them, causing the Catalan to circle back on a dime, her eagerness unable to be dimmed. 

“Let’s go…right after we get the car seat!” She repeated with equal enthusiasm, causing Elena to laugh as raced after the Barcelona captain, her giggled echoing in the hallway infectiously. 

—

The park was surprisingly busy as they arrived, much to Alexia’s surprise. She had expected it to be much more desolate than it was, but she remained unfettered by the number of people there, unbuckling Elena from her car seat and walking her into the park.  

The little girl loved going to the park with her Tías, especially because they were all wildly overeager to spend time with her, always going on the slides and pushing her on the swings without any prompting, unlike her mothers. 

The green-eyed girl was clearly elated, pulling Alexia straight for the slide, waiting patiently for their turn as Elena talked the Catalan’s ear off for five straight minutes about everything and nothing at all. But it didn’t matter to the midfielder, who listened as intently as she did during a halftime speech where the team was two goals down. 

“Your turn Tía!” She exclaimed from her spot at the bottom of the slide, clapping her hands together as Alexia awkwardly scooted down the slide, not having the same smooth ride that the little kids did. 

But she was entirely undeterred, especially when she stood and Elena came running over, crashing into her legs with a hug and then jumping up and down. 

“You did it!” She rejoiced, holding her hand up to high-five Alexia, something that the midfielder responded with instantly. 

“So did you! Look at us go!” Alexia exclaimed, pulling the sunglasses off her nose to sit on the top of her head as she bent down to give Elena a big hug. 

The little girl could see from behind her the way that some of the people at the park were beginning to point and stare in their direction, but she didn’t think much of it, too engrossed in spending time with her godmother to really care. 

“Can we go on the swings next?” The dark-haired girl asked, and the captain nodded eagerly, taking Elena’s hand to lead her over there. 

“Alright, up we go!” She exclaimed as she picked the green-eyed girl up and popped her onto the swings, turning back to head toward the other side so that she could push Elena. 

It was at that point that a little boy and his mother approached, nervous smiles on their respective faces. The mother pushed the boy gently toward the football, and he wrung his hands together anxiously before speaking. 

“Uhm…could I maybe get a picture?” He asked, and the captain glanced back at Elena, who was looking at them curiously, her brow furrowed together, before she turned back to the little boy. 

“Yes, of course. But just me please,” she asked apologetically, hoping that they could snap the picture quickly and allow her to fully focus back on her goddaughter. 

It only took a few seconds, and her attention was back on the little girl instantly, smiling at her widely as she began to push her once more. 

“Higher Tía, higher!” She cheered, smiling as well when Alexia laughed easily, pushing her as high as she was willing, not wanting her to get injured. 

She only slows the swing when she feels another tap on her shoulder, and she tries to hide her annoyance when she finds that it’s another person, asking for a picture. Regrettably, she stopped the swings for a moment, telling Elena to stay put for another moment as she took the picture, hoping that this would be the last one of the day. 

The sunglasses went back on, but even then people still approached her, even when she refused a photograph with them, trying to remain focused on her goddaughter. 

And every time they were stopped or interrupted, the little girl’s smile seemed to dim just slightly, as first confusion and then a slight sadness settled over her. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t ever stopped when her mothers were asked for pictures, but it wasn’t usually like this. 

Mapi and Ingrid weren’t stopped for pictures all that often, and when they were, they usually took individual pictures while the other kept their daughter entertained, to the point where it never bothered her.

With it being just her and Alexia though, every single time they were stopped Elena had to step back, when all she wanted to do was spend time with her godmother. It seemed that every person they passed wanted a piece of the midfielder, pulling her away from the green-eyed girl even as she tried to remain focused on her goddaughter. 

Elena didn’t know Alexia as the two-time Ballon d’Or winner, one of the greatest players of their generation. 

All she knew was the woman who loved spending time with her, the woman who showered her in love and kisses and carried her whenever she asked. She had known Alexia for her entire life and didn’t understand the Catalan woman’s popularity, especially given her age. 

After Alexia had rejected a sixth picture, she turned back to the dark-haired girl, trying to recover a smile on her face. 

“Do you want to go play over there?” Alexia asked hopefully, but Elena just shook her head, looking down at the ground insistently. 

“Can we go?” The little girl asked instead, and the midfielder’s heart dropped into her stomach as she nodded tersely, taking Elena’s hand and leading her out of the park, racking her brain on what to do. 

They made a quick pit stop at the car to grab a hat for Alexia before they began to walk toward more shops, something the green-eyed girl agreed to with a nod, still not really speaking. 

The captain’s heart sank once more, and she swallowed nervously. Elena wasn’t usually this reserved, and eventually she couldn’t take it, looking around to make sure there was nobody around before she sat down on the sidewalk, pulling the little girl toward her gently. 

“What’s wrong pequeña? I can tell something is bothering you,” Alexia said gently, her face contorted in worry. 

Elena shrugged for a moment before she pushed her hair back roughly, quiet for a moment. When she looks up at Alexia for a second, there is a wash of insecurity painted across her features, one that makes the midfielder’s heart squeeze uncomfortably. She never wanted the young girl to feel uncomfortable or worried around her.  

“You’re…you’re still here to spend time with me, right?” She asked in an unsure voice after a moment, stepping toward Alexia slightly, reaching forward to fist the material of the Catalan’s shorts in one of her hands. 

“Of course I am! It is our special day just the two of us, no?” The blonde replied softly, placing her hands over the little girls. 

