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helen-with-an-a · 2 months

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Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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nosugarallspice · 4 months

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we NEEEDDD more tough jude. imagine jude and reader arguing all day over the silliest things, but they have to go to a bar to meet up with with jude’s friend and they decide to put a stop to it for the time being but reader decides to be pissy and bratty all night. she then picks a fight with j someone. jude has had ENOUGH. he grabs her and physically pulls her out of there and drags her home. reader continues to be bratty until jude shuts her up by fucking the life out of her until she’s begging for him to stop but he doesn’t (check ins with safe word but reader chooses not to say it)

Okay but these requests always hit! Like I dunno what it is but picturing Jude putting you in your place is soooo sexy???

Author’s Note: I feel like this was longer than usual but maybe not? I don’t mind it so I hope you guys don’t either. Also if there’s any typos don’t pay attention, just ignore it lmao.

Minors DNI!!

Word Count: 753

You and Jude had been at each other's throats throughout the day, it was annoying, but he’d aggravate you over the smallest things - you being annoyed with him, of course only made him even more annoyed with you. There was constant bickering between the two of you - and you were fed, but so was he.

“I can’t believe you’re making me go.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you drove to the new restaurant that had just opened up downtown, Vini invited you both out for lunch - without running it by you, Jude of course agreed even though you both were at each other's throat.

“Not like I have a choice? We were invited so it would be rude not to go.” Jude grumbled, arms crossed over his chest as he sat in the passenger seat.

The rest of the car ride was silent, and you couldn’t really complain about it.

You finally found parking and made your way inside - You tried your best to be cordial with Jude, even though you felt like strangling him most of the time, you pushed your feelings aside just for the evening.

Jude sat at the table chatting with Vini while you made your way over to the bar, a few drinks wouldn’t hurt, or so you thought it wouldn’t.

One drink led to another, let’s just say you had a bit too much to drink and ended up arguing with a few people near the bar.

Jude ended up pulling you out of the restaurant after he said goodbye to Vini. You protested, trying to get your point across that you didn’t start it, but Jude was fed up.

You laid your head against the window with your eyes closed, the ride home was silent, the only thing that could be heard was the radio, until Jude broke the silence. “So,are you going to say anything?” He asked, as he pulled into the driveway.

“Nope.” You mumbled before getting out of the car and stumbling into the house.

—

You cried out into the pillow as you buried your face in it. The grip Jude had on your hips would definitely be leaving bruises for you to see tomorrow.

His hips slamming against your ass as he fucked you from behind, “this is all you want, hm?” He spoke through gritted teeth. His cock pushing deeper into you with each thrust.

You felt him lean forward, his hand sliding up your back and towards the front of your neck, he gripped gently, pulling you up, your back now pressed against his chest. This new angle causes the tip of his cock to brush against your sweet spot repeatedly, making you squirm against him.

“Fuck, Jude!” You cried, throwing your head back against his shoulder, his hand still wrapped around your throat.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” His lips brushed against your ear, a smirk on his face as you melted into him.

“Yes!” You moan, your tiny hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Such a slut, for me.” He chuckled, his free hand sliding in between your thighs, pressing firmly against your aching clit, circling it slowly, he knew it would drive you crazy.

You gasp, your pussy clenching around him, warning him for your next orgasm but that doesn’t stop him of course, he continued.

As much as you squirmed trying to get out of his grip, he wouldn’t let you go. “I know you can give me one more.” He insists, cock buried deep inside you.

“Too much.” You whimpered as he placed a slap to your ass. Your nails dug into his wrist, causing his grip to tighten.

“I think you can handle it.” He smiles, keeping his fingers on your clit.

As much as you hate to admit it, it hurt but it hurt so good, so good that you didn’t want him to stop, instead you wanted him to ruin you.

Finally, Jude pushes you back down on the bed, your chest pressed against the mattress and his chest pressed against your back. Of course this was to teach you a lesson, but he was still needy and wanted to be close to you.

“Too much?” Jude whispers against your shoulder, his movements starting to slow. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.” He kisses your shoulder, his hand caressing your hip.

You shook your head, “n-no, keep going.” You moan, throwing your hips back against him.

“That’s my girl.” Jude grins, looking down to watch as you fuck back into him.

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mysunshinetemptress · 4 months

Text

I love you

Alexia Putellas x sisters best friend reader

Warnings: fluff, slight angst,

Alexia hadn’t always liked you let alone love you, to her you where her little sisters annoying best friend who would do anything possible to annoy her daily. She would huff and roll her eyes every time you would bounce over and ask for her to watch a dance both yourself and Alba had just come up with, or slam her bedroom door in your face anytime you knocked, you where a constant pain back then.

But to Alba you were her best friend who had been there for her through her worst and best times. Alexia and Albas father had died when Alexia was 18 and Alba was 15 with you still being 14 and you had been Albas constant being there from the beginning of their worst nightmare until Alexia decided to shut you out. It was something you always brushed off stating it was understandable you weren’t family and Alexia simply wanted to mourn such a massive loss with her sister and mother in private much to Albas dismay who constantly stated she needed you and Alexia had no right to push you away in that manner, especially when she knew how much you loved her sister.

Alva had been there for just as much as you had for her especially when her sister had began to date her teammate Jenni Hermoso breaking your heart in the process. Alexia didn’t know of your feelings swearing Alba to secrecy but her constant show of affection towards Jenni at the Putellas family home saw you avoid the house much to the older girls delight.

Alexia didn’t think she could dislike you anymore until in her words you “tried to take Alba away from her home.” You had been accepted into the Paris Opera Ballet School at the age of 18, she had screamed at you much to your, Eli and Albas horror, once again you had left the Putellas house on the older girls wishes only this time you didn’t return, instead you said goodbye to your best friend and boarded a plane. A year later Alba flew out to you and never looked back instead she began flying around the globe with you as you began your professional Ballet career stating you need a reminder of home (her).

But now at the age of 25 you where heading home for the first time, you where taking a well deserved break before your next contract started up opting to travel home to spend time with family and friends.

That’s how Alexia found you relaxing on the couch in her family home “Y/n.” You turned looking at the eldest Putellas smiling softly “Hola Ale.” Alexia looked at you stunned “you…you are home.” You nodded “Sí for a while I have a break in my contract so I thought why not.” Alexia nodded unable to take her eyes off of you “well eh..it’s nice to see you.” You smiled brightly at her “it’s nice to see you too Ale.” Alexia let out a nervous laugh before rushing into the kitchen to find her mother as Alba trotted down the stairs “what was that.” You let out a huff “that was me realising I might still have feelings for your sister Al.” Alba smacked you laughing “dios mío, y/n you told me you where done with her the night you left.” You shook your head “I know but Al, I forgot how hot your sister was.” Alba through a pillow at you head as you laughed.

You spent nearly every day at the Putellas house like the old days only this time Alexia didn’t seem to care as much, maybe it was the fact she had her own place now but you often found her sitting watching movies with you and Alba or sitting at the dinner table having coffee in the morning. What blew your mind altogether was when she invited you on a night out with her teammates, “Alba will be there, but I just thought I would ask you know incase you wanted to meet them or just go out for the night.” You smiled happily nodding “I’d love to, eh I’ll be here at 7pm.” Alexia couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach “sounds good Osa.” You couldn’t help but blush at the nickname remembering back to when the word adesoso used to follow after it.

You had been panicking since 4pm on the phone to Alba “I don’t have clothes Al.” Alba huffed “yes you do amor, wear the black corset and trousers you know the leather ones and your boots you look hot in them.” You rolled your eyes “ok are you sure.” Alba rolled her eyes “you could wear a bin bag and Ale would think you are hot.” Three hours later you were stood outside the Putellas house nervously talking yourself up to ring the doorbell looking up suddenly when you head Alexia’s voice “Joder, eres preciosa.” You looked down as your face reddened “Gracias Ale.” You finally looked up staring at the older girl “wow Ale you look wow.” Alexia shook her head before grabbing your hand and pulling you in the door shouting out to Alba that you were here and ready to go.

Arriving at the club you scanned the room before catching eyes with Barcelonas best known defender “Mapi.” Maria turned on a dime laughing as she ran to scoop you up “Bebé pequeño.” You laughed at the nickname you kissed her cheek as she put you down not turning as you felt a hand on your back thinking it was Alba “how are you amor, what are you doing here, oh I have someone I want you to meet.” You laughed at Mapi’s excitement “Más despacio,Maria.” The hand left your back as Mapi dragged you towards the crowd “Mi Vida I have someone you have to meet.” You froze slightly at the sight of the tall Norwegian until she smiled brightly at you “Maria did you kidnap a ballerina.” Mapi looked confused “eh no, this is Y/n mi Bebé pequeño.” Ingrid shook her head “no you kidnapped one of the best Ballerinas in the world.” You laughed shaking your head before putting your hand out to shake Ingrid’s hand “Hola, I’m Y/n.” Ingrid looked surprised as you leaned into Mapi “how do you two know each other.” You both looked at each other and laughed “Ale and Alba.” Ingrid looked even more surprised before you began to explain “I grew up with Al, and then when I moved to Paris to study Alba followed me over a year later.” Ingrid looked stunned “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you perform either live or on screen you are incredible.” You felt your cheeks reddening at her compliment before a hand grabbed your back again, once again assuming it was Alba you relaxed into their arms “My friends are actually trying to organise seeing you in Vienna.” Finally the voice behind you spoke causing you to stiffen “Vienna.” You turned looking at Alexia “sí, I leave in two weeks to begin rehearsals and then my next show is in Paris and then my agent said something about dancing in London.” Alexia felt her stomach drop “so when are you coming home.” You looked at Alexia confused “probably not for a while, why you aren’t going to miss me.” You laughed half heartedly but stopped at Alexia’s frowning features “of course I will.” You shook your head “you hate me.” Alexia sighed “I don’t hate you Osa, I’ve never hated you.” You wanted to push further but Alba grabbed your hand “Come on show off those moves we all know you’ve got.” You couldn’t help but look back at Alexia eyes softening as you looked at the frown spread across her face.

You had been dancing for hours getting lost in the moment with Alba like you both normally did, although this time you couldn’t help but look for Alexia sighing every time you noticed her talking to someone else before shaking your head and going back to dancing. You stiffened suddenly as an unknown hand wrapped around your waist before someone began speaking to you “Hola, guapa.” You turned looking at an unfamiliar face before smiling nervously “hola.” You turned looking for Alba before seeing her talking to a girl “it’s ok she’s with my friend.” You looked at the strange woman confused “ehh ok.” You quickly looked at the table of Barcelona players trying to catch someone’s eye but finding no one, you couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably as the girls hand stayed on your waist squeezing it before you turned to Alba grabbing her hand “Al Por favor.” Alba simply brushed you off to busy batting her eyes at the girl she was flirting with “Al.” You tried again only to feel the random girl pull you towards her “hey why don’t we go get a drink.” You shook your head “no gracias.” But she wasn’t taking no for an answer as you put your hands on her shoulder trying to push her off you. You gasped quickly as you were pulled into a different pair of arms relaxing immediately as you took in Alexia’s perfume unable to stop the gasp you let out “Ale.” Alexia ignored you pulling you before she grabbed Alba “Al we are leaving.” Alba turned to argue before she caught your eyes and a worried expression spread across her face “what, what happened Y/n.” Alexia huffed “you would know if you took your head out of that girls ass and stopped flirting with her.” Alba huffed pulling her sister back towards her “why do you care.” Alexia shook her head “leave it Alba, I’m not doing this here.” Alba shook her head not taking that “no we are, you have hated Y/n since our friendship started, you haven’t made it a secret so don’t try to deny it.” Alexia huffed “I don’t hate her.” Alba cut her off “yes you do.” Alexia was getting angry “no I don’t, I love her.” Alba looked at her sister surprised “I love her, I’m in love with her.” You looked surprised at Alexia “you love me.” Alexia turned to you shocked “well….i…..ehm.” You grabbed the older girls face pulling her into a searing kiss “I’ve wanted to do that since I was four years old.” Alexia laughed kissing you again “let me take you home Osa.”

You groaned lightly turning to see Alexa’s relaxed features as sleep took over her body until she groaned at the sound of the knock on door until Eli pocked her head in “Gracias a dios, you grew a pair Ale.” You couldn’t help but laugh “hi Eli.” Eli smiled at you “Papa would be so happy.” Alexia looked at you smiling softly “I know, he told me if she wasn’t going to be his daughter in law he would disown me.” You laughed pulling the older girl into a kiss “slow down mi amor, you only admitted to your love to me yesterday.” Alexia sighed happily “yeah but I know this is forever.”

#awfc #woso #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #alexia putellas x you #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso community #woso blurbs #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso couples #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #alba putellas

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itneverendshere · 12 days

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school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: smart!reader (doesn't take shit) x bimbo!rafe <3; pope being an absolute menace; mentions of sex but no actual p in v okay; this shit is football and y'all can argue with a wall <3 IT PAINS ME TO WRITE SOCCER Y'ALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT !!!

ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school as incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him. the veridic? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him. outrageous, never done before. for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fic #rafe imagine #bimbo!rafe #smart!reader #soccer!rafe #frat!rafe #rafe blurb

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lorarri · 27 days

Text

★ . . . 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 , 𝐉𝐁𝟓

summary , the daughter of lewis hamilton and a 3 time f1 world champion life is pretty great especially now that you have found a special someone

pairing , jude bellingham x fem! hamilton! redbull! f1 driver! reader

main masterlist | football masterlist

yourinstagram . 4hrs ago

seen by lewishamilton judebellingham 76,389,589 others

yourinstagram

liked by lewishamilton judebellingham 102,890,199 others

yourinstagram winter break photodump pt. 5

view comments

user my wife is a madrid...I don't know what to do with why self now

user stay away from my wifey mr. hey jude lookin ass

user MR BELLINGHAM WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user it couple is cookin ya'll

user love that mother is living her best life

user bae wake up Y/N posted a winter break photo dump

user OKAY BUT THAT LAST PIC EXCUSE ME?!?!?!

user madam who got you those flowers

user jude better be careful or papa hamilton gonna have his head if he even thinks about trying anything with his daughter

user why am I kinda living from the idea of these two being a couple

user are you dating jude?

user Y/N come home the kids miss you

user 4th wdc pending...

user so we all know who the guy in the last slide is right?

user love my soon to be parents

user the queen soft launching wasn't on my 2024 bingo card

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TRENTSKI

JUDITH

EXPLAIN YOUR SELF

JUDITH

huh?

RICE RICE BABY

did you really think you could sneek your way into Y/N Hamilton's ig dump and we wouldn't find out?

JUDITH

yes?

SANCHOOOO

SO YOU ADMIT IT

IT IS YOU

MEEK MEALS

glad you finally got together

I was getting sick and tired of you talking about her 24/7

JACK RABBIT

I'm surprised he even got the strength to talk to her

STAR BOY

right?

his brain normally turns to mush when ever her name is mentioned

proud of you bro

JUDITH

thx kyo

I always knew you were a real one

TRENTSKI

damn I see how it is then....

RICE RICE BABY

trents going dark lads

in his sad girl era

PHIL CHEESE STAKE

so wait who knows about you 2 being together?

SANCHOOOO

besides the entire intent after that photo dump?

MEEK MEALS

LMFAOOO

STAR BOY

tell lewis he's the goat

JUDITH

hahah funny

let us have our damatic soft launch

obvi you guys know

the only others that know are max, sebastian, and charles

I'll let lewis know when he figures out I'm dating his daughter this Saturday

JACK RABBIT

mate your fucked

TRENTSKI

DAMN

secret forbbiden romance

didn't know you were built like that jude

MEEK MEALS

what do you mean Lewis fucking Hamilton doesn't know you are dating HIS DAUGHTER

SANCHOOOO

pray for jude guys

these might be his last days with us

STAR BOY

he shall be missed

JACK RABBIT

dw jude I'll delete your search history of you stalking Y/N's ig and twitter

JUDITH

thanks guys...

wiss me luck

TRENTSKI

break a leg

RICE RICE BABY

don't die

MEEK MEALS

good luck

SANCHOOOO

you going to die

STAR BOY

what colour coffin do you want?

I'm thinking bright pink and rinestones

JACK RABBIT

do you need a get away driver?

PHIL CHEESE STAKE

before you die get me and ronnie a hat singed by Y/N and Lewis

JUDITH

I feel so loved rn

yourinstagram . 4hrs ago

seen by lewishamilton maxverstappen1 98,328,479 others

lewishamilton replied to your story!

he's a good lad

but if he hurt's you

winning a trohpy will be the last of his concern

okay dad I'll relay that message to him

good

also don't forget to use projection...

DAD OMG STOP

carlossainz55 replied to your story!

¡HALA MADRID!

maxverstappen1 replied to your story!

Christian is asking if Jude wants to come to the team dinner before the livery launch?

also if he hurts you I will run him over with our matching aston martins

landonorris replied to your story!

what does he smell like?

738 notes · View notes

trulyhblue · 1 month

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STARGIRL

Georgia Stanway x Reader

Warnings — smut 18+, buildup, mean! Boyfriend! Kind of toxic! Georgia, dom/sub dynamics, drinking, partying, jealousy, strap, millie bright hate but not hate but pls I love you millie bright so flirt with me x, kind of dumb reader but like she actually doesn't know, praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink.

_______________________

Your dress had hitched to an unethical height, but the state of your tipsiness provoked a desolated ignorance accompanied by the thunderous beat of the club. Grace was behind you, swaying her hips with yours, the two of you celebrating your most recent win with the Lionesses.

The room was crowded with dancing bodies, mashed together with the concoction of sweat, alcohol, and oblivion. You had seen Less, Ella and Niamh nearby only a while ago, and an ample group of your teammates were sitting in the back corner surrounded by a booth, projecting their triumph in the form of the burn down their throats, the drinks they nursed holding to a product of victory.

“Ugh, I'm so sweaty,” Grace whined, loud enough in order to be heard over the booming rave. “I need a drink.”

“Same, let's go.” You nodded, feeling the girl’s hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to her figure as the crowd collapsed further into your figure.

The two of you sauntered through the crowd, giggling at the mob of people struggling to find enough space to properly function. Your cheeks were stained a vibrant pink from the flush of adrenaline. Grace was humming along to the tune in your ear, her arms still holding onto you tightly so that you wouldn't lose each other.

It wasn't often that the team went out for drinks, especially not the likes of such a mix of the different friend groups. Lucy and Keira weren't set to go back to Spain for another three days, and most of the girls would seek refuge in the comfort of their own beds tonight, as the match held in Wembley sought itself in the midst of the WSL.

Georgia and you were set to leave for Munich two days from now after spending the last two weeks preparing and playing for your national team here in England. While Gee had transferred from City a while ago, you had only just moved to Bayern from Chelsea, where someone like Grace had become your closest friend in the WSL. As one of the younger players on the team, you wanted to make sure the debutant felt welcome and comfortable in the senior squad, despite her training with the team long before her match debut.

Over the last couple of months, you had been working really hard in order to aid your club to victory, but after the nasty blow in the Champions League, and some defeats sprinkled here and there throughout the season, this night was long awaited.

