#feminino!

[pers1st]

dancing with the devil - alexia putellas x reader

pairing: alexia x singer!reader

warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol

Meeting Alexia hadn't been an accident. If anything, meeting anyone, for you, was an accident, because more often than not, people were screaming into your face, demanding pictures and autographs and spinning theories about your private life that you were pretty sure could be considered conspiracies.

You hadn't intended, however, to meet Alexia. And she hadn't intended to meet you. The first time you'd seen the Catalonian woman had been on Keira's instagram. Your lifelong best friend and childhood neighbor was the only reason you were interested in women's football - or sports in general. You'd never shared your father's passion, or joined the local team like your brother had. If it wasn't for Keira, you would have no ties to the sport whatsoever, and even this way, you grew annoyed every time the strawberry blonde and her insufferably confident girlfriend tried to explain the offside rules to you.

Still, you followed Keira's life everywhere she went, and although you hadn't been happy with her move to Barcelona, you had forgiven her the minute you'd spotted the Catalonian woman on the sidelines.

Keira had warned you, but really, she should've warned Alexia. You enjoyed the lifestyle that came with being a singer, relished in parties and one-night-stands and rebounds that Keira doomed forbidden. More often than not, she'd threatened to hang up on your FaceTime call when you'd phoned her from London to tell her about your latest hookup. But Keira, as different as the two of you were, was still your best friend, and so she listened to every word you said, or sung, and was your number one supporter. This wasn't missed by her new teammates, who started following your socials the second Keira had first shared the promo picture of your new album. That's when Alexia had followed you. Keira should've warned her then, but a few years down the line, you were glad she hadn't. Because what was supposed to be a bed for you to spend a night in when you next visited Keira and Lucy in Barcelona blossomed into your second home, and the woman who was supposed to be yet another hookup blossomed into your girlfriend.

You had spent the past year somewhere between London, New York and Barcelona, desperate to spend time with Alexia, Leah and your producers all at the same time. The fans had quickly taken notice of your and Alexia's relationship, although, to be honest, not one of you had tried to hide anything. Alexia was easy, Alexia was simple, and most importantly, Alexia was safe. She was the one to ground you whenever you struggled with your mental health, whenever you were overwhelmed with pressure, anxiety, or any emotion alike.

But a few months ago, with Alexia's return to the pitch, the World Cup and the crippling pressure to perform, at all time, that grasped your every cell, things had taken a turn for the worst.

You were on tour, and had witnessed the public abuse of Alexia and her teammates via FaceTime and instagram, trying your hardest to console the captain as best as you could from so many miles away. It hadn't been an easy task, and with the everlasting rehearsals, concerts and afterparties, you had neglected to take care of yourself.

Drinking was easy when you had the excuse of missing your girlfriend. Using was easy when you had the excuse of just living a little.

Nothing was easy now, as you stood in your girlfriend's flat in Barcelona, the woman halting across from you.

"I'm... home", she breathed, taking in her surroundings. There was no way to hide the bags packed behind you, the way you were still wearing your shoes despite the fact that Alexia had taken so much time to drill the habit of taking them off at the doorstep, the way you seemed to be ready to leave when you had just come home.

"What is going on?", she asked, dropping her bag with a soft thud. Alexia had expected you on the couch, with a mug of tea in your hands, in her sweatpants and fluffy socks, just the way you liked during the colder months. She had expected you to be nuzzled under a blanket, perhaps napping as she knew the jet lag robbed you of energy whenever you took the plane from the States to Spain.

"I'm leaving", you breathed, staring into her face blankly. You tried to remember. Tried to take in every dimple, every freckle, the color of her eyes and the baby hairs that were flying off her hairline. If you could have, you would have taken a picture. You had so many pictures of Alexia in your phone, ranging from ones to her sleeping, from her at training, from her during matches, from her at dates you took her on or standing in the crowd of your concerts. They were never going to be enough - realistically, you knew that. But, realistically, you could never forget Alexia either, no matter how much time you would spend away from her.

