#wait is this what leah is like

[nami-moittli]

I think you like Leah

…A little

[eosomit]

Bizarre skirts

[itsthegirlinthebowtie]

just woke up and processed the fact that today is the day we see the rest of that ahsoka and anakin scene and now i’m having heart palpitations

[5sospenguinqueen]

Surprise! | Charles Leclerc x Haas! Reader

Summary: Surprise! Charles got married without any of the Grid knowing. Surely his new wife can’t be the one driver who practically ignores his existence. 

Warnings: fluff, an inability to fully understand black cat energy 

Requested: yes by anon. apologies but it wouldn’t let me view the pins so i hope this matches your vision

Faceclaim: Leah Halton, and some random pinterest pics

F1 Masterlist

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its_yn just posted

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its_yn belgium 2024

8,558 comments

charles_leclerc lovely necklace

→ its_yn thanks. 

→ user1 he tries to hard but she makes it clear that she does not like him

→ user2 can you blame her if that’s what he counts as flirting liked by arthur_leclerc 

user3 caption really gives us the bare minimum of her media contract

user4 love how we get the basics from her. like yes, honey, give us nothing

kevinmagnussen i play a mean harmonica

→ its_yn sure

→ alex_albon she told me her ears were bleeding

→ kevinmagnussen i’d say she hurt my feelings but what else is new?

→ user5 can’t even be nice to her teammate 

haasf1team our two favourite people

user6 she gives off such black cat energy 

user7 people think she’s rude but she’s actually really shy with a dry sense of humour

→ user8 this! when you meet her, she’s so lovely but she goes really red

user9 we stan a low energy girly 

charles_leclerc just posted

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charles_leclerc spa day before the summer break

9,660 comments

user10 not charles posting a pic of him puling the same pose he hit when yn ignored him at the driver’s parade

→ user11 we love a self aware king

→ user12 no because the ducked head and the hair fiddle is literally what he did when she turned her back on him

user13 the things i would do to be y/n. i don’t know how she can resist 

→ user14 it’s almost funny because he tries so hard to flirt with her and she just doesn’t respond

user15 i’m not being delusional but i don’t think y/n was ignoring him. i think he made her shy

→ user16 i support you 100% because he grinned at her, she immediately turned and it looked like she was trying not to smile liked by charles_leclerc

→ user17 charles is just as delulu as we are 

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liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and others

its_yn summer break

6,099 comments

landonorris a smile would be nice

→ its_yn nothing in my life to smile about

→ charles_leclerc could i change that?

user1 i love that charles always comments on her posts and she barely ever responds

→ user2 she never even likes his posts, aside from the monaco one 

→ user3 the only one that matters 

arthur_leclerc he’s too busy freaking out about the flower being red; his symbolic colour

→ scuderiaferrari yes, drag his ass

→ haasf1team we also have red fyi

→ scuderiaferrari don’t make this about you 

user4 max and y/n are literally the definition of giving only what their contract demands

user5 guys, she’s on a yacht. who is well known for their yacht? charles leclerc 

→ user6 they’re millionaires. they probably all have one

→ user7 she said in a recent interview that she didn’t

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by its_yn, maxverstappen1 and others 

charles_leclerc my summer break was one to remember 

16,334 comments

user8 why has he used y/n’s filter on these pictures?

→ user9 coincidence, i think not

→ user10 she doesn’t own the filter

→ user9 yes she does

user11 wait, y/n liked this? this is only the second post of his that she’s ever liked 

→ user12 this feels significant and i can’t quite tell why

carlossainz55 what is this? you did not tell me about this?

→ carlossainz55 charles, hello?

alex_albon so our sim racing together meant nothing to you??

georgerussell63 we milk goats together and you don’t tell me you’re engaged

→ charles_leclerc *married

→ landonorris and you were the goats !

pierregasly i get not telling the others but to not even tell me??

→ charles_leclerc you gossip!

→ pierregasly with you! 

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its_yn you 🖤

10,144 comments

user1 pardon?

user2 so we don’t even know the basic info about this lady but we now know she has a partner?

→ user3 must be serious if she’s willing to share it with us

user4 can’t even make a joke about charles leclerc crying in his room because he’s married??

user5 i genuinely deluded myself in thinking charles and y/n would end up together but now he’s eloped and she’s soft launching some rando

user6 i want to live in the multiverse where charles and y/n are together

user7 but charles and y/n were meant to become the manifestation of the sunshine/grumpy trope

user8 it's the fact that arthur isn't even commenting/teasing charles

→ user9 we've truly lost what could've been

user10 is that an engagement ring??

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charles_leclerc what’s better than one leclerc? two! now that the season is done, we can go on our honeymoon baby

18,147 comments

its_yn ❤️❤️

→ user11 oh so she is just like that

→ user12 had us convinced she didn’t like our boy but she was so in love with him that she couldn't speak to him in public without blushing 

→ user13 she used his colour for the hearts instead of hers! 

→ user14 she’s so down bad 

landonorris omg we have an actual smile from y/n? the world must be ending 

→ its_yn shut up. let me be happy 

→ kevinmagnussen didn’t know you knew how to be

→ its_yn this is why you weren’t invited 

lilymhe lost my girl to a man who goes vroom

→ alex_albon excuse me?

→ charles_leclerc excuse me?

→ its_yn @/lilymhe 💋

scuderiaferrari can we hire your wife to make us more of those jackets?

→ haasf1team she’s already hired as our driver??

→ sucderiaferrari i think we’ve already proven that we get access to all leclerc’s. we’ll build her a seat or something

user15 everyone say thank you charles because he’s actually giving us loads of content of our girl, who usually gives us nothing

→ user16 and he’s making her more sociable, look how many times she’s commented on this post alone 

pierregasly i wish i was surprised but i knew i caught you kissing months ago! i just didn’t think she would marry you

→ charles_leclerc you have hurt my feelings 

→ its_yn @/pierregasly count your days

→ pierregasly i miss when you didn’t talk 

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Requests open but slow

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx @teamnovalak

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

Things change soooo quickly

[science-hoes]

Daylight: Month Four

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PittFest, Robby opens up about his family history (mention of camps), a really emotional chapter tbh but it’s a bit shorter than the rest

Chapters: Month One, Month Two, Month Three, Month Four

Description: Robby and the reader have someone important reveal their baby’s gender, and Robby finds an old family heirloom as their baby’s first gift.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

Robby’s knee bounced with anxiety, eyes focused on the door of the cafe. He hadn’t even touched his coffee, arms crossed over his chest. You, on the other hand, were contently munching on some kind of pastry that you couldn’t pronounce, but maybe that’s why it tasted so good.

“Need your nicotine gum?” You muffled through bites of your treat.

Your fiance pulled his lips to the side, revealing the gum he was already chewing between his teeth, eyes riveted on the door. “This isn’t a good idea.” He gritted.

You placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. “Robby. It’s gonna be fine. You two have made great progress.” You soothed.

Robby only looked away from the door to the envelope that rested in the middle of the table. “I just don’t want to overwhelm him. I don’t want to backtrack on the progress.” He confessed.

You took a sip of your decaffeinated iced coffee to soothe your cravings. “You’re overthinking this.”

Your level-headed response almost annoyed him. He looked at you, sipping on your iced drink with not a worry in the world. “You know, when I say that to you, you get angry at me.” He protested.

You shrugged and winked at him, and he rewarded you with a small smile that quickly vanished when the bell rang over the cafe door. Jake walked in, scanning the tables until he spotted the two of you. He grinned and headed over.

You rose to your feet and threw your arms around him. Even though you were closer in age to him than you were to Robby, Jake had quickly warmed up to you. Even after PittFest, you continued to talk with him while he and Robby mended their relationship slowly but surely. For a while, you served as a middle man for their communication, mediating the best you could.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” You greeted, hugging him tightly.

Jake laughed as he returned your embrace. “Good to see you, too. Sorry I couldn’t make coffee last week. Had an exam to study for.” He apologized.

You waved him off. “No worries. You better be making A’s.” You teased.

The boy smiled proudly. “Always.” He replied.

Robby stood awkwardly behind you, waiting for his turn to speak, rustling his faux hawk as he ran an anxious hand through his hair. Jake looked to him, and the tension was still there. The memories of blood and tears and hateful words that could never be taken back. Leah’s lifeless body underneath his hands. Before the shooting, Robby would have hugged him as tight as he could, but now, he was afraid to even shake his hand.

Instead, Robby just offered his fist, and Jake bumped his against it. “Hey, man. How are you?” Robby greeted.

Jake shrugged but smiled slightly. “Can’t complain.”

The small talk was forced. But at least they were talking. You sat down at the table again, and they followed suit. Jake’s favorite drink and pastry were already on the table waiting for him, just like every time he and Robby met up.

“So, what’s the surprise? Are we going on a fishing trip?” Jake asked, looking at Robby as he munched on his pastry that looked a little too good and maybe you were going to have to get Robby to get one for you.

You looked at Robby and gave him a smile of encouragement. Robby folded his hands in front of him on the table, fidgeting with his thumbs. “Um…” He mumbled. “We’re having a baby.”

The words were simple and quiet. But Jake’s eyes widened. “A baby?” He repeated, mouth agape.

Robby nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Yeah.” He confirmed.

After looking between you and Robby to see if there was some kind of punchline, Jake beamed with excitement. “No fucking way!” He exclaimed, tapping his hands on the table.

You giggled at his reaction, and Robby broke into a laugh of pure relief. “16 weeks.” You announced.

Jake leaned in closer. “Is it a boy or girl?” He asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

You waited for your fiance to answer, knowing that every interaction was calculated and diligent. “Actually,” Robby pushed the white envelope toward Jake with a shaking hand, “we wanted you to tell us.” He answered.

Jake met Robby’s eyes, his smile dropping a bit. “You want me to know first?” He asked earnestly.

Robby smiled as naturally as he could, trying to mask his anxiety. “The nurse said it’ll be in the top left corner of the paper.” He explained.

Jake took the envelope and flipped it in his hands until he found the seal. Robby’s hand grasped yours tightly, trying to ground himself through the whirlwind of emotions he was experiencing. You felt your heart speed up as Jake tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper.

“Are you ready?” Jake asked before letting himself read the results.

You and Robby both nodded, breathing shakily at the anticipation. Jake’s eyes scanned the paper, and a smile broke on his face. He looked directly at Robby, and it was the first time in months that he smiled at him like that.

“It’s a girl.”

A girl. The words echoed through your mind. You were having a baby girl. Tears stung your eyes, and you placed your free hand on your belly. Robby took in a shaky breath, and his entire face went red, all the way to his ears as he fought back tears.

“A girl?” He breathed and looked to you, bottom lip quivering. “We’re having a baby girl.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand tightly. “I know you wanted a boy, but-“

Robby shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. “No.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always wanted a girl.”

Jake laughed with joy, reading the paper again. “I’m gonna have a baby sister?” He asked without missing a beat.

Robby’s eyes snapped to Jake, widened with shock. The question was simple, but the implication was so much more. After berating the old attending just a few months ago when Leah died. Denying him the position as a father figure in a fit of anger despite doing more for the boy in just a few years than his real father did his entire life. When patients asked him if he had any kids, he no longer answered with “Yes, I have a step son.” He would just quietly shake his head with negation.

Then the dam broke. Robby’s body wracked with sobs, and he let go of your hand to cover his face, trying to mask his unexpected reaction. Instinctively, you scooted closer to him and threw your arms around him. Jake did the same, their first hug since PittFest. Unconscious tears fell from the teenager’s eyes as the catharsis mended an old wound. Robby was surrounded on both sides with embraces from the people who loved him most.

He eventually pulled you both in closer to him as he managed to catch his breath. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He apologized with a breathy laugh, voice cracking through the emotions.

You wiped some of the wetness on his cheek away with your thumb, ignoring the tears that fell down yours. “The barista probably thinks Jake just told you that you’re dying or something.” You teased.

And your little family all laughed together for the first time in months in that cafe.

—

After an hour of catching up, you and Robby parted ways with Jake, promising to see him again next week for coffee. On the ride home, Robby held your hand across the console, rubbing circles on the dorsum of your hand with his thumb. You looked over to him when he stopped at a red light. He had a smile on his face that hadn’t faded since the cafe.

“So this whole time you were trying to gaslight me into thinking the baby was gonna be a boy?” You asked, a playfulness in your voice.

Robby chuckled and shook his head, eyes still on the traffic light. “No. I was trying to gaslight the baby. Because I figured whatever I wanted, the baby would be the opposite.” He explained.