Once Grace and you had finally woven your way through, you were quick to find refuge on Georgia’s lap, leaving Grace to sit on the opposite side of the booth next to Mary. Gee found her hands secured on your waist, ignoring the way your hips wiggled in her lap.

“Having fun, are we?” She asked, watching as you hummed in reply, taking it upon yourself to take a sip of her drink. You failed to notice your girlfriend's fimble hands tugging down the fabric of your skirt, hiding the notion by massaging your thighs and kissing your exposed shoulder.

The enriching taste of lemonade made you turn to straddle her, holding the drink up to her lips while the straw was still lingering close to yours.

“You’re not drinking?”

“I’m driving us back, baby.” Gee shook her head. “Do you want me to get you another drink?”

You thought to yourself before slowly reaching down to where your girlfriend’s collar met her throat, toying with the cloth in your hands before pressing your lips to her pulse point, letting her take the drink, placing it back on the table as you ran your tongue along the column of her throat.

“Y/N, baby.” You heard Gee mutter. You lifted your hips off her lap, combing your hair out of your face as you counted to speckled freckles on Georgia’s cheeks. She took out her wallet, handing you her card. “Do you ‘wanna go buy yourself something? The girls and I were ‘gonna go play pool over there if you want to meet us there.”

“Do you want anything?” Shaking her head in reply, keeping a prolonged stare down the trajectory of your low-cut top. You tugged at the bottom of her shirt, letting your hands roam freely across the waistband of her trousers. Rocking your hips, you found Grace already standing behind you, grabbing your hands and leading you over to the bar.

It wasn't unusual for Georgia to brush off your public affection like that, especially when you were obviously tipsy, and the lingering eyes of your friends were all at your disposal. If you had kissed her in a secluded corner of this club, she would've taken you up against the nearest wall as fast as she could. She had been eyeing that dress — or moreso the skin it was hardly concealing — and wanting so desperately to take you home and show you how much she loved you.

The games against Sweden and Italy were both masterclasses on your behalf, and Georgia was merely waiting for the right time to reward you for scoring in both of them.

“You need to get a room.” Grace teased, her eyes peering back to where Georgia shamelessly looked at your arse. “No wonder the fans found out so quickly.”

You turned to face the younger girl, a smirk adorned on your face. “Two months was a struggle in itself.”

Gee and you had tried to keep your relationship well out of the media. But after your move to Munich, and a few too many proper English celebrations, the media had caught on to your affection and adoration for each other far too quickly than what you had hoped. Nevertheless, both of you sprinkled your private lives into your Instagram every once and a while. Save some photos of you that Georgia was not willing to share with the world.

“No, I know.” She replied, pivoting through the crowd. “But it's cute. Traumatic for me… But cute.”

You used Georgia’s card to buy yourself and her two lemonades and Grace a drink of her own. Grace’s regard for your relationship was an unusual sentiment because while you strived to hold your private life out of the fame and publicity of football, there was an inevitable spark between the two of you that fans caught onto long before you ever thought of Georgia in the way you do now.

Despite what is displayed, you were two very reserved people, with Georgia being the more talkative of the two of you when it came to interviews. You loved your social life — your friends both at home and away. However, there were many differences that distinguished a shift in personas.

You liked to push the boundaries. If you could test your luck, it was impossible to tempt you otherwise. Georgia liked routine. You didn't mind testing the waters and going with the flow. Life was more enjoyable that way.

At least for you.

Georgia had watched you make your way to the bar, hoping you’d return with something a lot less strong than what you had been downing previously. Grace was hung by your side, the younger woman holding onto your arm with giggles leaving her lips. Gee waited for you to inch down your skirt before following Mary and the others over to where Leah was lining up for a game of pool.

“Any reason you're easing off the drinks tonight, Stanway?”

Millie was lingering by the group, nursing her own drink while Rach and Lucy talked beside her. Georgia shrugged, moving her hands to her pockets as she watched Leah take the first shot against Keira.

“I'm driving home.”

Millie snorted. “Will you make it home?”

If Gee was drinking, she would've choked. “What?”

“Well, you were pretty much eating each other’s faces off just before. Figured you couldn't wait.”

Georgia shrugged again. She wasn't too keen on the conversation, especially when the topic didn't deem either you or her in the highest regard. Everyone knew that Georgia wasn't into that type of PDA, but it was also noted that given the right reasons, she’d be worse than you.

“You’re a lucky one, Gee.” The Chelsea Defender clapped the Midfielder on the back, downing the rest of her drink. “Enjoy your night.”

Millie left Georgia to stand a few feet away from the rest of the group — leaving her to mull over her teammate’s words. For some reason, she couldn't shake Millie’s comments off. What did she mean — enjoy your night? What was she implying? Of course, she was going to enjoy her night with her girlfriend. Of course Gee was lucky, but why was Millie saying that? Normally, these comments were used as a compliment, and with Millie’s best intentions, everyone knew she was only pure. But when Georgia saw the way the Chelsea player flung her arm over your shoulder upon your return, talking down at you amid the booming music, something in Georgia flicked.

Everyone had gotten progressively more drunk as the night went on, but you were fully immersed in the way everyone was interacting, holding your own conversation with Millie, who was going on about some football thing happening at Chelsea.

Leah was swearing at Keira, who was cheekily laughing away at the ratio of her balls to Leah’s left in the game. You had left Georgia’s drink in front of you, and you continued to keep it by your side as you watched the bickering between Lee and Keira transpire.

“You're a right cheat, Walsh, go home.” Williamson quipped, shoving Keira playfully by the shoulder. The Barcelona player poked out her tongue, jabbing the Arsenal protege's side. “Oh, cry me a river, Leah. You're just a sore losers who’s downright shit.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Oh, piss off.”

“You first.”

“Right give someone else a go!” Lucy called, her accent slightly rasped and slurred. She scanned the room, looking straight across to where you and Millie stood. “Go on, you two. Show ‘em how to play normally.”

You felt yourself sober up a little from the attention of everyone’s stares. You felt your ears go a bit red, shaking your head by the time Millie had already picked up her cue.

“I'm no good at it.” You spoke.

Georgia watched you saunter over to the side of the table, using your arms to lean, stabilising your ditzy figure. She could tell by the blush across your face that you had sobered up significantly, but she knew that the alcohol still held a prominent hold over you.

“It’ll be an easy win for me then, gorgeous.” Millie taunted, readying herself for the first shot. You shook your head, caving by grabbing the spare cue Keira was holding, all while Georgia looked on with her hands fisted in her pockets.

She wasn't usually the type to get like this. Georgia and you held great independence in your respective lives. Both of you enjoyed letting the other do stuff without the prodding of the other. You trusted each other too much to breach any boundaries, but if there was one thing Georgia had trouble keeping to herself, it was her jealousy.

Millie took the first hit, causing the object balls to cascade across the green fabric. Leah was standing behind you, muttering something into your ear. You stood there with your figure half leaning against her, the other half fidgeting with the cue.

“Wait, so, I don't remember-”

“Well, don't be asking Leah for advice,” Keira’s teasing voice came from nearby. “She’ll just tell you how to lose.”

Leah looked utterly exasperated, glaring at her best friend with annoyance plastered across her face. “Oh, give it up, Walsh, will you?”

“Alright, Milton Keynes, it's okay to admit defeat, y’know.”

The England Captain marched over to a laughing Keira, punching the girl’s shoulder. Everyone watched in amusement when Keira retaliated, using her arms to poke Leah in the ribs.

You were left fiddling with the stick, laughing along at the sight in front of you while internally pondering. You had never properly played pool before — obviously with friends, of course, but never taking it as far as playing by the rules. You had no idea what strategy to use, or what ball you were meant to hit. It wasn't like anyone cared, but the perfectionist in you just couldn't wrap your head around it.

“Give it here.”

It wasn't until you felt familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you instantly closer to her hips. You let yourself fall limp against her, chewing on your bottom lip as you stared at the game you were clueless at.

“I don't know how to play.” You spoke, handing the cue to your girlfriend, who took the stick from you, moving her head down to your shoulder, letting her breath fan over your neck as she spoke.

“How ‘bout I show you then, hm? I’ll teach you.”

You sighed at the goosebumps running down your neck, nodding as Gee kept you in front of her, maneuvering the two of you in a way that made it possible for her to play while keeping your arse against her hips. You watched as Millie made the next move. Georgia waited for a moment, letting everything station before proceeding. With one arm circled around your waist, she bent over to make the next move. You felt her body press into yours, stuck between the table and her.

After her shot, she slotted back upright. She leant down once more, combing back the loose hairs that framed your face.

“How are you feeling, Baby?”

Her voice was deeper, more grounded by the time of night.

You couldn't help but look up at her, licking your lips as you nodded. “Good, why?”

Georgia held your hips, moving them so that they were glued to the table. “Just wondering, pretty girl.”

Her body loomed over yours, her arms sanctioned on either side of you as Millie thought through her next move. You tried to conceal your neediness, the feeling of Georgia’s body pressed against yours sending heat down your spine. “Gee.”

“What is it, baby?”

You struggled to focus, hoping Millie would hurry up so that Georgia would move away from her unrelenting pressure.

You managed to swallow your whine as her hand moved to fondle your thigh. “Nothing.”

It was soon Georgia’s turn, the game becoming more fluent as both sides successfully slotted in balls left and right. Though, as the game went on, you could feel your girlfriend grow more and more handsy. After every shot, she’d kiss the alcove of your neck, whispering a sweet nothing about how you looked, or the way you felt against her, that was borderline testing the innocence she often preserved out in public.

“Looking so good tonight, darling…”

“Can't believe you're all mine, babygirl…”

“So perfect for me, all to myself…”

In between turns, Georgia let you lean on her, loving the way you sighed at every ounce of affection she would give you, making sure it was obvious enough for Millie to catch on, while discrete enough for you to not feel like it was truly public for anyone to actually notice.

You nearly lost it when she slotted her hand in between your thighs and squeezed them while you kept a watchful eye on the game in front of you. Her body covered your back, hiding her obvious display of desire by letting you push your arse against her front.

“Feel so good, don't you?”

“Georgia, please.”

“You're doing so well, baby. Might have to reward you for being so good.”

You should've known that she would keep a straight face the whole time, refusing to give you the reaction you so desperately hungered for by the ache between your legs. You had tried everything as she massaged your shoulders, and whispered passive teasing that sent shivers down your neck. Despite your honest belief that Georgia was unfazed by your antics, she made it clear that your actions were heard when she dug her hands into your hips.

She had beaten Millie by an easy mile, though she did not bother to make any celebration, instead looking down at you, grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you softly.

“Can we go, Gee?”

“Why, baby?” She asked, a knowing smirk plastered across her lips.

You whined for the first time that night, making sure Georgia heard it by lifting yourself up to her height. “Just want you right now.”

“Want me? But I'm right here.”

“Georgia, please. I need your help.”

That was enough for Georgia to bid everyone good night, sending farewells as quickly as she could while you tried to forget about the growing arousal in your core. By the time you had both gotten into the empty car park, your lips had started to attack hers. Georgia pretty much coerced you into the car, moving the driver's seat all the way back so that you could sit comfortably on her lap.

She shut the door promptly, knowing that her tinted windows were enough to hide the way her hands played with your arse, your clit immediately rubbing against her hips.

You started tugging off your shirt, leaving your breasts on full display. Georgia couldn't even register the sight before you grabbed one of her hands, pulling it towards your nipple, groaning at the way she pinched it.

“Where is your phone?” You uttered, moving your chest closer to Georgia so that your tits were pretty much in her face. She took one of your nipples in her mouth, moaning when you moved your breasts around her face, making them bounce erratically with the lack of bra you had worn. She grabbed her phone from her back pocket, handing it to you without a second thought. You didn't waste any time in pushing back, opening the device before swiping to the camera, hastily pressing play on the video, and moving the phone so that it showed your tits in Georgia’s mouth on full display.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” She groaned. “So thoughtful, aren't you? Gonna watch this when you're not with me. Need to see these tits every day, don't I? Gonna watch you every day.”

“Need you to fuck me, baby. Need your cum in me so bad.”

You grabbed the top button on her shirt, moaning out when Georgia grabbed both of your tits, sitting upright and playing with both of them with her mouth and hands. Her cold rings pressed into the delicate skin of you nipples, the distant pain of her pinches making you squirm irresistibly in her lap. Your skirt had ridden up to your hips, where your g-string went exposed to the camera’s lense.

You moved across to the console, using your spare hand that wasn't tugging Georgia’s hair to find a hair elastic, though you graw impatient when Gee stopped kissing your breasts for you neck. Instead, she found the all-too-familiar toy hidden neatly underneath the lube you definitely wouldn't need, and you moaned as your hand squeezed around the strap that you pulled out once Georgia pinched your nipple once more.

“Haven't used this one before.” Your girlfriend whispered, nibbling dark, callous marks across your neck. “Bit too big for your small little hole, darling. It can't fit, can't it?”

“Try it, please.” You muttered, unbuttoning the woman’s pants and letting them fall to the floor. You buckled the harness around her waist to the best of your ability, giving up when Georgia took over, letting you discard the short, flimsy fabric of your skirt. “Make it fit.”

“You're so desperate for my cum, aren't you darling?” She rutted, fastening the harness so the strap only just missed your folds. “Want me to fill you up with kids so bad, don't you? Want me to make you full and pregnant, yeah?”

You moaned. “Want to have your babies inside of me. Fill me up, please. So bad, baby. Need your help cause it aches.”

Georgia bunched your hair up into a makeshift pony, pushing you down so that your mouth hovered over the strap. Your arse in the air, your tits kneaded by your own hands. Georgia moaned at the sight of you so desperate, the notion of the camera recording making it all the more sporadic.

You wasted no time licking the dick, holding the base of the silicone toy with one hand, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked the tip and first quarter of the strap in your mouth. Gee pulled your hair, letting you move up and down on her dick. The vibrations of your gagging mixed with moans made her sigh at her newfound, growing release.

“Fuck, keep going, Y/N.” She groaned. “Just like that.”

You continued until tears pricked your eyes. You could tell by the way Georgia’s grip on your scalp tightened and your tongue flicked along the tip, your cheeks hollowing and allowing more of the strap to fill your throat. It didn't take long until Georgia’s breathing had staggered. Short, uneven breaths mixed with erratic sweet nothings. You pushed yourself down her dick one last time, feeling Gee’s body collapse from all tension as her orgasm washed over her. You pulled yourself up, wiping the spit and cum off your face with your fingers, prodding them towards your mouth. Georgia watched you lick them clean, rolling your head back at the taste alongside the subtle pang of your throat.

The car windows were not only tinted but misted due to the humidity inside the vehicle. Your hips shadowed the strap, Georgia falling back into the rhythm of toying with your hips, kneading them as she kissed your neck.

You could feel the ache between your legs grow at the sight of your girlfriend beneath you, maneuvering you to where she wanted you most, giving you incredible amounts of pleasure at your disposal. You were starting to moan at the simplest of movements like the way she gripped your hips, or the way she licked over the bruises down your neck and chest. The last piece of clothing you had on was your underwear, Georgia now discarding her shirt so that you were both in states of nudity. Sweat beaded from your forehead.

Your legs started shaking from the mere want for the woman below you. It didn't take you long for your desire to take over as you grabbed one of Gee’s hands, slipping it down your stomach and along the fabric of your underwear. You painstakingly pushed her hand underneath, letting her move her fingers up and down your folds. The slick covered them instantly, and she rolled her head back when you began to rock on her hand.

“Do you feel how wet I am, baby?” You asked, Georgia nodded. She watched you bounce up and down, grateful at the way Gee pushed one of her fingers into you, letting you ride it in short pulsates. You whimpered when she entered her second finger, crying out when she entered her third. Georgia took one of your breasts in her mouth, groaning as you bobbed up and down. You felt your pussy clench around her, your arousal coating her fingers each time you pushed deeper into your strategic strokes. Georgia continued to hold one of your hips, helping your shaking legs hold yourself up as you neared your climax.

“Fuck, you're such a slut, aren't you?” Georgia uttered, her fourth finger nudging your clit as you sunk in once more. You rocked yourself back and forth now, relishing the way your nub ran itself over her hand, the coil in your core tightening as your climax neared.

“Grinding on me at the pool table cause you're so needy for me… everyone could tell that you just wanted me inside you. You made sure to show everyone who you belonged to.”

You were a blabbering mess. Your stokes became sloppy, your legs non-stop shaking as your body tensed at the pleasure running through you. Georgia curled her fingers inside of you, assaulting your clit as you struggled to keep your pace. There was no way you could reply as all your thoughts were focused on the sounds of your juices being leaked out from your hole, Georgia’s fingers forcing them in and out as she spoke to you in rasps. Your noises became pornographic, and you no longer cared about the thought of someone hearing you.

“Need me to do everything for you. I didn't even need to fuck you dumb. All I need to do is bend you over.”

You could finally feel your orgasm washing over you when Georgia pulled her fingers out, laughing at your instant cry out.

“Aw, baby.” She muttered, wiping your sweaty flyaways out of your face, tears fell from your eyes, your cheeks reddening as you fell onto her lap, your legs no longer able to hold you up. You looked down at your girlfriend, finding no remorse on her smug face.

“Why didn't you cum, pretty girl?” She tutted, pulling your body up from her chest so it was exposed to her view. You shook your head, fully dumbfounded at her actions. It wasn't like you had done anything wrong.

“I— Gee— I’ve been good.”

You sounded pathetic. Normally, if you had been a brat, you’d have said that as a joke to put on an innocent facade and get the sex you had desperately craved. You would pretend to be nice and suck her dick or eat her out just because you had done something to provoke it. There were countless times when Gee had edged you for doing something provocative, but tonight you had no idea why she had done it.

“Really, baby? You think so?” You looked at her with the saddest eyes you could muster. “You sure you've been good all night?”

In terms of your sex life, you had your fair share of dominant and submissive moments, but with Georgia, you found yourself subbing out to new extremes. Your girlfriend would do anything for you, on and off the pitch. You could act dumb and she’d fuck it out of you. You would fall over on the pitch, cry out even if it was a fair play, and Georgia would be the one receiving the yellow for defending you. When you were at a bar, or anywhere for the matter, and felt someone look at you in even the slightest wrong way, Gee would hold you in front of her and make sure you were always safe in her arms.

But Georgia could be mean, even if you hadn't necessarily done anything to make her mean. She usually got like this when you had hugged someone for too long, or made a joke about yourself that she thought was too far.

That made it all click.

“Are you jealous?”

Georgia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You can't flirt with Bright then bend over for me two minutes later.”

She grabbed your waist and lifted you, switching positions so that you were lying in the driver’s seat and she was hovering above you.

“I wasn't flirting. I was talking.” You moaned at the contact of the strap’s tip brushing against your folds, moving up and down as Georgia’s hands massaged your arse.

“She called you gorgeous, you know.” You felt her breath fan over your face, her lips ghosting down your neck. “Said I should enjoy my night with you.”