“It feels like everyone wants to spend time with you,” Elena countered gently, and the Barcelona player kicked herself, just slightly. She hated this part of fame, the part that came between any of her relationships, the part that made anyone around her feel bad. 

It was especially hard to see the dark-haired girl so upset, even though she was trying to hide it. 

Alexia let out a slow sigh, trying to gather her thoughts. She should have started with a better disguise, and she should have never said yes to the first picture she took. The balance of fame was a tricky one, and she hated that she didn’t do better today. 

“I’m sorry everyone kept coming up and interrupting us when we were at the park,” she started, trying to explain this as best as she could to an almost four year old. “I think people get really excited to see me sometimes, and they want to come over to say hello and ask to take a picture with me. Just like they do with your Mami and Mama sometimes, right?” She inquired, and Elena finally lifted her head to look at the Catalan woman, nodding as she blinked rapidly. 

“I wish I could tell them all to go away, but sometimes they still come up and interrupt, and I’m sorry that I can’t stop them. But I promise you Elena, I am only here for you, and you are the only one I care about right now. It is our special day, and we can do whatever you want,” she promised, trying to keep her voice less desperate than she felt. She really didn’t want to let this come between the two of them, and she hated seeing her goddaughter upset. 

But luckily the little girl seemed to appreciate her words, her worries mollified as her godmother explained. 

“Could we maybe get ice cream, please?” She asked hopefully, her green eyes looking at Alexia with renewed and yet still reserved excitement, and the blonde wanted to sob in relief as she nodded, moving to get up and take them before the young girl stopped her. The dark-haired girl gestured to her to come closer, pulling the midfielder in closely to whisper in her ear. 

“Maybe we could…we could take a picture together too?” She suggested in a small, shy voice, and the blonde’s smile widened considerably, nodding zealously as the little girl’s enthusiasm seemed to return in full force. 

“Come on, we can send it to your Mami and Mama,” the midfielder decided, pulling Elena into her lap and removing her sunglasses before she began to snap selfies of them. At first, it was just the two smiling, before Alexia leaned forward to kiss the little girl’s cheek, sending her into a fit of giggles. 

They pulled funny faces at the camera before Alexia allowed Elena to take her phone and take photos of her sitting on the sidewalk, before they swapped and the Barcelona player took photos of her goddaughter, both of them giggling as they did so. 

Ingrid and Mapi received an onslaught of photos as Alexia replaced her hat and sunglasses back on her head, standing to lead Elena toward the ice cream store. 

She bought both of them a scoop of ice cream, choosing chocolate for herself while Elena asked for some heinously sweet concoction. 

“Do you want to try?” The dark-haired girl asked politely, holding out her cup of ice cream to Alexia with a smile on her face. 

“Yes! Thank you so much for sharing,” the blonde replied, wanting to encourage the little girl to share, while trying not to skeptically eye the bright blue ice cream now sitting in front of her. 

She offered the green-eyed girl a bite of her chocolate ice cream, before she finally lifted the spoon to her mouth, taking the tiniest of bites and trying not to shudder at how intensely sweet it was. 

“Delicious!” She said instead, reaching for her water instantly to rid her mouth from the aching saccharine feeling of the ice cream. It was worth it when Elena smiled brightly, taking her cup back and continuing to eat, chattering away. 

And even as they ate, they were interrupted just a few more times, with each time Alexia politely declining, before she turned back to Elena swiftly. She was worried that the little girl would be downtrodden with the interruptions, but rather she seemed to flourish under the captain’s attention, and it didn’t bother her as much now that the midfielder was declining the people who came up to her. 

“You know what I think we need to do now?” The blonde asked, her voice low and secretive as she wiped the remnants of ice cream off the dark-haired girl’s cheeks. 

“What?” Elena questioned, her eyebrows furrowed together adorably, truly having no idea what the blonde would suggest. 

“I think it’s time to go shopping! It is almost your birthday, after all,” Alexia announced, never mind the four wrapped gift boxes she already had sitting in her apartment. 

“Yay!” Elena cheered, the sugar rush beginning to hit her as she hopped around the midfielder with excitement. 

“Come on, let's go pequeña!” Alexia declared, taking the overeager girl’s hand in her own and leading them out of the shops. 

It was only once she had tired the little girl out, going from shop to shop and looking through all the different things that she could buy, that she finally took her back to the car, ready to go home. 

She placed the bags into the boot of the car before she swung Elena up into her arms, hugging her tightly and relishing in the way that the green-eyed girl hugged her back easily, her whole body sagging into the midfielder. 

“I love you so much Tía,” she mumbled sleepily, and it only made Alexia hold her tightly, and wish suddenly that she would never get big. She wished deeply that she could stay this small forever, that she would always be able to carry Elena to the car, or take her to the park, or get sickly sweet ice cream together. 

But it also meant that she got to enjoy living in the present, making sure to appreciate all the little moments like these, to make sure to treasure these memories. She places one of her hands on the back of Elena’s head as she presses a kiss to the side of her head. 

“I love you more, little one,” she replied easily, rocking her back and forth for a moment before she got her situated in her car seat, getting them ready to go home. 

—

When Ingrid opened the door, she frowned, looking at the scene in front of her. 

Because all that seemed to be in her doorway was her captain, smiling at her widely (and rather guiltily), holding so many bags she was giving Carrie Bradshaw a run for her money. 

What was lacking in the doorway, however, was any trace of her daughter, the daughter that Alexia was supposed to be bringing home right now. 

