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🥹🥹🥹

Have seen you repost some amazing fics and was wondering if you could suggest some woso one shots/series

Have a great day

Sure thing, here's a few extremely talented and wonderful writers I recommend off the top of my head 😁

There's plenty more talented people in the woso x reader tag, but these have got all your bases covered for whatever you could want to read 🫶

@codiemarin

@reminiscingtonight

@cpheath

@wileys-russo

@alotofpockets

@vixwritesagain

@jadeysjasmine

@greynatomy

@woso-dreamzzz

@queen-of-reptiles

@pers1st

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an absolute violation

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i'm there regardless of the pain

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: this is more r focused and very short, mentions of death, idk i don’t like it but whatever

Dropping down onto your bed, you let out a breath you've been holding for the past three weeks. It's been three long weeks since that phone call with your father, three weeks of being home and trying to pick up the pieces of your family's life, shattered by the sudden death of your mother. It's been three incredibly difficult weeks, and despite the fact that you've been longing for Alexia ever since you've left Barcelona, you make no move to reach for her as she slides into bed beside you.

"Do you want to talk about it?", she asks, hesitation in her voice. The two of you haven't been dating for that long, haven't been dating long enough for her to finally be introduced to your family, not even long enough for you to tell your parents.

Do you want to talk about it? Not necessarily. All you've been doing for three weeks is to talk about it. To welcome all the neighbors into your home who dropped off food as an excuse to sneak in on your life, gather information to spread it through the neighborhood, all with a fake smile and goggling eyes.

"No."

You don't think you can talk about it anymore. All of the words have left you already, have left you after accepting every wish of condolences at the funeral, have left you at the reception afterwards, have left you since you've read the eulogy you'd prepared on your own. Even if you open your mouth, you're not sure a single word about your mother would escape.

Alexia deserves to hear about her. To hear about the incredibly kind woman who raised you, who gifted you with so much love and support all throughout your life, who was the absolute anchor of you and your brother's life, who was the love of your father's life and left him behind shattered. You wish you could tell your girlfriend all about her, make up for the fact that you are the reason she never met the woman, but you can't.

"Do you want to take your mind off it?"

It surprises you. You don't think you've ever heard your girlfriend string more than one sentence of English together without the odd Spanish slipping in between. It makes you smile, but even the knowledge that she is really trying to help you can't mend the pain in your chest.

Truthfully, there is no taking your mind off it. Your mother's ghost floats in front of you every time you close your eyes, her voice whispers into your ears constantly, if you try hard enough, you can feel the traces of her arms around your frame. She is everywhere, yet she is buried in the ground somewhere in your hometown, left alone under the cold mud and an arrangement of flowers, rain casting over her.

"No."

Alexia doesn't reply for a second, and the room is so silent you want the bed to swallow you, you want to drop under the mattress and let the darkness engulf you. There is no taking your mind off it, perhaps for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to carry on when everything pulls you back?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

At that, your glance across the ceiling lowers. Alexia looks up at you with her wide, stormy eyes and for a second, you feel your breath falter.

"No."

You never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone. Despite the fact that you went to your own apartment with an Uber, not even caring to let your girlfriend pick you up from the airport, only letting her know you arrived back in Barcelona and leaving her to guess your whereabouts, despite the fact that you sent her a total of five messages and declined every phone call for three long, impossibly difficult weeks, you never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone.

She seems to believe you, despite the fact that you make no effort to look at her again, and settles her head on your shoulder, using her hand to provide a little cushion.

You missed her return. You missed her comeback to the pitch, one that the two of you had been anticipating for a few months. You missed Barcelona's first Champions League quarterfinal, and if Alexia has any say in it, you will miss the next one as well. Because despite the fact that your breathing is calm, that she feels your heart beating regularly in your chest, she knows just how heavy the burden is that you are forced to carry. She feels the gravity of it all, sees it in your eyes, despite the fact that you won't look at her. She is not just your girlfriend, she is also your captain, and both of her positions worry about you immensely.

"You never got to know her."

Admittedly, you told Alexia you didn't want to speak about it, so the breath she draws in doesn't shock you. You don't want to talk about it, but if it's occupying your whole mind, what else are you supposed to speak about?

"I know."

There it is again. The Spanish accent that rolls off her tongue so easily, slipping in between the words.

"I told my dad. About us", you say next, and once again, Alexia draws in a sharp breath.

You met Alexia's family regularly, having been accepted as one of their own by both Eli, Alba and the rest of her relatives, but Alexia wasn't even a known name to either of your parents, at least prior to last week. It's not that you are ashamed of her - quite the opposite of it, actually. It's rather that sometimes, you feel ashamed of your family. They accepted it when you came out, but they never mentioned it again. You are bi, not gay, and so at every opportunity, they would throw men your way, you figure in hopes to keep the image of a normal family. Alexia doesn't deserve to know the critical gazes of both your parents, although you figure your mother would've accepted her happily. Your father-

"What did he say?"

You shrug.

"I don't even know if he heard me. He was crying, no- screaming, for someone to make the pain stop. I don't know if he heard me, but if he did, he didn't mention it again."

It gives Alexia just an idea of how horrible the past three weeks of your life must have been. She saw it as well- when her own father passed, yet her mother kept herself together enough to be strong for her children. His death was inevitable, and although it pained Alexia to this very day, she knows it's nothing like your situation. Your mother just fell asleep one day, and the next morning, she was dead. She still is.

"Amor, I am so sorry."

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it", you huff as Alexia tentatively stretches an arm across your chest, placing it in the centre to feel your heartbeat. It is still regular.

That's how you spend the next few hours, your stare fixed on the ceiling, Alexia's alternating between your features, the ceiling and her hand on your chest. You are in an unbearable amount of pain, your girlfriend knows, she feels it weighing down on you, feels it sitting on your shoulder and snarling into your ear. Regardless, she is there. She will always be there. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Even if you don't want to take your mind off it. And even if you had wanted her to leave you alone- she would be there, regardless of the pain.