“She did?” It was probably not the right way to phrase that response, but it didn't seem to phase Georgia anyway. “We were just talking, Geor-”

“I bet she wouldn't fuck you as good.” Georgia spat, using one hand to circle your clit. You threw your head back, moaning at the small discomfort from your prior denied orgasm, writhing at the sudden pressure on your sensitive nub. “If I showed her all the videos of you screaming my name I doubt she’d try that shit again.”

“Georgia…”

“What videos would I show her, hm?” Georgia started dragging one of her fingers into your pussy, beginning with slow, painful strokes that squelched with the sound of your juices. “Maybe she’d like the mirror one. Y’know, when we won against Wolfsburg and I fucked you in the bathroom?”

“Fuck, please Gee.”

“You were so hot in that one… bent over like the slut you are… came three times for your three goals.” She added the second finger in now, speeding up just a smidge all while kissing over your chest. “Do you think she’d like if I sent that one?”

You moaned at the third finger, tears pricking your eyes as Georgia entered your pussy hard and fast, enjoying your pleas and begs through mindless mumbles. You were so far gone that everything she was saying was only making you closer. The sound of her voice was enough to help you closer to release.

“Or maybe I should send the one after your first game with Munich.” She snarled, admiring the darkened marks on your neck. “Do you remember who we played against that game?”

Of course you did, you thought. The game has been one you were stressing over for weeks in advance. You and Georgia had only just moved in together, and there was significant pressure on you to succeed and prove to everyone that you could perform under intimidation.

“Chelsea.”

“Good girl, baby, that's right.” She cooed. “Scored in the first fifteen minutes, and I had to reward my Stargirl for that. That's what they all used to call you, didn't they? She called you Stargirl back then, now it's me who says it, isn't it?”

That was enough to push you closer to the edge. You gripped hard onto her shoulders, crying out as you felt your climax rush over you.

“How bout I send both those videos… show her who I enjoy my night with. Fucking you for being mine.”

“I— I'm yours, Gee. Fuck, please, I'm-”

The release left you reeling. You felt your orgasm leak out all over Georgia’s hand, your head falling against the headrest as you rode out your high with her consistent deep strokes in and out of your pussy. You didn't care about the mess you were making, nor the inflammatory noises you had been making as soon as you felt Georgia touch you. Your body shook from the much-needed release, and by the time you had somewhat caught your breath, the familiar pressure on your nub resurfaced.

You cried out, whining when the silicone dick entered your folds. Georgia looked down at you, kissing you passionately to silence your post-orgasm conscious. She made sure that you didn't push her away before moving the tip of the strap into your hole, smirking when you stretched open for her like you had been calling for it to be filled.

“Gee, its too big, I can't.” You whined, squirming as your hair stuck to your skin. Your girlfriend held your hips down, lowering herself down to where your pussy clenched around the toy as it moved.

“You’ll take it.” She growled. “You said it before. If you can suck me off I can fuck you with it.”

She kept an even pace as her hips finally reached yours, the strap filling your pussy with your slick. Your eyes were firmly clasped shut, your whines filling the car as the aching pain slowly turned into lust. Georgia waited for you to start rocking on it gently. The way you rode her dick so desperately turned her on to extreme lengths. She was somewhat surprised that you could take the length as well as you were, and when your hips met hers, and she felt the toy being bounced on, she realised that she had been still for a few minutes. She wanted to feel bad, but she knew that teasing was good for your ego.

“Gee, can you move?”

Georgia caught sight of the camera, the video still recording the vulgar sight. She groaned at the sight of your shaking legs, and the way you could go longer see the strap that was filled in between your legs. The camera showed the way your tits bounced so perkily every time you tried to gain friction. Your body was enclosed by Georgia’s arms, her thighs overlapping yours, her muscles on full display. Sweat beaded off both of you, moans cascading from your puffy red lips.

With one hand holding her up, she grabbed her phone that was sitting by the console. Her sudden movement sent shockwaves through you, causing you to scream out when the strap pushed into you impossibly closer. Georgia positioned the phone so that it was leaning on the seat, right where the strap was. When she knew that the angle caught all of your body, she lifted her lips slowly before pounding into you.

Your cries were music to her ears, and she thought it sinful to cover them with her hand in fear of being heard. If anything, people would be blessed with the sound, for she thought if heavenly. Your sounds mixed with her groans mixed with your slick against the strap. If any other size, Georgia would move even faster, but her pace was already hard, and you struggled to keep up as your pussy clenched around her.

“So gorgeous.” She uttered, feeling you near your climax for the third time that night. “Such a good girl for taking it.”

“Fuck, Georgia-”

“Gonna fill you up so that you get pregnant, baby. You tell me when and I’ll fill that beautiful body with a baby of our own. Fuck, you’d look so hot with our baby.”

You couldn't even begin to speak, your moans now babble, your speech completely incoherent. Georgia could feel her own release overcoming her, but she waited knowing that you were only seconds away.

“My pretty girl.”

You cried out her name for the last time, your cum coating her cock as she rode out both your high with sloppy deep strokes. You were in a state of pure bliss that you didn't even have the energy to push her off your overstimulated clit. Though, from all the times before, Georgia knew you would be sore, and after keeping still and waiting for both of you to even your breathing, she began to pull out.

You winced, waiting for Georgia to discard the toy and hakt the video before pulling her body into yours.

“I love you, Gee. No one else, baby.”

“I know, my pretty girl. I was only joking.”

You couldn't help but laugh, finding that statement ludicrous. “Yeah, alright, Stanway.”

“Okay, touche.” She replied smugly.

Maybe Millie was right — Georgia couldn't wait till she got home. And she did enjoy her fucking night.

_______________________

657 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 2 months

Text

Broken || Alexia Putellas

summary : you're broken but your girlfriend knows how to hold you together. angst.

a/n : i've literally got no time to write but i've been itching so here just a teeny tiny blurb i came up with before class while listening to the song below.

Based on ‘Stay’ by Gracie Abrams

Alexia walked into your apartment to the sound of your sobs. She almost dropped the groceries she was holding, your dog startled at the sound of a wine bottle that nearly broke as it hit the marble counter a little too hard.

“Amor?” she called, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. You were a mess, curled up in a ball in the middle of the king-sized bed.

“Please make it stop,” you begged, words muffled into the pillow you were hugging, wishing it was your girlfriend. Alexia shuffled into the room with tears brimming in her eyes, her heart shattering as she watched you become a shell of yourself.

The pain was something you learned to deal with yourself. Years and years of self-loathing from bouts of depression and suicide made you numb to love. Your parents were to blame, favoring your sister who was always smarter, better, stronger, and more deserving of their love and attention. Football was your one distraction and injury took that away from you.

The years of hiding behind a ball and suppressing all those feelings came crashing down when your ACL tore. The feelings were overwhelming, thoughts of self-destruction felt like an old friend.

You were better at football than she was. But that was not good enough for them. She had to be first. Not you.

You thought that if you could just be better at something than she was, they’d love you.

Turns out, they resented you for it.

“How dare you be better than her?”

“How dare you take her spot on the team?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

They got one thing right though. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve their harsh words. You didn’t deserve their criticism. You didn’t deserve their wishes that you weren’t a burden.

Burden. That’s what you feel like now. On your girlfriend who had to deal with your breakdowns and tantrums.

She was too good for you. If she saw how broken you were, or how much of a liar you were, she’d leave. Just like they did.

“Amor, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Alexia cooed, curling up beside you with her arms around you.

“Could you hold me without any talking?” you asked, a voice so soft Alexia almost missed your request.

“Of course, I can,” she said, pulling you into her arms.

They were warm. Safe. Strong. Determined to take your pain away.

She spoke after a while, certain you had fallen asleep as your choked sobs simmered down.

“I don't care if you've changed, but you are so much more than football. You are so beautiful, kind, loving, and most importantly, mine. Amor, you are so special to me and I hope we can help you see that.”

“You deserve someone who isn’t such a mess, Alexia,” you mumble; she’s a little startled that you’re awake but keeps her cool to not agitate you.

“Everyone’s a little messy, cariño. That’s what makes us people who learn how to love.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #fc barca femeni #woso community #woso soccer #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #espwnt #woso blurbs

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amourrs · 4 months

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ellie who lifts your leg over her shoulder when fucking you with her strap so she can slide in deeper and hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars, lips smearing messily over your browbone. the proximity isn’t enough for her, though, so she tugs your hips closer to hers until they’re flush with one another and tears begin to leak from the corners of your eyes from the stimulation. it only takes her panted “love you so fuckin’ much, angel, shit,” for you to cum, cunt squeezing around your girlfriend’s strap as she lets out a sweet moan into the crevice between your neck and your ear. “well? just told you i love you, honey. y’gonna say it back, or do i need to go browse the ‘new girlfriends’ aisle at costco?”

#sorry just. sat down to write soccer!ellie request and this came out instead oh well #elliewilliams #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #ellie williams x you #tlou #ellie williams blurb

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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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You always have an excuse pt 2

Hi. So I got a request for a pt 2 of You Always Have An Excuse. This is a little angstier than I thought it was gonna go, but I really like it.

Barça Femeni x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: R realises what she's been missing out on

Word Count: 3k

After the final, when you had come clean about what was truly going on in your life. You hadn’t expected much to change. Why would you? You had once told a teacher, back when you were still in primary school, that your parents weren’t home much and that you hadn’t seen your mother in a few days. She had smiled and said that it was normal for parents to be working hard – it was how you could afford nice things – and she was sure you’d see your mother again soon.

When you landed back in Spain after the whirlwind of a weekend, you had pulled out your phone to order an Uber (you had decided to treat yourself rather than forcing all of your bags onto a very busy public bus and metro system) when a gentle hand came to rest on your shoulder.

“You’re on our way home; let me take you.” Ingrid smiled at you, sunglasses perched on her forehead, a very tired Mapí leaning heavily into her.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll just get an Uber,” you gestured with your phone.

“Mete tu culo en el auto.” Mapí grumbled, snatching your phone out of your hands and making her way to the car.

“Sorry, Søta, she can be a little grumpy when she’s tired. But she’s right. Go get in the car; I’ll bring your bags.” Ingrid chuckled, taking your bag from you without giving you much of a choice.

It felt nice being dropped off at your house rather than lugging your bags through the busy Barcelona streets. You waved goodbye to Ingrid and Mapí, thanking them profusely for their kindness and went inside, once again being met by a silent house.

“Mum?” you shouted out. “Dad?” You double-checked all the rooms after being met with complete silence. You checked the notepad they usually left by the kettle. They sometimes wrote notes for you, explaining where they were going and how long they were gone. Nothing. You checked the fridge—empty. You guessed they were going for a while, then.

You really wanted to just collapse on the sofa and let the events of the weekend catch up to you, but you had washing to do, and you really needed a shower. It was now that you really wanted a parent – someone to give you a massive hug, wrap you up in their warm, strong arms and kiss the top of your head, telling you how proud they were before guiding you into the bathroom as they stuck a towel in the dryer to warm up a little. But you didn't have that. Instead, you had an empty house, a mountain of sweaty clothes and an aching body. You hadn’t noticed the tears rolling steadily down your cheeks until you tasted salt.

This wasn’t you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t. You couldn’t. But after the final, you had experienced so many functional families that it truly showed you what you were missing. Alexia had brought you straight over to her Mami, where you were engulfed in one of the best hugs you’d ever received. She had kissed your forehead, telling you all about how well you had played and how you must come with Alexia for the next family meal. From there, you were passed to Ona’s family, then Keira’s, then Lucy’s. Almost every family had embraced you – squeezing you tightly as you melted into their arms. Was it a skill you developed when you became a mother that you automatically gave fantastic hugs? Maybe you were just so touch-deprived that you would relax into anyone who offered you a warm place to rest for a moment?

You were on autopilot as you went through the motions of getting ready for bed. You were methodical yet unthinking as you washed your body, hardly noticing the too-hot water and bruises littering your skin. You were going through the motions as you shoved your clothes into the wash – the dirty fabrics being shoved in without distinction. As you pulled on your pyjamas (really, it was a ratty old Manchester City shirt you had snuck from Lucy during her first season at Barça during an away match and a pair of La Masia shorts you think were Patri’s once upon a time), you longed for a hug. Something warm and comforting, but you had to settle with your bed. It was comfortable; the mattress was something you had forked out for when you received your first paycheck. The softness was something you usually welcomed – the high thread count sheets that cost you an exorbitant amount of money typically aided in your relaxation after a hard day at training. But today, they did nothing but highlight just how lonely you felt. You had been given a snippet of what you were missing, and you wanted … needed … more. The bed was too cold, the pillows were too soft, the room smelled like laundry and general cleanliness rather than comfort.

Your night was filled with tossing and turning – leaving you even more tired than when you had gone to bed. Just like last night, you were on autopilot. Turning off your alarm, having a shower, making a cup of coffee, eating a piece of toast – none of it you consciously did. You made your bed like you did every morning; you gave the house a quick once over – triple checking your parents hadn’t come home in the night; you sat down at the table, pulling out a piece of paper to make a grocery list when you heard a knock on the front door. You considered ignoring it – you weren’t expecting anyone. But it wasn’t going away. The banging got louder and more insistent the longer you left it.

“Sí, puedo ayudarte?” You said monotonously as you yanked the door out of your way.

“Cariño?” Alexia asked, concern seeping into her voice.

“Ale?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Can I come in?” She asked, not really letting you answer as she pushed her way into your house. Alexia took your hand as she passed, the warm seeping into your bones, leaving a gentle tingle in its wake. You were dragged into the living room, Alexia pushing you to the sofa as she sat next to you, never letting go of your hand. “Your parents aren’t here, are they?” She phrased it as a question, but you knew she knew the answer. You sighed, shaking your head and shrugging your indifference.

“They’re never here; it’s no biggie.” You smiled meekly at her.

“No, that’s not true. It is a biggie. They should be here for you. You are a child; you need your parents. Parents give you hugs and tell you everything is ok. Parents tell you they’re proud of you. Parents don’t ignore their kid to the point where they don’t even know what sport they play, let alone that they have just won one of the biggest competitions in Europe.” She was ranting now. “Parents don’t leave the country without telling their kid. Parents look after their children.”

“Well, I’m not a child!” You shouted, interrupting her tirade. You also pulled your hand out of hers – ignoring the fact that every fibre of your being was screaming at you not to. Alexia looked at you, confusion evident in her expression. “I turned 18 last week.” You added quietly. That was a secret you had hoped not to spill. You hadn’t had to work too hard to hide your birthday; not even the Barça admins knew the day had passed. You made the mistake of looking at Alexia. You really, really wished you hadn’t. The hurt that flashed across her face did more to break your heart than anything your parents could (or couldn’t) do to you.

“We missed your birthday?” She asked so quietly you struggled to hear her.

“I didn’t tell anyone. You technically didn’t miss anything if you never knew.” You avoided her gaze, fingers coming together to fiddle nervously on your lap. Alexia stood up sharply, her unexpected movement drawing your attention once again.

“Stand up.” She instructed.

“What why?”

“Pack a bag, you’re coming home with me.” Her tone left no room for argument, yet you still tried to.

“Wha-why? No, I’m fine. It’s ok, honestly. It’s nothing. I promise I’m fine.” Your voice crack gave you away. You so desperately wanted to go with Alexia, to have her take care of things for you, to have her give you the warm hugs and soft smiles you had seen her give Vicky and Martina. You had always shied away from her contact, though, chalking it up to disliking physical contact. But now, after the weekend of hugs and kisses from loving families – you knew it was your subconscious protecting you from something you knew you wouldn’t receive regularly.

“Pequeña. This is not up for debate. Either you pack a bag and come with me, or I move in here with you. And I have a feeling that your parents, whenever they do return, would not want a 30-year-old woman living in their house uninvited.” She quirked an eyebrow at you, daring you to go against her again.

“I can’t,” you squeaked out.

“Why not?” Despite her firm voice, you could tell she wanted to figure out why you were so reluctant to leave this life behind. This was all you’d ever known. The isolation, the self-sufficiency, the hiding, and the lying. You didn’t know what would happen if you let yourself fall into Alexia’s open arms. What if she left again, too? There had been rumours swirling all over the internet. You couldn’t let yourself be attached to a singular person. It would hurt far too much if they left. You were fairly sure you wouldn’t be able to be fixed.

“I can’t,” you settled on instead of explaining the whole truth to her.

“Why not?” She asked again, the firmness gone as she saw your composure start to break.

“I …” The lump in your throat prevented you from speaking any more. You took some steadying breaths, willing yourself not to cry. Alexia crouched in front of you, ignoring the slight ache in her muscles as she ran her fingers up and down your bare thighs in soothing, repetitive motions. “If … if I let myself become too reliant on people … on you … and you don’t want me anymore … I think I might break.” You spoke so slowly, so softly, that Alexia had to strain to hear you.

“Oh, querida. No,” she surged forward, her strong arms wrapped around you, her warm scent invading your senses. "We will always want you. I will always want you.” She said so absolutely, and you had no choice but to believe her.

That was all you needed to hear for the dam to break. Tears bubbled over your carefully constructed walls. You sobbed and sobbed, her grip on you only getting tighter.

“But … wh … ho … I …” you blubbered, the tears getting more and more frantic.

“Shhhh, it’s ok, cariño. I’ve got you.” Her comforting words made you cry harder. You were limp as she rearranged the both of you, settling you against her chest as she sat back against the couch.

She let you sob into her chest for as long as you needed. She rocked you gently from side to side, her fingers scratching at your scalp as her heartbeat provided a soothing rhythm for you. Eventually, you calmed down, slowly drifting into a much-needed sleep.

Alexia could tell you weren’t at peace as she watched you sleep. Your eyebrows were scrunched, your mouth a firm line. Your fingers had wrapped themselves in her shirt so tightly she wondered if there would be a hole in the fabric whenever you eventually let go. She wished with her entire being that she could take your pain away. How could someone do this to their child? How could a parent look at their child and not want to love them the way they should be? How could anyone look at you and think you don’t deserve the world and more? If your parents weren’t going to be there for you, she certainly would be.

It was gone lunchtime when you finally woke. Alexia hadn’t moved an inch – it didn’t matter that her arms were sore or her legs had gone numb; you were comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

“Ale?” You croaked, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Sí, cariño?” She hummed, her thumb running gently over your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t …” you flustered a little, scared of her reaction after you had finally broken down on her.

“Hey, no … shhh. Está bien. Estás bien.” She rocked you again, much like a mother would rock her upset child. It was slightly awkward, given your size – but it was nonetheless comforting. “I still want you to pack a bag,” Alexia said, pushing some hair off your face. “You don’t have to come with me,” she added quickly, sensing your reluctance. “But I don’t want you here alone.” You sighed, knowing there was no way you would negotiate your way out of this one. “You could go to Keira’s, but she can’t cook very well, or Ona’s...” she mused "although you might have to put up with Lucy,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper. This made you laugh, a loud, weird huff that brought a similar smile to Alexia’s face. “I haven’t told anyone what you told us at the final. That is your information to share as, and when, you want to.” She implored. “But Mapí and Ingrid will take you in, no questions asked. As would Marta and Caro, Paños, Irene … any one of the girls will take you in. I promise.” You readjusted yourself, drawing back from Alexia’s chest in order to look at her. This was a conversation that needed to happen face-to-face.

