I kept meaning to do this, so here she is! I will likely reformat this list and change the aesthetics of it from time to time because I'm ungodly indecisive but wanted to get this out there for you all.
Request Status: OPEN!!!!!!!
For short works see: SlimThickFiclets
I am willing to consider writing for nearly any and all players regardless of national or club team! Just send a request/prompt and I'll see what I can do!
Strictly Unprofessional - part 1 (alexia putellas x reader)
Summary: You’ve just landed your dream job as a photographer at FC Barcelona Femení. The only problem? You hooked up with the captain five years ago and haven’t seen her since.
Part 1/?
———
Like anybody would be on the first day of a new job, you’re nervous.
It’s your first job as a full time photographer. You’ve only done freelance or part-time work before - mostly events, some portraits, and one brief stint as an assistant to a photographer who specialized in taking photos of pets - but you were also waitressing in the evenings to earn enough to pay your bills.
Today you start as a photographer for the Barcelona women’s football team. You heard about the vacancy from a friend of a friend and applied, and finally all the hard work at media school and years of worrying when your next job would come in is worth it because they offered you the position.
There’s another reason you’re nervous. You actually met one of the players before, a random encounter with none other than the Barcelona captain Alexia Putellas while in Ibiza five years ago. Not that you knew who she was at the time. You met her at a beach party and though she told you she was a footballer, you were much more interested in letting her buy you drinks and going back to her hotel room later in the night. It was only later, when you returned home to Barcelona, that you took the time to look her up and realized she was actually quite good.
Since then she’s become a global star. It’s a little weird seeing the face of somebody you once had a meaningless hookup with on a billboard or on the front of a magazine. Sometimes you wonder if she even remembers who you are.
Well, you guess you’ll find that out today.
You nearly didn’t apply for the job because of Alexia. You haven’t had many one night stands and you don’t really know what the etiquette is supposed to be when you bump into them years later, but you eventually decided that the job itself was too good to pass up because of a bit of potential awkwardness between you and one of the players.
It’s been five years. It’ll be fine.
You decide to dress smart-casual on your first day, wanting to impress without going overboard, wearing a nice cream coloured sweater which you tuck into the front of your nicest pair of jeans. You pack and repack your camera equipment what feels like a hundred times, checking that you haven’t forgotten anything important, until you couldn’t possibly be any more prepared.
You arrive at the Barcelona training facility where your new boss greets you and introduces you to the rest of your colleagues in the media department, then takes you on a tour of the facility. You meet a lot of other people along the way, including the coach Jonatan Giráldez, but none of the players. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
“So preseason actually starts tomorrow,” the head of media tells you, as she leads down a corridor lined with physio rooms and offices. “Most of the girls will be in tomorrow morning - we’ll want to get some shots of them all arriving for social media - and we should have a full team by Friday, but a couple of the more senior players are in the gym today. Let me introduce you.”
She pushes open a set of double doors at the end of the hallway and you follow her into a large air-conditioned room full of gym equipment. In the corner, two women are chatting while a third lifts weights.
You’re led over and introduced to them.
“This is Irene, Marta and Alexia.”
Your heart stops as you hear Alexia’s name. You give your name and shake hands with Irene and Marta, but your gaze remains on Alexia as she puts down the weights, wipes her face with a towel, then turns to face you.
“Hi,” she says, offering out her hand, which you tentatively shake. “I’m Alexia.”
Your eyes drift up from your joined hands to her face, which glistens with sweat from her recent workout, and your breath catches in your throat. She looks almost exactly as you remember, though slightly older, any softness that may have lingered from her youth gone and replaced by chiseled, more defined features. Her eyes are warm as she smiles at you but there’s not a single glimmer of recognition in them.
And that’s when you realise - she has absolutely no idea who you are.
It stings. You’ve spent the last few days worrying about this exact moment, worrying that one night five years ago could ruin your first day at your dream job, without even considering that it would actually hurt more if she didn’t recognise you.
“You’re the new photographer?” Alexia asks, finally dropping your hand.
“That’s right,” you nod, trying not to let it get you down.
“You’ve got an easy job with this one,” Marta jokes, gesturing to Alexia. “Alexia loves the cameras. She’s had lots of practice since she became a superstar.”
“Shut up, you make it sound like I’m a diva.” Alexia turns back to you, then says, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“You too,” you manage to agree, before you bid goodbye to all three players and make your way towards the door to resume the tour.