“Did you lose Elena?” The Norwegian asked skeptically, her eyebrow raised suspiciously. 

“I’m right here Mama!” Elena announced, jumping up from behind one of the bags, her head popping up over the multitude of bags in Alexia’s arms. 

Ingrid fought the urge to burst out laughing, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment. 

“María? Can you come here please?” She called out, waiting just a few seconds before her wife appeared in the hallway, walking toward them. 

“What is it…Alexia?! Where is my daughter?” She exclaimed, coming to stand next to Ingrid, looking equally perplexed. 

“I’m here Mami!” Elena reached a hand up to push one of the bags down, smiling brightly at her mother’s, looking up at Alexia with a huge grin. 

“How did you…how much could you have spent…I…really?” Mapi asked as her hand came up to rub at her forehead, unable to really formulate a response. 

Alexia opened her mouth, but appeared unable to come up with an appropriate answer for Mapi’s line of questions. 

Ingrid, on her account, fought an amused smile as she reached around the bags to lift Elena up, poking her daughter in the cheek and smiling. 

“Did you have so much fun?” She asked, her face brightening when the little girl nodded insistently, immediately beginning to tell her all about their day as she gestured with one of her hands, causing all of the adults to chuckle. 

“How about we go get you ready for dinner?” Ingrid interrupted softly, redirecting Elena away from her long-winded story, and the green-eyed girl nodded before turning back to Alexia and Mapi. 

“Thank you so much Tía! I love you, and I love Tía and Elena day,” she proclaimed, pressing her hand to her mouth and blowing Alexia a kiss before Ingrid looked over at the two Spaniards, stifling a laugh. 

“I will leave you two to deal with…this,” she decided, gesturing to the pile of bags that now littered their entryway. She turned swiftly, leaving the two Spanish women alone, as Alexia looked over at Mapi with an apologetic smile. 

The brunette looked unimpressed, staring down at all the bags before she looked back up at her best friend, disbelief etched into her face. 

“Really Alexia?” 

“I couldn’t help it!”

[meazalykov]

the stylist

aitana bonmati x actress!reader

summary: you're used to this, she isn't. she asks for you help in one of the biggest moments of her life.

it’s 2020, and you’re in barcelona for a collaboration between the football club and the spanish film industry—a whirlwind of press, promotion, and bridging two seemingly different worlds. 

you're used to the attention, the cameras, the lights, but something about stepping into the club’s facilities feels different, exciting.

the air is filled with energy as you watch barcelona’s women’s team train, the players effortlessly weaving around each other, laughter mixing with shouts of encouragement and reassurance. 

that's when you see her—aitana bonmatí. she’s different from everyone else on the pitch, even from the other players who are all exceptional in their own right. 

there’s something about the way she moves, a certain fluidity and elegance, every step calculated but not forced. her focus is razor-sharp, but when she laughs, it’s like watching the sun break through clouds. 

you’re captivated, and you don’t even realize you're staring until your assistant nudges you, bringing you back to the present moment.

the actual collaboration project is a chaotic blur of scripts, media appearances, and photo ops with the team. and then, you get the chance to talk to her. aitana is quieter than you imagined—thoughtful, a little reserved, but there's a spark in her eyes that you can't ignore. 

she teases you for not knowing much about football, and you tease back, pretending you don’t know who she is when, in reality, you’d already spent hours watching clips of her play. 

one conversation turns into two, then three. before you know it, you’re staying longer at the training grounds, just to catch a glimpse of her or to share a quick chat over coffee.

it doesn’t take long for something to blossom between you. it’s like everything clicks into place, like you were always meant to find her in this way. 

by early 2021, you’re together, stealing moments between your busy lives—you, jetting off to film sets and premieres; her, dedicating every ounce of herself to the sport she loves. despite the chaos, every time you’re together, it’s just... easy. simple.

you learn quickly that loving aitana means living in the moment. she teaches you to embrace the small things, to find joy in an early morning run along the beach, or in a lazy afternoon spent watching the waves lap against the sand. 

and you, in return, show her the magic of your world—the glitz, the glamor, and the art of bringing stories to life on screen. in the end, it's not about your worlds; it’s just about the two of you, finding pieces of yourselves in one another.

by 2023, things get even crazier. 

it’s the year of the women’s world cup, and aitana is on fire. as part of the spanish national team, she trains harder than ever, and you watch from the sidelines, cheering her on in stadiums from new zealand to australia, wearing her number and beaming with pride. 

every pass, every goal feels like a triumph, and when they finally win, you’re there in the stands, screaming and crying as they lift that trophy into the air. it’s a moment you’ll never forget: aitana, surrounded by her teammates, glowing with pride, holding the world cup above her head like a queen with her crown. 

you rush down after the match, and when she finds you in the sea of friends and family, she pulls you close, her sweat and tears mingling with yours as she kisses you deeply. 

“we did it,” she chants in catalan, and you know she means all of it—not just the world cup, but everything leading up to that moment.

it’s a whirlwind from there. aitana’s name is on everyone's lips. every headline praises her for being one of the best midfielders in the world, and talk of the ballon d’or starts almost immediately. 

the idea of winning such a prestigious award is exhilarating—and terrifying—for aitana. 

she’s humble to a fault, always quick to deflect praise, always wanting the spotlight to be on the team rather than herself. and while the world hypes her up, aitana becomes more nervous as the ceremony approaches. 

one night, she confesses to you that she feels overwhelmed by it all. 