“Is it … can I … stay with you?” You asked nervously.

“Absolutamente.” Her hand reached out for yours, her grip so tight it almost hurt.

“What about Olga?” You were reluctant to impose yourself on another adult’s life when they might not want you there.

“She already loves you, and she’s technically only met you, what? Twice?” She teased, her head dipping down to catch your eye. “She wants you there as much as I do. Prometo.” You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of Alexia’s skin permeating into yours.

“Ok,” you breathed out, watching Alexia’s mouth spread into a wide, genuine smile you didn’t see too often.

------

Moving in with Alexia was the best thing to have ever happened to you. Long gone were the days of rushing for the metro and figuring out where your next meal would come from. Olga had embraced you with open arms – greeting both you and Alexia with identical hugs, forehead kisses and cups of tea as you made your way into the kitchen after a long day at training. Alexia had dragged you along to her family meal; her Mami was insistent on making sure you were well-fed and looked after properly. Alba had smacked Alexia around the head for not bringing you sooner but offered you a warm smile and asked about your week.

Ona had been informed of your situation that afternoon. She quickly showed up with a bag piled high with sweets that definitely broke your diet and demanded to know the Netflix password as she settled down on the sofa, bringing her arm around your shoulder and whispering a promise not too dissimilar to Alexia’s.

Keira had hung around after training one afternoon, offering a tight hug before telling you that her spare room was always open, and you just had to ask, and Narla would be all yours for however long you wanted her. That made you laugh, especially after hearing Lucy’s indignant ‘Oi’ from the showers as she heard Keira’s promise.

Eventually, you did tell the rest of the team about your parents. Jona was the first to know officially. As manager, he needed to know the situation as soon as possible. Alexia had been by your side the whole time, her hand in yours, and she sat with you, stepping in to explain things now and then when she sensed you were becoming overwhelmed. Mapí had wanted to kill your parents – threatening murder and retribution on them for doing this to her ‘niña preciosa’. Ingrid had been just as angry, although she had the forethought to contain her anger. She had pressed a long kiss to the top of your head as she engulfed you in a hug, insisting you come round once a week for a movie night and sleepover.

Slowly, you learned that it was good to rely on people. That it was ok to need help and have that safety net below you. The heartbreak you felt when you thought about your parents would probably always be there, but you learned that you didn’t need them. You had the team … and even if they left and moved away, they would always be there for you. They were one phone call, one plane, train, or car journey away.

Your biological family might have been shite … but you didn’t need them. You had your found family.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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nosugarallspice · 4 months

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you can do morning sex + spooning position + "I love the way you look when I'm inside you" with Jude bellingham plssss

This man makes me feral

Minors DNI!!

Word Count: 321

You felt Jude place kisses along your shoulder, his hand gripping your hip pulling you closer towards him. “Jude?” You turned to look at him, squinting as the sunlight crept in from the window, shining in your face.

“Sorry, baby.” He whispered, his hand slipping under the t-shirt you were wearing, “just wanna feel you.” His other hand moving your panties to the side, his fingers rubbing gently against your clit.

“So wet, already.” Jude murmurs against your shoulder.

You squirm against his touch, you need more, you’re craving it. “Baby,” you whine, pushing against him, “please.”

He grabbed your leg, tossing it over his own, now settled in between your legs. His cock slipped in between your folds, and now into you effortlessly.

A gasp fell from your lips as he filled you up completely.

His pace started off slow, giving you time to adjust, and make sure you feel every inch of him.

“I love the way you look when I’m inside you.” Jude moans, pushing as deep as he could.

The way your pussy wraps around him so perfectly, he could cum right here, right now but he holds off, wanting this to last longer.

Your eyes flutter shut, head tilted back against his shoulder as his fingers lazily circled your clit as he fucked into you.

“Just like that.” You moan, your tiny hand gripping his wrist.

“Like this?” He moved his hips, the angle causing the tip of his cock to hit your sweet spot causing you to squirm even more.

You nodded, whimpers falling from your lips as you rolled your hips back into him.

“Fuck.” You whimper quietly, feeling yourself get closer to the edge. Your cunt clenched around him. “Jude.” You warn, your moans becoming more consistent as you get closer to your release.

“That’s it, let go for me.” He whispers, feeling himself get closer to his own release, “I’m right here.”

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b14augrana · 2 days

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‘Scrubber’

Your first time with the national team, hoping you’ll find yourself being of importance to the team with your Vidić-reminiscent play style

Barça Femeni x teen!reader

pt. 6 masterlist

Warnings: the rfef ⚠️⚠️, a teeny bit of badly translated spanish and like one sentence of catalan, angst if u squint 🙂‍↕️

A/N: our scrubber is back 🥳🥳! this part is longer than usual, i hope you enjoy 💝

You couldn’t remember anything between landing in Denmark and waking up in your hotel room. You were still in the clothes you had travelled in, and neither Irene or Alexia were in the room… until the door opened and both of them were.

“(Y/N), get up, we’re going to breakfast,” Irene said, yanking the covers off. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the light beginning to peek into your room as Irene pulled up the blinds before her and Alexia left the room and left you to get ready.

It’s like you were on autopilot the whole time as you got into your Spain training kit and took the elevator down to the cafeteria. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened into the hotel’s foyer, it was easy to tell where the cafeteria was because of the voices you could hear.

Tentatively, you stepped into the room. Your eyes scanned every table for any sign of your Barça teammates, the only people you wanted to see right now amongst the abundance of other women that were now your new teammates.

When you saw Aitana and Irene’s heads amidst the crowd, your muscles relaxed with relief, and you made your way over to them swiftly.

“Buenos días,” you mumbled, sitting down beside Aitana, yawning as you cracked your neck. “Buenos días, (Y/N),” the brunette replied, smiling at you.

The room was packed with women, all wearing the same training gear as you. Some of them you recognised from times you versed then with your club; Laia Codina from Arsenal, Alba Redondo from Levante, Laia Aleixandri from Manchester City… and some Madridistas.

One thing about you was, you were passionate about Barça. In your eyes there was no ‘best club in the world’ debate, let alone best club in Spain — that title immediately went to Barça.

You were a Barça fan before you were a player, hence why you have always been well-versed in the club’s history, and therefore the history of the rivalry between Real Madrid and FC Barcelona.

You had bad experiences with Madridistas. El Clásicos were already competitive matches (for one side, at least), so you didn’t really like the way you were almost seemingly targeted by your rivals, due to your age. Irene and Mapi were never pelted by so many balls and forced into so many one-on-one duels.

Even though you were more than capable of crunching them, it exhausted you. You woke up the next morning with bruises you didn’t know had formed and grazes in odd spots that made you wonder what kind of tackles you were performing to get them in such areas.

The wingers gave you the most problems. They constantly cut into the middle, choosing to take you on. Part of you couldn’t blame them because you wouldn’t want to take on Lucy, Ona or Frido either, but what the hell?

The room was definitely not devoid of Madridistas. You could see Misa, their goalie, sitting with Alexandria. There was another face you recognised from those El Clásico matches, but it was a vague remembrance that made you think long and hard to remember the name. You only remembered her nickname within your Barça teammates; la hija de Frido.

Whatever. You’d figure it out later.

“Are you going to eat anything, nenita?” Irene asked from across the table, and you nodded hesitantly.

Leaning over, you whispered, “Can you come with me? Please?”

She nodded with a smile, standing up. “Aita, come with us. We’re going to get some food.”

You were always grateful for your Barça family. They’ve always been your big sisters, people you can trust and find comfort in, your second family.

(Except, they were basically your first family.)

You were more grateful for them than ever today, because this Spain camp was intimidating and scary, you knew nobody except your club teammates and you were pretty much lost.

All you wanted to do was cling onto Irene or Alexia or Aitana the entire day and never leave their side. Even as you were getting food and piling breakfast onto your plate, you stuck to Irene like glue.

With your plate in hand, you walked cautiously to balance all the food and prevent it dropping. You found yourself feeling way hungrier than normal, and you blamed it on the nerves as you placed your food onto the table.

"Irene, watch my food please," you said once she returned to the table with her own breakfast, "I'm going to get a drink."

"That's a lot of food, but I'll look after it anyways," the woman laughed, sitting down and dragging your plate beside hers. You returned to the buffet table and as you were debating on making yourself a cup of tea or just having a glass of ice water, another woman approached you from the side, bumping your shoulder.

Your lip subconsciously curled up, your nose scrunching. Your head snapped sideways to look at whoever it was that just bumped you, and a dirty blonde-brownish ponytail swished in your face.

It was the girl whose name you didn’t know, the Madridista. She was putting a couple slices of toast onto her plate, and it seemed like she hadn’t even realised she bumped you.

But it didn’t make sense. It was a solid shove which definitely wasn’t accidental..

Grabbing a glass from the collection on the table, you walked past her slowly, waiting for the perfect moment. As she placed her plate down and picked up a spoon to load some strawberries onto it, you took an extra step closer to her and shoved her shoulder with yours.

The strawberries she had picked up on the spoon all dropped back into the container upon the impact. You hurried over to the water jug to pour some into your glass, not looking at her for a moment despite being able to feel her cold glare on you.

Your shove was a bit harder than hers had initially been, but that was because you were bigger and probably stronger.

You returned to your table quickly, and Irene pushed your plate back towards you before you had even sat down.

“Who’s that girl, over there?” you asked Aitana and Irene, discreetly gesturing to the table behind you where she sat.

“You mean Misa?” Aitana questioned, and you shook your head. “No, the other one, the one she’s talking to.”

“Ohhh, that’s Athenea,” Aitana replied, and the name was suddenly very familiar to you. You had vivid memories of her getting sat by Frido during multiple Clásicos, and it was apparent that Aitana was reminiscing about the same events due to the laugh she was trying to suppress while talking about Athenea.

“She just bumped me off,” you explained, and Aitana’s eyes widened. “Did she apologise?”

You shook your head, giving her a shrug in return, “No. I couldn’t help myself and shoved her back, but I seriously didn’t mean to do it as hard as I did,” you responded, sighing.

Aitana rubbed your back and smiled, “Don’t worry about it, just eat. You need energy for training.”

As you put a piece of waffle into your mouth, you tried to recount all the interactions you’ve had with Athenea — there was the time you two-footed her out of nowhere when she managed to get past Irene, the time you had an aerial duel with her and she headed your shoulder instead of the ball, the time she lost the ball to you and it resulted in a goal…

You also remembered her unnecessary physicality when you didn’t have the ball, the snarky remarks she’d make to her teammates about you and your own teammates, and other coarse behaviour she displayed throughout each Clásico.

You went to stab another piece of your waffle until you realised you had eaten it all, along with the hash browns, fruits, toast and scrambled eggs.

Irene and Aitana had also finished their breakfast, and while Irene took a sip of her coffee, Aitana did the same with her orange juice.

“Vale,” Irene spoke, placing her coffee down, “Preparémosnos para entrenar.”

You were nervous for training. You weren’t sure if they’d be like Barça in terms of utilising your skills; would they be accepting of your play style or completely discard it, forcing you to play differently?

Your play style was an important part of you as a player, but also you as a person. It was the manifestation of your passion for Barça and the pride you felt whenever you got to wear the blaugrana.

It was also an ode to your idol who demonstrated what it means to give your all for the badge. Without your play style, you’re nothing.

It was the only thing you could think of as you strolled to the training pitch, boots in hand. You deliberately waited for everyone else to leave so you could loom behind them, and you planned to keep it that way until you found someone you properly knew.

Captain Irene was occupied with talking to some other players and Alexia was nowhere to be seen, but luckily Aitana was stretching by herself on the side. There was also Cata, but she was in the goal, getting warmed up by Salma.

You almost sprinted to Aitana, relieved that you didn’t have to spend another second wandering around aimlessly.

“Aita," you said, dropping your boots on the ground before sitting down, shaking your slides off and loosening the laces of your boots.

She got up from her lunge position and smiled, "Hola. Where's Ale?"

You shrugged and returned to trying to get your boot on. "Stupid sock boots..." you grunted, the elastic sock snapping against your ankle, making you wince.

“Why are you on your own?” you asked her, tying the laces of your boots as you watched her extend her leg outwards and reach over to touch her toes.

“I thought you’d want to be without the others for a bit,” Aitana responded simply. She was right — it was a huge relief to find her amongst all the clusters of people.

You missed Frido. You missed Mapi and Patri and Pina. You missed Barcelona.

You wished you could skip straight to playing football without having to introduce yourself to anyone or learn their ways. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

“I’m scared, Aita. What if they think I’m too physical, or I don’t play– ‘Spanish’ enough?” you ranted, folding your arms across your body.

Aitana sat back up, letting go of her foot to cross her legs as she gazed at you and began to speak.

“Pequeñita, if you’re worried about fitting in, don’t be,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You were there at the back when we needed you the most as our last-ditch defender, our last hope. If you weren’t so physical and dedicated to defending and not ‘Spanish enough’, we wouldn’t have a Champions League.”

You were born and raised in Spain, you knew Barcelona like the back of your hand and you spoke both languages. You were Spanish through and through, despite living in France for a couple odd years. You were Spanish. It was your idolisation of a non-Spanish, non-La Liga player that set you apart from the others.

You were about to respond, but your words were cut short by a tap on your shoulder. You glanced up, expecting to see Alexia, but it was Irene standing behind you.

“(Y/N), officials of the federation want to meet you,” she said in a low voice. You caught on to the way she glanced around, making sure nobody was around to hear.

Your eyes narrowed while Aitana’s widened, and you looked at Irene with an expression of uncertainty. “Do I have to go?”

You didn’t necessarily want to go, but you knew you weren’t left with much of a choice, and Irene’s nod confirmed that for you. You sighed, getting up from the grass and brushing off your shorts.

“Thank you, Aita,” you said, referring to the talk you two had earlier. She smiled and reached her hand out to squeeze yours gently, and you returned the gesture with a small smile of your own. “I’ll tell you everything!”

You left your gear in the care of Aitana as you and Irene made your way to the head office. You were nervous and a bit scared of what was about to happen, because the personal stories you’ve heard about the federation haven’t been good ones. Nonetheless, you walked beside Irene and waited in front of the mahogany wood door as she knocked on it, and it opened to reveal about three officials sitting around a table.

Your skin felt hot and feverish as you stepped over the threshold. The amount of eyes on you was unsettling, and if Irene wasn’t beside you, the feeling of discomfort blooming in your stomach would be way stronger.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” the man at the door asked, and you nodded nervously. Your eyes flickered up to Irene whose jaw was set, her cold glare fixed on the man as he spoke to you, “Please, sit.”

You slowly walked to the nearest seat and sunk into it. Irene did the same, pulling out a seat beside you and crossing her arms across her chest.

A man across the table began to speak once you two had taken your seats, “(Y/N), we’ve been very eager to meet you ever since your debut in Liga F.”

You clenched your jaw, unsure of where this conversation was going. You simply nodded, trying to hold your tongue and refrain from speaking for as long as possible.

“You’re very talented, especially given your age. Barça’s prodigy, the new stargirl…” he continued.

Leaning across the table, he spoke, “I’ve never seen a player that plays like you, especially in Spain. Have you always played for Barça, or wanted to?”

Your answer came without any hesitation. “Barça is my home. I am Barça through and through, forever. I’m just inspired by someone else whose passion aligns with mine.”

“You’re different. I’ve seen your play style, and it goes hand in hand with fearlessness and elegance. That’s why we called you up because after one of our best defenders withdrew from the squad… we haven’t been the same.”

You didn’t need a rocket scientist to figure out who he was referring to. Your hands gripped the armrests of your seat as you responded, “I can’t replace the likes of Mapi.”

You were already sick and tired of this conversation. The mention of Mapi unsettled you all over again, because you knew that something happened between her and these very same officials that led to her withdrawing from representing her nation, and you didn’t want to be in the company of the people that forced her to feel such a way and make that decision.

“We’re working on fostering a healthy environment at our camps–”

Irene stood up, her chair scraping across the floor with an unpleasant noise that grabbed everyone’s attention. “Work harder. I don’t want anyone playing another season under poor leadership,” she snapped. Her arm shot down to yours, tugging you up gently. Her tone was everything but gentle.

“My player needs to get back to training. We’re done here.”

You were eternally grateful for Irene. You got to your feet and quickly exited the room, aware of her storming out and slamming the door behind you two.

“The federation has lacked a ‘healthy environment’ for a while,” Irene frowned, slowing down in pace and breaking into more of a stroll.

“Don’t let their shitty leadership make you feel bad about this opportunity. Just like everyone else, you’re here to play football and win the Olympics. Forget the federation.”

It was easier said than done — both of you knew that — but neither of you said anything about it as you walked back to the pitch.

When you entered into the grassy clearing, Aitana and Alexia were nearby practicing their headers. They stopped when they noticed you and Irene, and they quickly came over to you guys.

“What happened?” Aitana asked, her expression slightly concerned, much like Alexia’s. You told them about everything that happened in the meeting (with some help from Irene), and at the end of your explanation, the two Spaniards didn’t look any less concerned.

“We’re praying the new coach and president do something to change the culture in the federation,” Alexia finally said, and you sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

“La hija de Frido is staring,” you grumbled, earning a laugh from Aitana who glanced in her direction. Indeed, Athenea was looking at your group with a firm glare, her Real Madrid teammate on the side trying to grab her attention.

“What’s wrong with her? Did something happen?” Alexia asked, and you shrugged. “She doesn’t like me that much, I think. Maybe because, y’know, she’s not exactly a challenge for me to defend…” you said with a nervous smile. Aitana’s laughter only increased, and a smile appeared on Alexia’s face.

“Barça es la millor!” she cheered happily, embracing you in a side hug.

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mysunshinetemptress · 3 months

Text

2007

Leah Williamson x brothers best friend!reader

Warnings: thought I better post something so here’s part 2 of 2005, slow burn to shit

You huffed taking a breath after passing the ball up the pitch to find Jacobs feet letting out a smile as you sprinted towards the boy ready to congratulate him on the goal "what a goal Jacob." Jacob grabbed you squeezing you tightly "that long ball assist Y/n I swear you have gotten so good." The pair smiled at each other before hearing Amanda and Natalie screaming at them to get back to their positions as their opponents took tip to restart.

Leah couldn’t help but laughed at the six year old holding her medal looking at it like she had won the World Cup "happy with it then." You looked up at the now ten year old "I know it doesn't compare to any of your Arsenal medals Lee but this is my first one." Leah smiled grabbing the medal to look at it "nah this medal is better then any of my ones trust me." You couldn't help but smile happily as you grabbed the older girls hand walking to the car. "Hey don't leave me behind." The pair turned to Jacob as he ran up holding his golden boot trophy under his arm "Leah, Y/n guess what Dad told me there's trials at Tottenham and that I could go he signed me up already." Leah smiled at her younger brother "that's great buddy you will do amazing, but Y/n." You looked up at Leah "what do we think of Tottenham." You looked around quickly for any parents that might scold you before whispering to Leah "shit." Leah laughed before continuing on "and what do we think of shit." You couldn’t help but smile at Jacob as he pretend to be annoyed "Tottenham." Leah laughed swinging her hand that was holding Y/n’s "that's my girl." Jacob let out a laugh "no it's no she's my best friend." Leah smiled tugging you towards her "oh yeah bet you can't take her away from me." The pair gotten into a friendly fight of pulling and pushing you between each other as you laughed.