“You’ll get to know the players really well,” the head of media tells you, as you leave the gym. “Lots of big personalities but they’re all great. And despite what they said, Alexia is a complete professional. She’s a big name, of course, but there’s a reason she’s the captain.”
You try to remember the Alexia that you met in a beach club five years ago but the memories that were a bit hazy anyway are already being overwritten by the brief encounter you’ve just had. Maybe it’s for the best that Alexia doesn’t remember who you are, to save your own professionalism being called into question if it got out that you’d had a fling with her all those years ago. But you also can’t deny that every cell in your body feels as though it’s been charged with electricity since you saw her again.
———
Your second day is even more overwhelming than the first. As promised, the rest of the team arrive for their first day of pre-season and you get thrown right in at the deep end, capturing photos of the players arriving and greeting each other, then moving over to the pitches to get some action shots of the first training session of the new season.
One of the other photographers, a guy called Hugo who has been with the club for just over a year, guides you. He introduces you to many more of the players and points out a couple of the new signings so you can make sure you get plenty of photos of them on their first day.
“We don’t play favourites, obviously, but it’s always a good idea to get some good shots of Alexia,” Hugo advises you. “The fans love her, and the social media guys love us when we give them content that’s going to give them a lot of engagement.”
You take his advice on board as you seek out Alexia and direct your camera towards her, taking a few action shots of her in the middle of a tackling drill.
Once the players all head inside after training for a team meeting, you return to the media office and check out some of the pictures you’ve taken. You delete a few of the bad ones while saving the good ones to your hard drive, until you stop on a photo you took of Alexia.
It’s a photo taken between drills, one of Alexia standing with a ball tucked under her arm as she talks to Patri Guijarro, but both players are caught in the middle of a fit of laughter. It’s perfect in its candidness, an unfiltered moment between two friends and shows the Barcelona captain’s humanity in a way that you never get to see in any of the staged magazine photoshoots she does.
“Wow,” Hugo says, glancing over your shoulder at your computer screen. “Social media will love that.”
He beckons over the social media manager, who agrees and asks you to send the photo across, along with a few others.
When you see the photo on all the Barcelona social media channels later that day, you can’t help but feel proud that you’re already making your mark.
When Alexia reposts it on her personal Instagram, it means even more.
———
You’re just starting to find your feet when the real chaos starts.
“Photo day,” Hugo says, as if every day as a photographer isn’t exactly that, but you soon realise what he means. “Luckily for us it only happens on this scale once a year.”
Hugo talks you through the process. Between the two of you, today you’ll be capturing hundreds of posed pictures of every single one of the players in the new home and away kits. It’s almost like a military operation, two rooms set up with lights and green screens, a defined list of poses that each player needs to work through, multiple hair and makeup stations just down the hall.
You cast your eyes down the schedule for the day, split into ten minute slots with player names and which kit they’ll be wearing, and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed to see that both of Alexia’s slots are on Hugo’s list.
But then you’re thrown headfirst into the chaos, and by the time you’re thirty minutes in, you’re already starting to memorise the list of poses and feeling more comfortable.
It’s actually a great way to get to know the players individually. There’s time for a bit of smalltalk between poses or while you’re swapping out props, and you make the effort to remember names and get to know the girls a bit too. The better you know them, the better you’ll be able to capture them with a camera.
You’re slightly ahead of schedule by lunchtime and you’re just about to leave to go and grab some food from the campus cafeteria, when you hear a knock on the door and look up to see Alexia standing awkwardly in the doorway, dressed in the new home kit complete with socks and boots.
“They’re running a bit behind in the other room and said I should come here to make up some time,” she explains. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” you say, gesturing for Alexia to come in and take her place in front of the green screen.
You stay behind your camera, all of a sudden feeling a bit weird about being alone in a room with her, until you look up and realise that Alexia is struggling with her captain’s armband, the red and yellow striped band caught awkwardly on the sleeve of her jersey.
“Here, let me help,” you say, stepping out from behind the camera and crossing over to Alexia.
Between the two of you, you manage to sort it out, straightening out the sleeve of the jersey and tucking it neatly so that the armband is on clear display around her bicep. You spot a glimpse of a tattoo on her inner arm and your fingers brush against the warm skin of her arm as you adjust the armband and step back.
“Perfect,” you say, as you return to your spot behind the camera. “Okay, first pose is square to the camera, arms behind your back.”