“what if i don’t deserve this?” she asks, and you just shake your head, holding her close as she wraps her arms around you tightly. 

“are you serious? of course you deserve this. you deserve everything, aitana,” you tell her, and you mean it more than anything.

then there’s the matter of the ceremony itself. it’s in paris, and it will be one of the most glamorous nights of the year. 

aitana hires a stylist, wanting to make sure she looks her best, but every fitting seems to leave her feeling more out of place. the dresses are either too flashy, too revealing, or just... not her. 

you’re on set, filming for a movie during most of this, but every time she calls you, you can hear the frustration in her voice. she’s worried about standing out for the wrong reasons, about wearing something that doesn’t feel true to who she is.

when you finally wrap up filming, you decide to head back to barcelona early, just to be with her. you find her one evening, sitting on the floor of your shared apartment, surrounded by garment bags and fabric swatches, looking utterly defeated. 

“i just want to feel comfortable,” she admits, the vulnerability in her voice breaking your heart.

you smile, tilting her chin up so she looks at you. 

“you know you’re dating a professional, right?” you tease, and she laughs, but there's relief in her eyes. 

“i've done this a hundred times. let me help you.” 

together, you dive into the chaos of dresses, sketches, and fabric samples. you know aitana better than anyone, and you know exactly what would make her feel beautiful and confident. 

you pull out a stunning black dress, elegant and understated, with just the right amount of sparkle—a shimmer that catches the light without being overpowering. 

“try this,” you say, holding it up to her.

when she slips into it, it’s like everything clicks into place. the dress hugs her perfectly, shimmering around her frame like a sky full of stars, the black fabric cascading down like liquid silk. the muscles she has fit into the dress stunningly.

you watch as aitana turns in front of the mirror, a smile spreading across her face, the confidence you knew was there all along finally showing. 

“you look breathtaking,” you say, coming up behind her and resting your hands on her waist. in the mirror, you see her bite her lip, trying to hold back tears as she turns to face you.

“thank you,” she whispers, and you know she’s thanking you for more than just the dress. for supporting her, for believing in her, for always being her anchor through everything. 

“i’m so proud of you, aitana,” you tell her, pulling her into a hug, feeling her warmth, her strength. 

masterlist

[wileys-russo]

This Video if Alexia has fic potential!!

All Alexia wants to do is get home to her sick girlfriend or something

Or she’s had a bad day and her girlfriend is the only one who can make it better

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8j3CBaG/

that video makes me so sad like? she's a human being. no hello, no how are you, just posing for a photo and wanting things signed without any sort of decency. she's way too nice

exhaustion II a.putellas

alexia exhaled deeply as she pulled into her parking outside of her building complex, and yet it had never felt less like hers as she immediately noticed the small huddle of teenagers clearly expecting her arrival.

her cupra hardly unrecognizable she watched as the first young boy noticed it, elbowing his friends and pointing out her car with an excited smile, the others all catching on quite quickly as they hovered by the curb clearly eagerly awaiting alexia to join them.

alexia was grateful to and for the fans, after all without them the sport would hardly be as successful or meaningful as it was, and without their cheers and screams of encouragement and support and seeing her jersey number and name littered through the stands the game would not be half as enjoyable.

but she was tired, no, alexia was exhausted.

it seemed lately everyone had needed something from her. take, take, take, never giving, alexia always the giver. and she was now running on empty, drained to the max and burnt out but still expected to push forward and be strong, continue to give, give and give.

she was la reina after all, captain for club and country, fearless leader, ballon d'or winner. when all she really wanted was to be left alone, given time to recharge and rest and refuel. and she knew that the only place she could ever settle and feel safe enough to let down her walls to do this was with you.

you who would right now be upstairs in her apartment, more than likely in her clothes, waiting to cook her dinner, waiting on alexia to return where the catalan superstar knew you would have your arms open and awaiting for her to melt into, always knowing exactly what she needed even sometimes before alexia herself had figured it out.

as much as she was your most fierce protector, happily sending an filthy stare toward anyone who dared look at you funny, hand sitting firmly on the small of your back anytime you were walking in crowds, large hands covering your face to block out the flashes of paparazzi as they crashed yet another date night.

right now she wanted nothing more than to drown herself in your love and adoration, to just sink into you and feel your arms wrap around her, to let down her walls and open herself up entirely to you as you held her.

no matter if you played together at barcelona to you she was just alexia, ale, nothing more and nothing less. gone would be the pressures of her formal titles, and that was exactly what alexia needed right now.

not to be seen as la reina, or captain, not a spokeswoman or a champion or leader. not a well to be used and run dry, just a superstar athlete who everyone could take from as if she had everything to give and nothing to gain, but just for tonight alexia needed to be just yours, same as she needed the constant assurance that you were hers.

she has just finished up a meeting with her lawyer, running the statement from the girls through to him before they went public with it. she had tried to hint if mapi or someone else would attend the meeting instead but she was already nominated, pushed that as la reina and the captain it would mean the most if she brought the statement forward.

she didn't have the heart to say no, saying no was not something that had ever come easy to alexia.

she would never ever let herself be walked over, however when it came to feeling like she was letting anyone she cared for down, especially her friends and team mates, there wasn't a word harder to say than just those simple two letters.

the same could be said for right now as alexia opened her door and slowly arose out of her seat, locking the car after her and shuffling her way across the road. plastering a tired smile on her face she couldn't say no to the excited group of teenagers awaiting her to join them.

