#Arsenal

[enwoso]

Would do a quick oneshot of the arsenal girls hearing tiny call Leah 'Mama'

BELONGED | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

training had wrapped up early, the girls having a game to play tomorrow as the rest of the girls were scattered across the pitch. alessia was sat on the grass, you perched in her lap. letting you play with the hem of her training top as the rest of the squad chatted around them.

giving you a chance to get out any bundled energy you'd built up from just watching in the sidelines, it also making for an easier afternoon for alessia — you being less energetic.

leah was kneeling a few feet away, tying her laces as she half listening to beth and katie debate about which coffee shop had the best coffee this week. it was the usual post training routine, relaxed and familiar well until you unknowingly dropped jaw dropper of a line.

"mama, can you help me?" you asked holding you water bottle up to leah with your big blue expectant eyes, leah looking down with a smile as she nodded taking the bottle from you.

a brief silence followed.

leah totally unfazed by your words, it being the normal now, took the bottle and twisted the lid off with ease, "there you go angel."

but the rest of the team? they were staring. hard.

beth's jaw was practically on the floor, katie had stopped mid sip of her own bottle as her eyes flickered between you and leah like she had just witnessed the biggest plot twist of a movie in real time. kyra actually looking on offended that she hadn't been told this information sooner.

"hold on," vic was the first to speak, waving a hand dramatically towards leah as alessia stood not too far behind, "did she just—did she just call you mama?"

leah finally noticing the attention, feeling there long stares on her, looked up with a frown not really understanding the point of their shock, "uh.. yeah?"

alessia groaned quietly, already anticipating the incoming chaos along with the questions, the team knew about alessia and leah (thanks to you) but this never seemed to be a topic of conversation. "oh here we go."

"since when?" katie demanded, moving forward like she was about to conduct an interrogation of the biggest crime.

"she's been doing it for a few months now," alessia said, rubbing your back absentmindedly as you stared off into the distance watching the goalkeeper finish their session off, "just.. clearly none of you have noticed?"

beth spluttered, shock still hitting her in waves, "and you didn't think to tell us?"

alessia raised an eyebrow, "do you expect me to make a powerpoint for you guys every time my daughter does something cute?"

"yes, actually or even just a message in the groupchat would have done" kyra deadpanned, a few of the other humming in agreement.

meanwhile, leah was still cradling your bottle, looking between the girls and then back at alessia, "how have they not noticed?"

alessia just shrugged. "they're a bit slow."

katie gasped in offense. "excuse me?" as she continued to ramble on about her great reflexes, not that anyone was really paying attention to that as they were all still in shock about the whole, 'leah, mama' situation.

beth, her mind not really wrapping around the facts, "so she just casually calls you mama, and we've never noticed?"

you, now not distracted by the goalkeepers and instead thoroughly confused by all the fuss. blinking up at beth and answering her question matter of facts, "le is mama."

leah grinned, hearing it never got old in leah's mind, as she reached over to ruffle the top of your head, "that's right, angel."

katie shook her head in disbelief, "i can't believe this. leah's just winning at life. arsenal captain, england legend and now — confirmed favourite parent and loving family."

leah smirked. "i mean, i don't like to brag, but—" alessia groaned, nudging her in the leg. "oh my god, do not start this again."

this not being the first time leah's parent ego had gotten a little too big as she teased alessia on the fact she was now the favourite but deep down alessia knew she didn't need to compete in that as she'd always edge it in a different way.

the team groaned collectively, but there was no missing the warmth in the air. because, really, it didn't matter that they'd only just noticed. what mattered was that you had known all along.

[snowcoming]

excuse me but dick's siblings can not read him better than the original teen titans. his siblings might read his body language better (especially cass) but they won't recognize- can't recognize dick's expressions like donna, garth, wally and roy can.

there's no way. the fab five have known dick for an insanely long amount of time, and perhaps the only other person is barbara.

like i know you guys love your sibling relationships, but like seriously? the fab five have known each other for an insanely long amount of time there's no need to pretend that they wouldn't understand dick like he's part of their own soul. because they would. you don't go through so much with some people and not know each other like they're parts of you. because at that point, they are.

[psychemochanight]

No, he doesn't :D

More of Dick's friends being fed up with his flexibility <3

[cooneycrossed]

Giggling at this picture of alessia 😭

[gpcwsl]

Fic with alessia and reader has accident at work resulting in amnesia? Angsty but happy ending please?

Alessia Russo x Rival/Friend!Reader

Who are you?

WC: 1.9+

MasterList

Warnings: Injury & Unconsciousness, Memory Loss/Amnesia, Medical Trauma, Emotional Distress, Implied Concussion, Sports-Related Violence.

Song: Right where you left me - Taylor Swift

The North London Derby was never just another game—it was war. A battle where sweat and pride clashed under the floodlights, where tackles bit harder, and where history and rivalry tangled in every pass, every sprint, every breath.