Jacob had been gone all day at the Tottenham trial as you sat in the front garden waiting for any sign of him. Amanda looked out her window watching the younger girl smiling softly before going out to you "hi missus what are you doing sat out here." You looked up smiling softly at the older woman "waiting for Jacob so we can play." Amanda looked at you confused"oh honey he won't be home till Sunday night did he not tell you his dad and him are going to the match tomorrow after his trials today." You sighed standing up dusting yourself off letting out a quite oh in disappointment, Amanda's eyes softened as she looked at the girl "I'll tell you what is your Mum home." You nodded "right then let's head inside while I talk to her for a second." You sat in between Charlie and Melia tapping your leg against the couch as you anxiously waited to see what the older women were talking about, “Y/n stop moving your leg it’s so annoying” Melia snarled as she let out a huff you apologised quietly stopping your movements before your mum called for you "Hey Pumpkin could you come here for a second." You raced off the couch happy to get away from your sisters and into the kitchen. "I was just talking to your Mum and Leah and I have a spare ticket to the Arsenal women's match in Meadow park tomorrow as well why don't you come with me to Leah's training for Arsenal you can see what it's like tonight and your Mum has said if I think your good you can have a sleepover yeah." Your eyes lit up like you had just been told you was getting a puppy "can I really that would be so cool." Amanda smiled at the young girl "go get your clothes and head over to me when your ready then we will go get leah alright." You didn't need to be told twice as you raced up the stairs.

You stood on the sidelines watching the older girls go through their drills as Amanda stood beside her "you ok Y/n." You didn't take your eyes off the scene in front of you but nodded letting out a soft hum. The girls had broken into pair's practicing their passing when Leah looked around realising they where a player down "Lucy pair off with Casey I'll get a new partner." Leah walked over towards her Mum and the younger girl "everything alright Bubs." Leah smiled nodding at her mum "all good we are just a player short Y/n want to pass with me." Your eyes sparkled nodding your head before grabbing her hand as the older girl led you over before grabbing the ball "right stand here and we are doing long passes y/n just like in the back garden yeah." You nodded getting ready to receive the ball "and don't worry if yours goes the wrong way alright” Amanda couldn't help the smile that took over her face as she watched the pair pass back and forth you concentrating extra hard trying to make sure you could connect it to Leah as best as possible. "That was perfect y/n now this one is chipping it yeah” you nodded again getting ready to receive the ball. Leah's teammates watched on amazed as the six year old connected some of the balls to Leah as well as received it on a first touch no problem.

You was passed out in the back of the car on the drive home as the trio made their way back both Leah and Amanda keeping an eye on the younger girl making sure she was comfortable "I think you have a teammate in a few years Bubba." Leah smiled watching you sleep.

You woke up excitement coursing through her with the realisation that they would be going to an Arsenal match today. Leah groaned at the sound of her door opening "Lee it's match day." Leah let out a huff "I know but shhh it's not time to get up yet y/n go back to sleep." You sighed before looking at Leah “can I stay in here.” Leah sighed pulling open her duvet “come on.” You smiled running over to her and snuggling into Leah's chest closing your eyes as Leah welcomed it knowing she would get a lie in.

The pair had been screaming the minute Arsenal where lead out by Kelly Smith all the way to the final whistle when Leah had grabbed your hand pulling her in front of her as the players began their lap "stand here they might come over then mum can take a picture yeah." You nodded watching excitedly as Alex Scott came over "hi there what's your name "Y/n oh my god your Alex Scott you’re my favourite." Alex smiled looking at Leah "who's this then "you smiled at the older girl "this is my second best friend Leah she's a massive Arsenal fan." Alex laughed at Leah's offended face at the second place she had just been awarded "shall we take a photo and sign something." You nodded turning to smile at the camera Amanda was holding beside Leah grabbing her hand as a comfort before turning back to Alex "I don't have anything for you to sign but Leah has her jersey." Alex smiled signing Leah's jersey before looking around "I'll tell you what have mine I'll sign it." You nodded you head enthusiastically muttering out a thank you before Alex began taking off her jersey. Leah couldn't help but laugh as she watched the likes of Kelly Smith and Rachel Yankey make there way over offering to sign the jersey and Isla refusing but taking a photo instead stating it was an Alex Scott jersey and she was the only signature allowed (something that both you and Alex would laugh about shortly after becoming friends)

The excitement of the Arsenal match lingered in the air as you and Leah made your way back home. "That was amazing, Lee!" you exclaimed, your eyes still sparkling from meeting some of the players. Leah grinned, her excitement matching yours. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Y/n. Maybe one day, you'll be out there playing with them." The thought made your heart race with excitement. "I'd love that, Lee! I'll train hard, just like you do." Leah tousled your hair affectionately. "I have no doubt about that, Y/n. You're a natural."

As the days passed, you found yourself spending more and more time on the pitch, honing your skills and soaking in every bit of advice Leah offered. You were determined to improve, fueled by your passion for the game and the dream of one day playing for Arsenal (or Man United) just like Leah.

At Leah's next training session, you were invited to join in a mini-match with some of the younger players. Your heart pounded with excitement as you stepped onto the field, wearing a borrowed Arsenal jersey that was a bit too big for you. But none of that mattered as you chased after the ball, dribbling past defenders with a skill that surprised even yourself.

Leah watched proudly from the sidelines, cheering you on with Amanda by her side. As the final whistle blew, you collapsed onto the grass, exhausted but exhilarated. "You were amazing out there, Y/n!" Leah exclaimed, rushing over to give you a high-five. You grinned up at her, feeling a sense of accomplishment like never before.

That night, as you lay in bed replaying the day's events in your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling of pure joy that filled your heart. Whether it was scoring goals on the pitch or simply spending time with Leah.

#woso #awfc #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #woso blurbs #woso x reader #woso community #woso soccer #woso couples

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samkerrworshipper · 4 months

Text

the view between villages | alexia putellas x reader

based off of the tiktok edit…. tears have been shed in the making of this

warnings: horrificically brain numbing angst

All Alexia can focus on his the sound of the indicator of the van that she’s in. Her whole body stretched out against the backseat of the van. Alexia wishes that she was able to take up one seat, that she didn’t need to be completely straightened out against the leather seats.

Mapi’s sitting in the back behind her, chattering off, but Alexia’s brain syncs her out.

Her knee feels fine, sure it can’t bend and it’s swelled up so fat that her skin is stretched tight across her knee but she’s not in pain.

All she’d been doing was shooting, and then she was on the ground and it wasn’t even that bad, until she was pulled up and took her first step and everything just felt wrong. Her knee buckled out underneath her, and before Alexia even felt true pain, she knew exactly what was happening.

Alexia’s not a religious person, she couldn’t even tell you how to pray, but from the moment her knee buckled out underneath her to now, she’s been praying, every single thought running through her mind is a pray that she’s not actually going through this.

Alexia and unstoppable are two words that have become synonymous in her mind, Alexia is the best, she is untouchable. She knows it, it’s all that she thinks about, when she wakes up, when she goes to sleep. Alexia is supposed to be a fucking god, she is supposed to be indestructible. Yet, sitting in the back of this van, she feels like she’s completely dissociated herself with the person that she’s supposed to be.

Alexia is sitting eyes wide open with one thing stuck in her mind, is this the end of her?

Alexia doesn’t need scans to know exactly what’s wrong, she felt the crunch, she heard the pop, she’s heard and seen what an acl injury looks like.

Mapi’s been trying to tell her that they don’t know yet, that she scans are needed to confirm it, but Alexia knows, she just knows that this is the end of her year, the end of her Euros, the end of everything she’s been working towards for the last three years, maybe the end of everything she’s worked her whole life for.

There is the critical part of her which is telling Alexia this is her fault, if she had of just trained a little bit harder, if she had of gotten in the extra hours in the gym earlier in the morning or taken more time with her shot none of this would be happening, if she wasn’t so sloppy she would be fine.

The whirring of an MRI machine is a noise that Alexia’s brain will never forget, it’s one that she’d never thought she’d have to hear, a sound that no athlete wants to experience.

Within the hour, Alexia is handed a diagnosis and prognosis, as well as a ticket back to Barcelona. Her Euros and year are over.

She doesn’t cry, even though Mapi’s voice is in her ear telling her that it’s fine if she does and okay if she wants to.

Alexia doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want this to be happening to her, how could this be happening to her?

She gets taken back to the hotel within the same van, her body extended across the three seats, crutches sitting on the floor below her and her knee tightly hugged by a compression sleeve.

Alexia doesn’t feel like herself, she doesn’t know who she is right now but it’s not her. Alexia is supposed to be strong, she is the greatest, the indomitable force of Barca and Spain.

She’s surrounded by her teammates once she manages to crutch her way into the dining room, it’s silent, Alexia is grateful for it, she’s not grateful for all the sad looks and hugs that she receives.

Alexia’s phone has stayed in the same spot for the last few hours, tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. She doesn’t want to look at it, the hundreds of messages, articles and calls from the people that she wishes would just disappear.

She doesn’t need anybody, she doesn’t need any stupid consolations telling her that she’ll come out better, that it’s just a bump in the road, that she’s got people to support her.

She doesn’t care, she couldn’t give less of a fuck because at the end of the day a simple text message isn’t going to change anything. It won’t change the fact that she’s completely ruptured the most important part of her body, after doing something that she does hundreds of time a day.

Alexia knows though that the next week is going to be a fucked up whirlwind and she needs to get her business in order and that includes calling her mother and sister.

She finds herself a table by herself in the dining room, tucked away in the corner, ordering Mapi to just give her some peace.

It’s the first words she’s spoken, Mapi had answered all the questions at the hospital, something Alexia was so grateful for, because she still didn’t know how to put exactly what she was feeling into words.

The phone rings twice before Eli picks up.

“Mami, I need you to come pick me up from the airport tomorrow.”

Alexia waits a few seconds, she’s unsure about whether or not Eli will have heard the news, technically her injury hasn’t been formally announced but most of the football world would know already.

“Okay, Ale, is everything okay?”

Alexia is grateful that her mother doesn’t ask much more, she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle it.

“I just need you to come get me tomorrow, my flight should land at around 1, if that works.”

Alexia’s relationship with her mother is one of love and support, her mother is always there for her, she’s the person that will pick Alexia up no matter how low she is, no matter how much she’s begun to hate herself and treat her like she’s the most amazing thing in existence.

“Me and Alba will be there, if you need anything call me.”

Alexia nods, it’s the first time today that she feels like she’s holding back tears. She doesn’t want to burden her family, it’s the last thing she wants to do, but everyone she knows she is leaving behind to return.

Mapi brings her dinner, she doesn’t touch it.

She can’t stomach her feelings, she knows she won’t be able to stomach food.

Once Mapi’s done with her own food, Alexia gets her to help her up to their room. She feels so numb, like she could stab herself in the heart twenty times and it would feel better almost, better than the all consuming pain that she’s experiencing all across her body. At least being stabbed would be some form of relief, like she’d actually be feeling the pain of what she’s going through, instead she’s forced to look down at her knee which feels normal, and detest it for being so much worse than it feels.

Alexia doesn’t sleep.

She lays awake in the hotel bed all night, her knee elevated with as many pillows as Mapi was willing to sacrifice from her own bed and an ice pack that isn’t really cold anymore pressed to her skin. Alexia’s brain just can’t turn off, she finds it hard enough to sleep when she’s thinking about football, but right now football isn’t the sole thought that is running laps around her brain, instead it’s what's next for her.

Alexia’s always been interested in coaching, maybe that’s her destiny.

She just can’t imagine herself coming back from this. Alexia prides herself on always being her best, so even if she does somewhat recover, if it’s not at the level that she expects for herself then she doesn’t want it, she’d rather sit on the sidelines for the rest of her life than be another sob story on the pitch, a player that’s discredited due to an injury.

Alexia has clawed tooth and nail for her status, for her respect on the pitch and she won’t sacrifice that. She’s considering all of her options, retirement, coaching, anything that doesn’t involve her on a pitch with a ball.

The flight home is horrific, Mapi refuses to leave Alexia’s side, making the decision to miss their game for the day to make sure that her friend makes it back to Barcelona in one piece.

Alexia loves Mapi, she’s one of her oldest friends, but the woman manages to make Alexia want to pull her hair out before they’ve even boarded their flight.

She doesn’t mean to snap at her, she really doesn’t, but Alexia was getting sick of the persistent doting and questions that Mapi was asking her non-stop, even after Alexia would blank her, not trusting her voice or her mind to answer the insistent questions that María sends her way. It’s when they are sitting at the gate of their plane, they’ve been waiting for nearly an hour because Mapi had insisted they get there early to allow for Alexia to crutch her way through Heathrow, even though she was provided with a ride to the gate from the airport staff and one of their transport carts.

Leaving Mapi extremely bored, she’d gotten snacks, went to the bathroom twice and checked Alexia’s luggage three times. She was at her wits end, and that apparently translated to trying to ask Alexia as many questions as humanly possible.

It’s when Mapi starts asking her about who’s going to help her with her recovery and where she’s going to live that Alexia just cracks.

“Mapi I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to answer questions and I really don’t want your company. I’ve done my acl, I’m aware of it, I don’t need to be reminded every goddamn second, I have crutches and a useless knee that is enough of a fucking reminder.”

Mapi recoils immediately, if Alexia wasn’t so blinded by her anger and intense mourning for her life then she would apologise, but she doesn’t feel any kind of remorse or guilt, she’s to absorbed with the feeling in her gut that that’s obliterating everything in Alexia’s brain.

It keeps Mapi silent, the woman resorting to only talking when it’s completely necessary.

She stays silent on the flight, choosing to recline in her first class seat besides Alexia after she’s gently gotten Ale situated in her seat with her chair fully reclined to take the pressure off of her knee.

The rest of the flight, she leaves Alexia to continue to run the laps in her brain. It’s a mental workout, nowhere near as the real work out that she could have gotten today on the pitch had she not of screwed up so royally yesterday.

The flight isn’t so great, Alexia’s leg is cramping, her headphones are flat and for the life of her she can’t sleep.

So she sits, pondering and thinking about the next few days.

When the plane lands, she’s never been more terrified to be home in her entire life.

Alexia, through and through is a Spanish girl.

She’s lived in Barcelona her whole life, she spends her holidays in Ibiza.

Spain is where she feels the happiest, she’s a homebody in the sense that unless it’s completely unavoidable due to work, she likes to be around her club and her friends and being in Barcelona is where that is most achievable.

She loves Barcelona, loves the city, loves the beaches, loves the quiet life but also party life that Barcelona gives.

Yet she finds herself completely detesting the idea of returning home, mainly because of what she knows is going to ensue when she has to step off the airplane and face her new normal.

Mapi helps her through the airport, she’s flying straight back to England, but she walks her way out of customs anyways, even with Alexia’s insistence that she doesn’t have to.

She grabs her bags for her, wheeling them through the airport, until she spots Alba and Eli sitting near the entrance of the airport.

As soon as the two of them spot Alexia they are up on their feet, rushing forwards.

Mapi notices the look of terror on Alexia’s face as the two people closest to her approach, it’s something that Mapi’s never seen before.

Alexia and her family are so close, so close that sometimes Mapi is envious of the relationship she holds with her mother and sister. Yet Alexia looks at them like they are the last people that she wants to be seeing and it worries Mapi.

Mapi’s been worried enough the last twenty four hours. She knows Alexia didn’t sleep, she hasn’t eaten and she hasn’t been talking to anybody, she’s swallowing up all the pain and anguish that she’s going through and shoving it down. It’s what Alexia does best, it’s how she’s handled the fame and stature so well, she compartmentalises better than anybody Mapi knows. It’s why she worries about Alexia more than anybody else, she knows the depths that Alexia will go to try and hide her pain and eventually, it becomes too much for her.

Mapi is always the one to pick up the pieces, the person who is inevitably there when Alexia finally breaks down. She goes through it with her and once it’s over, they both act like nothing has happened, even though Mapi knows it is so much more than that.

Alba makes it to Alexia first, completely disregarding the crutches and Alexia’s injury, instead opting to bring her into a crushing hug, Alexia doesn’t allow herself to relax into the hug like she normally would, instead the tenses up, praying for Alba to let go of her, to just leave Alexia be, to stop reminding her that instead of being hugged after being away from home so long like they would have in a couple of weeks, she’s being hugged because she’s failed, because she’s been unable to complete the one thing she was destined to do.

Alba hangs on for a lot longer than Alexia feels necessary, her younger sister holding onto her like she’s going to somehow run away if she lets go. Once done hugging Alexia, she moves onto Mapi, embracing her and allowing room for Eli to look at her daughter.

She doesn’t hug Alexia, she doesn’t say anything, she just looks her up and down as if to say ‘You’ve fucked up’ as if Alexia isn’t already aware.

Eli moves onto Mapi, deciding that whatever she needs to say or tell her daughter, it doesn’t need to be said now, it can wait till they’re in private.

“Maria, thank you, you’ll join us for lunch?”

Mapi shakes her head, she wishes she could take the invite, but her flight back to London leaves in just over an hour and she really doesn’t have the time considering she has to go back through security.

“No, unfortunately I am needed back in England, but I'll take a rain check? Take care of her for me, keep me updated Ale, i expect regular phone calls.”

Alexia rolls her eyes at Mapi, it makes her smile, it’s the first fragment of emotion she’s seen across her friends face in the last 24 hours and she’ll take anything she can get. She gives Alexia a short hug, not wanting to make her uncomfortable before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and saluting her family before walking back in the direction she’s come from.

Alexia feels a part of her leave with Mapi, the part of her team that Mapi had been keeping with her, and now she was gone.

Alba fussed over her the whole way to the car, Eli stays silent.

Alba is the one who takes all of her luggage, gets her stretched out against the backseat of her Cupra and checks time and time again that she’s clipped in properly.

Alexia zones it out in favour of going back to the place in her mind where she’s been hovering for the past while, the part of her brain designated to thinking about all of her possibilities right now. Retirement, coaching, rehab.

Those are the three options that just won’t leave her head, in order of preference.

She does this the whole ride back to her house, it keeps her grounded, keeps her from focusing on all of the outside noise that she’s so desperate to drown out.

The announcement of her injury came out this morning, she hasn’t checked her phone, she doesn’t want to, she knows what she’ll be met with and it’s not something she wants to have to deal with. Instead of feeling supported, it feels more like a chore, like she has to thank all of these people who are wishing her the best even though they’re probably all grateful that she’s been sidelined. Alexia isn’t a threat if she’s injured on the sidelines, she’s not helping her team to try and win a European championship from a hospital bed.

When they arrive at her house, Eli orders Alba to go out and buy some food and collect any essentials from her own home so that she can partially move into Alexia’s house for the time being. Alba doesn’t hesitate to obey her Mamí, Alexia knows that there is a reason beside Alexia’s lack of food and Alba’s lack of belonging at her house, she’s trying to get Alba away, it terrifies Alexia a little bit knowing that she’s now going to be forced to talk to her mother, one on one.