———
You get through the photos in record time with Alexia, who must have done this a million times before because she already seems to know the exact sequence of poses you expect from her. She also shows her professionalism by being the only player you’ve photographed so far today who doesn’t complain at the awkwardness of having to pretend to scream and celebrate into a camera lens.
Once the shoot is done, Alexia comes to stand at your shoulder as you scroll through some of the photos you’ve taken on the laptop wired up to the camera.
“I like that one,” she says, pointing at the screen when you hit a photo of her kissing the Barcelona badge on the front of her jersey.
“You should get copies of them all in the next couple of weeks,” you tell her.
“This might sound weird because you’re new, but have we done a shoot together before?” Alexia asks. “For a magazine, or something?”
Time seems to stand still. Your throat goes dry, the hairs on your arms stand to attention. Alexia must recognise you after all, even if she doesn’t remember where from. It’s now or never, if you’re going to remind her of what happened all those years ago in Ibiza, now is your chance. But if she doesn’t remember, maybe it’s best not to tell her. A clean slate without any awkwardness.
“No, I don’t think so,” you answer, your heart practically in your throat.
“I thought you looked familiar, but never mind,” she says, before she makes her way to leave. “Thanks again for squeezing me in. I’ll see you around.”
As she disappears around the corner and out of sight, you can’t help but wonder if you just made the wrong choice by not telling her.
International windows had been particularly tiring this year.
You blamed the travel mostly, dismissing comments about your mood and blaming it on the time differences and “this damn American air”.
But you knew what it truly was.
While getting to play for your country was always an honor, it hurt your heart to think how much your partner would kill to do the same.
“Would it kill you to smile? Just once?” Trinity poked, jabbing a finger playfully into your cheek as you scowled down at your breakfast.
Lifting your eyes, you couldn’t help the mischievous spark that ignited within you when you looked at the team’s wonder kid.
“Well it might not kill me, but you on the other hand…” You whispered in a low voice, leaning closer to her as her eyes widened and she fumbled backwards.
“Y/N, leave the kid alone.” Sonnett snipped, smacking you lightly on the back of the head as walked past your table to her seat beside Hatch who was struggling to hold in a laugh.
“What are you, her mother?” Rubbing the back of your head, you sent the defender a glare.
While you had only been joking, Sonnett seemed to consider your comment seriously before shrugging as she settled down to eat her fruit.
“Well someone has to be. And it obviously can’t be you now that you’ve been whisked away by your beloved to Barcelona.” She countered innocently, popping a grape into her mouth as you nearly choked on your oatmeal.
“My what?!?!?” Sputtering in surprise you looked at her with wide eyes as a familiar cocky grin crossed her features.
“Your phone is ringing.” Sonnett simply stated.
Before you could even turn to grab your phone off the table where you had unknowingly left it face up, Sanchez was snatching it up.
“Estimada?!?” The young midfielder exclaimed as she read the contact name off your phone screen.
But you knew it wasn’t the name that would interest her for long.
Not once she saw the picture behind it.
It wasn’t something you had thought twice about making her contact photo when you had taken it. It was beautiful, simple, and secret. A picture that certainly surmised your relationship.
You had taken it on a lazy Sunday, something the two of you had found many of since her injury last July. Having been lounging in your apartment all afternoon, Alexia had migrated to the floor in front of the couch to roll out her legs. However, her touchy nature wouldn’t let her go far from you whenever she could help so she’d ended up sitting leaned back between your legs.
It wasn’t a sight you were entirely unfamiliar with but the domesticity of that particular moment had warmed your heart. And of course you needed a memento of the moment so you’d snapped that picture quickly to immortalize it.
And immortalize it you had.
Because now many of your teammates had flocked to your phone and were peering desperately at the messy bun and exposed skin of the faceless woman.
Thankfully your former teammate came to your rescue as she plucked the phone out of an unsuspecting Sanchez’s hands.
“That’s enough.” Andi reprimanded as she placed the phone back in your hold.
You didn’t stick around to hear the young players' complaints.
Instead, you excused yourself as you answered the call.
“Bon dia estimada, et trobava a faltar.”
You could hear her chucking on the other end of the line, knowing full and well that if you were daring to string together a sentence like that then your nosey teammates were surely close by.
“Sof! Translate!” Pinoe shouted, waving the other woman over frantically as you laughed.