Alexia looked confused. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she opened her mouth and closed it again. Her lips looked like she had been picking them, the way she always did when she was stressed, but you wanted to kiss them anyways.

Her feet guided her into the kitchen, walking straight past you as she inspected the apartment. She noticed your favorite mug - one that she had given you for Christmas last year - wasn't where it usually stood next to her favorite mug. Why would you take your mug? You never took your mug when you went away from her, to concerts or recording sessions or award galas.

If she looked any closer, she might've noticed the broken handle of it laying next to the trash can. The dish had been sent to the floor when you had frantically grabbed at it, desperate to leave the flat before your girlfriend came home, and shattered into a million peace. Each one of it was tucked in a plastic bag in your suitcase, but you had forgotten the handle. Alexia didn't notice. Her eyes were back on you.

"What are you talking about?", she asked. In that moment, you were grateful more than ever that Alexia had taken the longer route to grab your favorite sushi from the one restaurant on the other side of the town, the only one you liked, because it had given you enough time to pack everything before she came home. You had almost been out the door - you had put your shoes and coat on already, leaving your favorite scarf, the pink one that she liked to wear, in the hallway.

"I'm so sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you had to tear your eyes away from her, down to your dirty sneakers, when you felt your lips wobble. If you took another glance at Alexia, you would cry.

The handle of your suitcase was cold as you gripped it tightly, bending down to pick up the bag still on the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Alexia."

It wasn't just another statement one said during a breakup without any meaning. You truly meant it. You truly were sorry. In the past months, both yours and Alexia's life had spiraled completely, and although you had been there for her as best as you could have, and lost yourself in the process. The shell of a person that was left of you was nowhere close to what Alexia deserved. You weren't sorry for leaving her, you were sorry for the person you had become, and you were sorry you couldn't be the person for Alexia anymore. You couldn't be her loving girlfriend anymore, the one that loved her endlessly, that made her laugh, that took her worries away with soft kisses and whispered nothings. You couldn't be the person to make her happy anymore. If Alexia took a closer look at you, maybe she would notice your blown pupils, the redrimmed eyes of yours, the bags beneath them. Maybe she would notice the amount of weight you lost, the leftovers of white powder beneath your nose, maybe she would've noticed how broken you were.

You didn't give her the chance, instead tearing your gaze away from her and shuffling towards the door with soft steps, desperate not to ruin her hardwood floor with the crunch of broken glass and splashes of alcohol on your dirty shoes.

You heard Alexia cry behind you, heard her pleas for you to stay, heard her questions, her yells, but you were out of the flat quicker than she could've pulled you back. The air of Barcelona hit you colder than it had before, and a part of you wished you would've worn the pink scarf, knowing it would've kept you warm and smelled of Alexia's perfume.

The black SUV was still parked right next to her driveway the way you had instructed Lois, your driver, to wait. He didn't ask a single question as you slammed the bags into the backseat, following in shortly after, tears streaming down your face. You needed to leave. You were doing the right thing. Alexia would realize it, at one point.

17th December, 2023:

Breaking news: British singer Y/N Y/L/N's summer tour cancelled after drug overdose.

notes:

there goes my first oneshot! please let me know what you think and also if you want a pt2 bc i have so much more in mind about thus story :)

[onabat11e]

ona batlle rizzing the ref

[sccpmccabe]

the medicine for a crazy person is an even crazier one. looks like renard found her medicine.

TARCIANE LIMA É O NOME DA MINHA ZAGUEIRA, PORRA!

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Starting over in Madrid

Hey, I'm back after having my account terminated. I'm starting to repost my fanfic Starting over in Madrid episode by episode. I've done minor corrections, mostly vocabulary, scenario temporality and pictures that weren't working well.

Feel free to read or reread it and gave me your feedback. We can't say it enough but we, writers, love feedback <3

Chapter 1 ➺  A harder job than I thought

Summary : After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 1K words TW : None PS : French autor

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

I had never been particularly interested in football until I was employed by Real Madrid. Of course, I occasionally watched a few games on TV during the major championships. Still, I had never planned to work for a football club — let alone one in Spain. Yet here I was, in my late twenties, knowing only a few words of Spanish, stepping into the Ciudad Real Madrid for my first day as the new official photographer.