You knew this better than anyone. Once draped in Arsenal red, now wearing the navy of their fiercest rivals, you could feel the weight of the past pressing against you. The Emirates Stadium was a familiar battlefield, but this time, you stood on enemy ground. The jeers from the crowd rang in your ears, a chorus of betrayal from fans who once cheered your name. But you didn’t care. Not today. Not in a game like this.

From the first whistle, the match was brutal. Every tackle had a little more bite, every duel was fought with teeth bared. The game was physical, scrappy, intense—just as a North London Derby should be.

Fifteen minutes in, disaster struck for Spurs. A miscommunication at the back, a deflection off your shin, and the ball rolled helplessly past your own goalkeeper. Own goal. Arsenal 1, Tottenham 0.

It was like a punch to the gut. You could feel the shift immediately—Tottenham lost their rhythm, their edge. Passes misplaced, tackles mistimed. Arsenal sensed blood in the water and pounced, adding a second before halftime.

The dressing room at the break was tense. Frustration filled the air like a storm cloud. But you still had forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes to turn it around.

Except Arsenal had other plans.

58 minutes. 4-0.

Tottenham were drowning, and Arsenal weren’t throwing a lifeline. They were pushing your heads under, suffocating you with every pass, every run, every goal. And now, another corner for Arsenal.

You knew what was coming. Alessia Russo—Arsenal’s talisman, their golden striker—was already moving into position. You marked her tightly, feeling the heat of the battle in every muscle, every breath. The ball came flying in, curling towards the penalty spot. Instinct took over. You both leapt.

Then—crack.

A collision of bone against bone, like thunder cracking through the sky.

For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, no feeling. Just black.

Then, pain. A deep, dull ache blooming in your skull. Except—except you couldn’t move. Couldn’t open your eyes. Couldn’t do anything at all.

The world around you kept moving. Play continued. Spurs cleared the ball, launching into an attack. The crowd roared, oblivious. But not her.

Alessia.

She stayed on her feet, palm pressed to her head, the sharp sting of impact still lingering. But something felt… wrong. Instinct tugged at her, pulling her gaze back toward you. And then—her stomach dropped.

Your body, motionless on the grass.

A dead weight.

A silence in the chaos.

Panic seized her chest. “Hey!” Her voice cut through the noise, urgent, desperate. She waved frantically, trying to get the referee’s attention. “Stop the game! She’s down—she’s not moving!”

No response.

“STOP THE GAME!”

She didn’t wait. She ran, dropping to her knees beside you. “Y/n?” No answer. “Hey, come on, open your eyes—someone help her!” Her hands hovered over you, unsure whether to shake you, to hold you, to do something—anything.

Finally, medics sprinted onto the pitch. Alessia barely moved, barely breathed as they checked for a pulse. The longest few seconds of her life.

Then, relief. A pulse. You were breathing. Just knocked out.

She exhaled, but her hands were still shaking. She’d seen injuries before—this was football, after all. But this was different. You were different.

And suddenly, football didn’t matter anymore. The score, the rivalry, the badge on your shirt—it all faded into nothing. Because right now, all Alessia Russo cared about was whether or not you were going to wake up.

The game continued, but Alessia didn’t.

Not really.

She was still on the pitch, still in the red of Arsenal, but her mind was elsewhere—stuck in the moment she saw you on the ground, stuck on the feeling of dread in her stomach. Every time she blinked, she saw you limp, still, unresponsive. The world carried on around her, but all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding like a war drum against her ribs.

She barely noticed Rénne Slegers calling her name from the touchline. It was only when the substitution board went up that reality kicked back in.

She was being taken off.

For a second, she wanted to fight it. She never wanted to be subbed off, not in a game like this. But one look at her manager’s face, and she knew there was no point arguing. Rénne had seen what Alessia already knew—she wasn’t in this game anymore.

The moment her feet hit the sideline, she didn’t waste a second.

She ran.

Through the tunnel, down the winding halls of the stadium, her boots clattering against the floor. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but none of it mattered. Not when you were in there, somewhere, waiting for her.

When she finally reached the medical room, she stopped dead in the doorway.

You were awake.

Relief crashed over her like a tidal wave, her breath hitching in her throat. But that relief was short-lived.

The atmosphere in the room was heavy, suffocating. The medics stood around you with tight mouths and cautious eyes. Alessia knew that look. Something was wrong.

Then, one of them turned to her.

“She doesn’t remember what happened,” they said carefully. Then, more hesitantly— “She doesn’t remember anything.”

Alessia froze.

Her stomach twisted, a sickening, sinking feeling creeping into her bones. Slowly, her eyes drifted to you.

You were staring at her. Brows furrowed, face scrunched in confusion, studying her like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

You didn’t know her.