#woso community #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #barca x reader #barca women #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexiaputellas #alexia putellas

[pers1st]

Is there a link to leah williamson• breathe (on wattpad) or your wattpad in general?

here :)

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friendly reminder that mary earps, caroline graham hansen and noelle maritz played in the same team at one point

#woso #mary earps #caroline graham hansen #noelle maritz

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oh…yes

#woso #jule brand #dfb frauen #germany wnt #gerwnt #vfl wolfsburg women

[pers1st]

You must be sick if you're enjoying this Bayern and Tuchel Dow fall

Me:

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patiently (impatiently) waiting for update your katie mccabe fic on wattpaddd 😫😫 im gen in love with it, it's one of the only good ones on that app

bestieee i fear it might get worse before it gets better😔 i’ll most likely delete the first chapter and start from scratch because i have a better outline now, but hopefully the new first chapter will be out this week!!

[pers1st]

currently more focused on my wattpad fics so idk when the next fic on here will be up.. struggling with writing atm tbh but you can always check out my wattpad (pers1st)

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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too sweet

alexia putellas x reader

it's based on the hozier song and i just got bored during my break

icl this might not make sense x

[...]

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. 

There was a path, there was a brick lane painted yellow and filled with singing and dancing, and, what? Did you spiral off it? Were you the hurricane, were you the destroyer? 

Maybe you are The Destroyed. 

It’s too late to think about it. 

Not because you are past repair, but because it really is late – later than usual. 

The door has been locked twice, meaning Alexia has given in and gone to bed. “Fuck,” you swear as your keys clatter to the floor, typical for you to be the one to break the peaceful silence. A rustle comes from the bedroom; a sigh, a muffled sob. “Ale?”

And it’s instinctive, the way you run to her. Once upon a time, that was all you ever did, back when you played, back when the path was good and smooth and clear.

Alexia doesn’t want to see you. She hates the smell of whiskey, she hates the gruffness of your voice. There comes a point where a person can no longer bear it. No matter how much love she wraps around you, weaving the thinning strings together to form a rope and begging you to let her pull you up from this, there comes a point where Alexia, perhaps blinded too much by her love, is destroying herself just so that you don’t go down alone. 

She’s tired. 

When you arrive at the bedroom door, she has turned over, the duvet slightly too cold and the bed slightly too empty. “Ale, are you awake?” you ask, drunken foolishness clouding your sense as the lump under the covers does not respond, does not feel she can. “Baby?” 

The bed doesn’t look inviting, and you feel unwelcome. 

You roll your shoulders back. 

“Alexia, don’t pretend.” 

The silence is haunting and you try to escape it as soon as possible, letting out a viscous laugh, directing it towards her back. The noise slashes welts in her skin, your tongue a whip, you her mistress and she, your slave. Alexia closes her eyes.

An alarm rings through the apartment. The sun is not quite up, so it would be dark if you hadn’t been staring at the soft glow of the lamp beside the TV for the past hour. 

The screen isn’t on. 

You don’t quite feel escaping this life just yet. 

“Bon dia.” Soft feet pad into the kitchen, face washed, training kit pulled on. Her nose wrinkles as the bitterness of coffee hurtles towards her, and she doesn’t make an effort to conceal her frown at the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside you. “Are you planning to get some rest?” 

“Are you making coffee?”

“I read a study that says it negatively affects performance.” 

“Are you making me a coffee?” you amend with a smirk, sitting up and staring her down. Through the redness of your eyes shines what first attracted her to you, the devilish spark, the clearly set out intention of doing something stupid. 

She watches you haul yourself up, staggering towards her. Your hands are cold and clammy, but their grip on her waist feels just as good as it always does. She leans back into you. 

“The sun’s not up yet but Alexia Putellas is ready to train,” you murmur into her ear, kissing the skin of her neck as though to soothe where the dig must have sliced her. “No journalist tracks your morning routine, baby. You could’ve stayed in bed a bit longer, let yourself wake up later. Don’t you ever wanna?” 

Her body relaxes, choosing to hear your voice but not what you are saying. She lets herself fall into the pit you rot in; your most frequent visitor. “I am drunk on life,” she replies with a forgiving smile. 

You step back, Alexia stumbling with you, having been leaning on your body. 

“I’m not drunk.” It is far from a new lie. “Have fun at training,” you grit out. She sees the back of you as you lurch towards the bedroom door. Her tears try to fall, but she wipes her face with her knuckles and collects herself before she heads out into the real world. Her home feels like a dungeon, but one that is not meant for her. 

The girls undergo the usual ritual of asking after you. Your retirement was forced, but they all saw it coming. 

You were not sculpted from the same heroic marble, withstanding heat and terror. Nothing about you fit into training regimes and early mornings, sweetened energy drinks on promotion, discipline and determination. You got by on talent, rough and raw, and listening to your beloved prison warden on occasion. 

If Alexia is the Greek hero, you were, perhaps, the weapon she used. Deadly, yes. Sought-after. But, if dropped, clattering towards the ground lifelessly. 

She crouches down to pick you up, but your metal burns so hot that she is not sure she can touch you. 

When Alexia comes home, you are asleep. She opens the windows, self-consciously airing out the stench of alcohol before a few of her teammates come over for dinner, and she cleans the stickiness from the worktops. She lights a candle. She wishes it were an altar, a conduit to her saviour, and she prays, for a moment, that this will end soon. 

When she opens her eyes, she realises the only saviour she has been thinking of has been you. 

She crawls into the bed beside you. 

You stir at the feeling of fingers combing through your hair. 

Alexia is as bright as the morning sun, blazing above Barcelona. She is untouchable. 

The distance that has grown between you has grown because she is the zenith and you are the nadir. It is just too far to overcome. 

You are real. You suffer, you cry, you poison yourself and enjoy it. You like how you live, you like how free you are. 

Alexia’s gentle rousing – but rousing, nonetheless – sends you tumbling past your limit. 

This is not how she wants you to be, but you cannot be something you are not. 

“You’re too sweet for me.” 

She hears the rejection, but she shakes her head. 

“No, no,” she whispers desperately, pleading for it to not mean what it does, begging you to swallow it back inside. “No, I’m not. Remember?” 

She means her ACL, she means the venomous arguments and the early days where you’d watch her carefully as she inhaled your second-hand smoke. She means now, where she lets you live the way you do because she understands how life works and she gets it, she does, and she really only just wants you to be happy. 