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “Crazy old man.” You muttered, squeezing his hand. “I think you’re meant to be a girl dad.”

He let off the brakes as the light turned green, continuing the journey home. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged, watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk as you drove by. “It’s just your vibe.” You replied simply.

“My vibe.” He repeated the youthful lingo in his mouth with a small laugh. The car was silent following that, with just the radio playing as background noise. As Robby pulled into the driveway of your house, he gave your hand one last squeeze. “Go on in. I need to get something from the attic.” He said.

You did as he said, stepping inside your warm home. Without a thought, you walked into the spare bedroom. It would become the nursery. You sat on the guest bed, crossing your legs, imagining the color that you would paint the walls, where the crib would go, how many stuffed animals to collect.

Robby walked into the room, holding a tiny, weathered box. His eyes were fixed on it, not looking up as he sat next to you on the bed.

“Whatcha got there?” You asked.

He silently opened the box. He gingerly lifted a small, dainty bracelet that hung from his large fingers. A Star of David charm clung to the chain, and you could just barely see a Hebrew word etched into the Star.

“It was my savta’s when she was a baby.” He explained and took in a deep breath. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken when they…” His voice caught, struggling to recall his family history. “When they sent her family to the camp.” He swallowed thickly, and you rubbed a calming hand on his back. “When she went back to their house years later, she found it tucked under a floorboard where her mother had hidden it.”

He opened your palm and let you hold the small bracelet. In that moment, you felt a powerful connection to his past, something you didn’t get to hear about often.

“Before she died, she gave it to me and told me to give it to my daughter. To tell her how Robinavitches persevere. To tell our family’s story.” Robby explained, brushing his thumb over the charm. “I never thought I would ever have a daughter to give it to.”

That’s when his eyes met yours. They glimmered with tears, but he smiled anyway. My God, it’s so beautiful when that boy smiles. You closed your hand over his, encasing the bracelet in between.

“What was her name?” You asked.

“Elisheba Rabinovitch. The “a” and the “o” were swapped around when she moved to America.” He explained.

“Elisheba.” You repeated. “Is it Hebrew?”

He nodded, unconsciously rubbing the pendant underneath his shirt. “Yeah. It translates to Elizabeth.”

“Was Rabinovitch always her last name?” You asked.

Robby nodded. “Her husband died before my dad was born, so her last name passed on to him.” He explained.

“Did she ever call you Robby?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. Always Mikhael.” The Hebrew pronunciation rolled off his tongue with ease. “But I like being called Robby. It feels like I’m more connected to her in that way.”

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder. “She would be so proud of you.” You noted.

Robby just hummed in acknowledgment, hopeful that your words were true. You moved his hand with yours to rest on your swelling stomach, pressing the tiny bracelet against it. As you held your daughter’s first gift in your joined hands, you decided on her name. You didn’t tell Robby then, but your mind had been made up.

Elizabeth Robinavitch.

—

A/N: I cannot WAIT to write the next chapter because Jack and Robby are gonna set up the baby’s nursery (or: how many ER attendings does it take to put a crib together?) 🥰

[wileys-russo]

my mummy II l.williamson

part of the milaverse my mummy II l.williamson

"okay which one bubba? red or black?" you questioned, holding up the tiny arsenal jerseys and doing a little shimmy making your daughter giggle.

her tiny hand stroking her chin thoughtfully made you shake your head with an amused smile as she mulled over her options.

"black." mila eventually decided, finger pointing to the jersey in question, leahs number and williamson sprawled on the back.

"good pick babe. arms up please!" you instructed, quirking an eyebrow when the four year old shook her head in response. "i wanna dress myself today please mumma." she informed crossing her arms over her chest with a determined nod.

“mila are you-“ “im nearly five now, a big girl. i can do it.”

"very true i’m sorry. but its cold and its windy today, so dress warm please!" you warned, moving to sit down on the edge of her bed. "no mumma, by myself!" the four year old pointed to the door and hurried over, pushing impatiently at your legs.

"okay okay! jesus i thought i'd get a few more years before i got kicked out of your room, this hurts mila." you gasped dramatically as she shoved you from her room, only met with a door slammed in your face.

"was that-" you turned around and nodded to your wife. "she wants to dress herself today." you informed with a chuckle, moving into the blondes waiting arms which wrapped around you.

"we've told her she isn't allowed to grow up right?" "nearly every day since was born my love, she just does not want to listen."

~

"-are you done now?" you called out with a sigh, leaning against the wall by your daughters door which you'd tried to open several times. only met with a shout and it pushed closed again, mila firmly stating she wasn't ready and you weren't allowed to see until she was.

leah had already left as to not be late and you shook your head as you checked the time again already knowing the two of you would be stuck in traffic and miss kick off if you didn't leave soon.

you'd decided to give the goalpost a kiss in training and were on concussion watch, the knock was nothing serious enough to warrant medical treatment but it was enough to mean you'd be watching todays match from the stands.

"okay mila my love. we have to go and i'm coming in!" you warned, though before you could even grab the handle the door it flew open and a bundle of colour and blonde hair came zooming out.

"like it?" your daughter beamed, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as you bit your bottom lip taking in her choice of outfit, trying really hard not to bust out in laughter.

she had on a pair of light up trainers alessia had gotten her for her birthday, pale yellow nike joggers with a pair of lime green bike shorts over the top.

on her top half she had on a red hoodie with a pink wälti jersey over the top and a white arsenal beanie on her head, with its matching scarf tied around her hips like a makeshift belt.

"well...i'm not going to lose you in the crowd, thats for certain." you admitted, knowing no matter what you said or tried there wasn't a chance you'd be getting your daughter changed without a fight.

"you don't wanna wear mummys jersey?" you tried, knowing your wife would kick off and lia would be absolutely beside herself with glee in your daughters current choice.

"nope! aunty wally was sad last time i saw her so i thought this would make her happy, cause you and mummy always say pink is a happy colour!" mila explained and your heart melted.

the last time she had seen lia was after a particularly rowdy team night out where she'd wound up crashing at your place, you the designated driver and your wife a key influence in just how many shots lia had downed which you'd told her off for afterwards.

the two had wound up crying crocodile tears on the living room floor as you disallowed them to see mila when the three of you returned home and swapped over with the babysitter around 11 at night.

trying to remind them it was hours after mila's bedtime and the two of them were very drunk it was like arguing with two overgrown toddlers.

which had in turn had woken your daughter up who'd come to investigate, not understanding why she wasn't allowed to say hello when you tried to usher her quickly back to bed before either of the lw's sobbing in the living room could get their hands on her.

"we do say that don't we." you agreed with your daughters words, shaking your head in amusement at her outfit but giving in, not wanting to fully squash the independence you and leah were trying to instill in her.

"at least you listened about the weather and did lots of layers bubba."

~

you sent polite smiles to the strange looks you received walking your daughter through the tunnels of the emirates, meeting up with leahs mum and wordlessly shaking your head at her questioning stare as she scooped up her granddaughter and the three of you made your way to your seats.

"do you like my outfit nana?" your daughter chirped for the third time in the hour as you waved to your wife who was very clearly looking around stressed that she'd not spotted you yet, sighing in relief once she had.

"don't ask." you mouthed at her perplexed look toward your daughter stood up in your lap furiously waving her and her team mates down. "wally!" you cupped your hands over your mouth to gain the midfielders attention as she began to walk off the pitch after warm ups.

vic heard you and grinned before tapping lia's shoulder and gesturing toward you as you spun mila around to show her last name plastered on your daughters back. her face lit up and you laughed as she raced right over to almost tackle your wife, no doubt about to lay into her about it.

now mila was older she'd become a different sort of handful to take to games, especially when both you and leah were playing and had to trust her in someone elses care.

normally your poor mother in law who insisted leah was much worse at that age, which never failed to rile the blonde up who argued her brother was the handful and she was the golden child.

gone were the earmuffs, dummy and baby blanket mila had needed to settle previously, where she'd often sleep the whole way through the match happily bundled up in someones arms.

but nowadays she was a little unstoppable bundle of energy who often required distraction or bribery of some sort to sit still for prolonged periods of time.

which is how you found yourself racing off midway through the first half to sort out some food, having left in such a rush you'd completely forgotten the bag of snacks and toys you normally carted along with you whenever you left the house with mila in tow.

much like her other mother your daughter had the stomach of a bottomless pit, though gratefully she'd taken after you with what she was happy to put in that pit and was nowhere near as fussy as leah.

sometimes when you made dinner and mila ate what you did but leah required a separate meal you really questioned who was the four year old between them.

thankfully once she'd been fed and watered mila settled a little. with her nana more than happy to listen to her chatter and answer her millions of questions you made it through the entire match without a single issue.

the problems started when the game finished, mila starting to go on the turn when you wouldn't allow her to run down the stairs toward the barriers to see leah or any of her aunties, far too many people around and worried you'd lose her or she'd be crushed in the crowd.

it would seem though that patience was not on your daughters agenda today.

"i wanna see mummy now!" the girl whined, wriggling furiously to try and yank her hand out of your grip as you sighed and took a deep breath.

"mummys just saying hi to some people first bubba, thats part of our job! remember?" you tried to explain, even offering her an ice cream as a last minute ditch to distract her but it was to no use.

not even alessia could capture her attention for more than a few minutes as your daughter grew more and more fussy and inpatient the more time passed.

"it'll be fine." you forced a smile toward your friends and team mates who'd all taken turns trying to distract mila as the two of you stood in the tunnel now, leah signing autographs and taking photos with a larger crowd than normal.

"wanna come kick a ball tiny?" beth offered in a last ditch effort and that seemed to work as your daughter nodded eagerly and latched onto the taller girls leg, her giggles echoing around as beth zoomed off back onto the pitch.

you kept them in clear sight as you hung on the sidelines now, waving to a few fans who called out your name, sending an apologetic shake of your head when they asked for your signature and photos too, your focus needing to on your daughter today.

but that tiny lapse in attention was all it took for mila to break away from beth, sprinting off toward leah who had her back turned and ignoring the older girls calls after her which gained your focus back right away.

intercepting her quickly you scooped the four year old up into your arms and sat her on your hip. "i wanna see mummy!” you winced as she smacked your chest a few times and pushed away alessia who'd appeared to try and help, and you could tell from the wobble of her bottom lip that she was a few moments away from a total meltdown.

"hey mila, baby look at me please." you dropped to your knees and stood her on her feet, your hands on her shoulders stopping her from running off.

"we don't hit people, okay? i know you're having some really big feelings and you miss mummy but-" you started, yelping as your daughter suddenly clawed at your hand, racing away toward leah.

you shouted after her, leah looking up a second too late as her daughter barreled into her. "my mummy! mine!" she snarled at a young girl who leah was trying to take a picture with.

the defender quickly picking her up and apologizing to the fan and her dad right as mila started to have a meltdown.

apologizing to the crown still awaiting her attention leah turned heel and headed toward you, the two of you falling into step as you made your way into the tunnel and down the hall toward the change rooms.

"bubba-" you started as her screams turned into sobs and she buried her face in leahs neck who winced with one final scream sounding in her ear.

"off!" mila demanded, pushing away your hand which tried to rub at her back as you inhaled sharply and paused.

catching your wifes eye who nodded in understanding, you stayed outside and she disapeared into the change rooms to try and calm your daughter down.

"hey, you alright?" you glanced up to meet concerned blue eyes and nodded, exhaling deeply as your best friend pulled you into a hug. "thanks less." you mumbled as she rubbed your back, assuring over and over that you were the best mum ever.

promising her you were okay but that you'd need a rain check on dinner plans you all had tonight she gave you another hug and headed off to see her family.

with another deep breath you headed into the change rooms, only a few of the girls remaining as you spotted leah by her cubby. you caught her eye again and raised an eyebrow as she nodded, your daughter still tightly clinging onto her.

"mila. what do we need to say to mumma please?" leah started firmly, bouncing her knee up and down gently to gain your daughters attention as she pulled her head out of your wifes neck.

"im very sorry for scratching and yelling." the girl apologised softly, climbing off leahs lap and moving into yours, warmth flooding your body as she hugged you tightly and you kissed the top of her head.

you melted even further as your daughter grabbed your hand, carefully kissing over where she'd scratched you before clambering right back into leahs lap.

"i'll shower at home." leah chuckled, gesturing to the way your daughter clung onto her like a monkey, refusing to loosen her grip as you took your wifes bag for her and the three of you waved goodbye to the few girls left and headed for the car park.