Alessia felt the air leave her lungs.

You didn’t know her.

Not the years spent side by side at Arsenal. Not the countless hours on the training pitch, the endless late-night talks, the stupid inside jokes no one else understood. Not the moments where you felt like home to her, where she felt like home to you.

Not her.

She took a slow, unsteady step forward, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/n?”

Nothing. No recognition, no flicker of familiarity. Just silence.

Alessia swallowed hard, forcing herself to smile, even as her heart cracked wide open.

“It’s me,” she said, voice trembling. “It’s Less.”

“Who are you?”

Three words.

Three tiny, simple words.

Yet they slammed into Alessia with the force of a freight train, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her throat tightened, a sharp sting burning behind her eyes. She barely registered the medic team pulling her back, barely felt their hands guiding her away as they turned their full attention to you, running tests, asking questions.

But Alessia wasn’t listening.

She was stuck in a loop, replaying those three words over and over in her head.

“Who are you?”

How was she supposed to answer that?

She was your ex teammate. Now your rival. Your friend.

She was the one who used to wake up at the crack of dawn just to drive you to training when your car broke down. The one who sat beside you in the Arsenal dressing room, who celebrated goals with you like they were the only things that mattered. The one who held you after losses, after injuries, after bad days when the world felt like too much.

She was—God, she didn’t even know what she was to you anymore.

Because right now? Right now, she was a stranger.

Alessia didn’t realize she was shaking until a medic touched her shoulder, snapping her out of her daze.

“We need you to wait outside.”

“No, but—” She tried to step forward, tried to see you, to make you remember, but the medic was firm.

“Please. Just give us a moment.”

Alessia hesitated, looking at you one last time, hoping—praying—for a flicker of recognition.

But there was nothing. Just that same confused expression.

And so, with a heavy heart, she stepped back, letting the door shut between you.

A few minutes passed, but they felt like hours.

Alessia sat just outside the medical room, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. The noise of the stadium felt distant, like she was underwater, drowning in the weight of everything that had just happened.

Then—roar.

The crowd erupted. The game was over.

She didn’t care.

Arsenal had probably won by an even bigger margin, but what did it matter? None of it mattered. Not when you were in that room, staring at her like she was just another face in the crowd.

Then came footsteps.

Heavy, hurried, a mix of voices growing closer. She looked up to see a group of players rounding the corner—some in red, some in navy. Arsenal and Spurs. Rivals on the pitch, but right now, just teammates. Just friends.

Lotte Wubben-Moy. Beth Mead. Caitlin Foord.

A couple of Spurs players too—players you were close to. Ashley Neville, Eveliina Summanen. Maybe more, but Alessia barely registered them.

“Less?” Beth’s voice was soft, careful. “What’s going on? Is she—”

Alessia shook her head, rubbing a hand over her face, trying to find the words. But how was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to tell them?

She swallowed hard. “She doesn’t remember anything.”

Silence.

Then—sharp inhales, quiet curses, worried glances exchanged between them all.

Beth looked like she wanted to cry. Lotte clenched her jaw, brows furrowed in concern. The Spurs players exchanged worried glances, Eveliina whispering something to Ash, who just shook her head in disbelief.

“No,” Caitlin murmured. “No way.”

“I—I tried,” Alessia said, voice cracking. “I spoke to her, and she just—she looked at me like I was a stranger.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

Beth reached out, squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”

But Alessia wasn’t sure how. Or if.

They then went into the room. Waiting for anything. Sitting down, pacing.

Alessia had barely moved since she sat down.

She couldn’t.

Not when every time she closed her eyes, she saw you—blank, confused, looking at her like she was no one.

Caitlin, Katie, and Haley sat nearby, all equally restless. The room was silent except for the occasional rustle of movement, the quiet tapping of Katie’s foot against the floor. None of them had spoken much, but they all knew why they were here.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Then—a shift.

A small sound from the bed. A stir of movement.

Alessia’s head snapped up just in time to see your eyes flutter open, blinking against the hospital lighting. Her heart pounded, breath caught in her throat as you slowly turned your head.

And then—

“Less?”

Alessia swore the world stopped turning.

For a second, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. She just stared at you, wide-eyed, not sure if she’d imagined it, if her mind was playing cruel tricks on her.

But then you frowned slightly, eyes still groggy but locked onto hers, like some part of you still knew.

That was all it took.

A shaky exhale left Alessia’s lips, and suddenly she was on her feet, stepping forward like she needed to be closer, like she needed to make sure this was real.

“You—you remember me?” Her voice barely made it past a whisper, scared to break whatever fragile moment this was.

You blinked again, confusion still evident, but you nodded. “Yeah… why wouldn’t I?”

Caitlin, Katie, and Haley all exchanged quick glances, but Alessia didn’t look away from you.

Because for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you knew her.

And that was enough.