You blink slowly. “Ale.” 

“No, I’m… I’m just still playing! I have to take my career seriously, but, but, the off-season! You know how I am in the off-season?” 

“Baby, you don’t give yourself an off-season.” 

“I can!” she vows. “I can, and we’ll go on holiday with the girls, and we’ll wake up dark as lakes and you can make me smell like a fucking bonfire, if you’d like.” 

“Ale…” 

“Please,” she asks. 

You wish you could go along with the farce. In all honesty, you’re a bit surprised that is has lasted up to now. 

You cannot do this anymore. Maybe one day, when she is done playing and training and conforming to the intense regimes the club upholds them to, you will come back to her. Maybe one day, she will have sat in the barrel long enough to have soured, bitter, now, and much more palatable. 

But you are certain about the present, about the woman lying beside you with tears running down her cheeks. You decide that, if you were to taste the liquid, what is supposed to be salty would be sweet, and, with that, you have convinced yourself. 

“Alexia, baby, you’re too sweet for me.” 

[pers1st]

that’s my club

#awfc #woso

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the way they speak / write about each other… relationship goals

#lotte wubben moy #tao geoghegan hart #arsenal #woso

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if i speak…

Well now we know what Gio thinks of Jonas😭😭

[pers1st]

Guardian of My Heart || Leah Williamson

based on this request here! it's not that long but i loved writing this so much so i hope y'all like it!

warnings : angst with happy ending. mentions of injury.

“And that’s the final whistle folks, Chelsea takes this game with a comfortable 3-1 win over the Gunners here at Stamford Bridge.”

Leah’s eyes fill with tears at the final whistle. Her heart shatters audibly in her chest. A game they needed to win to have a chance at the title, thrown away by silly mistakes and sloppy football. She walks around the pitch in shame, apologizing to all the Gooners in the stands who came only to see them fail.

“I’m sorry,” she says to the crowd, tears falling down her face. The rest of the girls do the same, making their way to the stands to thank fans and sign jerseys. The home side erupts in a painful cry of victory, one that makes Leah’s chest almost cave in on itself.

The changing room is silent except for the sound of bags being packed and the muted drumming of water on the floor from the showers. One by one the girls make their way to the bus, offending socks from the wardrobe mishap filling the trash bin in the locker room.

Leah sulks when she hears the girls all planning to see their partners at home and just forget today’s game. She just jammed her AirPods into her ears and played her country music loudly, hoping the gaping hole of loneliness in her chest would go away with the serenading words of Luke Combs.

She knew her house would be lonely. She knew her house would be quiet. She knew her house would be dark. There was no one waiting. The person she wanted most would not be there. There was only one person to blame for that.

“Leah, you can’t keep doing this to me!” you yelled, rounding the coffee table as Leah stumbled into the house at twenty past three on a Saturday. You came over at eight thinking Leah would be home since she promised to help you cook dinner and enjoy the Bachelor finale on TV together. Instead, you walked into her apartment with your spare key to an empty house and her bedroom a mess. Her makeup was all over the bathroom and she had clearly changed her shoes at least three times.

You waited and waited for her to get home, calling the Arsenal girls to figure out where she had gone. They felt sorry for you and tried to get Leah to go home to you but she said something that the moment it left her lips, your heart broke into pieces.

“You’re such a fucking needy bitch, get off my back for once!”

You don’t know why you still sat in her living room for three more hours and waited for her to get home. You knew you needed to know she was home safe. That she was okay. That she didn’t choke on her own vomit from drinking too much. Because despite being her second choice for a while now, you still loved the England skipper. You still love Leah Williamson.

Leah drove home in pin-drop silence. Her kit bag was thrown in the back to be dealt with later, her arm on the door holding her head up as the streets of London were a blur. She parked in her spot and walked out like a zombie, not noticing your car in her driveway and her porch light on.

The key turned easily and she walked into her house to the turntable on low and the smell of smileys and a roast coming from the kitchen. She looked down and saw a pair of shoes that she recognized and a voice that was singing along to the music that she had fallen asleep to a million times.

“Y/N?” Leah spoke aloud, toeing her shoes off and dropping her kit bag. She shuffled into the kitchen and saw you standing there at the stove, stirring in the roasting tray and making a gravy. There were two plates on the island she instantly knew which one was hers. You turn and give her a soft smile, pushing your chin out to gesture her to sit. She does and grabs the bottle of wine you’ve set out and pours the two glasses full of Cabernet.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing a smiley off the plate she knew was hers and nibbling on the cheek.

“I wanted to make sure you had something to eat,” you answer curtly as you put the whisk down and grab a gravy boat, smiling to yourself when you still remember where it was.

“Y/N,” Leah says sternly, putting her half-eaten smiley down.

You turn and put the gravy boat next to the roast, finally looking at your ex-girlfriend.

“I needed to know that you were okay, after today.”

“Why?” Leah asks, voice carrying a lilt of guilt with fresh tears filling her eyes.

You walked around the island and turned the skipper in her seat to face you. You held her face in your hands, wiping the tears that fell. You had been in this situation before when Leah tore her ACL.

“You’re going to be okay, Leah.”

“What if I never play like I used to ever again?”

“You don’t ever need to worry about that because you will. The Leah Williamson I know never gives up.”

She chuckles but more fear settles in her heart. Leah looks up at you at the very island she’s sitting at right now.

“I’m scared,” she admits sheepishly, looking defeated and terrified. You cup her face and wipe the tear stains off her face.

“You will get through this Leah and I will be there every step of the way.”

“You won’t leave? They always leave.”

“I would never. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back to you before you kiss her, her mind willing itself to get better. If not for her, for you.

Zach Bryan’s voice fills the room softly, the lyrics of ‘Tourniquet’ “take care of the blood that your love runs through” remind you of why you packed up a roast and stopped at the shops for a bag of frozen smileys. It reminds you of all the nights you massaged her leg when it was feeling tight. It reminds you of all the nights when you sat beside her and held her close while she cried at another delay in her recovery. It reminds you of all the nights you spent awake with her when she couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

Was it worth it? Yes.

Would you do it all over again? Yes.