"mummy sit in the back with me, please?" mila ordered with a pout once you reached the car.

"alright kid, just this once." leah gave in clearly picking up that mila was being abnormally clingy today, something the two of you would need to speak with her about another time.

and for the rest of that night it was the same story, your daughter refusing not to have some part of her in contact with leah at all times.

so much so that she'd stayed in the bathroom while your wife showered, insisting you sit with her as well as she held leahs hand through the shower door as much as she could making you smile in amusement.

"my mummy." was all that seemed to be repeated, the possessiveness also something new but a conversation for another day as leah waved off your concerns, too thrilled with having your daughters full focus and attention all night.

"for god sakes." you'd mumbled later that night at the sight before you. your wife having spent an abnormal amount of time putting mila to bed you'd wandered up to check in.

only to find leah dead asleep in the tiny single bed belonging to your daughter, long limbs hanging off the sides with mila curled into her still very much so awake.

"sh! mummy is very tired." the four year old warned with her finger over her lips as you entered the room.

"you should be asleep little miss, not mummy!" you reminded quietly as she gave you a cheeky smile looking far too much like leah, holding up the book which was previously laid open on your wifes chest and patting the mere centimeters of space left on her bed beside her.

"one more story, please?"

[enwoso]

right swipe, right time | alessia russo

-> based on this request🩷

masterlist

alessia didn't mean to download tinder.

well... okay. technically, she did. but it was through pure peer pressure. elite-level peer pressure.

it was one of those rare, peaceful nights on england camp. no media obligations. no early morning session. just music, snacks, and eight girls crammed into one hotel room in matching lionesses training hoodies, flopped on each other's beds with face masks and football socks still on.

"admit it," ella said, sipping from a bottle of lucozade. "you're hopeless. you haven't even looked at anyone since—what, 2021 when you got with that girl in-?"

"oi," alessia replied, shoving a pillow at her hoping the rest of the sentence wouldn't follow. "not everyone needs a tinder girlfriend and a backup date."

"i need to have a backup," ella scoffed. "just let us be your wing women."

chloe popped her head up from the floor. "you, though, less? you're like a nun with abs."

"excuse me?"

"i'm just saying, you've got biceps and absolutely no one to appreciate them. it's tragic really."

the teasing escalated until ella snatched alessia's phone, cackling. within minutes, the group was huddled around it, swiping through profiles with ruthless commentary.

then chloe stopped. "wait. wait. look at her."

the girl on the screen had sun-warmed skin, a long sleek ponytail with a silver chain around her neck and a smile like it came easy.

the profile read:

y/n, 26.

📍aussie in london

dog mum, football, coffee, beach, sarcasm. swipe right if you can deal with my accent😉

alessia blinked. "she's australian?"

"even better," leah said, not even looking up from her phone. "less commitment, more fun." ella laughed and swiped right before alessia could protest.

it was a match. you messaged first.

you: ‘so... you're the type who let her friends swipe for her?’

alessia: ‘and who told you that??’

you: ‘you did. in your bio. it says not my idea.’

alessia: ‘touché.’

you: ‘how do you feel about a flat white and great company.’

you were clever. funny, but not in the exhausting ‘trying-too-hard’ way. you admitted your accent made ‘no’ sound like ‘naw,’ were fluent in football slang props to having a football mad brother and dad growing up, and had some pretty strong opinions about oat milk.

on the second day you sent a photo of your dog - a tan mutt with ridiculous ears, one permanently flopped sideways.

you: ‘this is roo. he's 40% kangaroo, 60% drama queen.’

alessia: ‘did you really name your dog after a kangaroo?’

you: ‘duh what else am i supposed to name the most aussie thing i've owned while here in london?’

alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

you and alessia talked for hours. that night. the next day. the next. alessia didn't want to jinx it, but something about you stuck in her head.

so when you casually said on facetime, "i know a place that makes coffee almost as good as back home. want to judge it together?", alessia couldn't stop herself before she said yes.

⸻

you arranged to meet just outside of st albans, outside a quiet café nestled between a vinyl shop and a bookstore that always smelled like cedar. the place had one of those wood-paneled signs and hanging plants framing the doorway.

you were already there when alessia arrived — leaning on the railing, sunglasses tucked onto the top of your head, wearing black jeans, a red nike hoodie with a white tee poking out from underneath the hoodie making you look so effortlessly put together.

and you brought roo. a worn blue leash in one hand as roo sat obediently at your side with his tongue lolling out like he owned the street.

"so this is the infamous roo?" alessia asked as she crouched down to scratch behind his ear with a wide grin.

you grinned cheekily, "he wanted to see if you were worth my time."

"and?"

"jury's out, depends on how good your coffee order is"

inside, you and alessia sat at a corner table by the window, roo laid under the table, head on your foot like a sleepy chaperon.

the cafe was cozy, a little too warm with soft music playing and the smell of fresh espresso lingering in the air as the conversation flowed as if they'd known each other longer than a few days.

the two of you talked football, you had played through your youth before switching to the more fitness route of personal trainer. talked music types. favourite food. best goals.

alessia recounted her childhood to you about growing up with two older brothers who tackled her in the garden until she toughened up. you had similar instead yours was more squabbles with your brother about whose turn it was to chose what to watch on the tv.

the two of you laughed, a lot and alessia found herself more relaxed than she had felt in ages.

after coffee turned into a walk through the park, roo trotting between the two of you like he belonged to you and alessia. when you both stoped on a quiet bench, the city loud and buzzing behind them. you gently nudged alessia's shoulder.

"you've got a great laugh," you said, you voice a little softer now - not flirtatious, not teasing. just honest.

alessia blinked, caught off guard a little. "that's random."

you shrugged, but there was a flicker of something more vulnerable in your eyes. "just been thinking it all afternoon. every time you've laughed, i've wanted to hear it again. i dunno. it's like.. it sounds a little like home, even when nothing else here does."

that brought alessia up short — in the best way. her pulse fluttered a little. the wind tugged at a loose strand of hair near her cheek, and you reached out instinctively, brushing it back gently with the back of your hand.

"and," you added, gaze holding hers, "i-i really want to kiss you."

alessia didn't say anything at first. she just stared at you — at the slight flush on your cheeks, the careful tension in your posture, the way your thumb brushed against her own jeans like you were grounding herself.

"i thought you'd never say it," alessia said quietly almost whispering. you smiled, just barely.

alessia leaned in, slow and sure, her hand resting lightly on your arm. your faces hovered close, breath mingling in the space between the two of you. when your lips met, it wasn't fireworks or drama — it was warm, slow, and steady. like the start of something that didn't need to rush to prove itself.

alessia's lips were soft, patient — like she didn't want to take too much, just enough to say this is real.

you smiled into the kiss, nudging your nose against alessia's as she deepened it for just a heartbeat more, letting herself melt into the moment.

roo let out an exaggerated sigh at your feet, flopping down dramatically like he'd seen this all before.

you pulled back with a quiet laugh, your forehead resting lightly against alessia's. "well," you murmured, "guess you passed his test too."

alessia's grin was wide now. "should i be relieved or insulted that your dog is the final judge?"

"trust me," you said, brushing your thumb gently across alessia's hand, "he's got excellent taste."

⸻

fast forward a few weeks — text messages, video calls, one stolen weekend when you and alessia both had a spare weekend — and suddenly it was the champions league final.

most of alessia's teammates had someone in the crowd. family, partners, whole sections of fans in their shirts. alessia didn't expect anyone but her parents and family to be there.

so when alessia jogged out for warm-ups and caught a flash of that same sleek ponytail under a baseball cap, sitting behind the dugout with a massive arsenal flag scarf draped over your shoulders, alessia's heart just stopped.

you grinned at alessia from the stands and sent a message.

you: ‘go win it, star girl. i'm here. you've got this and you deserve this so much🏆’

the final whistle blew.

the roar hit first — a wave of noise so loud it felt like it shook the air itself. arsenal had done it. champions of europe. alessia stood frozen for a second, boots rooted to the grass, blinking up at the stadium lights through tears she hadn't realised were already falling.

a brutal, brilliant final. 90 minutes of fight. blood, grit, and everything they had left in them.

now there were arms around alessia — teammates screaming, laughing, crying — someone pouring champagne over her back, another dragging her into a pile-on. alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped to her knees, adrenaline flooding her body until she was floating.

confetti exploded from the stands like rain. gold, silver, red — blinding under the floodlights. they lifted the trophy. alessia's medal felt heavy and strange around her neck, like it wasn't real yet.

somewhere in the middle of the chaos, she remembered to look toward the tunnel. and there you were.

you stood just past the barrier, half-hidden by stewards and staff, but alessia saw you instantly. somehow, even through the din, even with a stadium erupting around her, alessia's eyes found yours.

"you came?," alessia said breathlessly as she stumbled toward you, cheeks flushed, hair soaked, half-covered in sweat and sticky champagne. alessia's voice cracked on the last word.

you smiled — wide, proud, and maybe just a little teary yourself. "of course i did. you think i was gonna miss the love of my life win a champions league medal?"

alessia froze mid-step, slightly caught off guard. "you just said—"

you smirked, raising an eyebrow slightly . "too soon? i'm australian. we move fast."

alessia laughed, dazed and glowing, before pulling you into a quick, messy hug. a one you didn't want to end, at least not yet. but before either of you could say more, a voice rang out:

"well, well, well. whose this?"

chloe kelly. grinning like a madwoman, dragging leah along behind her, both still in full kit, cheeks streaked with war paint and joy.

leah narrowed her eyes. "wait hold up... this the aussie?"

"the tinder aussie?" chloe gasped. "you're real?!"

you, cool as ever, extended a hand, voice deadpan with just the right touch of theatricality.

"y/n. from sydney. like coffee, dogs, and a certain blonde striker who wears number 23."

chloe collapsed into giggles so violent she almost dropped her phone. "she's perfect. and you've been hiding her! wait till i tell ella about this!"

alessia groaned, trying to tuck herself partially behind you. "can everyone not make this a thing?"

"too late," leah declared, already snapping a photo. "group chat is getting this in two minutes. tooney is gonna have a field day!"

you leaned toward alessia's ear, your voice low and warm beneath the chaos. "i'm stealing you in five minutes. you've earned my full attention and unlimited kisses for the night and maybe the rest of eternity!"

alessia turned to face you, her medal bumping softly against her chest. her eyes were tired and shining. "only if i get the right side of the bed."

you grinned. "done. whatever you wish, with my hoodie on the side"

and then, right there, in front of teammates, staff, her family, and 60,000 still-cheering fans — you kissed her. it wasn't rushed. it wasn't shy. it was the kind of kiss that told everyone watching: this is real.

alessia leaned into it, one hand finding the hem of your coat, the other curled into your hoodie, grounding herself. you tasted like mint and stadium air and something steadier, something safe.

when you finally pulled back, alessia's smile was soft and breathless. for once — champagne in her hair, confetti in her eyelashes, teammates heckling in the background — alessia didn't care about the noise, the cameras, or what tomorrow would bring.

for once, the chaos was absolutely worth it. alessia had swiped right for the right person. her right person

[mead-iocre]

Chase Me | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you ask you very atheletic, footballer girlfriend to chase you-- for a tiktok video

wc: 1k words

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The sky is still tinged with a hint of pink, and the road is mostly empty, save for a few scattered sounds—a bird, the distant hum of a car.

You stretch, lunging from side to side. You stand at the edge of the sidewalk, one foot up on the pavement, leaning into the stretch until you feel that familiar pull along the back of your leg.

Then you switch sides, easing into the stretch onto the other leg, just as your girlfriend comes up from beside you.

"baby, this is silly"

You turn to her, a small smile already plastered on your face upon seeing the unamused expression on hers. Despite her words, there was no hint of malice in her voice.

She's stood just outside the camera's view, boots scuffed from the last practice session, hands on her hips like she owned the whole bloody pitch.

“I’ll catch you easily,” Your girlfriend said, her voice almost lazy in tone. It wasn’t just a bit of banter—it was a warning, delivered with the calm of someone who knew exactly how the game would go.

You breeze past her. "that's what makes it fun, lee"

She clicks her tongue. "I can't believe I let you convince me to do another one of your tiktok videos"

Reaching up to tighten your ponytail, you eye her as she begins to do her own stretches. Despite your girlfriend's initial reluctance, you knew it would only be a matter of time until she agreed. Leah was competitive, and she would never turn down a challenge.