The introductions went smoothly and the staff was friendly. The work seemed interesting, with plenty to do on the creative side. I felt optimistic. My office was on the second floor, on the west side of the building, a bit apart from the training grounds. I took a few minutes to settle into my chair, gazing out the window at the Alfredo di Stéfano stadium, where I could see the tiny silhouettes of the footballers training. My manager, Ana, came by to introduce me to the team, and I quickly grabbed my camera to follow her to the pitch. 

The winter sun, cold yet bright, momentary blinded me as I stepped outside. My eyes took a moment to adjust as the shouts of trainers and players echoed all around me. There were far more people than I had expected, and I felt intimidated, but Ana didn’t give me any time to relax. She spoke to a few staff member to pause the training, and the players slowly came toward us. They gathered around us, some still panting, as Ana spoke again. 

"Hello everyone, let me introduce you to our new photographer Y/N. But you can call her Nicky as she likes it better." 

"Hi, I’ve never liked my name", I said nervously. 

The players stared at me, some smiling warmly. I couldn’t help but notice their muscular arms and thighs, the sheer strength radiating from their bodies. There were some strikingly pretty faces among them as well. Ana introduced each player to me. The last one, a deeply tanned girl, stood slightly apart, looking a bit bored.

"And finally, this is Misa", she said pointing toward her. Misa glanced at me, her dark eyes meeting mine for just a moment. She quickly waved in a polite, welcoming gesture before looking away again. Her charismatic attitude, paired with her pretty face, made my face grow hot. I reminded myself that I was a professional photographer. Moreover, my employment contract explicitly prohibited dating team members, so I quickly shook off my inappropriate thoughts as the introductions came to an end.

A few days passed as I settled into my new life. I had found a tiny apartment in Lavapiés, furnished it with everything I needed, and was quite happy to start over. I had recently ended a toxic relationship with my ex-girlfriend and left a boring previous job behind. Each day, I went to the pitch to film the team arriving and take pictures of the footballers training, which I shared on social media. They were mostly friendly, though some seemed bothered by being photographed all the time. Linda, Naomi, Sofie, and Hayley clearly enjoyed being in front of the camera, while Ivana, Olga, and Misa tended to avoid it as much as possible. We spoke very little, each person focused on their own work.

***

Then came the day of the big photoshoot for the brand-new kits. It was a very busy day. Adidas had designed a set with a moss background and real plants surrounding the area. It was a bit overwhelming for my taste, but I didn’t have a say as the campaign was managed by the brand. I was assisting the Adidas photographer by giving pose instructions to the girls and taking some shots myself.

We had been shooting for nearly five hours when it was Misa’s turn. I couldn’t help but notice how striking she looked in her new pale purple kit. Her tanned skin contrasted sharply with the fabric. She had a piercing on her left nostril that I hadn’t seen before. Her long hair was let down, falling on her broad shoulders. She took her place, clearly comfortable and used to being a model.

"Misa, face the camera", I said. Her dark eyes crossed mine briefly before she looked straight at the camera and composed a smile. I could tell she was feeling confident, but I wasn’t entirely sure she was truly enjoying it. "Now, switch to profile, please". "Strike a pose". "Put your gloves on". Misa obediently followed my instructions, moving smoothly from one pose to the next. 

"Are we done yet?" she asked, looking at me patiently. 

"I think we are. Thank you. Thanks God you’re the last one !" 

"I already find it tiring, so I can’t imagine how it must be for you." She said, her brows frowning. She stepped aside from the set as I started putting away the equipment next to her. 

"It’s okay, I like my job. Today is just a bit repetitive"

"Are we cool models ?" I looked up at her. Her face had relaxed since the photoshoot ended. A shy smile appeared on her lips as she suddenly seemed to think her question was embarrassing. 

"In fact yes, indeed. As a photographer, there is so much to adjust. When you’re training, you’re moving fast, so I have to increase the shutter speed. When you’re posing like today, the shutter can be slower but you need good exposure…" My voice trailed off when I noticed her perplex expression. "Sorry I’ve never known how to explain my job. You see, technical aspects play a huge part in photography." 