Leah breaks down when her eyes meet yours. The smell of your perfume and your musk flood her senses with all the reasons why she was in love with you all those years. Deep down inside she knew she still felt that way and hoped that you did too.

Leah cries. The pain of losing, hurting her hamstring just as she’s called to the England squad for the first time since her ACL, and the overwhelming sense of disappointment burst the moment you held her in your arms again. It was home and it was safe. Leah clung onto your hoodie and made a right mess on the front but you didn’t care. Leah needed you and you wished you could take away her pain.

“I just wasn’t me out there today and that cost us the game,” Leah muttered after calming herself down and her hiccups stopped.

“Today wasn’t just your fault, honey,” you cooed, taking the hair tie out of Leah’s hair and combing your fingers through her blonde locks. She rested her head against your stomach and closed her eyes, zeroing in on your touch.

“I let the team down,” she countered, pulling you closer to her.

“It just wasn’t anyone’s day today, my love,” you cupped her face and wiped more of the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. You leaned in a little and were a bit unsure, but feeling her nudge herself towards you gave you the approval you sought.  

Her lips felt familiar against yours.

Salty.

Warm.

Recognizable.

Home.

She chased your lips and melted into them, gripping your wet hoodie like her life depended on it or that you would vanish if she let go, even for a second.

“I’m sorry I treated you the way I did, you don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve someone willing to love you for you, Leah,” you reassure her and seal it with a kiss, walking away from her to chuck the roast back in the oven to warm up for a bit and her smileys into the air fryer for a little reheating.

Zach’s voice fills the blanks when you look at her blue eyes, her features blow you away every time you look at her. You bled your whole soul into things you can't control; in a world you'll never satisfy brings Leah back to reality. The game today was good. It didn’t go their way from the beginning with those wretched socks and their delayed start but they gave it their all. It was a lesson to be learned and one to look back on when the team had lost its spark.

Leah scoffs down half the roast and convinces you to throw a couple more smiley into the air fryer for her to drown in your delicious gravy. You put a fresh toothbrush next to hers in her bathroom and have a glass of warm milk on your bedside waiting for you like you like.

“You remembered,” you tell her as she hands you a ratty jersey for you to sleep in. You throw it on and inhale her delicate scent, your heart filling with warmth and ease.

“I still set it out sometimes you know, especially after you left.”

“You’ll have to try and remember again now, I think,” you tease, and she stands in front of you. You sip on your milk and she kisses the foam mustache off your lips.

“I’ll never forget, my love. Ever.”

[pers1st]

Darling, You’re The One I Want (In Paper Rings, In Picture Frames, In All Dreams) | Sydney Lohmann

warnings: f for fluff!

word count: 2655

summary: syd's been asking you to marry her since you were both little, before she ever had a proper ring

a/n: had this idea three days ago and knew it had to written right away so here you go 🥰

Sydney has been introducing you as her ‘almost wife’ for as long as you remember.

You have been together since you were both in kindergarten, with your best friend proposing to you with a gummy ring.

Her mother had packed a small bag of peach gummy rings into her lunch box and so it’s on the swings in the playground that Sydney proposes to you for the first time.

‘There! You are my almost wife now.’ She declares, sticking the melting gummy onto your finger after you say yes.

You giggle and pull the ring off, eating the gummy ring with a smile.

Syd laughs, eating one of her own gummies.

‘I’m gonna marry you when we grow up.’ She says seriously.

You look at the girl sitting on the swing next to you. She has scuffed knees, messy braids and is missing one of her front teeth but you are sure that you want the same thing.

As the gummy ring is so short lived, the German girl steps up her game. She brings a ring pop that she has persuaded her father to let her buy after kindergarten the day before.

The ring pop lasts longer but at the end of the day, it is still gone.

So Sydney gets you a new ring pop, in a variety of different flavours every day. She asks if you will marry her each time and your answer never wavers.

It is always yes and you eat a ring pop daily until your parents intervene, telling you that eating so much candy is bad for your teeth.

You relay this to the blonde with the saddest of looks, completely convinced that this is the end of your so-called marriage with her.

She is undeterred by the setback though, showing up with a knotted piece of string next.

That piece of string stayed around your ring finger on your left hand until it disintegrated, at which your best friend promptly found another.

And so it continued, going from a piece of string, to a ribbon through primary school, to a folded paper ring in secondary school.

Sydney and you spend more time together than ever now, going to school together and playing football together.

The blonde had got you into it, sometime early into primary school. She had eagerly wanted you to experience what she loved so much about the sport.

It was easy for you to fall in love with kicking a football around, just as it is easy to fall in love with your best friend who proposes to you every time she gives you a new ring.

At fifteen, she kissed you for the first time and it came so naturally that the both of you just knew.

Neither of you would ever have eyes for anyone else and the transition from friendship to something more is remarkably smooth.

With each new paper ring, comes a kiss and a proposal from Sydney.

‘Will you marry me?’ She asks, holding out the paper ring she’d folded during her math class.

The blonde had noticed that the one you have been wearing has gotten worn down, the paper it is made out of is getting kind of icky.

‘Yes I’ll marry you sonnenschein.’ You say with a giggle.

Sydney’s hazel eyes sparkle and she is practically glowing with happiness and she slides your old ring off and replaces it with the new one.

It is why you call her sonnenschein. She lights up your day, every single day.

******

When you tear the tendons and ligaments in your knee so badly that your doctors tell you that you will never play football again, Syd spends the entirety of the first night in the hospital with you.

She had been there when you had been injured, heard the way you cried out and felt her stomach drop.

That look on your face, she had known right away that it would be a devastating sort of injury.

Sydney’s had plenty of experience with injuries herself and even before the doctors get a chance to look at your knee, she is aware that this one is different.

In her heart, she hates how she knows that no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to come back from this.

The blonde sits in the awful, uncomfortable plastic chair by your hospital bed, holding your hand although you barely talk. You’re far too caught up in what is the end of your short lived football career.

You and Syd had a shared dream and the both of you were on the verge of switching from your local sports club to one with more promise.

This injury of yours, could not have come at a worse time.

Your mind is spinning because what are you to do now? You are sixteen and all you have thought about is playing football.

Sydney stays with you till the doctors come in, to take you into surgery.

Her parents and yours are there but she pays them no mind, finally letting go of your hand and kissing you gently.