Eli helps Alexia out of the car, Alexia’s house, is thankfully, one story. It’s an annoyance in the fact that if it were two stories Alexia would have a much larger backyard, big enough that Alexia could run proper drills instead of having to go down to the local oval to get a proper workout in.

It’s convenient in that Alexia can practically be self-sufficient during her recovery and won’t have to worry about finding someone to help her up and down a staircase every time she wants to eat or leave.

Eli gets Alexia seated on her couch, her leg extended across the surface before going back to the car and retrieving her suitcases, leaving Alexia to continue thinking about her current situation.

When she returns, she drags one of Alexia’s foot stools until she’s sat down directly in front of her daughter. Alexia refuses to look her in the eyes, she just can’t, it hurts too much knowing that instead of her being in any other position, she’s here.

“Alexia, look at me.”

Alexia doesn’t, she can’t, it physically hurts her to picture her mothers face. Her mother has been there for her in every single crucial part of her life, all of her wins and triumph and best moments.

“Alexia I did not teach you to ignore me or not look somebody in the eye when they are talking to you.”

Alexia is desperate not to cry, she’s been holding out, for the purpose of conserving peace and mind, it’s just for the best. It’s a struggle dragging her eyes up from the floor to her mother, it’s a struggle not to break down then and there.

She manages it though, she has to do it, she’s Alexia Putellas, she’s an animal on the field, nothing is supposed to scare her.

So why is it that she suddenly feels terrified to admit how she’s truly feeling, to admit that she feels more helpless than she has in her entire life.

Eli’s face softens a little bit when Alexia’s eyes meet her, she recognises the pain in her daughter's eyes, it’s the same pain that was on her face the day that her father died, it’s a level of grief and sadness that Eli hates to see on anybody’s face, especially her daughters. Alexia’s world turned upside down when her father died, Eli swears from that day onwards her daughter changed, there was no longer room for leeway or jokes in Alexia’s life. She knuckled down, harder than anybody, it was how she’d become the football player she was, she’d worked every single day to get to where she was and to see her now completely and utterly shattered, it’s almost enough to kill Eli.

“Ale, you can do this, your papí would want you to do this.”

For once in her life, Alexia doesn’t care. Eli can see the complete disregard in her daughter's eyes, she knows that right now all Alexia wants is to give up and as bad as it is she knows that her father may be one of the only things that will convince her daughter to use her brain and really take a minute to think about what’s next for her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alexia is stubborn, she knows what she can and can’t do, she doesn’t need her Mamí to tell her.

“Too bad, we’re talking about it. Alexia, you my daughter, are the best in the world, you have something to fight for, something to return for, you will prove them all wrong, you must.”

Alexia’s household was one that had a never quit rule. It was drilled into her by her father, quitting was the most shameful thing any person could do, it was worse than losing or any other kind of shame, quitting was embarrassing.

Yet Alexia can’t find herself wanting anything more, she wants to quit, she wants this all to be over. Alexia’s brain, since before she can remember, has always been football. She wakes up thinking about football, she thinks about football in the shower, when she’s brushing her teeth, when she’s eating, when she’s training, when she sleeps. All Alexia thinks about is football, she’s obsessed, it’s insanity. Yet Alexia has always loved it, she’s prided herself on being the most consistent, the hardest worker, the person who never stopped. All she wants is for the constant football buzz to finally silence itself, she wants her brain to be quiet, it’s all she wants and yet somehow her thoughts are louder than ever.

“Mamí, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alexia looks down at her knee, and then back up at her mother, her stupid fucking knee which has wrecked everything.

Alexia knows Spain is playing right now, and she wants to support her teammates more than anything, but she just can’t, she can’t put her team on and act like it’s nothing when really it means everything to her, it literally means everything, every part of her body, soul, heart and brain was so ready for that game and yet now she’s sitting on her couch with a fucked knee.

“Alexia, I need you to promise me, for your father, that you are not going to give up, that you are going to take this recovery as a bump, not a wall and push through.”

It’s so incredibly unfair using the memory of Alexia's father against her, because her mother knows that was her inspiration for everything, when he died something flipped in Alexia that made her who she has become, right now she doesn’t care though, nothing matters to her.

“Mamí, I’m tired.”

Alexia is tired beyond her sleep deprivation, everything else in her life has had her exhausted for years and right now, for the first time it’s all hitting her at full force and it’s more taxing than she could even begin to comprehend.

“Alexia, promise me.”

Alexia shakes her head, her eyes darting away from her mothers face so she doesn’t have to see the disappointment on her face.

“I can’t Mamí.”

Alexia tugs at the blanket on top of her, tugging it over her good and bad leg.

“Then you aren’t the daughter I raised because my daughter would at least try.”

Alexia expects her mothers words to hurt her, but they don’t, she’s already been telling herself the same thing, that she’s no longer the person everybody thought she was, she’s an imposter of who she used to be and there is absolutely no coming back from that.

Eli stands up, leaving Alexia on the couch in contemplation.

Alexia would love to say that her mothers words resonate with her, but they don’t. All Alexia can think about is herself, about her own problems, about her own life, she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about it, not even her mother.

Alexia stays like that, on her couch, for hours.

Her mother makes her lunch, she doesn’t eat.

Alba returns and tries to talk to her, she ignores.

Her mother cooks her dinner, she doesn’t eat.

She just sits on the couch, thinking, the same thoughts over and over again.

Eventually, Alba forces her to go to bed, her younger sister struggles with Alexia’s weight but is determined to get her into bed, and she does after a bit of push and shove.

Alexia ends up in a similar position to the night beforehand, her bad knee laid on top of as many pillows as possible, ice pressed to it.

Alexia hates it, she hates it so much that she tries in vain to tear the pillows out from under her knee, but she just can’t, she’s too weak.

She collapses back into her pillows, the pillows that smell like Alexia’s perfume and a mix of grass and her body wash.

Alexia’s whole house has some resemblance of football in every single corner, whether it’s the case of trophies she’s won in the entrance, her cleats which are spread out everywhere, different pieces of memorabilia she’s got, kit bags, balls, barcelona kit, Alexia’s house is a shrine for football and right now there is nothing she wants more than to tear it all to pieces, she wants it all to be gone.

In one place, Alexia has started and ended it all.

Everything is over for her, every single dream, every single thing she yearned for at 16, it’s all gone. Alexia can’t believe in a god, no god would do this to her, no god would be so cruel as to condemn her to such a hell.

Alexia’s life is a rinse, lather and repeat for the days leading up to her surgery.

Her Mamí doesn’t talk to her, she force feeds her, makes sure she’s always got an ice pack pressed to her knee and that she’s sleeping. Alexia swears at some stage she begins to slip sleeping pills into her water because sleep that Alexia was running away from suddenly hits her at full force and she’s spending most of her days asleep on her couch.

When her surgery date comes around, she doesn’t feel anything, Mapi calls her, she doesn’t speak, Mapi does enough speaking.

Spain are looking like they’ll get knocked out in the early rounds, something that could have been avoided had Alexia been there, been with her team, instead of a hospital bed awaiting a surgery that would alter things far beyond just her knee.

Alexia wakes up groggy, her mother sitting at her bedside and her sister pacing back and forth at her bedside.

Alexia looks down at her knee and it’s bandaged up so tight and covered so heavily that she knows that this is going to be bad. She doesn’t get a break from her thoughts, they hit her full force, her brain works her out, keeps her going.

Alexia is home by the end of the day, hopped up on pain pills that make her feel even less, which she didn’t think was achievable. She sleeps for three days straight, it doesn’t help the never ending exhaustion she feels.

On day three, she’s forced out of bed to see a physio, the man is abrasive, rude and old. She doesn’t want to participate and all he wants is the pay check, they don’t get along.

He gives her a series of exercises that Alexia won’t do, he gives her pain pills that Alexia won’t take and gives Alexia a number for a psychologist that she will never see.

Alexia is back on her couch within an hour, Alba fussing over endlessly, even though Alexia has expressed her desire for independence multiple times.

By the end of week 2, she’s about ready to take a blade to her throat and quit.

She won’t do the exercises, as much as Alba tries to force her too, this creates some waves between her physio and herself. Alexia’s muscles are gone, she’s not bothered to regain them because why should she be? What does she need a muscle for if she doesn’t plan to use it again?

Alba is at her wits ends, so is Mapi.

María manages to squeeze a visit in during a spare day and what she sees when she arrives at Alexia’s is alarming, it terrifies her.

Alexia doesn’t talk, she doesn’t eat, she doesn’t move.

She thinks, all she does is sit and think.

She thinks about the anger, the people and things she’s lost, the people surrounding her, the air in her lungs, the rush of her blood.

Alexia thinks about everything and also nothing.

She likes it that way, she likes her brain all cloudy and foggy with disclosure. It’s her safety blanket.

At the two week point, Alexia forces her mother and sister out of her house, for her own safety and theirs.

The next day, she gets a knock on the door.

She ignores it, assuming it’ll be Alba trying to feed her or entertain her.

The knocking doesn’t stop, it goes on and on until Alexia’s brain is vibrating with the constant noise and she has no choice but to awkwardly crutch her way to her front door and open it.

Alba isn’t standing there, but another woman is.

“Hola, you’re Alexia Putellas?”

Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she’s been through plenty of media training, what to do if the paparazzi show up at her door, but you don’t look like a paparazzi.

“Yes, what can I do for you?’

You smile so brightly that Alexia isn’t quite sure how one person can look so happy in the current world you’re living in.

“Doctor Matthews sent me, I’m here for your physio.”

Alexia is about to argue, but you push your way past her door and into the threshold of her house.

“Doctor Matthews and I have an appointment tomorrow, not today, and it’s supposed to be in his office.”

Alexia was planning on cancelling it, or postponing it, like she does with most things these days.

“He’s made a change in your treatment plan, due to your refusal to do your exercises at home, Barcelona has advised that they would prefer you take part in a more home-based recovery.”

Alexia follows you back into her own kitchen, slightly shocked at your comfortability with letting yourself in.

“I’m good.”

You roll your eyes at Alexia, looking her up and down before setting down your bag on her counter.

“You haven’t been doing your exercises, I’m here to make sure you do, you can make this as hard as you like but I’m not leaving until you do.”

Alexia doesn’t like your assertiveness, doesn’t like that you are somehow able to make her feel more attentive then she has in three weeks.

Alexia can’t remember a single exercise she’s been given, she simply hasn’t cared to look at them.

“I don’t have any exercises.”

You roll your eyes once again and it makes Alexia feel more genuinely human then she has in a while.

“You do now, we can get started on the couch if you’d like?”

Alexia nods, she doesn’t know what else to do but nodding seems like a good idea.

“If you can just get yourself sat down and then we can get started.”

You nod towards Alexia’s couch, and she follows your direction, crutching over towards her couch and sitting down before swinging her good leg onto the cushions and then her bad one.

It’s probably the most activity Alexia has done in days, she feels inexplicably uncomfortable with you being so controlling over her, yet you don’t care.

“So Ms Putellas, assuming that you’ve done none of your exercises, I’d like to test your ability to straighten out your knee and bend it, does that sound okay to you?”

The smile, it’s like your lips are being stretched into a line that is inhumane.

“Alexia or Ale please, and I did the exercises with Doctor Matthews.”

Alexia wants to tell the physio who’s name she’s yet to learn that she’s been wearing her brace, she’s been staying off her knee, she’s been behaving. Yet she finds herself not saying anything, why should you care, why would you care? Alexia is just a bothersome patient that you are being forced to see, just another broken person.

“So once every couple of days? You do know that a successful acl recovery requires you to exercise more than once every few days. I assume somebody like yourself wants as quick and steady of a recovery as possible.”

Alexia doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know what she wants, if she’s being honest, she’s trying to prolong this recovery in an attempt to keep herself away from the pitch for as long as possible, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near a ball or anything resembling her sport that she once held so much love for but now she only holds resentment for.

Alexia flinches when your hands come into contact with her brace, slowly unstrapping the different pieces of velcro.

“Alexia, do you have any plans to play football again?”

Your question may sound rhetorical, but it’s a genuine one.

It’s a question that Alexia has been avoiding for weeks, the brain fog has been enough of a distraction.

“What does that matter?”

You manage to slip the brace off of Alexia’s knee, then the compression sleeve, revealing a swollen knee.

Her stitches had been removed a couple of days ago, leaving an ugly looking scar that Alexia couldn’t bear to look at.

It was just another reminder of her failure, the biggest reminder.

“I want to get you back onto the pitch, but Alexia, you don’t really seem like you want it.”

You don’t mention that you’ve been asked to visit Alexia at the request of her family and friends as well as Barcelona, this is what you’re good at, this is your specialty.

“You have no idea what I want.”

Alexia flinches when your finger flattens out across her scar, her knee jerking at the feeling of the most vulnerable part of her body being touched.

Alexia herself hasn’t dared to touch it, it’s the source of all of her hatred, the last thing she wants to do is touch it, because somehow that makes it all more real.

“Your scar has healed nicely, the surgical site is looking really good.”

You continue to prod around Alexia’s scar, before moving onto the rest of her knee, poking at different parts of the swelling.

“Alexia, do you want to get back on the pitch or do you want to spend the rest of your life on the sidelines?”

It’s another one of those questions that Alexia has purposely been avoiding, because what sort of question is that.

“Best footballer in the world, condemned to a life on the sidelines, that’s a pretty good front page headline, just saying.”

Alexia doesn;t know who or what gave you the nerve to behave so rudely, she just knows that you are getting on her nerves.

“I’m going to bend your leg now Alexia, tell me if you feel any discomfort.”

Before Alexia can protest, your hand is resting underneath her knee and gently lifting it from a 180 degree angle upwards.

“Stop-stop I’m not ready for this.”

You don’t stop, even with Alexia reluctance, gently pushing her stiff knee upwards, finding zero resistance.

“Seems like you're pretty ready to me.”

You smile as you get Alexia’s knee fully bent, her foot flexing to support the weight and steady the movement.

Alexia doesn’t like anything about it, she doesn’t like the fact that you brazenly have taken charge of Alexia like she’s a child.

“Feels good, yeah?”

Alexia doesn’t nod, she doesn’t think it feels good, it feels like bending her knee has just become twenty times harder and there is nothing good about that.

“I’ll take the silence as a yes, have you started walking yet, without your crutches?”

Alexia shakes her head, walking is not something that has been on her mind the last few days.

“Well, let’s try and get you walking then.”

You stand up, extending Alexia’s crutches to her and waiting patiently for her to stand up.

Alexia doesn’t, she’s sick of being bossed around like she’s got absolutely no say in her recovery.

“No.”

You cock your head at her, silently questioning her.

“You want to return to a football pitch in the next 9 months then you are going to get up Alexia.”

Alexia shakes her head.

“I’m not walking today, it’s not happening, I’m not ready, I can’t.”

You take a step back, one of your eyebrows lifting up your forehead.

“As much as I love the can do attitude, if you don’t walk today then you’ll walk tomorrow, I’m not here to make suggestions Alexia, I’m here to rehabilitate you, whether you feel like you’re ready for it or not.”

Alexia shakes her head, again, she wants this person out of her house, effective immediately.

“I don’t have to do what you tell me, get out of my house.”

You laugh at her, you have the fucking audacity to laugh at Alexia.

“Technically no, but your life will be a lot harder if you don’t listen to me and your Mamí gave me her explicit permission to be in here as much as I like, as well as Barcelona. We’ll be doing daily rehab, because you can’t be trusted to do it on your own, so you can walk today, you can walk tomorrow, you can refuse to, but we’re going to do it at some stage and you’re only making your life tougher with everyday you delay yourself.”

You manage to leave Alexia speechless, your arms crossed over your chest, head cocked and eyebrow raised.

“You don’t have to walk, but just get up please, at least move around on your crutches a little bit.”

Alexia meets you halfway with that offer, allowing you to help her stand up and hobble out from her couch and into her kitchen.

Alexia is once again shocked when you walk directly into her kitchen and begin to look through her fridge and pantry.

“You’ve got no food.”

Alexia knows that, the last thing on her mind the last couple of days has been food, most of her meals have come from take out meals that Alba has brought around on her random drop in visits.

“Aren’t you my physio, not a nutritionist?”

You pivot, turning around and eyeing Alexia up and down.

“I’d like to say my services extend beyond traditional physiotherapy, I work in an unconventional space, which calls for unconventional methods.”

The complete confidence you portray makes Alexia wary, and a little bit intimidated.

“Can you take your unconventional methods elsewhere?”

You snort at Alexia, but don’t object.

“I can, I’ll be back in the morning, be ready for more of a workout, I’d get your beauty sleep. I’ll give you my phone number, if you need anything, at any time of day, whatever it is, I’m here if you need me.”

You smile at Alexia, writing your phone number down in her phone which she passes to you, before collecting your things and making your way to Alexia’s door, waltzing your way out like you’d never been.

That night, when Alexia’s laying in bed you’ve managed to insert yourself into her constant brain chatter, you feel like a figment of her imagination more than anything, you insert yourself into her thoughts in a way nobody else has been able to do since her injury and it honestly confuses her more than she thinks possible.

Alexia struggles to sleep, as she does every night, tonight it's for a slightly different reason. She just can’t figure out how or why you’ve suddenly made your way into her life and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Alexia isn’t happy when at 9am the following morning there is a non stop knocking at her door, lately, the Catalan has been spending as much time in bed as possible. There is nothing to wake her up, Alba’s taken Nala with her so that her dog can get proper care, Alexia has nothing to wake up for besides her bladder and water if she’s very desperate.

Recently, she’s been sleeping till 12 if possible, getting up between 12-3/4 and then going back to her bed to toss and turn until she finally falls asleep.

It’s tiring, doing nothing, acting like everythings normal when in reality it’s all been turned upside down for her. Alexia hasn’t cried, she can’t, she knows that as soon as she shows any real evidence of how she truly feels it’ll all crack, it’ll all turn into one big mess that she won’t be able to wade her way out of.

Alexia almost trips on four different obstacles on her floor as she crutches her way to the door in a half asleep state, struggling to keep her eyes open as she makes it to her front door.

You’re standing behind her door, multiple bags in hand and the same smile from yesterday on your face.

“Alexia! Bon dia.”

Alexia’s not awake enough to really even take in your presence, let alone reply to the amount of happiness behind your voice.

For the second time in less than 24 hours, you push your way past Alexia and into the threshold of her house, lugging the multiple bags through the hallway until you unceremoniously dump them on her kitchen table.

Alexia crutches her way into her kitchen, still confused by your sudden presence and energy.

“I’ve got food for you, I can make breakfast or we can go for a walk to a cafe and get you out of the house.”

Alexia hasn’t left her house since it happened for anything besides physio appointments, she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to face a real world, a world where she’s supposed to be a football player and instead she’s a invalid.

“I can make my own breakfast.”

You open Alexia’s fridge, beginning to unpack the exorbitant amount of food that she’s bought.