"Don’t worry, I haven’t a clue what you’re taking about, but it actually got me interested." She was smiling frankly now and that made her even more beautiful. I tried to focus on folding the spotlights back into their bags. "These lights make you very warm and sweaty" she said. "I’ll go change. See you, Nicky." 

“Bye Misa.”

I was feeling both disappointed by her departure and relieved to finally finish tidying things up in peace when I heard Misa’s embarrassed voice rise from the backroom. 

"Hum… can someone help me?"

I dropped the camera I was packing and headed over, thinking this day would never end. I suppressed a laugh when I saw Misa struggling with her jersey, which was stuck halfway over her head. The collar was bunched up somewhere around her nose. I forced myself to look away from her toned abs and the glimpse of her low-cut sports bra.

"Misa, it’s Nicky, what’s going on?" 

"The jersey… it’s caught in my nose ring. I can’t get it off !"

"Hold still. I’do it."

I stepped closer to her and gently took hold of the jersey collar, searching for where her piercing had snagged. A stray thread had somehow gotten tangled in the small golden ring. I tried my best to focus. Her mouth twitched nervously, and I was so close I could feel her breath as I worked. She pursed her soft lips, and I finally managed to free the string. She let out a relieved sigh as the jersey slipped off, our eyes meeting again as I stepped back. 

"Thanks, I thought I’d lose my nose over this one…" 

"You did well to ask for help, you could’ve hurt yourself." 

"I’m glad it was you and not some random Adidas guy. All my friends are gone by now." 

"Anytime!" I shrugged, feeling a little flustered red again. 

She gathered her clothes and began taking off her shorts. Footballers really weren’t shy. I quickly turned around, ready to leave, knowing I couldn’t handle another glance at Misa’s body parts.

"Bye then" I said softy.

"Bye, and Nicky? I paused and turned back to her. She had already changed into her trousers and T-shirt. “You definitely have to teach me some photo stuff! I’m serious.”

"Sure… after tomorrow’s training, if you’d like." 

"Yeah, count on me."

She gathered her things, waved goodbye, and left. 

My job was turning out to be a lot harder than I’d expected.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

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[brasildaily]

Corinthians wins the women's Brazilian Championship 2024 final match against São Paulo at the Neo Quimica Arena in São Paulo, Brazil, on September 22, 2024.

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credits @aIfasquad on twitter

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Boca Juniors Feminino Appreciation

Request a player | with @alotofpockets

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They won't shut us up, no matter how hard they try.

[tw: sexual h*rassment & ass*ult]

Last night (April 12, 2024) was marked by several protests in the Brazilian women's football community.

Teams such as Corinthians, Avaí, Cruzeiro and Palmeiras protested against Santos' decision to rehire coach Kleiton Lima, which had been reported last year by 19 Santos players for moral and sexual harassment. 14 of the nineteen players left the club at the beginning of that season, but at no point did they withdraw their complaints.

The argument used by the Santos board to hire Kleiton again was that none of the allegations had been proven to be true and that, in fact, the board had contacted some players so that they could explain the entire situation. These arguments were quickly refuted after several players took a stance on their social networks saying that such contact never happened.

At the beginning of this year, Santos had already been involved in a major controversy after inviting the former player convicted of rape in Italy and sentenced again in Brazil, Robinho, to a barbecue on the club's premises.

Situations like these only show how even the word of a large group of women is of no value to top executives, or any other man. The situation became even worse in the game between Santos vs Corinthians that took place last night.

Corinthians players and the entire coaching staff protested during the national anthem and in celebration of the goals scored by the team. The game ended with a score of 3-1 for Corinthians, but the worst detail is the goal scored by Santos.

After tying the match in the 14th minute of the first half, Santos player Ketlen ran to the edge of the field to celebrate the goal by hugging Kleiton.

As long as women like her try to silence other women, we will never evolve as a society.

If you are a victim of a situation like this, or any other, look for your rights and report it.

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