‘I’ll be right there when you’re out of surgery.’ She promises.

The German girl keeps her word because when you come to, she’s sitting by your side.

‘Hi.’ She breathes.

‘Hey sonnenschein.’ You weakly say.

Your head feels fuzzy but at least your knee isn’t hurting anymore.

Sydney strokes your baby hairs back lightly.

‘I love you. I’m going to be here for you, every single step of the way. However long it takes and no matter how uncertain it gets. That’s what almost wives do.’

You cry and laugh at the same time.

The blonde has a habit of introducing you as her almost wife because she hadn’t known the proper word when she was a kid. Now she knows the word fiancée but still chooses to stick with almost wife.

Your best friend reaches for your hand, pressing comforting kiss after comforting kiss onto your cheeks and forehead until your tears slow.

Then she shows you a somewhat lopsided beaded ring in the palm of her free hand. The way it’s strung together tells you that Syd probably made it for you herself.

You’d lost the paper ring you had been wearing, sometime in between your injury and the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Sydney must have noticed and it causes your heart to swell with emotion for her.

‘Will you marry me? Whatever you decide to do after you get out of the hospital, I will love you.’ She murmurs.

‘Yes I’ll marry you. I love you too.’ You answer softly and the German girl slides the beaded ring onto your hand, being extra careful of the IV in it.

******

That beaded ring stays on through your recovery and through your decision to pursue sports therapy now that professional football is not in your cards.

Until ultimately, the blonde signs for Bayern Munich’s first team.

With that bit of money that she gets, she goes out and buys you an actual ring. It is a simple piece of costume jewellery but it means the world to you.

Sydney doesn’t really make a lot, she had moved out of her family home to be closer to the training grounds so she certainly does not have enough to buy you a proper ring, on top of paying her rent, utilities and keeping up her football.

You are both only seventeen and you are completely okay with the ring she’d given you, faithfully wearing it each and every day.

It discolours after a couple months and the plastic gem in it falls out after a year.

Still, you keep wearing it till the midfielder buys another ring, also costume jewellery but definitely one in better condition.

That one lasts you until she signs another contract for Bayern, one that gets her significantly better pay.

It is still not enough to buy you a real wedding ring but Sydney diligently puts aside part of her salary each month.

The monthly savings are not a lot because she has decided to start online university studies and the fees cost her on top of her usual spendings but it is a start.

In the meantime, she loves you and you love her. Twenty is the age where everything starts to get serious, you with your studies and the German girl with her football.

She is working on sealing her place on the national team, having made her senior debut two years ago.

With an incredible amount of pride, you watch her play and happily give her a kiss at the end of all her games.

Syd’s injury prone and she likes to tease you, telling you that you need to focus on your studies so that you can help keep her match fit.

As it is, she often benefits from your massage and anatomy classes.

‘I’m helping you get better by being your learning model!’ She insists all the time.

You don’t mind. The blonde sometimes trails after you with pleading eyes when she wants a massage. It is cute really and you’re happy to oblige her.

When she has tough training sessions, she never has to ask. You know right away whenever she does so and Sydney is often exhausted enough to fall asleep during those massages.

Then you just sit with her head in your lap, running your fingers through her hair until she either wakes up or you fall asleep with her.

Being intimately familiar with the German girl’s body is something you will never take for granted.

As Syd continues to play for Bayern, you more or less move into her apartment.

There is no point travelling back and forth between your family home and your university if the blonde’s place is nearer. You spend almost all your free time with her anyway so it only makes sense that you stay with her and contribute fairly to her rent.

She protests against the second part, protests that you ignore but as for the first, Sydney loves it. She loves that she has you to come home to and loves that she gets to go to sleep and wake up beside you.

‘My almost wife is waiting for me back home.’ She always explains before rushing off the second she gets back from away games.

Your sonnenschein adores spoiling you with home cooked food too. It gives her joy to cook and even more to share it with you.

Two years go by fast and Sydney does so well with her football that eventually, she finishes runners up in the Euros.

Then the split prize money, combined with her savings is enough.

You’d travelled around England to support her and watch her live her dream. You being there, cheering her on each and every game, only seals it in Syd’s mind that this is what she wants.

She wants you. Forever.

The second she is back in Munich and free of commitments, she’s off to a jewellery store to pick out a proper ring for you.

It does not take her long, one of the rings on display standing out to her immediately. The Bayern Munich player had not just saved up for any ring. She had intended on choosing a specific piece, with you in mind.

She knows that’s the one.

On your bedside table, you keep a box with all the rings the hazel eyed woman has given you over the years.

Sydney didn’t even know you were keeping them until you moved in with her.

Seeing the bits of half disintegrated string, ribbon and paper, along with the wonky beaded ring, it had let her know that her proposals mean just as much to you as your answers mean to her.

So it is with confidence that she buys a packet of peach gummy rings on the way home, for old time’s sake.

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter and snacking on some biscuits when she gets back.

‘Hey sonnenschein!’ You greet excitedly.

‘Hello.’ Syd hums.

She pulls herself up onto the counter beside you and happily accepts the kiss that you give her.

‘Want some?’ You offer.

The midfielder smirks, ‘I have something better.’

She shows you the peach gummy rings and you giggle, ’Just like when we were little?’

’Just like when we were little.’ She confirms.

With the two of you sharing the gummies, the packet empties quickly.

Sydney takes the last one and holds it out to you, asking, ‘Will you marry me?’

You smile at her.

‘Of course I will Syd. I love you.’

The blonde sighs contentedly and you laugh, taking the gummy ring and beginning to put it on your finger only for her to stop you with a gentle, ‘You can eat it. I got you something that will last much longer.’

‘Yeah?’ You question curiously, expecting another one of her costume jewellery rings as you pop the peach gummy into your mouth.

‘Yes.’

Sydney hops off the counter and reaches into her back pocket.

To your complete surprise, she gets down on one knee and reveals the ring box in her palm.

‘Sonnenschein?’

Your voice is trembling and your heart flutters in all sorts of ways as she opens the box to reveal the most beautiful of rings.

‘I’ve asked you to marry me countless times, with gummies, ring pops, strings, ribbons and beads. You have said yes each time and now I’m asking you one last time after finally getting a proper ring. Will you marry me?’