“Your focus today is to walk, I’ll focus on breakfast.”

Alexia frowns, a big frown, the last thing on her agenda for today had been to walk, the first thing had been to get a little bit more sleep but that’s already been taken from her.

“I’m not walking today.”

Alexia doesn’t want to have to relearn how to walk, the only time she thinks it’ll ever be acceptable for her to struggle to walk is when she’s 90 and her bones are old and unusable.

“Are you not? I’m fairly sure you are, according to my planner for today.”

Alexia settles herself on one of her island stools, sick of standing and bearing weight.

“You can’t make me walk.”

You shrug at her.

“Technically no, but I beg to differ. Any allergies?”

Alexia shakes her head no, to both questions, you nod your head at her.

“You can’t keep yourself in crutches forever, I imagine you want to get out, go to a pitch and kick a ball or something. Being in your house without any entertainment can’t be much fun.”

Alexia begs to differ, being in her house is the only place she feels safe right now, leaving terrifies her, it makes her feel more vulnerable then she’s comfortable with.

She watches as you pull out some of the groceries you’d tucked away in Alexia’s fridge, placing them out on her countertop before moving into her shelves and finding the tools and pans you needed.

“You haven’t even told me your name and you are in my kitchen making me breakfast.”

You turned and looked up at Alexia, the same smile spread across your face.

“Doctor y/n, y/l/n.”

Alexia nods, she feels a little bit more at peace now that she knows something about you, in comparison to absolutely nothing.

“What are your interests? If we’re going to be seeing each other so frequently then I’d like to know the person I’m with.”

You start to mix together the food, keeping eye contact with Alexia as you do so.

“My job is my life.”

Alexia doesn’t like that answer.

To be fair, anybody who had asked Alexia that same question would have received the same answer in the last fifteen years.

Football is Alexia’s life, or was.

She doesn’t think it is anymore, or she doesn’t really know, it’s one of the big questions constantly circulating in her brain.

“You must have things you do beyond this.”

You shrug at Alexia, this isn’t supposed to be about you, it’s supposed to be about her.

“I enjoy my job, I enjoy rehabilitating people, it’s what I’m good at, if there was a ballon d’or for what I do then I would win it, nobody does my job like I do.”

Alexia believes you, she believes every word that leaves your mouth. The confidence you breathe isn’t over crowding, it’s refreshing, she finds herself feeling more level headed around you then she has in weeks.

“But, you have something else.”

Alexia knows that whilst her life used to be football, and she would define it as so, she still had other things, a party here and there, her family, her dog, food. She has other things that added to her success in her sport.

“I used to dance, the ballet and whatnot, until I tore both of my achilles. That’s why I do what I do. I understand what it’s like to want to spend every single day after an injury thinking about your existence, thinking about what the point is in living if you aren’t defined as your sport anymore. My job is my purpose.”

Alexia doesn’t know what her purpose is anymore, it used to be football, her father, the history behind it all. She doesn’t know if that’s her purpose anymore, she doesn’t think it is. She wants a purpose, she wants to be as sure as you and decide that she’s going to devote herself to helping other people like you do, but she can’t, she doesn’t even see herself leaving her house in the next month, let alone trying to help other people.

The omelette you make Alexia is so delicious that Alexia doesn’t even really notice she’s eating until all of the food is sitting in the bottom of her stomach and she suddenly feels sick.

That's the reason Alexia hasn’t been able to eat, the sickness, the gut rotting feeling that eats at her after any food touches her lips.

There’s no explanation for it, Alexia just hates the idea of nourishing herself, nourishing a body that she’s grown to hate so heavily.

Once Alexia is done eating, you walk around to her, smiling in a way that makes Alexia slightly worried.

“We’re going to walk.”

Alexia shakes her head, although you don’t waiver.

“Up, get up, on your crutches, in the hallway.”

Alexia only obeys for the purpose of keeping the peace that she’s desperate to have a balance of in her home.

She makes it to the middle of the hallway when you tell her to stop, walking up to her and swiftly pulling her crutches out of her hands and walking to the opposite end of the hallway.

“Walk to me.”

Alexia realises your plan, she’s not in reach of leaning on either of the walls beside her without taking a step, she’s stuck, she takes a step or she stays stood.

“Give me my crutches.”

You put them back down against her island, standing with your arms crossed over your chest at the end of her hall.

“Walk to me and you get them back.”

Alexia looks down at her feet, her good one is doing all of the work to support her weight, her bad leg is hardly bearing any weight whatsoever.

Alexia honestly doesn’t know if she could put her foot down, if she could share some of the weight, there is a mental block in her head telling her that something terrible is going to happen if she does, that she’s going to retear her acl or break her knee.

The scariest thought in her mind though, is the thought that everything will be fine, that Alexia is going to be able to walk, that nothing is going to be wrong and she’s going to take a step and it’ll be okay.

The thought terrifies her, because if nothings wrong, then that means that her recovery is going as it should, that she’s on track, that she’s expected to walk and fucking try instead of just slowly fading away into nothing.

“I need my crutches.”

You shake your head, your eyes squinting as you look her up and down.

“Alexia, try and walk for me.”

Alexia looks down at her bare feet, her feet which are holding her body up, without the help of her crutches.

It’s more that she doesn’t want to walk in comparison to feeling like she actually can’t walk.

It’s then that she takes a step.

Alexia’s never been held back by the things that are hard, the things she doesn’t want to do, because that’s what’s always made her so great.

She supposes that if you’re as determined as you say, then she’s going to walk, whether she wants to or not.

The first thing she realises is that it doesn’t hurt, it’s uncomfortable, sore and weird, but it doesn’t hurt in the way that she feels like it should.

One foot in front of the other.

That’s all it is, a foot in front of the other.

Yet, as soon as she does it, something washes all over her.

Her team, her memories, her love for everything that she does.

Football is the only thing on Alexia’s mind, except it’s not about how Alexia can be better, it’s not about what Alexia can do next time she’s on the pitch, it’s not about Alexia’s need to train harder or put in more work. It’s about the love, the atmosphere, the people that she knows and loves and surrounds herself with. The things she’s lost, the people she knows, the people that have surrounded her through it all.

Alexia looks up at you, your grin somehow grown even larger as Alexia slowly, but surely steps her way closer to you with every small bit of meterage that she makes up.

When she makes it to the end of the hallway, you’re there to steady ehr, both on her feet and her mind. Alexia doesn’t reach for her crutches, she steadies herself briefly before making her way back to her couch and taking a seat.

She can’t deal with the praise that she can hear you throwing at her, not with the blood that’s rushing through her ears and the buzzing in her head as the thought of football, or her football memories bounces around in her brain.

Is she ready to let that all go? Disappear from her sport completely and just give up the people and memories that she’s grown to love so deeply? She doesn’t know.

Alexia feels like a broken record, it all goes straight to her head and she can’t get it out.

Alexia supposes she must send herself into some kind of panic attack, because before she can even try to compartmentalise or explain any of her thoughts to herself, she’s fucking crying.

It’s the one thing she’s been avoiding with all of her might, and yet she’s bawling, tears that she detests dripping straight down her face.

If Alexia hates crying, then crying in front of people quite literally makes her want to slit her throat.

Yet here she is, crying on her couch and struggling to take control of herself whilst you take a seat beside her, a hand on her shoulder rubbing circles into her skin through her cotton sleep shirt.

“Alexia, deep breaths.”

Alexia doesn’t want to breathe, or she doesn’t feel like she can, everything is so much harder to do when she’s so in her head, it makes it all so much more difficult.

“Breaths, come on Alexia, focus on your breathing, you can do it.”

Alexia’s never reacted well to being comforted during a breakdown, as a kid she would quite literally lock herself in a wardrobe or some small confined space until she calmed down, Alba would try and hug her, her mother would try and bathe her in random compliments and her father would just be there, she hated it though. She hated pity, she hated attention that wasn’t focused on achievement or greatness,

Yet you somehow don’t make her feel like that, your hand is comfortable and your words are breezy, there are no guarantees that everything is going to be okay, or attempts to rationalise whatever it is that Alexia is feeling, there is just comfort.

Alexia gets herself under control, in a matter of a couple of minutes, but the damage is already done, she’s well aware.

As soon as her breathing evens out and her tears stop falling you remove yourself from her, squatting down directly in front of her, looking at her on eye to eye level.

“21 steps.”

Alexia nods, 21 steps, 21 fucking steps.

“That’s a lot of steps for a woman who tried to tell me she couldn’t walk.”

Alexia tries her hardest to glare at you, but it doesn’t work, not with her red and swollen eyes.

“Never again.”

You snicker, the smile returning to your face.

“3 weeks and 21 steps, you don’t want to know what I can do in a matter of months, I’ll get you back on that field Alexia, better than ever.”

Alexia nods, taking a deep breath through her nose.

“What if I don’t want it?”

It’s the first time she’s admitted that allowed and it’s hard, it’s hard to even utter the words that break up her relationship with her sport.

“Then you are stupid, we can get you back to where you were, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I will get you there, if you want it, if you try hard and trust me.”

Alexia nods, because she feels like she has to more than anything.

“If I do it, I want one thing in return.”

Your eyebrow raises up.

“What do you want?”

Alexia’s never felt more comfortable with a person in her life, it’s a trait she wants in her physio, but also one she’s searching for in another walk of her life. She realised that the minute your hand fell on her body when she was stressing, that somehow you just understood her. Whether it was the injury, the sporting commitment or the work ethic, there were overlaps that Alexia couldn’t be overlooked.

“Let me take you on a date.”

You falter for a second, something Alexia is yet to have seen in the 24 hours she’s met you.

“I don’t date clients.”

Alexia is persistent, something she prides herself on.

“Make an exception for me, if you can make me as good as I was then you’ll let me take you on a date as a form of repayment.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m already getting paid plenty by your club and family.”

Alexia frowns.

“Please.”

Alexia doesn’t like to beg, she saves begging for the people below her.

“Fine, if you listen to me for a whole 9 months then I’ll let you take me on a date, if you don’t hate me by the time we get there.”

Alexia smiles.

“I’m already planning it out in my head.”

548 notes · View notes

trulyhblue · 4 months

Note

write the niamh **** i dare you!!!!!!! never knew i was this down bad for her until she came out in the captains armband and i was like…there’s something about this, she is confident and she is hot and respectfully i shouldn’t say any more

Back To You

Niamh Charles x Aussie! Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, massive praise kink, degradation, vibrator, thigh-riding, edging, breeding kink, angst, a bit of Man U hate, semi-public themes, coarse language.

A/N — the demand for Niamhy is finally here…. I honestly don't know what came over me. Bit long, hope you enjoy!

__________________

Time after time, you had watched your girlfriend get angry on the pitch.

You had seen her push and shove, swear and tackle. Niamh wasn't an extremely violent person by any means. She could be kind, gentle, loving, and full of empathy, and in most cases, she was. She wasn't always an intolerance on the field, usually keeping the pace instead of arguing and slowing it down. She was determined, you were technical. All relationships aside, the two of you blended well on the field.

But, Niamh was many things that you weren't.

You had joined Chelsea after progressing through the United Academy. You were born in Manchester and grew up playing football. The move down to London was difficult, but you made your WSL debut in the Blues jersey, and have stayed loyal to them ever since. Unlike many of your teammates, you were very shy. You’d much rather carry the ball down the field than give a shot at goal. You liked weaving in between the midfield and opening up opportunities for your teammates rather than pursuing something for yourself. There was a joke among the Football community that you were allergic to the penalty area because you tried to avoid it at all costs.

You were on the younger side of the team as well, meaning you had less experience than some of your friends. The girls were always there to lift you up and support you, but you managed to stay under the radar, behind the inevitable spotlight.

“Ready for today, Y/L/N?” Sam asked, pulling you out of your daze as you laced your boots. The news of your skipper tearing her ACL was fresh in your mind, but her presence in the room still comforting before a game like this.

Millie was opposite you, patting your knee a few times as she chuckled. “Gonna show those reds a masterclass today, aren't ‘ya?”

You blushed at that, staring down at your boots to avoid the bashful compliments you were receiving. You didn't start often, being classed as a constant sub instead. Today, you were starting. It only made you more anxious that it was against your parent club, one that you used to stay loyal to. One that United fans still ridicule you for leaving. You were an anxious person anyway, but a sold-out stadium and a phone full of social media only fueled your apprehension more.

Your teammates knew of this stress you placed on yourself, and what others placed on you. They had told you thousands of times that Chelsea was lucky to have you, but you constantly lacked the confidence to agree with them. You wanted to prove to everyone that you were capable of exceeding expectations.

“Piss off, you two.” You heard a familiar voice snap. “Leave her alone.”

You looked up to find your girlfriend grabbing your hand, pulling you up so she could wrap her arms across your shoulders. You engulfed her usual scent and sighed in contentment, hugging her back with your arms around her waist, your head against her chest.

You heard Sam scoff, the two women giggling to each other like school girls.

“Captain Niamhy to the rescue.” Your usual skipper teased, poking your side. You yelped, and Niamh sent a glare towards Millie. Sam wobbled closer to the two of you, laughing at the blush that painted your cheeks.

“C’mon, Mils. Let's leave these two love birds by themselves.” She chuckled. “Niamhy wants to show off the armband.”

“I’ll take your crutches, Kerr.” Niamh retorted, ignoring the two women as they sauntered off, placing her attention back on you.

You had left her wandering hands, turned towards your cubby, searching your bag for a hair brush. The anticipation of the game was continuously creeping up on you, and Niamh noticed your apprehension from a mile away.

Your breath hitched when you felt your girlfriend’s hands grip your waist, her front pushing up against your arse. Her voice was softer, raspier. Your bent figure made her bend down so that her mouth was level with your ear.

“You're going make me so proud today, aren't you, Baby?”Her tone sent a shiver down your body, her hot breath fanning down your neck. “‘Gonna show everyone how good you are for me?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close at your flustered state. Your face flushed an embarrassing shade of crimson when Niamh pushed you further into your cubby, moving one of her hands down to the inside of your thigh.

“You’ve got to use your words, yeah?” She muttered, maneuvering your arse so it aligned with her front. “I want to hear you on the field today, okay? Even if I'm on the other side. Understood?”

“Yes.” You muttered.

Niamh tutted. “Yes…?”

You felt all your composure start to fizzle down to your core. “Yes, Niamh.”

“Good.”

You were about to groan before Niamh pulled you upright, tightening her grip on your waist once more before leaving a chaste kiss on your forehead. You threw your head back and sighed, trying desperately to compose yourself before anyone questioned you.

You followed the team out onto the pitch, not realising that Niamh’s little stunt was to take your mind off the game. You moved through shaking everyone’s hands with ease, taking your position without a second glance towards anyone.

The whistle blew, and you were off.

Chelsea were determined to prove themselves after the poor efforts of the West Ham game. People were doubting the Blues after Sam’s injury and the girls all wanted everyone to know that they were serious contestants.

You were never predictable in the midfield, despite never really moving in and out of the middle very often. You found yourself creating as many chances as possible, crossing the ball into United’s half to the best of your ability.

The constant booing from United and cheers from Chelsea were a healthy, even mix, heightening the odds of the game as it progressed. You made as many breaks as you could before you felt the air in your lungs deflate when your body hit the floor.

You were slightly winded from the tackle, needing a moment to gather yourself before making the effort to get back up. Katie Zelem was the one stalking away from you, holding in a smug grin when some of the Chelsea girls threw their hands up in contention — your girlfriend included.

You shook the exchange off, hoping Zelem thought you weren't fazed by the late challenge. The crowd spurred the game into a further frenzy, coercing both sides to exacerbate their emotions.

You strained your neck from side to side, picking up the ball that had rolled away and getting ready for your free kick. Fortunately, the penalty was within United’s half, so naturally, Chelsea banked up near the goal, waiting as you began to run. You watched as the ball was sent over the top of most of the players in the direction of Lauren near the goalpost. With a flick of her head, the girl sent the ball hurling past Mary Earps’ head, speeding over to you in celebration as the United fans were up in arms at the assist you just had.

The team surrounded the two of you, hugging each other before making the swift return back to your position. Millie and Guro made a show of patting your head. Lauren shook your shoulders while Erin jumped up and down. You searched the group for Niamh, but frowned when your girlfriend was on the other side of the field.

“What is she doing?” You asked to no one in particular, staring down Niamh as she spoke with the Ref and Zelem.

Erin shrugged, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Who cares? All you need to worry about is doing more of what you just did.”

You chuckled at the Scottish woman, using your hand to propel her away playfully. Both sides took their positions, ready to start over. United started with the ball, passing back to their defensive line before weaving it forward.

You weren't too pleased with the style of aggression that both teams were playing with, wishing that you’d walk away with a clean win and sheet. You knew from playing with most of the Manchester girls that they were taught to fight back with twice as much wrath if they were placed into a compromised position like this. Millie Turner was marking you non-stop, and Maya metres away from you at all times. You struggled to keep the ball by your feet without someone coming up behind you and snaking away quicker than it arrived. You were growing more and more irritated as the game progressed, causing you to make stupid mistakes and overthink.

Hayley Ladds sent a shot through Hannah’s hands leading into halftime. Lucia Garcia was holding onto your shirt, yanking it back in an effort to stop you from defending. You watched the Manchester girls crowd each other like your team had done at the start of the game.

You had half a mind to stomp over to the group and pull them apart, but as you looked around, you realised the rest of your team wanted to do the same. The continuous physicality of the Reds was not something you were used to. Chelsea had been dominating the league for the most part — this was not something you were expecting.

The halftime whistle blew, calling the game to a temporary halt as both teams made their way to the changing rooms.

You marched over to Hannah, patting her on the back before retrieving the ball. The girls watched you run back to the middle of the field, placing the ball in its starting position and running back. You could hear the fans screaming as your studs hit the concrete floor, yet you kept your head down to drown out your internal disappointment.

On the rare occasion that you did start, you tried your absolute hardest to keep the ball rolling. You were determined to show people that you weren't just a sub, that you were a valuable asset to the team that deserved to be a part of the starting eleven each week. Back home, you played almost every game during the World Cup with the Matildas. When Steph wasn’t Captain, it was either you or Caitlin. When Sam came back, people found out why Chelsea was lucky to have the two of you. You grew up playing alongside your Aussie teammates, so it was no wonder you moulded so well with them.

You just couldn't understand why you couldn't apply yourself here.

You were about to walk into the Changing Rooms when you heard someone call you out from behind. You turned, finding Katie Zelem walking towards you.

“Can't handle a tackle, can you?” She quipped, watching you remove your shin pads from under your socks. “Even Charles thinks so.”

“You're real cocky for fourth on the table.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “See you in the second half.”

Zelem stepped forward, scoffing. “Thats if you're not subbed off.”

You shrugged, sliding behind the door and slamming it in response. You knew Katie was saying it in the heat of the moment, but it irked you all the same. Off the pitch, you would apologise and probably trade shirts or something. Now, all you were thinking about was staying on that pitch.

The break went by fast, and you hadn't talked to anyone except for Zelem during that short time.

Guro asked if you were alright, but you shook her off. Niamh had caught onto your mood and figured it best to let you internalise what you were feeling.