She's dressed in her nike training top, and her training shorts. Her legs were still tan from your latest getaway to Nice, and she was wearing her favourite pair of trainers-- the same trainers she wore during training for her professional football job.

Glancing at the nike trainers on her feet, you were starting to have second thoughts. The whole point of the trend was to challenge your partner to a foot chase-- for no particular reason really. Most of the people who participated had partners who were police officers, in the military, firefighters etc.

Having an athlete girlfriend who ran and chased balls for a living-- yeah this video was going to be 5 seconds long, 6 seconds if you're lucky.

But you weren't about to admit that to her.

You take a deep breath, finishing your last couple of stretches, before standing up to your full height. Jogging over to your phone that was perched on a tripod, you press the red record button before you move over to the side.

"okay so im gonna run--"

"and i have to count to 10 before I chase after you-- i got it, baby"

Glancing at her, Leah had that familiar look on her face. She was clearly in no rush-- like she could already see how it would play out, the timing, the run, the moment she'd close the distance. It was all there, lined up in her head like a match she’d already won.

All that was left was the wait.

Making sure the record button on your phone was on, you flash her a quick smile, before you launched forward.

No build-up—just that sharp push off the ground, your legs pump fast, harder than ever before. The air claws at your face, whipping past your ears. You don't even dare to look behind you because you know it will only slow you down.

Your feet slap at the pavement, you can already feel your lungs get tighter but you don't stop. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, barely keeping up.

You hear the sound of another set of feet pounding faintly behind you.

Leah was already running.

She wasn't chasing you for this silly little tiktok challenge-- she's chasing you like she's going to win whatever this was. She’d probably already read your run, knew the angles, and she probably had that smug glint in her eye like she’d already headed the ball past the keeper.

You steal a glance over your shoulder and there she is—focused, fast, her blonde ponytail snapping behind her. She’s not laughing. Her eyes are locked on you, sharp and blue, and you know that look. You’ve seen it on the pitch. During matches. At the gym.

It’s game over.

“Oh, bloody-- fuck-- come on,” you gasp out, trying to hold your lead, but she’s already closing the distance like she’s barely trying.

“Shouldn’t have started this,” she calls out, voice steady despite the speed. She’s barely winded. Of course she’s not.

You push harder, legs screaming now, but she’s too fast. She doesn’t really thud against the pavement like you do. She glides. Like on water. And within seconds, she’s right there, then—

“gotcha!”

She ends your fun as she barrels into you from behind, her laugh loud and husky as she throws her arms around your shoulders. You try to gasp out a protest, but she’s already trapping you in her arms, locking you against her body with no room to escape.

She's grinning now, cheeks flushed rosy, breath coming in sharp but still controlled breathes.

You double over, laughing between gasps. “Fuck-- I really thought I had that”

"You did good, baby" Leah nuzzles into the side of your neck, breath coming in soft pants against your skin. "But you can't outrun a footballer"

You shake your head, still catching your breath. But you let yourself sink into her and she gladly steadies you, welcoming your weight in her arms.

Leaning back, you throw your head back to rest it against her shoulder, smiling when you feel her kiss the side of your head.

“I thought maybe you would slow you down for me” You admit, taking her hand that was wrapped around your waist to bring it to your lips, giving the back of her hand a kiss. "s'not fair"

She leans in close, voice low and cocky. “fuck no”

Leah grabs your chin, turning it towards her. "Now give me a kiss for having to endure your stupid tiktok trends"

Your heart was still pounding erratically and you were still trying to catch your breath, but all you could focus on was her.

You smile, leaning in closer. "what if i don't want to?"

There came that familiar smirk. The same one she flashed just before the chase began; like she knew exactly how this was going to play out. Like the ending was already etched in her mind.

"i know ya do."

the moment ends exactly like how Leah predicted.

With your lips on hers.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

another leah fic WHO ELSE CHEERED (i reallyyyy hope yall did otherwise i will be sad)

I also really hope you guys enjoyed this fic because this one is probably one of my favourite short blurbs that I’ve ever written lol

any plans this summer? for me, i'll be here writing fics lol

hope you're all taking care of yourselves x

-- butter

[randombush3]

a sweet and tender hooligan

leah williamson x reader

summary: you meet leah in a VIP bar and can't decide what to do with her

words: 3545

content warnings: recreational drug usage

notes: i never write for leah but it felt apt. there's a second part planned. i quite like this fic so i hope u do too

and thanks @p0orbaby for holding my hand through writing this xx

You’re so bored. 

No one ever really talks about the patience it takes back-stage at Glastonbury. Or maybe they do, and you just ignore it, forever clawing at the need to be original. 

You can’t really warm your voice up any more, you’re wearing your chosen stage outfit, and you’re sitting on a flight case. You feel like a little girl, swinging your legs about and hoping you don’t accidentally roll onto stage and ruin the set of the artist two heads in front of you in the line-up. 

You could smoke, but you can’t do that here. You could go and snort cocaine with the rest of your team. You could pick up the guitar lying in its open case on the floor beside you. You could run laps around the muddy fields in your Docs, proudly putting them to use as though they don’t live at the foot of a clothing rack with the rest of your costumes. It’s still part of my aesthetic, you would tell your stylist, as if real mud doesn’t ruin the ‘cool and nonchalant’ thing you’ve got going on. 

As if you didn’t spend most of your childhood in the dining rooms of important people or at Evensong services in one of the Oxbridge colleges. 

In a state of inertia – because even though you could do anything you wanted to, you won’t – it is very easy to be excited by the familiar voice calling your name from the other side of a large smoke machine that will be wheeled out behind you when you eventually get to perform. 

“Babe,” sings the voice with its inherent boisterousness. “You’ve got two hours to go. That’s at least three drinks.” 

You don’t grace her with eye contact just yet, still contemplating your state of self-pity. 

“Drinks,” Jess says again, more insistent. “Now. Come meet my girlfriend!” 

The case rolls backwards with a low rumble as you hop off it, feet landing precariously between thick cables. “I’ve met your girlfriend already, Jess.” 

She grabs your wrist and drags you along with her anyway. You let her, whisked through the semi-organised chaos of the VIP corridor – past handlers, stylists, and an ex-boybander deep-throating a Calippo. Orange, naturally. You try not to smirk. It’s Glasto, after all. No one is above anything here. Not even you.

The VIP bar is tucked just behind the main stage, buzzing with poorly-veiled networking and celebrities who aren’t sure where they stand amongst the spattering of artists who are internally crippling with nervousness. Everything smells like stale cider and cigarettes, although neither you nor Jess wrinkle your noses at it. A few heads turn at your appearance, but you don’t pay it much attention. 

Alex Scott is already holding court at a picnic bench strewn with empty plastic cups, sunglasses, and a large plate of loaded fries that look cold and soggy. Perhaps she had been waiting for her girlfriend to return – perhaps it is your fault her food is ruined. 

She stands when she sees Jess, arms thrown around her in a way that makes you smile, despite yourself. There’s real warmth there. Unforced. You don’t envy it, but you award them a certain level of respect. 

“Hiya,” Alex says to you, flashing that pearly grin. She reaches out a hand, placing it on your bicep. She knows you don’t like hugs. “You’re up soon, yeah? Big set.” 

You shrug like it’s nothing. “Same as last year.” 

She laughs. Alex likes your cockiness. Finds it effortless. “Far too smooth.” She places a limp chip in her mouth, humming in delight for a reason lost on you. “Ready to party with us afterwards?” 

“I know we’re not your preferred crowd,” Jess teases. “Seeing as neither of us are an option for you to fuck and then ghost in the morning.” 

“Don’t sound so jealous,” you reply, rolling your eyes. 

Jess snorts, pleased with herself, while Alex shakes her head. She’s used to this particular brand of cattiness. 

“Actually,” she says, glancing past Jess, “we’ve got someone new in our little VIP girl gang today. Sort of a plus one.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you adopt someone?” 

“Basically,” Jess says, stepping sideways to make space for a bobbing blonde head that is meandering towards the picnic bench.

And that’s when you see her.

She’s a footballer. You know her name. You’re sure of it.

“This is Leah,” Alex says when the blonde reaches her destination. Leah leans against the back of the bench in that way footballers must spend ridiculous amounts of time mastering in the mirror – loose-limbed, confident, wearing baggy denim and a tank top that rides up enough to hint at her toned stomach. Her eyes are shadowed behind shades, but she lifts them now, peering at you over the top. 

“Leah knows who you are.” Alex punches her girlfriend’s arm. “What? That’s quite a normal thing! She’s used to it.” 

Leah smiles. It doesn’t hide her slight apprehension, but you’re used to that, too. 

“I like your dad’s music.” 

The air stills, just for a second. You blink at her. 

It’s not the worst thing someone could say. It’s not even surprising. But it is lazy. 

Jess winces in slow motion beside you, and even Alex seems to pause her slow consumption of the soggy chips for a beat too long. 

Clearly not an idiot, Leah clocks the tension. “I mean… I like your music too. Obviously. That’s why–” She shrugs, trailing off. “Sorry. Shit opening line.” 

You don’t reply. Not verbally, anyway. She suffers in your silence and it’s a satisfying compensation for the can of worms she has unintentionally opened. Your head tilts slightly to one side, gaze narrowing, curiosity blending with amusement. And maybe something sharper. 

“I’ve had worse,” you offer, just before she is about to suffocate. 

“Have you?” she asks, with that footballer grin (Alex is good at it too) – the one that suggests she wins things for a living and isn’t afraid of getting mud on her knees. 

“Someone once said I reminded them of Lana Del Rey. But with ADHD.” You look at Jess; “Or did they say coked up?” She snorts her drink.

“I mean, I see it,” Leah says, eyes glinting behind the tinted lenses, pushed arrogantly back up her nose as if you don’t all know that she’s probably just shielding herself from her hangover. “Angsty but feral.” 

“Oh my god,” Alex mutters. “Leah. Inside voice.” 

But you laugh. Soft. Unexpected. The first real laugh you’ve given anyone all day. She beams, as though she knows that, and you don’t plan to figure out the sudden clarity in your vision before your set. 

“So,” Leah says, casually looping her arms across the back of the bench. “Do we get a preview? Or do I have to stand in a field jam-packed with strangers and pretend I’m not sweating my tits off waiting for you to start?”

“What makes you special, Leah?” you ask, voice steady and innocent. Her indignance is the last thing you see before someone from your team (you had felt a demon sneaking up on you) pulls you away, back to your cage in the VIP corridor. 

The encounter, while intriguing, does not quite satiate your need for excitement, and with an hour left on the clock, you have nothing better to do than give in. 

Your greenroom is full, bustling with the joy of getting to exist here without the pressure of performing. You don’t share that privilege but you do like being a dancing monkey and so you let them get away with it.

Almost every surface is littered with cigarette butts and energy drinks, empty bottles of champagne and tequila lined up neatly against the make-shift walls.The coffee table in the centre of the room is the hearth, grounding everyone in a relative circle around it. The familiar sight of white powder being diligently scraped into lines is comforting — at least this year is no different. 

Like always, your presence is noticed in the room. Most of these people are glorified groupies, anyway. Apart from the head that stays level with the table. A head you know very well. 

“Cecily, what would Mummy say if I let you do coke backstage?” The room goes silent out of respect for your voice, but it feels stilted and forced. Your half-sister looks up at you only when she has finished her line. 

“She doesn’t know I’m here.” You frown. Neither did you. “Daddy said not to tell her. Said that she’d worry.” 

“She would!” 

“She’s a hypocrite,” Cecily replies with a whine in her voice that no amount of maturity will ever rid her of. “What was she doing when she was twenty-one?”

You wince. 

You know what’s coming. Everyone knows what’s coming. 

Perhaps that is why she never gets the chance to make the comparison, because someone swoops in (you really should learn these people’s names) and rescues the mood: “I think we should head into soundcheck.” 

You pretend not to hear the collectively exhaled sigh of relief. 

It’s so much sweatier backstage now. The sound engineer is fussing over the guitar amps and a scratchy undertone of feedback. Your manager’s assistant is standing to attention, holding a Lemsip in her hands in case you want some. Your stylist is moaning about the dirt on your shoes. 

No one talks to you. They know that the last thirty minutes before it’s time are yours. Your silence, your thoughts. Your preparation. 

You shed the layers of yourself that aren’t the woman that is going to appear on the stage. You quell the niggling doubt that whispers that you’re not good enough. 