Sydney’s hazel eyes, the ones you are so in love with are radiant. Her cheeks are blushing a bright pink and easily, you get off the counter.

‘I’ve been saying yes since we were children. My answer won’t change now.’

The midfielder grins, ‘It won’t?’

‘No it won’t.’ You whisper.

Pulling Syd up onto her feet, you kiss her with every ounce of emotion that you have for her.

The safety and comfort you’d felt with her from the very first moment you met, the shyness you had felt when she kissed you for the first time, the pride you feel whenever you watched her play and most of all, the overwhelming love that you feel for her. The love that has been growing since she proposed to you with a peach gummy ring, in the kindergarten playground.

Your sonnenschein gasps against your lips, her hands going to your waist as she steadies herself.

It’s a heated kiss, one that leaves the pair of you breathless.

With closed eyes, she leans her forehead against yours.

‘Say it. Please.’

Her words are barely audible but you hear it all the same.

It is with all the affection in the world that you murmur, ‘Yes. I will marry you Sydney.’

The blonde can’t help eagerly scattering kisses all over your face, punctuating them with the words, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

You laugh and are truly honest when you tell her, ‘I have loved being your almost wife but I think I will love being your wife so much more.’

Syd tilts her head upwards, in a failed attempt to hold her tears back because they slide down her cheeks anyway.

Ignoring your own escaping tears, you delicately wipe hers away.

She soaks in the gesture and quietly but assuredly affirms, ‘I know I will love being your wife.’

Her hands find yours and she slides your old ring off the fourth finger of your left hand, replacing it with her new one.

‘Hopefully this one will last.’ She teases.

You let out a tearful giggle, pressing your lips onto hers once more.

She tastes like peach gummies and it isn’t a proper kiss by any means because the two of you are smiling way too hard but when you draw apart, your words have never been more sure.

‘It will.’

German Translation:

sonnenschein - sunshine

[pers1st]

new world

alexia struggles with the adjustments that come with parenthood cw: angst + fluff, mentions of anxiety

------

Alexia liked to think of herself as a calm person. Good in a crisis. She always had a level head, regardless of whatever was going on. 

As she stood, though, cradling your newborn daughter in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks, she felt anything but calm. She felt overwhelmed and terrified and happy and proud. Most of all, she felt love, filling her whole body, until looking down at Mila’s little face felt like all she could do, all she ever wanted to do. 

Alexia thought she knew love. She loved her parents, she loved her sister. She loved you, more than she could comprehend sometimes. This little baby in her arms, that had her eyes, she noted, was so indescribably perfect. Alexia knew her, somehow. Her tiny little nose, the wisps of hair on her head. The way her little hand barely wrapped around Alexia’s pinky. This perfect little baby that was hers, and yours, and she was so overcome with love for Mila, and love for you, that all she could do was sit. Sit, stare at her baby in her arms, and cry. Alexia wasn’t a crier, not really. Here she was, though. And she didn’t care. You and Mila mattered more than anything in the world ever had, and ever would again. 

“Ale?” You said groggily, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to you and the look of wonder on her face that had been there since she laid eyes on your baby girl for the first time remained, even now, a few hours later. You smiled sleepily, the drugs from the c-section making you rather exhausted, not to mention the numerous hours you spent in labor. “Come sit.” 

Your wife walked closer, sliding onto the hospital bed next to you. Mila looked absolutely tiny in her arms, and Alexia removed one arm to wrap around your shoulders, and carefully pulled you into her. “How are you, mi amor?” 

“Perfect.” You mumbled back, resting your head on her shoulder. She delicately kissed your forehead. 

“Perfect? Are you sure?” 

“Well, I just had my abdomen cut open and my organs briefly removed. But I woke up to see you holding our baby and I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before. It got scary for a bit there.” You told her quietly, voice thick with emotion. Mila had been… rather reluctant to come out. You’d been in labor for almost a full 24 hours before the doctors decided you weren’t progressing fast enough, the baby was under stress from the position she was in, and they took you straight to surgery. It had been the most painful 24 hours of your life, and the scariest of Alexia’s. 

“I love you. And I am so proud of you, you did so well, mi niña, so well,” Alexia assured you, focusing on the feeling of having you both close to her, and not the anxiety still swirling around inside of her. 

She didn’t know, though, that the anxiety would remain. It wasn’t temporary, a product of her baby’s delivery. It was the start of an almost constant level of stress she faced. Because she felt new levels of love and happiness that day. And with that, came the fear that something would happen to take it all away. 

-------

Alexia remembered that day so well, the day Mila was born. The best day of her life. She remembered how scared she was. You’d promised her that with time, that fear would fade, and she’d fall into a more comfortable routine of having a tiny human being completely reliant on her. 

The fear didn’t fade. The terror whenever she thought something might be wrong with her baby girl didn’t fade. The anxiety didn’t go anywhere; if anything, it strengthened. Until there she was; sitting in her daughter’s nursery, 3 months later, knees pulled to her chest, just watching the baby sleep. It was the only time she felt calm anymore, really, when she had Mila, and preferably you, in her sight. Safe. If Mila was somewhere else, something might happen. If someone else was holding her, something might happen. If she went too far for a match, or didn’t call to check in enough, something could happen. And she wouldn’t be able to stop it, or fix it. It was a different kind of fear, Alexia realized. The overwhelming sensation that if something were to happen, to you or to Mila, it wouldn’t be something she could recover from. 

So, she stayed home with the two of you, as much as possible. Barring visitors for weeks, even her mom and her sister. If you were all together, under one roof, nothing could happen. It was alright, then, those weeks she had off for maternity leave. Eventually, though, they came to an end and Alexia had to return to training, return to her first love; football. And she still loved it, still needed it. 

But being away from the both of you was so difficult. She was anxious constantly, checking her phone constantly, near tears constantly. Mila was so small. Alexia could practically hold her in one hand. And the birth hadn’t been easy for you, nor had the postpartum phase. Leaving the house felt like leaving her sanity behind, and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

She thought she must be a terrible mother, if she was this scared all the time over nothing. She didn’t want to be a helicopter parent, but she couldn’t help being overprotective of her baby. She just wanted you both safe and happy. 