taking photo after photo, signing jerseys and posters and boots, give, give, give.

eventually once she had made her rounds ensuring everyone gained something from her did she step away, leaving them to their excited chatter and beaming smiles as she slipped inside her complex, shoulders sagging as the gate clicked behind her and she knew she was out of sight.

she wanted to sprint to you but her feet could only drag slowly into her building and toward the elevator, heavy and holding her back as if she was locked up in chains, exhaustion wrapping its hand around her throat squeezing tighter and tighter with each painful step.

things only grew worse as she stepped into the elevator, hurriedly followed by a couple of her neighbors who of course wanted to make small talk. again it was take, take and take.

alexia detested small talk with a repulsed passion, it burned her at every cell, each word like a small needle prick to her skin.

it was unnecessary, insincere and a waste of time. especially when silence could be so comforting, so rewarding, alexia craved the peace and quiet brought with it.

but again unable to say no she chatted about the weather they were having, flashing a polite small and forcing a fake laugh at a poorly timed joke about the mans porcelain skin and his crushing inability to tan.

finally, painstakingly slow, alexia reached her floor. again flashing a polite smile and stepping out of the elevator, now hurrying to her door, fumbling around with the keys in her pocket.

alexia huffed as she turned her key in the lock and the door jammed, the blonde ramming it with her shoulder a few times before it popped open with a click and she made a mental note to flag it with the building manager tomorrow.

she was quickly greeted by a small ball of fluff hauling herself at her legs and with a tired smile alexia bent down to scoop her up, cooing affectionately and pressing a kiss to the back of nala's head, placing her back down on the floor.

the midfielders body deflated a little with each step as she searched the apartment for you, small signs scattering each room that you were here.

your shoes by the door neatly stacked next to hers, a half drank mug of coffee sitting stone cold on the counter, washed up plate and fork by the sink, your favorite hoodie draped over the back of the sofa and the tv left on.

but alas alexia struggled to actually find you, each fleeting second without success slowly dragging her deeper and deeper into the gaping chasm of exhaustion she was teetering on the edge of falling into, her whole body screaming out for a reprise, for you.

stepping into the bedroom alexia released a shaky breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding in, hearing the shower running in her ensuite and your playlist slowly filtering out from behind the closed door.

with a pained and tired sigh the blondes legs gave out and she flopped backwards into her bed, fists gripping the soft white linen her eyes started to droop. feeling nala jump up beside her and curl into her side alexia lifted one hand, fingers stroking through the soft tanned fur.

a few moments later she heard the bathroom door click open and she was wide awake, jolting upright as her hazel orbs met yours. "hola amor." you greeted her with an alluringly soft smile, towel drying your damp hair as alexia's own lips curled upward at the way your accent creeped through in your spanish.

it had improved significantly since you'd signed with and moved to barcelona two years ago from england. when alexia first met you you'd struggled to even say hello.

now with a lot of help and lessons you understood most things almost perfectly but still struggled with your own diction, your girlfriend often speaking to you in her native tongue as you'd reply in english, especially when you were tired.

but that didn't matter.

even if the two of you could never understand one another again with words you didn't need them to communicate with one another. forcing alexia to do a love languages quiz with you one night after training your top result was quality time and alexia's was physical touch, meaning you seldom needed words to express your love and care for one another.

which is exactly why alexia didn't need to say a single word for you to instantly sense something wasn't quite right with the midfielder.

the moment you stepped within arms reach the older girl had grabbed you with an air of desperation, toned arms wrapping tightly around your torso with an iron clap grip, tugging you to stand in between her legs as she pulled you impossibly close.

her head came to rest on your stomach as she sat on the bed while you stood. "ale." you called softly, running a hand fondly through her freshly dyed blonde hair, feeling her body sag into yours with a tired hum.

"what's the matter baby?" you asked quietly, nails scratching at her scalp, feeling her sigh into your stomach and simply shake her head. so respecting that she clearly needed this you stayed stood there, her grip on you never loosening as you played with her hair.

"hey, ale." you nudged her gently after awhile, the girls chin resting on your chest as her hazel eyes looked up at you, and your heart panged to recognize just how utterly shattered she looked.

"come." you grabbed her hands, slowly wrenching them from where they remained locked around your waist, intertwining your fingers and tugging at her, nodding your head toward the door.

"bebé, estoy cansada." (baby, i'm tired) the taller girl frowned, a slight pout tugging at her lips making you melt to see her normally sharp and stone faced features soften.

"i know, come." you repeated, pulling at her again as she pushed herself to her feet with a small sigh, allowing you to guide her out of the bedroom and toward the living room. "sit." you ordered, pushing her down onto the sofa and once again gently wrenching her hands off you as she attempted to pull you down with her.

"hey i missed you." the older girl frowned, lips now curling downward into a proper pout making you melt, seeing the normally so confident and strong girl be so vulnerable and soft with you.

"volveré bien." (i'll be back right) you promised sincerely, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the chuckle the words rewarded you from your girlfriend. "ya vuelvo bien." (i'll be right back) alexia corrected with a smile making you roll your eyes. "you know what i meant." you pushed her shoulder lightly and dipped your head, pecking her lips sweetly and darting away before she could grab at you again.

leaving her for a moment you busied yourself grabbing out what you needed, hearing your girlfriend flick through channels trying to find something to watch. though it seemed her patience had ran thin today as only moments later you felt her press herself against you.