[crazymentalitypeace]

This is canon, I'm a dc writer secretly.

Dick, Donna, Wally, and Roy arguing over the TV remote

Wally: You already had the remote for an hour, Donna! It's my turn!

Roy: Yeah! Mine and Wally's! You and Dick have been watching that Housewives of Gotham show forever now - hand it over!

Donna: *dodging* Excuse me, it's our turn to continue watching because we missed last week's episode since you and Garth wanted to watch Knock Out! We're making up for the missing time.

Wally: Don't include me in this, I wan't even here! So technically, I should have the remote.

Dick: Or what?

Roy: Or we'll see just how much you and Donna like the sounds of our homemade Knock Out at 3 in the morning!

Wally: The Rem-

Dick: HOLD IT! Fine. We have a better offer.

Roy: What?

Dick and Donna: *exchanging long glances before looking back at the two*

Dick: We had a feeling you would say this, so.

Donna: In exchange for letting us have the remote for this week AND next week-

Roy and Wally: *Scoffing* yeah, right.

Donna: -Dick and I will kiss.

Roy and Wally: *Dumbfounded silence*

Wally: Wait, what?

Dick: *straight face* Donna and I will kiss for one minute.

Roy: ...how long?

Donna: One. Full. Minute.

-One hour later, Dick and Donna are watching the TV and Roy and Wally are in Roy's bedroom, sitting on the bed and staring blankly at the wall-

Roy: Totally worth it.

Wally: *dazed* Oh yeah.

Roy:

Wally:

Roy: ...Fish boy's gonna be really jealous he missed it

Wally: *grinning* You're awful

Roy: Hell yeah. I'm going to text him right now.

Wally: I want live updates!

[sillysealll]

"You will find moonlight nights strangely empty because when you call my name through them, there will be no answer."

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/62031310)

[nikidontsurf]

Riccardo Calafiori

[tracksuitlesbian]

[vicstenius]

HALE END!

[wosospacegirl]

Laia codina the woman you are

[gilverrwrites]

hi, it's the anon that ask about 'calm down baby girl' question. i don't know how to expand on this😅 maybe you would rant about something: tv shows/restaurant service/etc, and the character would say that sentence in amusement/calm tone to you. hope this helps🥹

I guess anybody could say it, but not every could pull it off. To me, 'babygirl' can swing back and fourth between melt worthy and uncomfortable like a pendulum.

Dick Grayson is one of the few men who can use babygirl in any context and get away with it. Although I do think he’s gets a kick out of seeing you all wound up and emotional. He’s only trying to bring you back down if he senses genuine emotional distress.

See also: Oliver Queen, Floyd Lawton, Oliver Queen

Wally West uses the term often, but it doesn’t sit right on his tongue until you’re in too deep. Like, the first time you give him a gentle side eye to express that that wasn’t it. Over time it becomes kind of endearing, in the sense that you’ve come to expect it from him for better or worse. Until eventually the simple gesture of him stroking your back and saying “Calm down, babygirl” has you doing exactly that in an instant.

See also: Digger Harkness

Hal Jordan is somewhere between Wally and Dick. He says it, and in your brain, it just doesn’t feel right, but your tummy is full of butterfly. You might not admit it straight away, to yourself, and especially not to him, but him saying to really works for you.

See also: Black Manta, Harvey Dent

It slips out of Roy Harper, off handedly, in an unintentionally authoritative tone. Like a father warning a child, and if you’re not into being spoken to like that, I’m sure it would piss you off, but if there’s even an inkling of you that likes it when he takes charge, it’s sure to make you melt, and leaving him wondering how you flipped moods so quickly. Wondering, but certainly not complaining.

See also: Leonard Snart, Dinah Lance

Whereas Roman Sionis will use the exact same inflection, and he’ll do it with his whole chest. It’s not really a comfort, or a warning, it’s an order. Even when he is being soft, cooing it in your ear, pulling out the baby voice, there’s always a level of dominance laced in there.

See also: Selina Kyle,

Kon says it but it’s always been a joke, and if he ever tells you to “calm down, babygirl” it’s usually intended to shock you out of whatever mental state you’re stuck in. Kon notices how it warps before you do, how you go from responding with wides eyes and a laugh, to a bitten lip and warm cheeks.

See also: Jason Todd

Guy Gardner uses it, in a tone so complacent that you might want to slap the voice box right out of him. But he says it alongside a vast array of pet names and other terms of endearment, that eventually it becomes one of the tamer ones. One that actually makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy as opposed to staring at him, perplexed or annoyed, wondering where and how he gets off using whatever the hell he came up with most recently.

See also: Axel Walker

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[confusedhummingbird]

DETECTIVE COMICS COMICS!

YOU GET OVER HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!

[emberettee]

Richy teases Ben during the warm-up before kick-off | Arsenal - Chelsea (H), 17.03.2025