Which is how she found herself where she was now; awake in the middle of the night. Just watching your little girl sleep, feeling some semblance of relief knowing, visually seeing, that Mila was okay.

Until Mila started to breathe weirdly, in a way Alexia was sure she’d never heard before. Then, the familiar terror, increased about a 100x, filled her chest, and she was taking Mila into her arms, and rushing down the hall to where you were peacefully sleeping. 

------

“Amor! Wake up, please,” Alexia pleaded. You stirred, sitting bolt upright when you noticed Alexia had Mila in her arms. 

“What, what is it?” You asked frantically, taking in the absolutely terrified look on your wife’s face. Terror filled you and you rose from the bed, hovering over the baby. 

“Something is wrong, she is breathing weird.”

“Let me see.” You replied, taking Mila out of Ale’s arms easily and cradling her close to your chest. Nothing seemed amiss; she had the hiccups, something she’d had a hundred times. She was half asleep, gazing up at you through cracked lids, and one of her hands lazily moved, searching for your pinkie to grab on to.  

“Hey, little one,” you murmured, before turning your attention back to Alexia. “She has the hiccups?” 

You were slightly grumpy at being woken up for the hiccups, but your annoyance faded when you saw Alexia shaking her head rapidly, fighting back tears. 

“No, no, something is not right. She making a snuffling sound, it is not normal and I do not know what it is or when it started and I think we should take her to the hospital just in case because-” 

“Alexia, breathe.” You interrupted, beginning to understand what was going on with her. 

“NO, amor, please, we can just go please, let me put her in the car and we can go get her checked out.” Alexia cried, and you looked between her and the baby, wondering who needed you more at the moment. You decided it was Alexia, considering Mila had dozed back off. She wasn’t even hiccuping anymore, she was completely normal, completely fine. You placed her on the little cot next to your bed, the one she no longer slept in unless it was during the day, and you wanted her near you. 

“Amor, no we have to go,” Alexia wheezed, pulling gently at the back of your shirt. She was really panicking now, her mind seemingly in a million different places. 

Mila let you put her down easily, and you turned back to your wife, taking her face in between your hands. 

“Alexia, relax. It’s just the hiccups. Mila is fine, completely fine. She isn’t even making a sound anymore, she’s asleep.” She shrugged your hands off to step closer to the cot, looking intently at the slumbering baby. Alexia was rapidly breathing, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her side. 

“She is okay?” She asked quietly, turning back to you. 

“She’s fine, my love.” You assured her, opening your arms and letting Alexia fall into them easily. Even though she seemed convinced, now, that Mila was okay, she was still panicking, her rapid exhales hitting the skin of your shoulder as she tried to regulate her breathing. 

“Cariño, I do not know what is happening,” she whispered. “I cannot breathe, please do something.” 

Now Alexia was begging you to help her, and you felt your heart break a little at the fact that she was so clearly afraid for Mila she didn’t even think of herself until she was sure the baby was okay. 

“You’re okay, my love. Mila is okay, I am okay, and you are okay. We’re all fine, we’re all safe.”

“It does not feel safe,” she murmured, and you felt a teardrop hit your skin. 

“Oh, baby.” You sighed, pulling out of Alexia’s strong grip even when she tried to pull you back in. You picked Mila up, and she squirmed slightly, but her eyes fluttered shut again, and you turned to Alexia, holding your daughter out to her. “Take her.”

“Cariño,” Alexia began to object. 

“No, Ale, take our daughter.” You insisted, and Alexia relented, holding Mila close to her spasming chest. You wrapped your arms around the both of them, fitting your face into the crook of Alexia’s neck, gently stroking the baby’s head. 

“She’s okay, baby. She’s right here with you, where nothing can hurt her. Look at her, Alexia. She’s perfectly fine, right?” 

“Sí, she’s okay.” Alexia mumbled shifting Mila over to one arm, pulling you even closer with her other one. “And you are okay?” 

“I am fine, my love. You are okay, too.”

“I am okay too.” Alexia repeated, as if trying to convince herself of it. “It was just the hiccups.” 

You decided to push, just a little, even when Alexia didn’t take her eyes away from her baby in her arms. “She’s had the hiccups before, amor. What happened?” 

“I- I do not know. It seemed different.” Alexia sniffled. You weren’t used to seeing her this distraught. 

You were exhausted yourself, or you would have seen it sooner; the bags under Alexia’s eyes, the slump in her shoulders, the pacing, the anxiety that had completely taken her over. You saw it now, though, like a veil had been lifted in the dim room, and you saw how utterly broken your wife looked. 

“Ale, put her down for a second.” You encouraged. She frowned but did as you asked, her hands gently and expertly maneuvering Mila back into her little cot. “Look at me, please.” 

She turned to you, and you brought a hand up to cup her cheek. “You haven’t been sleeping.” 

“No.” She admitted. “Not a lot.” 

“Why?” 

“I like to watch her sleep.” Alexia said softly, her eyes flickering back over to Mila’s sleeping form, before they focused back on you. 

“Can you tell me why you’re staying up late, watching our baby sleep, instead of sleeping yourself?” You asked. Alexia’s eyes fluttered shut, and when they opened again, they were filled with tears. 

“I have so much fear, all the time. That something is going to happen, and I will not be able to protect her. I love her so much, it is terrifying, amor. I do not know how to be a mom. I do not know how to do this, and I feel like I am doing a terrible job. I just love her, I just want her to be okay,” she sobbed, burying her face into your shoulder. 

“Oh, Ale.” You sighed, pulling her back with you onto the bed until she was laying with her head on your chest, in between your legs. This had clearly been building up for a while, and there wasn’t much you could do while she was so upset. You let her cry into you for a few minutes, running your hands through her hair, and holding her close. The time gave you the opportunity to think, and decide exactly how you were going to approach this. 

“A few months ago, when I freaked out. When Mila wouldn’t sleep without me holding her, and I was so exhausted and anxious, and I convinced myself I was a horrible mother. What did you tell me?” You asked, feeling Alexia tense under you. It wasn’t a fond memory, you falling into her arms and crying, so hard, and for so long, you were almost sick. The worst part was that Alexia hadn’t noticed you were struggling. 