"bebita, apresúrate." (baby girl, hurry) the midfielder mumbled grumpily, her chin coming to rest on your shoulder as her arms wrapped tightly round your stomach and she lazily kissed at your jaw. her large hands slipped up her jersey which hung down just above your knees, stroking lovingly at the bare skin of your toned stomach making your breath hitch slightly, which didn't go unnoticed.

"ale, stop." you whispered softly, feeling her press your body against the counter as her hands slipped higher to fondle at your chest.

"but i promised you before i left this morning." the taller girl rasped quietly in her thick accent, quirking an eyebrow as you turned in her hold and again shook your head, grabbing and removing her hands from beneath your top.

your girlfriend was referring to when the two of you needed to stop certain activities as she was reminded by her alarm to leave for a meeting this morning, of course before she was able to finish having her way with you after you'd already helped her out.

"you don't owe me anything you're exhausted. let me take care of you for once, please?" you spoke softly and with so much obvious concern for her that the blonde captains knees almost buckled at the wave of love for you which washed over her.

"amor de mi vida." (love of my life) alexia whispered, lips attaching to your forehead as she hugged you tightly, allowing her gratitude to flow from her body to yours, the two of you just standing there for a moment soaking it in.

"five more minutes and i'm done." you promised softly and tried to peel her off of you to no avail, the taller girl clinging on tightly with further inpatient grumbles, tucking her nose into your neck, warm breathe tickling your skin.

with a shake of your head you continued with what you were doing, only with the blonde tanned catalan now sticking to you like glue. a few minutes later and you were done, having grabbed out all of the girls favourite snacks, arranging them in intricate patterns on a plate.

"hey." you nudged at alexia, her face pressed into the back of your shoulder blade, her head lifting and face softening seeing the simple but sweet gesture.

"thank you mi amor.” alexia rasped out gently, kissing your cheek a few times before unwrapping herself, grabbing the plate in one hand and you in the other as the two of you made your way back to the sofa.

"no." you shook your head as she tried to sit down first, pushing her aside gently and assuming her normal position, patting the space in between your legs.

placing the plate of food on the coffee table alexia wasted no time laying her body down in the empty gap you'd left her, legs intertwined with yours and her back pressed up against your front, your hands winding round her to hold onto her tightly as her own settled on your bare thighs with a loving squeeze

"i love you." you promised softly, the older girl echoing the words back sincerely as she craned her head back, puckering her lips expectantly as you softly kissed her.

no more words needing to be said the two of you just laid there holding one another, a spanish soap opera which was your girlfriends guilty pleasure playing quietly on the tv as late afternoon briskly turned into early evening.

a few episodes later and the blonde shifted, rolling her body around so she was laid on her front, shuffling down a little so her head rested on your stomach and her arms snuck up the sides of your top, craving nothing more than the feeling of her skin to be pressed against yours in any capacity she could seek.

your hands moved to tangle in her mane of blonde hair, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, feeling her exhale deeply as her body sank even further into yours.

alexia's arms wound tighter around your smaller form, hands pressing into the small of your back, tracing circles against the warm skin as your legs remained entangled with one another.

no words exchanged between the two of you the comfort purely physical, you watched on with a loving and tender gaze as the girl gave up her fight against sleep, eyes eventually slamming closed, finally able to rest and recharge as she so desperately needed.

[bruhnze]

Feeling 22 - Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Written for this ask and this ask xx. Didn't know if you wanted a smutty story but i just took the liberty to fill in you did, bcs in my polls its always about a 70-80% that does :). (for future asks u guys should totally specify, bcs i'll just do whatever haha).

Warning: 18+ smut, minors dni.

Summary: Lucy shows up at the match with Ona's 2 on her and tells Ona she'll have the same number for club as her aswell. Ona is sleepy but demands Lucy to come to her hotel, as she can't sleep knowing Lucy could be in her arms. Sleepy Ona x sleepy Lucy.

Wordcount: a small one: 1,8k

New title: Feeling 22

Lucy had been able to get a shirt to wear for her girlfriends Olympic game through Ona's manager.

Ona had known she would come but Lucy had asked the manager not to tell her she would be wearing her shirt to the match, that would be a surprise.

The match against Japan had ended well, with a 2-1 win, and Lucy couldn't wait to congratulate Ona.

After Ona had showered she walked back into the stadium, she looked for Lucy and saw her talking to a family member of another player, Carmona.

She was standing against a fence and Ona walked over to it.

The person walked away when she saw Olga and she said goodbye to Lucy, but Lucy was no longer really paying attention.

Ona and Lucy only had eyes for each other, Ona pressed herself against her and caught Lucy between the fence and herself.

After a hug -that was far too short for their liking-, they looked at each other.

"Hey, bub," Lucy said softly as she turned the pendant of Ona's necklace, which she had given her, right,''congrats on your win''.

"You are wearing my shirt!" Ona giggled happily as she grabbed the fabric.

''of course, you're a WAG or you're not'' Lucy said shrugging ''i do everything with a 100 percent effort''.

''i love you'' Ona sighed.

Lucy smiled ''i love you too''.

Ona traced the two on the shirt and smiled at Lucy ''i love you two'' she joked as she poked Lucy's stomach.

''i have some more fun news'' Lucy said laughing.

''yes?''

''For club im also taking the same number as you, it just got confirmed''.

''22?''

''yeah''

''2 and 22'' Ona said to let it sink in and finally said ''cute''.

''you are cute'' Lucy said ''but now you know what awaits you hm''.