“Do I look like I speak Catalan?” Sofia scoffed as she took a long sip of her coffee while she gave her teammate a pointed look.
“She did that on purpose! Dammit!” Sanchez cursed as she withheld a laugh of your own.
“Hey baby, I’ve missed you too.” Alexia practically purred, making your heart warm.
“GUYS! SHE’S SMILING!” Frantically trying to draw the others attention, Trinity pointed at you as she jumped up and down in place.
But when they looked over, the team wasn’t greeted by your smile.
They were instead met with you holding your middle finger up at them as you walked out of the room to enjoy your phone call.
–
As much as you loved your national team teammates and winning trophies, you were overjoyed to be back into Barcelona's welcoming arms.
It was a bit later than expected when your flight in from Texas lands meaning that the girls were certainly already enjoying themselves at the gathering Alexia had planned in your absence. She had been insistent and you had been supportive, knowing what it meant to her to make sure that the other Spain players were kept busy during the break from league play.
What you hadn’t quite accounted for was that this meant that when you were coming home, beaten up and bruised from the weeks of competition, that you’d be greeted by a houseful of mildly intoxicated Spaniards to contend with.
“La Llama Blanca RETURNS!” Someone, you’re almost certain it’s María, as you let yourself in the front door.
“Wasn’t that locked?” Someone else, Sandra it seems from the shocked look on her face, questions at the same time.
You decided your goalkeeper was easier to contend with than the clearly intoxicated defender who hollered at you.
“Nope, you guys should probably be more careful about that.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging innocently as you set your bags down in the entryway.
They had absolutely locked the door but you hadn’t bothered to put on a show by knocking, instead simply using your key to let yourself in.
But to them, this apartment was Alexia’s.
Not yours.
So maybe they didn’t need to know that.
“Nice to have you back.” That voice you’d recognize anywhere greeted you.
Looking up, Alexia wore a smile on her face but it was the blue hoodie she wore alongside it that caught your attention the most. The older woman held open her arms in greeting and you quickly forgot about the stolen article of clothing as you stepped into her embrace.
“Nice to be back.” Sighing deeply, you melted into her, letting your head bury in the crook of her neck for a moment.
After a while you stepped back, smiling at her softly as she stared down at you. With familiar ease, you fell into the process you normally followed when you got home.
Shoes off, hair down, straight to the kitchen for your favorite mug and a cup of tea.
“Sure knows how to make herself at home!” Patri giggled and you realized then that maybe you should’ve been a bit more careful before letting yourself relax.
“I’m just properly preparing myself to greet the rest of you losers!” You jabbed back, sticking your tongue out childishly as you placed the kettle on.
“Missed us that much?” Marta teased, smiling at you with a level of knowingness that never failed to make you feel seen.
“Actually yes, yes I did.” You admitted as you made your way out of the kitchen and over to hug your captain who happily accepted the affection.
“Oh come on, you know you were having fun getting your trophy!” Mapi teased as she wiggled her eyebrows to draw a tired laugh from you.
“I have plenty of trophies, María! Besides, I didn’t even keep the medal.” Joking back, you made your way back to the kitchen to finish making your cuppa.
“Maybe if you ask nicely, Ale will let you take one of hers as a replacement! I mean she’s got enough to give the whole team at least one, don’t you Capitana?” Claudia teased, causing Alexia to blush warmly as she stepped into the kitchen in an effort to partially obscure her embarrassment.
“I do not.” She protested but earned a chorus of boos from the team.
“Come onnnnn, I bet you don’t even know what all of these are from!” Claudia doubled down, pointing at the trophies that lined the various shelfs of the apartment.
“I do too.” She pouted, and you barely restrained the urge to run over and hug her.
Instead you focused on pouring your water as the team decided to grill their captain on what trophy was from what.
“What about this one?” Patri pointed as you finally reentered the living room with your tea.
“Patricia. That is literally the Ballon d’Or.” Alexia deadpanned and the entire room burst into laughter.
“I knew that. I just didn’t know if you knew tha- wait. Is that an Olympic medal?” Patri interrupted herself, going from embarrassed to intrigued in a matter of seconds.
You, on the other hand, nearly dropped your cuppa. Your eyes widened, frantically flitting over to Alexia who also looked at least mildly alarmed through her carefully placed mask.
“IT IS!” The young midfielder explained as she reached out for it.