…

“You were fucking amazing!” Jess shouts in your ear as you appear in the VIP bar once again. Now, your hair is twisted back, glitter brushed into it by your relentless younger sister, the same colour smudged on your eyelids. Your clothes are fresh – a tight skirt, old shirt, wellies. Something that makes you look chic. Refined enough to be worth the school fees. Ready for a festival, even if there are only a few hours left of tonight’s live music. 

You smile because you’re used to this. The compliments, the attention, the sweaty half-sincere praise from people who watched you from behind tinted lenses and forgot to clap. It’s fine. You didn’t do it for them. You did it because you like the power of watching a crowd swell and bend beneath you. 

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the lukewarm drink someone hands you. You don’t check who or what, simply taking a sip and letting your mouth scrunch into a grimace. Whiskey. You hate whiskey. 

“You looked like a fucking rockstar,” Jess continues, buzzing with the kind of energy that always makes you tired. “Like, everyone’s obsessed with you. Even Leah said–” 

You hold up a finger. “Don’t ruin it.” 

“How was she supposed to know–”

“She wasn’t,” you grant your friend. You shrug. “But she’s annoying. You know I hate footballers.” 

“You like Alex.” 

“She’s retired.” Your sigh is deep, drenched with the exhaustion of performing. “What’s the deal with her, anyway? Is she Alex’s friend? Here on a sponsorship deal?” 

“I thought you found her annoying.” Jess raises an eyebrow, catching you out with the ease that only someone who’s seen you at your worst can manage. With a profound lack of subtly, she gestures to where Leah is standing at the bar, engaged in an animated conversation with Cecily, of all people. 

You roll your eyes. “I do. But I’m curious as to which brand of annoying she is.” 

“She’s not with sponsors,” Jess says, grinning now like she knows something you don’t. “She’s just here. A civilian, apparently.” 

“Doesn’t exist.” The speed of your response makes her laugh, but she gets it: no one’s a civilian in the VIP bar. 

Jess shrugs, sitting into her hip like she’s bored of your cynicism. “She came with Alex. Something about needing a break before the Euros. I don’t know. She’s nice.” 

“She’s a defender, isn’t she?” 

Your friend looks vaguely impressed. “Look at you pretending not to know who she is.” 

“I only know because she did that weird hand-ball thingie in that final. I can’t remember when, but Stephen was shouting so loudly at the TV that Cec and I literally left the house.” Your stepfather doesn’t care much for football but a fellow producer (younger and therefore naturally woke) had called him a bigot for abstaining from women’s sports and so he had no choice. Apparently it’s the second sport at Westminster, though. They used to thrash Eton. 

You sip the whiskey again, just to punish yourself. 

“She’s hot though,” Jess offers, too lightly. And she has a girlfriend, so there really is only one hint she could be giving. You’re not taking her bait. 

There’s a beat between you. Your eyes dart over to the enthralling chat Leah and Cec seem to be having. Jess is smirking. 

“I’ve seen that look before,” she says. 

You scoff. “The one with blinking and open eyes?”

“No.” You wonder if Jess ever tires of your tendency to irritate the fuck out of her. “The look you gave her back at the picnic bench.” 

You pull your face into something as neutral as possible. Unimpressed, even. “She said she liked my dad’s music.”

“Well, he was in The Smiths. Pretty sure lots of people do.” Jess is far too reasonable for her level of drunkenness.  

“Yeah, but as an introductory statement? It was basically a hate crime.” 

“And yet you laughed. I was there. I saw it.” 

You let the moment hang. Let Jess think she’s right. Then: “It was politeness.” 

“Politeness?” Jess is openly laughing now. You wish Alex would return from whatever adventure she has embarked on and save you from her insufferable girlfriend. “You’re never polite. You told Victoria Beckham her boots looked like bin bags.” 

“They did.” You sigh, gaze drifting lazily across the bar. Of course, it lands on Leah. 

She’s still there. Still talking to Cecily, now joined by two other vaguely familiar faces – some actor, maybe, and a girl who used to date someone who used to date you. Leah’s smile is easy. Careless. But you’re not an idiot and you know performative charm when you see it. You invented it. 

As if sensing your attention, she glances over.

Your eyes meet. 

She holds it, just long enough to be cocky. Just long enough to challenge you. Before you look away in repulsion, she raises a brow: are you going to talk to me or just stare all night?

The whiskey finally hits your bloodstream. 

“She’s looking at you,” Jess says, entirely unhelpful. 

“No, she’s not.” 

“She is.” 

“Fine,” you sigh, already bored of yourself. “I’ll just pop over there and make sure Cecily hasn’t invited her to the family Christmas.” 

Jess clinks her drink against yours as you step away. “Be nice.” She remembers who she’s speaking to, laughing at her own words. “Or don’t. Just don’t shag her in a Portaloo.” 

You glare at her. “That was one time.” 

She shrugs. “I still don’t understand the mechanics of it.” 

It’s something you have refused to explain to her time and time again. She knows the scar GCSE Physics left on you, and therefore should know better, but a defining feature of your friendship with Jess is her incessant over-stepping and your forgiving nature. (Here, you tell a lie – you don’t forgive her, you just gave up on chiding her.) Anywho, the best way to avoid denying her of her mythology story-time is to get on with interrupting Leah and your sister.

The conversation stops when you approach, Leah’s voice dying in her throat, her sentence doomed to be unfinished. The four of them – actor and ex’s ex both staring gormlessly – seem to wait for you to announce what you have deemed important enough to grace them with. 

You fix your eyes on Leah. “I hope Cec hasn’t bored you with the logistics of maintaining an eating disorder.” 

Cecily doesn’t even blink. “You’re just jealous that I’ve walked runways and you haven’t.” 

“Not at all,” you murmur, gaze unwavering. 

The actor, aggressively toothy in a leather waistcoat, sporting a generic face you’re pretty sure you scrolled past on Netflix last week, takes the opportunity to interject, apparently confusing the silence for an invitation. 

“I’m Edward, by the way.” He leans in as if this matters. Cec subtly glances at you – you’re both thinking the same thing. “I won the BAFTA for Best Short Form Performance. Web-based narrative – all very pioneer and such. You might have seen it? Houndstooth?” Only the ex’s ex reacts, and it is unconvincing at best. He recovers, undeterred. “Anyway, I was just saying how much I love your dad’s music. Real Manchester grit. Proper lyrics, you know?” 

He gestures between you and Cecily. You weigh out what would be more fun: expose his mistake or ask him whether he can actually point Manchester out on the map. 

Cec gets there first. “He’s not my dad,” she says, tone sickly sweet but laced with a level of mocking she has learnt from you. “Just hers.” She jabs a finger in your direction. “See” – and here’s where she gets you back for earlier – “my half-sister is my mother’s daughter. Don’t you recall that big affair? ‘96, ‘97. Well, here she is, walking and talking.” 

You laugh, hoping she hears the special kind of fury you reserve for this topic lurking in the brightness of your voice. 

Leah’s eyes flicker to you, apologetic. “Shit. Right.” She swallows. “I shouldn’t have – back at the table – about the whole, uh…” She trails off, waving her hand as though it conjures up the rest of her words. You briefly wonder if this woman has ever finished a sentence. 

You tilt your head. “The whole ‘I like your dad’s music’ thing?” 

She winces. “That.” 

Cecily grins, clearly enjoying the awkwardness she hasn’t had to cause for once. The actor looks confused and the girl takes an abrupt interest in her drink. 

“Well, I think I’m going to mingle with the… common folk,” Cecily says then, voice light as a feather. Edward laughs – of course he finds that funny. “Coming, Leah?” 

You’re about to say no, as though you have authority to do so, when Leah smiles, a little tight around the edges. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Cec shrugs, already turning away. “Suit yourself. Come on, darlings,” she chirps to the others, acquiring tonight’s entourage. “Let’s leave the artist alone with her muse.” 

You don’t dignify it with a response. You watch them go.

Something settles in the atmosphere. Probably a sigh of relief that your sister has fucked off. Things feel quieter. 

“You know, when you meet a nepo-baby, you’re not supposed to remind them of it.” The whiskey you sip to chase your first teaching burns your throat. “Much less talk about the fame of their parents.” 

“I liked your set.” She is defiant in the way she says it, shoulders squared, jaw set. You assume she hates being patronised more than the average person. The small amount of empathy in you connects that to being a female athlete. Or maybe just a woman. 

You nod, noncommittally. A truce. “Thanks.” 

“I hadn’t connected the dots about your dad.” She really should stop talking about it, else you’ll have to find a way to make her shut up. “Must be terrifying to have him watching you on days like today.” 

Your laugh is involuntary. Startling. She jumps. “He’s not watching. His son has a gig in some pub in Manchester.” You hope she doesn’t pity you. “Glasto’s televised,” you say, feeling the need to justify it. 

“He missed out.” 

She doesn’t understand the weight of that statement. 

“Perhaps. Anyway, you know I’m more nepo through my mother? My grandfather was the CEO of Sony Music for a long time. Then he died and they got the new guy in, but such is life.” 

“I should have been more diligent when reading your Wikipedia.” And that makes you laugh, you’re embarrassed to admit. She smiles, almost proud of herself. “I am quite a fan of The Smiths though.” 

“They’re a bit angsty.” 

“Mate,” she says incredulously, “have you heard your lyrics?” 

You roll your eyes. “But I don’t listen to my own music. Do you watch yourself play football?” 

Leah thinks about that for a moment. Her expression softens, as though you have just said something completely idiotic. 

“Well, yes. We have film sessions – hours spent pouring over how we play, how the other teams play.” 

“I don’t know how sports work.” 

“Well, I don’t know my C major from my A minor.” 

Her confusion is amusing. “They’re the same,” you say gently, though you’re not sure why you’re enjoying this conversation or educating her on entry-level music theory.

Leah frowns. “They don’t sound the same.” 

You take a slow sip of your drink, let it burn just long enough. “They’re not supposed to, even to an ignorant ear.” 

“Are you calling me ignorant?” 

You gesture lazily with your glass. “No. Just your ears.” 

She scoffs, offended. You’re a total bitch.

[p0orbaby]

Can I request for Leah? Leah & reader having sex for the first time post reader giving birth.

Leah being super awkward with bringing it up as doesn’t want to pressure reader. Then, reader surprising her with a baby free night & some sexy time ;)

18+, you know the drill

-

Her fingers are inside you already. Two, maybe three. You’re not sure. You’ve lost count. She’s laughing under her breath—mean little puffs of air against your jaw—and you can’t tell if it’s at you or just the fact that this is actually happening.

You’re on your back. The bed is crooked because one of the legs is loose and she’s fucking you like she wants it to break. Her hair’s tied back but a bit’s come loose and it keeps sticking to her cheek, damp from sweat. She ignores it. She ignores everything that isn’t your thighs around her ribs or the way you keep grabbing the sheets l as if that’s going to save you.

“Still so fucking tight,” she mutters, mostly to herself, like it’s a complaint.

You want to say it’s because you gave birth six weeks ago and haven’t had anything up there since, but your mouth’s too busy gasping like you’re being murdered in a stylish, well-lit way. You haven’t made noise like this in months. Maybe since New Year’s. You’re not sure. It’s all blurred now. A fog of nappies, leaky tits, and wondering if your fanny will ever feel like yours again.

“Was starting to think you’d never let me touch you like this again,” she says, and it’s not a joke, but it lands like one.

You twist your fingers into her hair and tug until she groans into your neck.

The baby’s at her mum’s. You told her he needed a change of scenery. That he misses the smell of Yorkshire Tea and Harpic bleach and her mum’s wood-burning stove. That you miss silence. But you lied—a little. You wanted this. Just this. Her, inside you, no lullabies playing off a Spotify algorithm. No baby monitor blinking red on the nightstand. No wet wipes on the headboard.

Just skin. Sweat. Spit. Release.

“You’re such a bitch when you’re horny,” you pant, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

You do. You love that she holds back until she’s sure you’re ready. You love that when you said “he’s gone for the night” she didn’t pounce—just stared, half-sceptical, half-relieved, then waited for you to move first. You love that now she’s got you pinned, she’s stopped pretending to be gentle.

You’re soaked. Actually soaked. She pulls her hand out and you hear it. That wet slap sound. She smirks.

“Missed this cunt.”

You snort. “Didn’t miss your language.”

She licks her fingers, bites down on the tip of one. “Liar.”

You’ve been different lately. Still you, but not. More tired. Less flirty. You wear your dressing gown open because it’s easier for feeding. You haven’t shaved your legs in a week. She doesn’t care. She still stares at your tits in the morning like they’re sacred. You catch her doing it while she’s brushing her teeth. She never mentions it.