Walking back onto the pitch with this newfound persistence meant for a different game. You came on wanting this win more than anyone. Despite the contrary belief of fans, people on the internet, Zelem and anyone else, you wanted to prove this to yourself.

The whistle blew, and you sprinted across towards as an attacking mid. You held out your hand when Guro got hold of the ball, darting down the wing near the edge of the field. Soon enough, the ball fell to your feet. You were expecting the cross to be quick in your feat past Toone and Garcia, moving diligently through their backline for the first time that game.

It seemed that both teams were surprised at your spur of movement. No one was used to seeing you near the goals, now all of a sudden you were on your way to scoring one. You heard Lauren beside you in the penalty box, calling for a pass, but you felt your knees give out when unknown studs hit the back of your shin. The decision of a penalty sending everyone to their feet in either disarray or ecstasy. Everyone expected you to cry out in pain when the whistle blew for contact, but you sprawled back onto your feet in a heartbeat, shoving Katie’s shoulder with so much force it nearly sent her toppling backward.

“What's wrong?” Zelem asked, swiping her shirt in order to rid the mud that had tracked her jersey. “Why the grumpy face?”

“You’re an absolute ride-off, you know that?” You spoke, keeping your eyes focused on her.

“I'm not the one always falling—”

“Oh, fuck off, Zelem!” You snapped, loud enough for the Ref to hear, as you sent another potent push towards the United Captain. A yellow was shown to both of you, leaving Katie to storm off and you to contest the card as soon as it was given.

You were about to give the woman a mouthful when someone came up behind you, grabbing the fabric of your jersey and pulling it into their waist.

You looked up to find Niamh making sure you didn't gain a red, moving you away from the scene with a knot between her eyebrows.

“Did you see her knock her over?” Niamh asked the ref, who was shaking her head at you. “She's been on her the entire game. It's been contacted, late challenges the entire time.”

The ref gave your skipper a warning look, enough for both of you to step away. “You’ve been given the penalty.” She simply put it, motioning for the shot to be taken.

You managed to leave Niamh’s grasp, leaning your hands on your hips as you waited for Guro, who was standing not far from you, to take the shot.

“What are you waiting for?” She called out. “You take it.”

It wasn't much of a shock considering you were the signified penalty taker for your National Team, but Guro’s decision still surprised you nonetheless. You found Niamh beside you still, looking at you up and down with a concealed smirk. You were undoubtedly dirty from the amount of time you spent on the floor, your hair slightly chaotic with strands falling from your face. Your cheeks were tinged a stingy red from the demand of the game, and beads of sweat framed your face.

Your appearance reminded Niamh too much of something else, causing her mind to reel at the thoughts of you lying beneath her. There was someone about you today that sent her into a frenzy. Between the two of you, it was usually Niamh who got herself in trouble with the Refs. You weren't ever the one to contest a card — even when you only had a handful — and instead you’d be the one pulling Niamh away from doing just that.

The reversed roles spurred something within the Captain as she watched her girlfriend line herself up to take the Penalty. You were searching the box for somewhere to slot it into, knowing Earps was ready to defend like her life depended on it.

The stadium went into an eerie silence as you heard the whistle mark your turn. You felt the wind propel you forward, using all your might to kick the ball as hard as you could. Watching anxiously, teething in slow motion, you felt your legs carry you across the pitch, cheering when the ball crashed against the back of the net.

Teammates were on your back instantly, hurling you to the floor, screaming amongst the fans. They shook you, congratulating you, the feeling like you had just scored your first-ever goal resurfacing. You clambered up to face the crowd, smiling as a wave of blue rose to their feet.

The game ended with Chelsea fans swarming the tunnel, fans reaching their hands down so they’d meet yours. The short circuit around the pitch was full of euphoria. Everyone was reeling at the game, and compliments were showering at the sight of your Player Of the Match award.

“Yeah, the Aussie!” Sam shouted, meeting you in the Changing Rooms with a bone-crushing hug. You laughed at the woman’s energy, letting her sway you back and forth before lifting the trophy up into the air.

Following Sam’s mischief, Millie’s arms snaked around your waist, lifting you up on the spot. “Look at you go, Missy! Making us proud today, aren't ‘ya?”

“Wasn't all me.” You mumbled, cheeks fragmented with a prominent blush as your teammates scoffed and ridiculed your modesty from around the room. To say they were proud was an understatement. Half of them had already posted for social media, Sam letting everyone know that you were a Matilda with a of you with your national flag wrapped across your shoulders and the Player of The Match Trophy, with the caption ‘a smashing Tillie’ on her story.

“I remember your first goal for Australia,” Sam said, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. You huffed, shoving her slightly.

“That was years ago, Kerr.”

Sam sighed, shaking her head. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Your shower was a nice treat for your teething muscles, your sweats and Niamh’s jumper keeping you warm as you packed your bag and waited for Niamh to finish her media duties.

Once you saw her leaving one of the reporter’s sides, you noticed the dark tinge behind her eyes when she met yours. The smirk that aligned her face on the pitch carried itself to now, making its way across her face as she trampled over to where you stood.

Wrapping her arms around your shoulders, shovelling your head into her chest, she groaned, breathing in the scent of your freshly washed as dried hair.

“Ready to go?” you asked, hoping your girlfriend was just as eager to get back to your shared apartment as you were.

“You did so well today, baby.”

You watched Niamh break away from your shared contact, looking at her jumper hugging the curves of your figure, making it known that she’d much rather see you without it instead.

“Want to show you how proud I am.”

She threaded her fingers across the hem of your jumper, tucking her hand underneath the waistband of your trackpants, and toying with the elastic. Your breath hitched at the cold that pricked your skin, hoping Niamh was too preoccupied with her antics to notice the ache between your thighs.

“Niamhy.” You whispered, looking down at the pavement, waiting for your girlfriend to unhook her lingering hands.

“What do you want me to do, Baby? Want me to show everyone here how good you are?”

“Niamh, I—”

“Good girls get rewards, y’know?” Niamh pulled you closer, her hand moving out of your pants and over your arse, giving it a small squeeze before using her arms to lead you towards the car. “Bet you’d enjoy me fucking you for everyone to see. Show everyone who’s slut you are.”

You couldn't reply. If you did, it wouldn't be coherent. You were silent the whole way home, save for the sacred whimper that fell from your lips when Niamh’s hand squeezed your thigh, the distance of her fingers growing closer to where you needed her in each growing second. You could feel the radiation of desire emitting through the car all the way home. You were itching to feel some kind of relief, especially after the stunt your girlfriend had pulled before the game.

You forgot all about Niamh’s actions throughout the game, only remembering it when the waves of arousal moved down to your core. All you could think about was the way Niamh’s fingers ghosted your clit, teasing you with soft patterns across your legs.

When you arrived home, both of you pretty much bolted inside, dropping your bags onto the floor, only just making it to the bed when your lips met hers in an endeavoured embrace.

You let a moan leave your lips when Niamh pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top of you to swallow your unseemly noises with her tongue. The air in the room was thick as you lifted your hips, attempting to grind against her hips for some well-needed friction.

“So desperate, aren't we?” Niamh tutted, holding herself up with her arms to watch your neediness from afar. She licked her lips at the sight of you writhing beneath her. Your thighs clenched together, rubbing together in despairing need. Much to your dismay, Niamh pulled your knees apart, holding them to the bed with her own legs and a potent smile.

“Niamhy, please.” You whined, the lack of touch sending you into a new dimension of misery. Niamh crained her lips to meet your neck, finding solace in your moans when her lips found your sweet spot. She sucked and licked, rolling her tongue around the growing hickey. She held your legs open, leaving no room for friction. Your head faced the ceiling, your eyes clasped shut as you sighed at the hot marks left all over your neck. With your arms, you threaded Niamh’s hair through your hands, pushing her head deeper into your neck, bringing it down near your breasts.

“Good girls use their words, don't they?” Your girlfriend asked, peeling away from your body, leaving a cold absence behind.

You audibly moaned at the loss of contact. “I've already been a good girl. Been so good, and you said I’d get a reward.”

“Been so good for me, haven't you Babygirl?” Niamh smirked, her lips shadowing your ear, teeth nibbling the skin. “Such a good girl for scoring, aren't you? But maybe I should've bent you over during the game. Show everyone what you deserve. To have you bent over and wet for me.”

“Yes, so wet for you.” You replied, squirming as you felt your core drip with arousal. “Just want you so bad, Niamh.”

“Bet you do.” You felt one of her fingers inch up your jumper, letting the cool air nip your skin. You arched your back, feeling a wave of pleasure overcome you when Niamh’s hand met your breast. “Always wanting me to fuck you senseless like you're mine.”

She fondled it slowly, flicking your nipple in between her fingers, watching your eyes roll back when she pushed down on your cleavage. “Such a good slut for me though. So ready for me always. Are you ready for me now?”

Your head seeped into the pillow, the feeling of your breasts being attended to sending you into ecstasy. “Oh— yes, Niamh. Please, so ready for you. Want you inside me so bad.”

“Let me take this off first,” Niamh muttered, stripping off your jumper hastily, groaning at the sight of your chest on full display. You moaned and wiggled at the air hitting your nipples, making them harden for Niamh’s sole exhibition. Without hesitation, she took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking harshly, nibbling slightly, leaving dark, heavy marks across both your breasts. Her hands groped both of them, moving them to her liking and rubbing them back and forth at varying paces. You writhed beneath her, your cheeks aflame at the sight of the marks littering your chest.

“Marking me up so good, baby.” You sighed, hoping the praise would speed up the process. “Wanna be your good girl so bad, Niamh.”

“So perfect for me.” She mumbled, her speech impaired as she was too busy marking you to lean up. “Taking me so well, aren't you? Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up? Make you so full of cum?”

Your instant agreeance made the girl chuckle. “Want you to fill me up. Wanna make my captain proud, Niamhy. Want you so bad.”

When hearing those words fall from your mouth, Niamh couldn't help but moan. She didn't know you had been turned on by her captaincy. If she had known prior, she would've brought the fucking armband home with her. She wouldn't fucked you multiple times with the band stuffed in your mouth, around her arm, or anywhere that remotely turned you on. She would've been lying if she hadn't found your unknown kink arousing, for the thriving want of tasting you grew as your sweet nothings filled the air.

Niamh pulled her head down, kissing down your abdomen and torso, looking back once more at the mess she had made over your chest before kneading your hips for some sense of relief.

“You've made me so proud, Baby.” She found the waistband of your pants once more, this time, taking her time to find the strength to pull them down. “But rewards can vary, remember? Sometimes, good girls get to choose what they want when they've made their captain proud.”

“Just want you, Niamh.” You whined, crying out when you lifted your hips for what felt like the hundredth time, only to meet nothing.

Your girlfriend hummed, inching down your pants, hoping you’d make your decision more sufficiently than that. “I'm afraid you're gonna have to be more specific than that, my love. Good girls who get to choose their rewards have to use their words.”

When you didn't immediately reply, Niamh shook her head, looking towards the draw that sat by your bedside table. “I thought you said you were my good girl?”

“I am! Just want you, though.”

Niamh knew when you got like this, you just wanted to be told what to do. You were always the quieter one in every situation, introverted and kept to your own. In many ways, Niamh liked that about you. Your outgoing person today against United was something she could get used to. But she wanted to make you feel more comfortable in speaking your truth. She wanted you to know that your decision was valued among discussions. She was not sure how to implement this into everyday life just yet, but she found that during sex, even if Niamh was dominating the exchange — which nine times out of ten she was — she wanted you to have autonomy over what you did.

This was just one example among many, and when you didn't comply, she’d have different methods to get you speaking.

She waited an extra moment just in case you changed your mind before leaning towards the table and searching for something in particular.

You were so subbed out that you didn't even notice the noise until you felt Niamh pull you upright, pulling you up to stand in front of the bed while she peeled off her top, leaving her in a sports bra and training shorts.

When you noticed what she held in her hands, you groaned. “Niamhy—”

“Shut up and listen.” She ordered, her firmness overpowering the contrasted softness she once held before. You straightened up, rubbing your legs together and moaning at the basic sense of relief that flooded down to your clit.

“Take off your pants. Keep your underwear on.”

You made no argument in that, taking no time in chucking your pants in the opposite direction, leaving your tarnished, drenched underwear on show.

“Come here.” Niamh stretched her legs out and beckoned you over. “Don't sit but hover.”

You did as you were told, not entirely wanting to act like a brat after you've just been promised a reward. Your legs ached from the game and from waiting for some kind of relief, shaking ever so slightly as you waited over Niamh’s leg for further instruction.

“Here’s what's going to happen,” You felt your cheeks darken at your girlfriend's firm tone, biting your lips and watching the woman play with the vibrator in her hand.“Since you expect me to do all the work and make all the decisions, you've landed yourself here.” You nodded intently, not exactly sure where this was heading. “You've got to realise that you need to tell me what you want to do sometimes, okay? It's not always about what I want to do. You've got to want it to. Do you understand?”

Even with the sternness of her tone, her underlying motives were precious. You nodded again, your legs growing even more sore as your thighs flexed at the stretch over Niamh.

“Yes, Niamh. I promise I do.”

Your girlfriend inevitably noticed your ache but chose to continue on her rant, knowing that you knew you weren't going to go to sleep tonight unsatisfied.

“You’ll get your reward after this,” With a flick of a switch, you heard the vibrator sound from beneath where you hovered. “You're going to get off on my thigh and the vibrator without my help. All I'm going to do is watch you.”

You let out a guttural moan when Niamh placed the toy against your thigh, looking at her with the utmost displeasure when she chose to put it there instead of your clit.

“You get to come,” Niamh grabbed both of your hips, squeezing them and making sure they were up and away from any friction. “But only when you to tell me two ways you want me to fuck you tonight.”

Your jaw slightly dropped at that. You were never the one to say anything incredibly vulgar, always alluding to what you wanted through noises and actions. Niamh always got slightly annoyed when you weren't confident in what you wanted, especially after your climax when she’d cuddle up beside you and rid of all the juices that leaked from your core. Niamh knew how to please you better than anyone else could, and she knew that you knew that. In fact, she took great pride in knowing that you trusted her to get you off without needing to tell her. But it was a long time coming. You knew that Niamh wanted you to speak your truth, not just in the bedroom but everywhere. You didn't want to stand out or say something not worthwhile. You were quite content with staying under the radar.

But despite this, Niamh waited for your approval of the idea, only turning up the vibrator and placing her hands behind her head when you spoke audible clearance.

You lowered yourself onto Niamh’s thigh as soon as possible, reeling your head backwards when the vibrations made their way into your core. Your girlfriend groaned st the sight of you rubbing your heat against her, finding it difficult not to grab you and fuck you right then and there. She watched you roll your hips back and forth, letting you use the headboard for you to balance yourself with extra support. It took you a while to find a rhythm, only consistent in your movements when some of the fabric of your underwear rubbed up against your clit, making you moan out at the contact of your swollen nub. Niamh saw the vibrator appear in and out of your humps, finding herself staring at the gleaming patch of arousal coating her thigh. The toy buzzes against your thigh, aiding you in your endeavours to get off.

The flustered state and external shyness in what you were meant to say daunted you as you felt your climax approaching.

You refused to look at Niamh in hopes that she would forget about her orders and watch you cum all over her instead.

The fabric against your clit rubbed itself back and forth diligently to the extent that the combination of the vibrator, and the slick made your breathing uneven and the coil in your stomach build to higher distances. You felt your tits move as you kneaded one and pitched the other nipple, closing your eyes and imagining Niamh.

You let out a pornographic moan, euphoria almost washing over you when your core clenched around nothing and started to release. You were about to finally feel a sense of relief when hands found your hips, lifting you away from any friction whatsoever as the vibrator was switched off.

“I can do this all night, y’know.” You heard her say, scoffing when you pouted. “I know how to get off on my own. I've got the videos of you cumming all over my face to prove it.”

“I was so close.”

“You could be so close every single time,” Niamh took the vibrator away, wiping the creamy liquid that coated the toy. “But if you do it again, I’ll edge you all night until you're overstimulated and forget everything except my name. You’ll be begging to cum and you won't even think about cumming for the next month.”

“Niamh, that’s—”

She cut you off with a sudden buzz directly on your clit. Your eyes widened at the vibrator next to your nub, moaning and crying out at the instant pleasure that fell over you. Your core was already sensitive to the teasing and edging, so your senses were heightened at the feeling. You knew Niamh wasn't bluffing, and you knew you wouldn't be able to get away with this.

She slipped off your underwear, letting the air reach your swollen clit.

“You're going to hump my thigh with this vibrator inside of you and tell me how you want me to fuck you.” She started. “Or, every night, I tie you up and make you watch me fuck myself to videos of you for the next month.”

She lowered you back onto her thigh, smirking when you whined at the vibrator pushing its tip inside of you. The toy wasn't able to fit wholly inside of you, only having to latch onto your clit and slightly inside your hole for it to work its magic. It made you crave for Niamh’s finger to fill you up and push your prior orgasms into you. You wanted her to fill you up with her strap and fuck you into ecstasy while you screamed out her name over and over again. You remembered many nights when Niamh would coat her strap with her own cum and fuck it into you. Her phone would be propped up somewhere, showcasing the juices forced up your hole. Niamh has a photo of you doing absolutely anything.

“Niamhy, want you— want you to—”

“Tell me, sweetheart, what do you want?”

When she was away for National Camps, and you couldn't Facetime due to the time difference, you sent her a video of you fingering yourself while whining about how much you missed her fingers.

“Want you to fill me— with your fingers-”

“Gonna make sure you're full of me, baby.”

She had a video of you getting yourself off with her watching. She had photos of you in all types of positions. She had an album of you screaming her name, calling her everything under the sun, cause she told you to and you always complied.

“Your mouth— your strap, Niamhy, want your dick inside me so bad.”

“Pound into until you're subbed out, am I?”

You remember watching a video of you riding her strap with her England Jersey on, bouncing up and down on the toy with your tits bobbing in front of the camera.

“Want to ride you like now. Eat me— eat me out, Niamhy, baby.”

“Fuck, baby, say my name.”

You knew that if you didn't comply, Niamh had plenty of things to keep her occupied.

The vibrator rolled inside of you, sending your back arching and heat throbbing. “Niamh, baby, I’m— fuck! I'm so close!”

Niamh was flushed, encaptured by the visual show of your tits and the way you bounced on her thigh so that the vibrator would dig its way into your core.

“Come for me, baby.” She spoke, jolting her knee so that the pressure in between your thighs would double.

You screamed, letting out the loudest of moans, as you felt your come coat the vibrator entirely, leaking all over Niamh’s thigh and yours.

“Such a good girl for me, aren't you gorgeous.” Niamh’s voice was raspy and hoarse. “Ride it out for me, baby. Yeah— just like that.” Her grip on your hips sent your orgasm out as she moved your hips back and forth until it was too much.

You moved to the side, collapsing so that your back was against the bed.

Niamh climbed on top of you, a devilish, content smirk lining her lips.

“We’re not done yet, love.”

You whined, but internally, you were excited for the night you were about to have.

_______________________

A/N — oh my god.

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