''no?''

''i want you in my shirt at a match''.

''i am definitely not going to wear a Chelsea shirt and i have matches to play myself'' Ona giggled teasingly.

Lucy grinned ''hmm, we'll see, maybe an opportunity will present itself''.

Ona pushed herself a bit closer to Lucy and said happily ''then of course i will grab it with both hands''.

..

After the formalities in the team hotel, such as recovery and eating, and Ona was supposed to be in bed sleeping, she texted Lucy, even though she wasn't supposed to leave the hotel or invite Lucy to come to hers, she couldn't help but want to hold Lucy, especially now that she knew Lucy was literally a street away in a hotel.

They were supposed to see each other again that next morning, when Ona had a moment of free time to explore Nantes, but she couldn't wait.

Lucy had been reluctant and had called Ona after she'd read the texts and told her to rest, ''playing a game every 3 days takes a toll on your body, especially for a player like you, who plays every game and especially as you're going to win so you've got a lot of games to play'' Lucy had said.

“I know sleep is important Luce,” Ona had whined, “but I can't sleep without you when I know there's only a street between us.”

Lucy thought about it ''Just sleeping?'' she had asked in a stern voice.

''Yes I promise Luce'' Ona said sincerely ''if you are here I will sleep in 2 minutes''.

Lucy sighed, knowing she literally was not capable of saying no to her little Catalan ''mkay, I will be there in 10 minutes''.

..

As a soft knock sounded on Ona's hotel door, she shot out of bed and opened the door.

''Hi princess'' Lucy said softly.

''Has anyone seen you?'' Ona asked as she closed the door behind her friend.

''No'' Lucy said giggling ''everyone is sleeping, something you should do too''.

Ona hugged Lucy ''yes we are going to sleep, but first un beso, I haven't kissed you in so long''.

''You are incorrigible, I said, only sleeping'' Lucy said rolling her eyes.

''I said it would take 2 minutes for me to go to sleep, 2 minutes to kiss you'' she looked up at Lucy ''you are wasting my kiss time with stupid talking''.

Lucy wanted to kiss her just as much and quickly took off her clothes until she was in her underwear and got into bed ''come let's kiss here so you can leave your eyes closed and let your legs rest''.

She laughed as Ona climbed into bed to her left yawning, "aw you're so tired baby, c'm here."

Lucy herself was also very tired, between all the hustle and bustle of the end of the season and the signing at her new club and other things she had to arrange for England, she had arranged to be able to come to Ona's match. It was very important to her and she was happy that it had all worked out.

Facing each other they layed in bed, Lucy smiled tiredly and stroked Ona's cheek with her thumb ''you are so beautiful, I missed you''.

Ona leaned towards her ''still talking?'' she sighed laughing against Lucy's lips.

Lucy was quiet and kissed her lover back.

Both content with feeling of each other's soft lips again, after not having seen each other for a while, they relaxed.

Soft kisses were shared and hands caressed the places they had longed for.

When Lucy noticed that Ona was -waking up- a bit more she gently pushed her onto her back and broke the kiss ''you're tired''.

Ona groaned in dissatisfaction ''we still have a minute left''.

Lucy leaned over Ona ''no way, we're already overdue''.

The short Catalan pouted ''i won the match''.

''the match you played all the way through'' Lucy said tiredly ''you need to rest''.

''Okay, I'll stay laying down like this and you kiss me'' Ona said stubbornly and determined ''or do you think I don't deserve it?'' she said with puppy-dog eyes.

''argghh'' Lucy sighed ''you know I can't deny you anything, I just want you to recover well baby''.

Ona smiled and reached her hand up to guide Lucy's face back to hers ''being loved is a scientifically proven recovery''.

''No it's not'' Lucy chuckled as she pressed some kisses to Ona's face.

''You don't know that''.

''Is it?''. Lucy chuckled against Ona.

''Could be''. Ona groaned as Lucy kissed her neck.

Lucy pulled back and made herself comfortable on her side next to Ona, one arm under Ona's neck and one draped over her. After lazily placing a few more kisses on the bare skin of the woman who was only in her panties, unlike herself who was also wearing a sports bra, she whispered "goodnight bonita".

Ona snuggled further into her but couldn't ignore the way her skin tingled under Lucy's hand on her hip, she may have been tired but now that she could feel and smell Lucy, a fire had been lit inside her, a small fire perhaps, but heat was definitely there.

Just as Ona was about to do something, Lucy shifted and crossed her leg over one of hers and moved her hand from Ona's hip to her lower ribs, gently stroking the skin with her thumb.

A tiny groan escaped Lucy's throat when Ona intertwined her fingers with hers and brought her hand up to her chest.

"Ona," Lucy sighed sternly, even though her fingers found their way to Ona's nipple.

Ona turned her head so she could kiss Lucy into silence.

Never before had they made out with so little effort like this, but they were both very sleepy.

Lucy couldn't contain her urge to feel Ona on her fingers as Ona gently rocked back and forth against her leg.

Her hand travelled south between their bodies and Ona broke their slow kiss to lean her forhead against Lucy's.

Fingertips caressed the edge of the piece of cloth covering Ona and when she laid back on the bed on her back with her eyes closed, Lucy reached inside.

Lucy's two fingers were welcomed by a warm wetness, making her lips curl up into a lazy grin.

Ona mumbled Lucy's name quietly as the English defender gently shifted for a better reach.

The Catalans body melted into the mattress with Lucy's undemanding touches.