“Gonna make you come like five times. Make up for lost time.”

“You’ve never made me come five times in your life.”

She’s smiling. Not wide, but that thin, cocky one that starts in one corner of her mouth and drags across like it’s pulling teeth. “Baby, I’ve been edging myself over you for seven bloody weeks. I’m due.”

You laugh. You hate that word—baby—when it’s not about the actual baby. But when she says it like this, chest to chest, voice low, fingers inside you again, you forgive it.

The angle shifts. She’s knelt now. Pulls your hips up into her lap like you’re a ragdoll. Like she owns every joint and every sound. You moan and it sounds rude. Ungrateful. Full of swears you can’t form.

“Look at you,” she says, dragging her fingers over your clit like she’s tuning a radio. “So fucking wet. And for what?”

“For my wife,” you say, breathless, sarcastic, wanting to be pinned again.

She obliges.

The headboard knocks the wall.

You wince. “Neighbours—”

“They’re at Glasto.”

You grin. Filthy. She grins back. Not romantic. Animal.

And then she bends down like she’s starving and your cunt owes her money. You don’t even get a warning. One hand anchoring your hip, the other dragging down your inner thigh like she’s inspecting you for quality control. Her mouth’s already on you. Wet, warm, loud. She makes noise when she eats you. Always has. It’s obscene.

You say her name like a swear word.

You try to close your legs. She doesn’t let you. Grips your thigh and shoves it back up so wide you’re almost cramping. You haven’t stretched like this since you were in labour.

You laugh, out of breath. “You’re gonna dislocate my hip.”

She lifts her head for half a second, glistening. “I’ll call physio in the morning.”

Then back in. Tongue flat, lazy. She does it slowly, like she’s got hours, like she’s paid for the night.

You’re close again, which is ridiculous. It’s been like six minutes. Seven, tops.

She hums against you and you slap the headboard. Not for effect. Just something to hold onto.

When you come this time, you grab a pillow and bite it. You taste fabric softener and tears. Possibly yours.

She pulls back, mouth wet, cheeks flushed. “Still think five’s unrealistic?”

You squint at her. “Your mum has to bring the baby back in the morning.”

“So?”

“So I need to be able to walk to the door.”

She smiles, slow. “You can crawl.” Then dives back in.

[mapiforpresident]

could i please request: leah williamson x single mom reader ( to like a 1 year old) maybe they meet at a cafe and r and leah go on some dates and on one date r is in the middle of telling leah about her daughter “ i have something really important to tell you, i understand if you want to end whatever we have right now when you find out” when she gets a call from the babysitter that her daughter won’t stop crying and she has to go home, so she panics and says she needs to go home so leah offers to drive her and when they get there r just hops out of the car and runs inside leaving the door open so leah slowly walks in behind her and sees her and her daughter

btw i love your writing!