“Hey! Hands off!” Crossing the room, you gently smacked down Patri’s before she could reach your precious medal.
“Oh? Is that yours, Y/N?” A tone of intrigue interjected and you turned to see an incredibly interested Mariona staring you down.
“Does anyone else in this room have a gold medal? Or any Olympic medal for that matter?” You challenged, looking across the room of suddenly embarrassed professional athletes.
“No, we don’t. Which is why I’m sure everyone is curious as to how Alexia has one in her possession.” Sandra grinned, eyeing you carefully and you genuinely considered cutting all allegiances to the goalkeeper in that moment.
But, you were used to worst. You don’t win a GOLD medal at the age of 18 with the USWNT without having taken worse.
“Well that’s easy! Someone had to remind her that there’s some trophies she just won’t ever have.” You retorted sweetly.
The room stared with their jaws on the ground because no way did you just say that.
But you definitely did and you grinned successfully in getting them off your back.
Or so you thought.
“Oh? Interesting! Is that the same reason she’s wearing a USA sweatshirt? Or maybe it’s the reason your boot bag and ID lanyard are hanging up by the door where you dropped off your bags.” Marta smiled even sweeter as she took a swig of her beer and you realized you’d just been beat at your own game.
“Oh shit.” Alexia whispered, snapping you back to reality as you burned with both embarrassment and maybe a little bit of anger.
After six years, that is what unraveled it all?
Your gold medal and a stupid Team USA sweatshirt?
“Marta Torrejón Moya!” You growled, launching yourself over the back of the couch and knocking the other woman to the ground.
A surprised oof is all she let out before she laughed loudly and wrestled back, the two of you rolling across the apartment floor.
“Y/N!” Alexia reprimanded, crossing the room, effortlessly snatching you off the ground and away from Marta.
“Wait, so are you guys fucking?”
“María!” Nearly the entire team shouted at once as Mapi just shrugged innocently.
“What? I’m just asking what we’re all thinking.” She defended as Alexia rolled her eyes.
“Yes, we’re fucking. Is that all you wanted to know?” The midfielder stated bluntly as she looked at her longtime friend with what might very well be distaste.
“Ale!” You hissed, cheeks sufficiently flushed by this point.
“So when's the wedding lovebirds?” Patri teased as the whole room laughed and you looked over at Alexia for help but she just shrugged again.
“After the World Cup. Depends on how long her Victory Tour takes.”
And that sufficiently silenced the entire room.
“Wait, what?” Patri gasped and the whole room seemed to echo the sentiment.
Still mildly dumbstruck you nodded at Alexia who was looking at you for permission to explain further as it was the only answer you could provide.
You really weren’t expecting this to be how your night went.
“We’ve been dating for six years, well before she even came to Barcelona. We got engaged before the Euros which I had intended to win for her like she won the World Cup for me but I suppose the world had other plans. And I already told you when the wedding is and yes you’ll all be invited. Now, anymore questions?”
And the room burst into chatter. Everyone overlapping. A million words and your head felt like it was going to combust.
“ENOUGH!” You yelled, and everyone listened. The room went silent for you.
“Enough. This wasn’t meant to happen tonight so can I please propose we talk about my proposal later? Tonight I would really like to take my promesa to bed. It’s been a very long month.”
And they listened again.
Slowly the team stood up, still clearly processing the information they’d just been given, and gathered their things to go. They all came up individually, offering hugs and congratulations and little teases and promises to talk about it all later. And you felt the warmth of it all right in your heart.
But you did still feel a very sweet relief when the last of them had filed out of your doorway.
“I told you we should’ve put the medal in the bedroom.” You sighed, looked over at her in a mix of adoration and exhaustion.
“And you were right as always. But right now the only thing I want in our bedroom is you.” Alexia smiled softly, holding out her hand.
And just like every other time before, you took it and let her lead you away.
I hear you I hear you! Part 3 of the Sonnett fic will come whenever I find inspiration. The fic itself gets a little bit heavy and there's some necessary angst I haven't been able to bring myself to write.
IN THE MEANTIME, let's go find some ficlet prompts ;)
part 2 was so good i swear, a great fic to have woken up to🫶🏼 "However, your pride (and maybe your tiredness) outweighed your anxiety" this is an absolute mood too😂
Thanks! Yeahhhhh it's definitely a relatable sentiment for me and felt right so glad you enjoyed!