Sluggishly she traced her fingers up and down Ona's centre, coating them in her slick.

The shorter woman sighed a dull moan as she tried to tell Lucy what she needed.

''shh i got you'' Lucy whispered ''my sleepy girl'' and slowly pushed two digits passed Ona's entrance.

Lucy littered her with languorous kisses and soft praises as her plodding fingers kept working Ona.

As Ona's breathing became deeper she pulled Lucy closer for a peck on her lips, the soft kiss turned into a lazy and slow make-out again.

Ona stopped kissing and her breath caught in her throat as she felt Lucy gently stimulate her with her thumb.

Lucy grinned tiredly and continued as she buried her face in the Catalans neck.

The smaller woman closed her eyes again as her walls started clenching around Lucy's thick fingers "me voy .. " she cried out quietly ''a c-correr Luce''. (im gonna cum)

Lucy grunted as she kept her pace ''come for me baby'' she kissed her ''just let it go'' she purred as she felt Ona tense.

The Catalans hands found their way in to the sheets and she held on for the release she felt coming.

With a faint moan Ona came, the ball of sensation in her lower stomach exploded and the pleasant, familiar sensation travelled through her whole body, making her toes curl.

After Lucy had helped her through her high she slowly opened her eyes again.

Lucy smiled as she looked at her girlfriends face and saw her dazed expression, the flushed cheeks, the slightly parted and puffy lips and drowsy eyes, ''my perfect girl'' she cooed.

Ona didn't respond, the release had launched her into the clouds, she was sleepy and felt like she was floating. Her last energy had been used up by the orgasm.

With a few more soft kisses, Lucy got out of bed to clean Ona up and put a new pair of panties on her.

..

When that was all done she layed back in bed and pulled Ona against her in a spooning position.

''i love you'' she mumbled against Ona's bare shoulders ''sleep well''.

''mhmm'' Ona sighed happily ''i will''.

---------

the end, but not theirs :)

lemme know what u think about this one if you like :)

[alessiasfreckles]

Could you do kiss roulette number 4 with Ona??

love your work🫶

Sleepy - Ona Batlle x Reader

4. a kiss to the top of the head

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"Ugh, I'm exhausted," you said, flopping down onto the sofa. "Is it just me or was training really hard today?"

"Not just you," Ona agreed, sitting down next to you, albeit more gracefully. "I think Jona is trying to get us ready for when he leaves."

"I guess," you grumbled. "Ugh, all I want to do now is sleep."

"You could have a nap," Ona said, rubbing your back.

You sighed. "Maybe. I just don't want to be all grumpy and groggy when I wake up."

"Grog-gy?" she asked. "What is that?"

"Oh, um, I'm not sure what the Spanish word is, but it's like, feeling dazed, or kind of out of it?" you explained.

"Ah, mareada," she nodded. "Well, what would you like to do instead?"

You sighed again, more dramatically this time, making the Catalan roll her eyes. "I don't know! Life is so hard."

"Mhm," she chuckled, then got up. "Okay, well, I'm going to have a shower, and then I can help you decide what you want to do."

Normally, you would have made a quip about wanting to do her, or showering with her, but you were really just so tired from training. Instead, you sank further down on the sofa until you were horizontal, lying down, and scrolled through your phone for a while. Your eyes kept dropping shut, and it was getting harder to keep them open when you heard the bathroom door open.

"Baby?" you called out. "Come cuddle."

Ona chuckled as she walked into the living room to find you lying down on the sofa, arms outstretched towards her.

"What was that about not wanting to have a nap?" she asked with a smile.

"I'm not napping!" you protested. "I'm just lying down."

You hummed happily as she climbed on top of you, laying down and resting all her weight on you.

"You're like the perfect weighted blanket," you told her, arms wrapped around her. You could feel her laugh against your body, her head resting in the crook of your neck.

"Is that a compliment?" she asked.

"Yeah!" you nodded vehemently. "It's like you were made for me."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. She'd always liked how sappy you could be, especially when you were tired and just wanted to cuddle. The two of you laid there for a few minutes in silence, the feeling of your chest rising and falling as you breathed in and out making her feel sleepy too.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" she asked, voice soft. At first you didn't respond, and when she lifted her head she could see that your eyes were closed. She chuckled, the movement of her body stirring you.

"Hm?" you murmured, not bothering to open your eyes. "Oh, dinner. Um, I don't know, something easy?"

"Okay, bebita," she said, resting her head again. Another few minutes went by, and she could feel your breathing grow deeper, slower. She lifted her head again to find you fast asleep, even the movement of her body wasn't enough to wake you. She smiled fondly, thinking about how adamant you'd been about not wanting to nap.

She carefully moved out from under your arms, which were still loosely draped around her, and stretched as she stood up. You looked so peaceful, so soft lying there. She leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head so as not to wake you, and you smiled in your sleep.

[quatregats]

Hey I know you’ve probably already wrapped up your playlist but I just saw you were having trouble with the Irish side and just wanted to recommend Amhrán na Leabhar, it’s heartbreaking. Obviously if you’re finished no need, but if you needed a cry, there it is. Either way, good luck!

HECK YES THANK YOU ANON <3 I have indeed decided that I'm not doing the Irish side, because there's no way it'll ever live up to the Catalan one, but I'm still collecting the songs that I would have put in it, and this one is absolutely what I needed! I will say, while I may not have been up to this task, I would absolutely eat up any results if someone else were to take up the mantle 👀