what we don’t say

leah x reader

warnings: daughter

~~~

You didn’t expect much from the coffee shop that day. Just caffeine. A little quiet. Maybe five whole minutes without someone wiping their nose on your shirt or throwing puffs across the floor like confetti.

You loved her. God, you loved her more than anything. But being a single mum to a one-year-old? Exhausting didn’t even begin to cover it.

So yeah, coffee. That’s all you came for.

And then Leah Williamson held the door open for you.

You barely looked up, too busy juggling your bag, your keys, and a sippy cup that somehow always leaked. But she smiled. One of those soft, knowing ones. The kind that didn’t feel performative, just kind.

You smiled back because, well. Have you seen her?

She held the door. Let you go ahead. And then, somehow, ended up behind you in line. And then beside you while you waited. And then leaning in with a little laugh to say, “Don’t worry, I always panic at the till too.”

And maybe you laughed a little too loudly. Or maybe she just liked your laugh. Either way, she asked if she could sit with you. And you said yes before your brain caught up with your mouth.

You didn’t tell her anything real that day. Not your last name. Not what your life looked like. Just that you were tired and the coffee helped and the weather had been a bit shit lately.

She didn’t ask much.

She just made you laugh. And you let yourself feel normal for twenty whole minutes.

That should’ve been it. A one-off thing. A cute story you never told anyone.

But then she showed up again.

And again.

And again.

And suddenly you were texting. Grinning like a fool when her name popped up. Going on walks that turned into lunch. Lunches that turned into “You’re actually really easy to talk to.”

You never meant to let it get this far. You never meant to feel this much.

But she made it so easy.

By the time your third official date rolled around, you knew you had to say something.

You’d been putting it off. Convincing yourself it wasn’t the right time. That it was too soon. That she’d run. That she’d hear the word daughter and suddenly remember she left the oven on.

But she was sitting across from you in that quiet little pub, her eyes soft, her fingers brushing yours over the table like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

And you knew you had to say it.

“I have something I need to tell you,” you said, voice a little too stiff.

Her brows furrowed just slightly, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

“I don’t want to scare you off,” you added quickly. “But I also can’t keep this from you. And I get it if you want to end this once you know. I really do.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then—

Your phone buzzed.

Loud against the wood of the table.

You glanced down. One look at the name and your stomach dropped.

It was your sitter.

You picked up immediately. “Hey, everything okay?”

The answer was no.

“She won’t stop crying,” your sitter said. “I’ve tried milk, I’ve changed her, I rocked her, everything. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Your heart was already pounding. “I’m on my way.”

You hung up without explaining. Stood up too fast. Grabbed your coat and your phone and—

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Leah stood too, her hand on your arm. “Is everything alright?”

You hesitated. “My daughter, my babysitter called, she’s inconsolable and I just, I have to go.”

You didn’t mean to say daughter like that. Like you were dropping a bomb. Like you were bracing for impact.

But you were. Because now she knew.

You didn’t even give her time to respond before you were turning to leave.

“I’ll drive you,” Leah said quickly.

You froze.

“What?”

“Let me drive you. You’re shaking. You’re not going to focus if you’re behind the wheel.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and her face wasn’t full of judgment. Or panic. Or that polite smile people use when they’re already thinking of their exit.

She just looked worried.

She just looked like she wanted to help.

You barely spoke in the car.

Leah didn’t push. Just kept her hand steady on the wheel, glancing over every now and then to make sure you were okay. She didn’t ask about your daughter. Didn’t ask why you’d never mentioned her. Just drove, quiet and steady.

When she pulled up to your place, you barely managed to say thank you before you were already out the door.

You didn’t even shut it behind you.

Leah got out slowly, unsure if she should follow. The door was still open, and the panic in your eyes was still fresh in her mind.

So she stepped inside.

And there you were.

In the middle of your small living room, down on your knees, holding a wailing little girl to your chest. Rocking back and forth with your eyes squeezed shut and your voice whispering “shh, shh, mummy’s here, it’s okay now.”

Leah froze in the doorway.

You didn’t notice her at first. Too focused. Too overwhelmed. Too caught in that instinct that only comes when someone’s whole world is crying in your arms.

But when your daughter’s cries started to soften, when her fingers clutched the fabric of your shirt and her head tucked into your neck, you finally looked up.

And Leah was still there.

Quiet. Hesitant. But still there.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” you said softly.

Leah stepped forward, just a bit. Her eyes locked on the little girl now hiccuping against your chest. “She’s beautiful.”

You blinked. “You’re not… freaked out?”

She smiled, small and genuine. “A little surprised. Not freaked out.”

You shifted, one arm still cradling your daughter. “I was going to tell you tonight. Before the call. I just… didn’t want to scare you off.”

Leah took another step. “She’s your daughter. That’s not scary. That’s honestly kind of amazing.”

You blinked again. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, then crouched a little so she wasn’t towering over you both. “And now I get why you always smell like baby wipes.”

You laughed, soft and surprised, and your daughter stirred a little, her sleepy eyes cracking open to look at the new person in the room.

Leah smiled at her. “Hey, sweetheart.”

And your daughter… smiled back.

Small. Wobbly. But real.

And you felt something shift in your chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Leah said quietly, eyes still on your daughter. “If you’ll let me stay.”

You swallowed hard.

And nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

And maybe it wasn’t how you planned it.

But maybe, just maybe, it was exactly how it was meant to happen.

[lvnleah]

retail therapy | leah williamson.

Shopping was your favorite thing, it was your therapy, but for Leah it was hell. 

She hated shopping. 

She hated the waiting, the endless racks of clothes, and the way you could spend hours trying things on without actually buying anything. She especially hated how you always dragged her along, even though she made it very clear, multiple times, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Yet, here she was, slouched on a bench outside the fitting rooms, arms crossed, watching you twirl in front of the mirror in another outfit. She let out a dramatic sigh, hoping you’d take pity on her.

“You look great. Amazing. Perfect. The hottest woman I’ve ever seen. Can we go now?” she pleaded.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the mirror to admire yourself. “Leah, I’ve tried on, like, three things. You’ll survive.”

She groaned, tilting her head back. “Three things too many. This is torture.”

“You play ninety minutes of football for a living, but standing in a store for twenty minutes is torture?”

“Yes, because at least in football, I’m doing something. Here, I’m just… waiting.” She kicked at the air in frustration.

You smirked, turning to her with a new idea. “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be this miserable, let’s make it fun. You pick out an outfit for me.”

Leah perked up slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Anything I want?”

“Anything.”

A slow grin spread across her face as she stood up. “Alright, don’t regret this.”

You watched as she disappeared into the aisles, suddenly much more enthusiastic about shopping than before. That was probably a bad sign.

You had expected Leah to make a joke out of this, to grab the most ridiculous, clashing pieces she could find just to get back at you for dragging her shopping. But instead, she got this thoughtful look on her face, eyes scanning the racks with the same focus she had on the pitch.

“Alright,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Stay here.”

You watched in curiosity as she moved through the store with purpose, her fingers trailing over fabrics, occasionally pausing to pull something out, tilting her head like she was imagining it on you. Within minutes, she returned, a small but carefully chosen selection in her arms.

“Try these,” she said, handing them over.

You raised an eyebrow. “No sequins? No neon?”

Leah smirked. “I take fashion seriously, babe. I’m not about to let you look ridiculous.”

Rolling your eyes at her fashion expertise, you took the clothes and headed to the fitting room. But as soon as you slipped into the first outfit, a perfectly tailored pair of trousers and a silky top that somehow fit like a dream, you had to admit she knew what she was doing.

When you stepped out, Leah’s eyes lit up, and a satisfied smile crossed her lips.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding in approval. “That’s the one. You look so fucking hot.”

You turned to the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “You actually did good,” you admitted.

Leah scoffed. “Obviously. I’ve got taste, babe.”

“Fine, I’ll give you credit this time.”

She grinned, stepping closer and adjusting the sleeve slightly. “Next time, just let me pick from the start. Saves us both the trouble.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll think about it.”

[prettypinkporkchop]

I’m a paul girly can u please do one where Paul is grumpy because everyone is coupled up with their imprint and his is away for college but at the bonfire the girls surprise Paul with his imprint and he goes from a mean grumpy to a clingy sweetheart make it long pls I love u💕

I love you!!!!! ❤️

Paul kicks the log that's below him. Everyone that's lined up on the cliff turns to him. "Paul, lighten up." Embry says. "Shut up." Paul growls and charges at him, pushing him into the water. "Really?" Jared looks at him. "Fuck off, Jared." Paul rolls his eyes. Paul misses you so bad. He hates when you're away.

Everyone is at Emily's. She made the pack lunch. They're all eating inside the house. Paul is quiet, eating his sandwhich. "Dude! Imagine what'd it'd be like if Jacob and Renesmee had babies? I sense new drama." Embry laughs. Paul grumbles and rolls his eyes. "Hey, me and Kim are planning. Just saying." Jared raises his hands. "Nuh, uh! You're just stupid horny." Quil shoves him. They burst into laughter. Paul just sits there. "Paul Lahote. Don't be so rude. I know it sucks, but she's coming back soon!" Emily pats his back. He moves his shoulders around, wiggling her hand off of him. "Yeah. I know." He says.

Back outside, everyone is training. Even the Black pack. Leah is laughing, and just her laughter pisses off Paul. He's keeping his cool. "Bro, if I phase right now, I'm biting your ankle." Embry playfully pushes Quil. "Kinky." Quil smirks and then phases. He didn't even bother to take off his shorts. When he phases, he accidently bumps into Paul. Paul growls, loses his cool, and phases. Quil's wolf slowly backs away. Sam is calling out to Paul to chill out. Paul disregards Sam and starts attacking Quil.

It's been like this for weeks. Leah, Kim, and Emily are the only ones that know you are coming back tonight at the bonfire tonight. Right now, you're at the airport heading back home. Being away from Paul has been hard for you. You're getting excited at the fact that when you go home, the last two years of your schooling are online! Paul knows nothing! This is going to be the best surprise. "Forks!" The lady at the desk, taking tickets for the plane entry, calls out your destination. Only two other people follow suit. They don't look familiar, so obviously, it's just their layovers.

Emily looks at Sam because Paul just snapped at Seth for no reason. "Paul. I'm about to just send your ass home if you don't stop." Paul sighs and leans back in the chair, looking at the sun as it sets. The fire is warm on his legs, but all he can think about is you. Seth, being Seth, offers Paul a plate and a drink. "Yeah. Thanks." Paul said dryly. Seth feels so bad. He's the only one willing to deal with Paul's anger. Everyone else is over it but at the same time, feel bad. "You know she'll come back." Emily says. "I've got that. But when? I don't know. And she has to go right back. And it'll be like this for another two years." Paul growls. "You know it's hard for her too. You have to support her." Leah butt's in. "Jesus, Leah. You know I support her. She's at school, right?" He looks at her. She nods her head and walks away, going to talk to Kim. It's getting unbearable for Paul. Being away from an imprint is the toughest thing for a shifter. It's been two months of texting, phone calls, and video calls. You're gone for two months, back for two weeks. It's been like that for a year now. Every time you leave, Paul gets angrier and angrier.

Kim and Leah get in the truck and drive to the airport to wait for you. You'll be back in an hour or so. Paul sees Emily smirking at him and then Sam. "What is it?" Paul asks. "Nothing." She shakes her head. Paul just sighs, and Seth comes back with a plate of steak, potatoes, and muffins. In his other hand is a glass of coke. Paul takes it and nods at Seth. Paul starts scarfing it down.

You leave the terminal and go out to the open space. People are walking around you and you're trying to catch Leah and Kim.

You: girls! I'm near the entrance.

You text them. Not even a few minutes later, Kim in the distance spots you. The two women run to you. You run to them, too. Your fully packed backpack and duffle bag on your arm are heavy and bouncing. You tackle both of the women who hold their arms open. You three laugh and just about fall over. "Let me take this!" Leah smiles, grabbing your bag. "UGH! Thank you, life saver." You gush at Leah. "God, I've missed you guys." You sigh. "Paul has been a dick, as usual. I'm literally about to snap his neck." Leah laughs. You nod your head in agreement. "I can only imagine." You reply.

You girls get to Leah's truck. You sit in the back seat while Leah drives. "Nobody questioned why we left. Not even Jared!" Kim says offended. "Them rowdy boys wouldn't notice if the sun fell on them while they're together." Leah laughs. "True!" You call out. "How's Billy?" You ask. "He's doing good. Old man can't fall over. I swear he's invincible." Leah laughs. "Yes! I try to help him do stuff around the house, but he just shooes me and Emily off." Kim says. "So, typical Billy. What about Jake and Nessie?" You ask. Leah rolls her eyes. "The guy is barely even with us. Ever since they got their house, them two have been loners. He only comes out during get-togethers, wolf shit, and bonfires." Leah replies. As she says this, a car pulls out in front of you guys. She swerves to the side, making you hit your head on the window. "Shit! Asshole!" Leah honks her horn. Kim flips them off. You lean back up in your seat. "Geez." You laugh awkwardly. "We're stopping at Paul's so you can drop off your stuff and then going to the fire." Leah says, totally disregarding that you almost died.

You guys finally make it. You can see the smoke from the fire and orange in the distance in the yard. You can see the guys running around. You squint toward the fire and see Paul sitting in a chair by himself. You giggle at his sulking. "Wait, I didn't think this far." Kim laughs. "How do we surprise him?" She turns to Leah. "I have an idea!" You lift a finger. They turn to you. "I sneak up behind him, putting my hands in front of his eyes and pull a 'guess who'." They nod together and then clap their hands. "UGH! Finally, I can breathe!" Leah breathes out. You laugh at her dramatic self. You step out of the truck. You slowly walk your way behind Paul. "I can hear you creeping, and I'm not in the mood." Paul growls. You quickly put your hands in front of his eyes. "Fuck." He growls but then stops instantly as he smells your scent. "Guess who." You whisper. He doesn't hesitate to stand up, throw the chair that's in between you, and wrap his arms around you. You hold him back and breathe in what you've missed. Paul Lahote. He's back in your arms. "Oh my fucking god, my baby." He mumbles in your hair. "I fucking love you." He says. "I love you too, Paul." You reply. Then, there's loud clapping all around. You two pull away from each other and see everyone clapping. "How'd you even get here?!" He smiles at you. Before you can even answer, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly. You kiss him back and wrap your fingers around his wrists. His lips are soft, and the kiss is longing. You fall into it, moving your lips with his. You pull away and look into your man's eyes. "Leah and Kim picked me up. All of the girls knew." You reply, your thumbs running over his knuckles. "Damn it." He smiles, chuckling. He lifts you up and spins you around. "My girl." He laughs. You laugh along with him, and he sets you down. "Alright, we get it! Now, time to share her." Emily laughs, hugging you. Paul smiles, not giving any more attitude.

You hug everyone, and Paul refuses to leave your side. You love it! Considering, you refuse to leave his, too. Now you guys are sitting around the fire. Jake and Nessie showed up. You're sitting on his lap. His arms are around your waist. He leaves random kisses on your back and arm. He randomly squeezes and presses his cheek against your back as if you could disappear any moment. Once the fire talk is over, you turn to Paul. "I don't want you to go again." He frowns. "Baby, I have good news." You smile. "What?" His eyes widen and sparkle with hope. "My physical classes are over. I'm home now. They're online." You watch as his lips part, and he slowly begins to smile. "Oh my God. YES!" He holds you. You pull his face off of your chest and kiss him softly. He doesn't instantly kiss you back. Pulling away and going back in, over and over. Everyone is leaving you two at it.

After holding onto you for a hot while, Paul decides to apologize to his pack and play around with them. You sit down on the chair, chatting with Emily. "God, Paul is back." She sighs in relief. "I know! Even on the phone, he seemed off." You giggle. Paul grabs your shoulders suddenly and then kisses your head. "Alright, back off with the boys." He does this a few more times. He runs off to play with the guys and then runs to you to give you a quick kiss before running back.

You're typing away on your laptop while Paul is still in bed sleeping. You're on the couch with your legs crossed doing some work. You open the highlighter cap and swipe it across words on the thick ass book that sits next to you. The bedroom door opens, and there stands a quiet Paul. His sleep shorts are hanging low. He yawns and scratches the back of his neck. "Good morning, my baby girl." He says in his scratchy and low morning voice. He walks over to you and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, my love." You scrunch up your nose with a smile. He looks over your neck and chuckles. "You didn't leave hickeys last night, did you?" You sighed in annoyance. "Eh, maybe I got carried away." He clicks his tongue before walking into the kitchen. "Damn it, Paul." You turn on the camera on your phone and see three big purple bruises. "Emily asked me to come over today when you go over there." You say. "Good because you were coming with anyways." He smirks, pouring his milk into his cereal. You blush and then bite your lip. "AWE, no, don't do that. You'll get what you got last night again." He winks. You roll your eyes playfully. "And don't do that either." He warns, taking a bite of his cereal.

You're mixing the batter to Emily's cake. She licks some chocolate off her finger and flips through her recipe. "Girl, this will take hours!" She sighs. "Are you nervous? I mean, it's a wedding cake! That's a lot of pressure." You continue to mix. "Nah! It's a small wedding." She shrugs it off. "Woowoo!" You hear Embry and Quil. In walks everyone, including Jacob. "Surprised you're here." Emily smirks at him. "Hey, I had to see y/n again." He laughs. You smile at him. "Well, I'm here permanently." You say. Paul walks behind the counter and puts his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. "Normally, I'd say get the hell out of my kitchen, but I'm giving you an exception today." Emily says to Paul. "Thank you, Emily!" He smiles. "Oh wow! A thank you!" Jared jokes. Paul flips him off with a smirk. "Don't hate the love." You laugh. You place the bowl down on the counter to finish up your assignment Emily gave you for the cake. Paul huffs and pulls you back into him. "Hey!" You giggle. "Alright, lover boy, let the girl bake." Emily pats his shoulder. Paul groans and nods his head, walking toward the group of guys. "Yes, ma'am." He says. "I could really get used to this." Emily laughs. Sam nods his head, crossing his arms. "Yes, much better." He laughs. "Paul, I have to show you this new trick I can do while jumping off the cliff!" Embry says. "I saw you do that shit, dude. You looked dumb." Jacob teases. "Aye now." Quil warns and wraps an arm around Embry. "Don't be mean to my boyfriend." He glares. "WOAHHHH WOOOAHHH WOKKAHHG." Embry shoves him off. "Emily! Can I give y/n one more kiss?" He begs. "Quickly." She says, putting one of the cake pieces into the oven. He jumps up and gets behind you while you put icing on the base of the cake. He kisses your head over and over before you turn your head and kiss him softly. He smiles and then sits back down. "Alright, alright. I'm done." He says. "Lover boy!" Jacob sings. "Oh, loverboy!" Jared follows Jacob. Paul glares at them. "I'll kick your asses. I'm not joking." He growls. They start laughing. "There's the hothead!" Jared ruffles his hair. Paul grabs his hand tightly. "Ow, ow, ow." Jared laughs.

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * WOLFPACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ — you take them lingerie shopping with you.

synopsis: how they'd react if they went shopping with their s/o and they see them looking for a new pair of lingerie/cute underwear.

pairing/s: paul lahote, jacob black, embry call, quil ateara, jared cameron, seth clearwater, sam uley, leah clearwater

masterlist | check out my other work !

paul lahote

paul wasn’t even paying attention to what aisle you wandered into until he noticed you slow down—then stop—in front of a wall of lace, silk, and soft pastel fabrics.

at first, his brow twitches. confusion turns to amusement fast. “wait—this is what you were looking for?” he asks, voice low and already laced with mischief.

when he sees you pick up a delicate little set—lace-trimmed, pale blush—his entire demeanor changes.

smirk mode: activated.

he steps closer, arms folded across his broad chest, head tilted slightly as he watches you pretend to inspect tags. “i mean… if you’re trying to kill me, just say so.”

he doesn’t get shy. not paul. if anything, he enjoys the idea that you’re looking at something sexy for yourself—because he’s the one who gets to see it.

picks up a darker, more sultry pair and holds it out to you with a grin: “this one. definitely this one. you should try it on. for research purposes.”

if you so much as blush? he’s thrilled. will lean in and murmur something like, “don’t get all shy on me now. you started this, sweetheart.”

absolutely insists on buying it for you and wants to carry the bag out, pride written all over his face. you’re his girl—and he’s not quiet about how lucky he is.

jacob black

jacob’s totally content following you around the store, not really paying attention, until you veer off into a corner he wasn’t expecting.

the lingerie section.

his steps immediately falter. he doesn’t want to seem weird about it, but the moment he sees you scanning a rack of lacy bralettes, his ears turn bright red.

“uh… this the right aisle?” he asks, trying to sound casual, even though his voice cracks a little at the end.

you don’t even respond—you’re already holding up a set to inspect. and that’s when jacob’s brain starts to short-circuit.

he can’t stop glancing. can’t stop imagining. you in something soft and sheer, maybe in his hoodie right after.

“you… you’d look really good in that,” he mumbles without meaning to. the second he realizes it, he groans and covers his face. “shit, forget i said that.”

you laugh, and that only makes him more flustered. you teasing him? game over.

“this is so unfair,” he grumbles under his breath. “you’re not even doing anything, and i’m losing my mind over here.”

he walks out of the store with his arm around your shoulders and the most intense internal monologue of all time.

embry call

embry’s always been a little awkward with attention—especially when it comes to you. so when you intentionally drag him into the underwear section while out shopping? he’s already sweating.

he tries to play it cool. tries to keep his hands in his pockets, tries to hum some tune and look away. but he fails instantly the second you lift up something silky and say, “do you think this color would look good on me?”

he makes a choked noise. his whole body jerks slightly like he’s been electrocuted.

“i—uh—y-yeah. that’d look amazing. wait—i mean good. just—good. totally appropriate.”

he’s so red in the face. you could probably fry an egg on his cheek.

he peeks at the tag like he’s examining battle strategy, then whispers, “are you getting that for…you know. wearing around the house? or…like. just…wha—what’s the purpose?”

you tease him about being flustered and he covers his eyes.

but even through the nerves, he genuinely thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you wear. so when you ask which one he likes, he points to something soft, cozy-looking, not too flashy.

“this one,” he says quietly, handing it to you like it’s a sacred artifact. “you’d be comfortable in it. and you’d still make my heart stop.”

jared cameron

jared walks into the lingerie section like it’s the highlight of his day.

he’s not shy. not even close. “oh, we’re going in here? finally,” he jokes, grinning.

the moment you start flipping through the hangers, he’s already at your side, picking out options. “okay, but look at this one. it’s got your name all over it.”

jared treats it like a fun game. he’ll toss out ridiculous suggestions just to make you laugh, then sneak in one that actually makes you blush.

“you keep reacting like that and i will ask you to try it on right now,” he teases, voice low and teasingly serious.

he watches your face more than the clothes—lives for your flustered expressions.

if someone else walks by and gives you a look while you’re holding something sultry? jared steps closer, voice dropping: “keep lookin’ and you’ll go blind.”

he pays for it all without hesitation and tucks the bag under his arm with a proud smile.

“don’t worry, babe,” he says with a wink. “i’ll help you decide which one’s best later. in private.”

seth clearwater

poor seth. the minute he realizes you’re looking at underwear, he nearly combusts.

“oh! oh—uh—y-you’re shopping for that kind of stuff?”

he stands a full foot away from you like he might get struck by lightning just for being near a pair of lacy panties.

he keeps trying so hard not to look, but curiosity always wins.

when you hold up a cute, pastel bralette and ask what he thinks, he freezes. his mouth opens—no words come out. he just nods rapidly.

“yep. cute. definitely cute. super… lacy. i mean—lovely.”

if you tease him by grabbing something bolder, like red lace or black satin, he gasps. “that’s—um—that’s—wow. you’d—uh—you’d wear that? for… like… sleep?”

later, as you’re checking out, he tugs at your sleeve and whispers, “i think you’d look beautiful in anything… but that one? that one’s gonna live in my head forever.”

his honesty is so endearing, and his face is red the entire drive home.

quil ateara

quil’s the type to notice instantly what aisle you’re walking into—and make a comment before you even grab something.

“ohhh no. you’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you?”

he follows behind you with a dramatic sigh, hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes twinkling.

“i swear, if you hold up something with bows or frilly lace, i’m going to melt into the floor.”

and then you do—and he does.

he pretends to faint. literally leans back like he’s about to collapse. “have mercy.”

picks out a ridiculous novelty pair first (think: glitter hearts), just to make you snort. but then he finds one that’s genuinely sexy, holds it up thoughtfully, and gets weirdly quiet.

“you’d look so good in this. like, dangerous.”

when you actually buy it, he jokes the whole time—but his hand stays firmly at the small of your back.

that night, when you wear it? his first words are, “okay. yep. dead. you killed me. worth it.”

sam uley

sam is calm, composed, and entirely unreadable—at least on the outside.

the second you start browsing lingerie, he’s beside you with one eyebrow lifted. “lingerie shopping, huh?” he murmurs, voice deep and smooth.

there’s something in his tone that makes the back of your neck heat up.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t get flustered. he just watches you with this quiet, intense gaze that says everything.

when you lift a black lace set to inspect, he steps closer. “you’d look stunning in that,” he says simply, like it’s a fact.

if another guy walks past and looks at you too long? sam’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. that protective, alpha instinct doesn’t sleep.

helps you find your size without hesitation and is absurdly practical—until you try to call him out on enjoying it too much.

“maybe i am,” he says, low and husky. “but you knew what you were doing bringing me here, didn’t you?”

by the time you leave, his arm is around your waist, and he’s leaning down to murmur in your ear, “you’re wearing that for me later. no arguments.”

leah clearwater

leah doesn’t usually linger in stores longer than necessary. she likes getting in, getting what she needs, and getting out—especially if the store’s crowded.

so when you pull her gently toward the lingerie section, she blinks, glances at the signs overhead, and says with a dry laugh, “oh, so we’re going there today?”

her tone’s light, a little sarcastic, but not biting—because even if she doesn’t say it aloud, she’ll follow you anywhere.

she stands at your side as you browse, arms folded and eyes scanning the displays with a raised brow. you half-expect her to scoff at the lace and silk, but instead, she just murmurs, “some of this stuff looks like it’d fall apart in the wash.”

still… she lingers. quietly. watches you sift through colors and fabrics like she’s memorizing which ones you’re drawn to.

when you hold up a soft, lilac set—more cute than bold—leah’s eyes soften. she clears her throat. “that’s nice. you’d look really good in that.”

there’s no teasing in her voice, no biting remark—just quiet honesty.

and when you smile at her reaction, she shifts her weight awkwardly, glancing down. “what?” she mumbles. “i’m allowed to have taste.”

you ask if she wants to help you pick one out, and she hesitates. for a second, you think she’s going to say no—but then she reaches for a muted wine-colored bralette and matching bottoms. “this one,” she says, holding it out gently. “i think it’d suit you. strong. subtle. pretty.”

she says the last word a little softer, barely audible, and you catch her biting the inside of her cheek when your eyes meet.

leah’s not used to softness—not the romantic kind. but around you, it leaks through in little glances, brief touches, and quiet protectiveness.

when you head to the register, she walks close beside you, her hand brushing yours until she just grabs it outright.

“you don’t have to dress up for me,” she murmurs once you’re alone again. “i already think you’re beautiful.”

but then—just a beat later, a small smirk tugs at her lips as she adds, “still. if you do wear that one tonight, i’m not gonna complain.”

[wosospacegirl]

Do you know that tiktok couples prank that someone offers their partner to do something hard, like helping a friend move houses and see how the partner reacts? Could you write that with Leah?

Lift it up the stairs - Leah Williamson

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: hi! sorry it took me so long, here it is:

..

Leah had just been given a week's vacation from Arsenal. It was one of those rare dates on the football calendar when she didn’t have to worry about a thing.

Arsenal didn’t matter, the Lionesses didn’t matter, and football didn’t matter at all. And Leah was serious when she said she was taking a break from football. When she got home, the first thing she did was grab Y/n by the waist and throw both of them onto the sofa.

“No more football,” Leah mumbled, resting her head on Y/n’s thigh, allowing Y/n to run her hands through her hair. “No ball, no training, no boots, no nothing for a whole week.”

“You deserve it, baby,” Y/n said, giving Leah a gentle kiss on the lips. “Now your focus is on resting and on me.”

Leah smirked. “You?”

“Yep!” Y/n said before Leah changed their positions so she was on top of her. “I can certainly do that.”

Two days passed and, although Leah claimed she didn’t need football, she was rather grumpy without it. It was like she couldn’t get used to a routine without the sport.

So Y/n thought of a fun thing to do, something different.

And unfortunately for Leah, it didn’t involve any sexual acts.

Y/n pretended to use her phone, but in reality, she was filming Leah. The angle was very bad though; it almost cut Leah’s head off the screen, but Y/n didn't mind—she wasn’t going to post it anyway.

She set her alarm to play the same song as when her phone rang and then began her show.

Leah was sitting on the other side of the sofa, doing sudoku in her pyjamas. Her hair was in a ponytail—the same one she did every day for training—even though they hadn't even left the house today.

“Hey, babes, what’s up?” Y/n said, pretending to speak with someone on the other end.

As usual, Leah didn’t look up from her sudoku, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the numbers in front of her.

“Yeah, she’s on vacation right now, but we’re still in London. We chose not to travel this time.”

Y/n knew Leah well enough to notice how her attention slightly shifted toward the conversation. Leah knew Y/n was talking about something that involved her, but still, her eyes remained glued to the paper.

“Oh really?! Already?” Y/n faked surprise in her voice, and that’s when Leah looked up, a grumpy expression on her face.

“Can you speak quieter? I’m almost done–” Leah began saying, not loud enough for whoever was supposedly on the other end to hear her.

Y/n ignored her. “Of course, Leah can help you, she doesn’t have anything else to do anyway.”

And that’s when Leah’s head snapped up.

“What do you mean I have nothing to do? I have plenty–”

Y/n quickly put a finger on Leah’s mouth, shutting her up. She pressed the phone against her chest. “Baby! I’m talking to Laia, please be quiet.”

Leah crossed her arms, watching Y/n as she kept going with her prank.

“What was that, Laia? You need help taking a fridge up the stairs?” Y/n asked. “Yeah, Leah will be there to help you, no problem.”

“What?!” Leah argued, putting the sudoku completely aside and sitting next to Y/n. “What are you on about? Why are you offering me?”

“Because you’re strong, Leah,” Y/n said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Laia told me the fridge is not heavy at all.”

“But–”

“Sorry, Laia. Yeah, she’ll totally come over to give you a hand.”

In a quick motion, Leah took the phone from Y/n’s hands.

“Hey, Laia, sorry about that, Y/n is in a silly mood right now,” Leah began, talking into the phone and giving Y/n an ugly look. “I can’t help you, mate, but I’m sure there’s like… a service you can hire to do that kind of stuff.”

Leah waited for Laia’s voice, but it never came. She took the phone from her ear and looked at it. It wasn’t even on the calling screen.

“Did she hang up?” Leah asked, confused.

“Yep, I think she got mad that you didn’t want to help her,” Y/n said, prolonging the lie just a little more. “Now her food will all go to waste since she doesn’t have a freezer to put it in.”

“Oh, we can just invite her to dinner some night to make up for it.” Leah rolled her eyes and got back to her sudoku. “Don’t know what you were thinking, offering me—have you seen my arms? They’re small,” she huffed, writing a number down on the sudoku paper.

“But you’re her captain, you’re supposed to help your teammates out!”

“I’m on vacation, princess. Right now, I’m just Leah.” Leah said, putting her feet on Y/n’s lap. “I just wanna relax! I’ve told you that—no football also means no teammates!”

“But I’m your teammate,” Y/n pouted.

“Right now, you’re just my girlfriend,” Leah said smugly. “A girlfriend who thinks I’m stronger than I am.”

Y/n laughed—it was time to disclose the prank.

She shifted on the sofa, putting Leah’s sudoku aside while she sat on her lap. Leah was staring at her mouth shamelessly.

“It’s a prank,” Y/n said straightforwardly, planting a kiss on Leah’s face. “Sorry.”

Leah gently placed a hand on Y/n’s neck, making the girl look at her. “A prank? What prank?”

“Laia never called. It’s a TikTok trend—to pretend to offer your girlfriend to do something and see how she reacts,” Y/n explained, smiling as Leah just looked at her.

“Are you serious, bro?” Leah asked, throwing her head back. “I’m gonna delete TikTok from your phone.”

“No, you’re not! This prank helped me see that if one of our friends needed this kind of help, you’d be useless,” Y/n joked. “But at the same time, you’re right–”

Y/n took one of Leah’s arms in her hands. “Your arms aren’t that strong.”

“Excuse me?!” Leah said, offended. “If I wanted to, I very well could lift a fridge upstairs! I’m not weak.”

“I didn’t say you’re weak! I just said that–”

Leah took Y/n from her lap and quickly reached for her phone. Y/n looked at her, confused.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to peek over Leah’s shoulder. “Let me see it.” Y/n stomped her feet.

“I’m buying us a fridge,” Leah stated. “The biggest one.”

Y/n looked at Leah as if she was out of her mind. “I’m sorry. Our freezer is good, why are you buying a new one?!”

“To show you I can lift it up the stairs,” Leah murmured grumpily.

“Leah. No,” Y/n said as if talking to a toddler. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Done!” Leah said, showing Y/n the phone screen of the online purchase she had just made.

Y/n threw herself dramatically onto the sofa. “Bloody hell! Why are you like that?”

Leah lay down on top of Y/n and whispered in her ear. “Because you doubted me, and now I have to prove you wrong.”

“You realise how immature that is, right?” Y/n said, feeling Leah's soft lips brushing against her collarbone. “And don’t try to use sex to make me forget it.”

Leah chuckled. “I’m just kissing you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Y/n said. “Now we have to find another place to put our freezer!”

Leah sucked on Y/n’s neck. “We can think about it later. Just enjoy yourself.”

Y/n learned two things:

Leah indeed had strong feelings because, in the end—after struggling a lot—she did carry the fridge upstairs to their apartment. Leah indeed used sex to make her forget about having two freezers lying around in the kitchen.

..

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