Alexia’s accent was thicker when she spoke, her voice raspy. “I told you that it is an adjustment, and nothing is perfect right away. You are a great mother. That when it is hard, you just need to ask for help, and I will be there.” 

“Does that not apply to you, too?” 

“It is different.” Alexia argued, but you shook your head. 

“No, it’s the same. You’re having a hard time. You need to talk to me, so I can help, not keep it all inside until you break. This is normal, Ale, having increased anxiety after becoming a parent, but you don’t have to feel like this. There are things we can do to make it better, you don’t have to handle it all yourself. Just like I don’t.” 

Your wife didn’t say anything for a while, just wrapped her arms tight around you, and pulled you closer to her. “I am sorry. I should have said something sooner.” 

Trying to get Alexia to be honest about her feelings was something you still struggled with, though she was much better than she had been when you got together. 

“It’s alright, baby. I know this is hard for you. You don’t need to be perfect. You’re doing so well, though, Ale. Juggling all of this with work. You’re so good with her, and I am so proud of you.” Your words were reminiscent of what Alexia had said to you in the hospital, a detail that wasn’t lost on either of you. 

Alexia’s face grew red and she turned slightly to bury her face in your shirt; only you could make her blush like that, and she hoped you never stopped.  “Te amo.” She murmured. 

“I love you, Ale. And so does Mila.” You promised. 

Almost as if on cue, Mila began to cry in her little cot, clearly awake and annoyed that her parents were nearby, and not holding her. Alexia rolled off you, but you shook your head, pushing her back down onto the bed as you picked up your daughter. 

“No, you need sleep. M and I will stay here with you, and you sleep, okay?” You climbed into the bed next to her, laying Mila easily on your chest. She settled instantly, letting out a content little sigh, and Alexia layed down too, her face level with the baby’s. She traced a finger over the small slope of the baby’s nose, over her little eyebrows. Sleepily, Mila reached for her Mami’s hand, happily gripping on to one of her fingers, her eyes fluttering shut. You watched with an almost overwhelming amount of love in your body as Alexia’s eyes shut, too, her hand connected with your daughter’s. Both of them safe, and happy, and perfect. 

--------

not super sure how i feel about this but thought it was a cute / angst mostly fluffy fic :) also... i'd def be down to write more about these 3!

[pers1st]

tears. actual tears.

Guardian of My Heart || Leah Williamson

based on this request here! it's not that long but i loved writing this so much so i hope y'all like it!

warnings : angst with happy ending. mentions of injury.

“And that’s the final whistle folks, Chelsea takes this game with a comfortable 3-1 win over the Gunners here at Stamford Bridge.”

Leah’s eyes fill with tears at the final whistle. Her heart shatters audibly in her chest. A game they needed to win to have a chance at the title, thrown away by silly mistakes and sloppy football. She walks around the pitch in shame, apologizing to all the Gooners in the stands who came only to see them fail.

“I’m sorry,” she says to the crowd, tears falling down her face. The rest of the girls do the same, making their way to the stands to thank fans and sign jerseys. The home side erupts in a painful cry of victory, one that makes Leah’s chest almost cave in on itself.

The changing room is silent except for the sound of bags being packed and the muted drumming of water on the floor from the showers. One by one the girls make their way to the bus, offending socks from the wardrobe mishap filling the trash bin in the locker room.

Leah sulks when she hears the girls all planning to see their partners at home and just forget today’s game. She just jammed her AirPods into her ears and played her country music loudly, hoping the gaping hole of loneliness in her chest would go away with the serenading words of Luke Combs.

She knew her house would be lonely. She knew her house would be quiet. She knew her house would be dark. There was no one waiting. The person she wanted most would not be there. There was only one person to blame for that.

“Leah, you can’t keep doing this to me!” you yelled, rounding the coffee table as Leah stumbled into the house at twenty past three on a Saturday. You came over at eight thinking Leah would be home since she promised to help you cook dinner and enjoy the Bachelor finale on TV together. Instead, you walked into her apartment with your spare key to an empty house and her bedroom a mess. Her makeup was all over the bathroom and she had clearly changed her shoes at least three times.

You waited and waited for her to get home, calling the Arsenal girls to figure out where she had gone. They felt sorry for you and tried to get Leah to go home to you but she said something that the moment it left her lips, your heart broke into pieces.

“You’re such a fucking needy bitch, get off my back for once!”

You don’t know why you still sat in her living room for three more hours and waited for her to get home. You knew you needed to know she was home safe. That she was okay. That she didn’t choke on her own vomit from drinking too much. Because despite being her second choice for a while now, you still loved the England skipper. You still love Leah Williamson.

Leah drove home in pin-drop silence. Her kit bag was thrown in the back to be dealt with later, her arm on the door holding her head up as the streets of London were a blur. She parked in her spot and walked out like a zombie, not noticing your car in her driveway and her porch light on.

The key turned easily and she walked into her house to the turntable on low and the smell of smileys and a roast coming from the kitchen. She looked down and saw a pair of shoes that she recognized and a voice that was singing along to the music that she had fallen asleep to a million times.

“Y/N?” Leah spoke aloud, toeing her shoes off and dropping her kit bag. She shuffled into the kitchen and saw you standing there at the stove, stirring in the roasting tray and making a gravy. There were two plates on the island she instantly knew which one was hers. You turn and give her a soft smile, pushing your chin out to gesture her to sit. She does and grabs the bottle of wine you’ve set out and pours the two glasses full of Cabernet.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing a smiley off the plate she knew was hers and nibbling on the cheek.

“I wanted to make sure you had something to eat,” you answer curtly as you put the whisk down and grab a gravy boat, smiling to yourself when you still remember where it was.

“Y/N,” Leah says sternly, putting her half-eaten smiley down.

You turn and put the gravy boat next to the roast, finally looking at your ex-girlfriend.

“I needed to know that you were okay, after today.”

“Why?” Leah asks, voice carrying a lilt of guilt with fresh tears filling her eyes.

You walked around the island and turned the skipper in her seat to face you. You held her face in your hands, wiping the tears that fell. You had been in this situation before when Leah tore her ACL.

“You’re going to be okay, Leah.”

“What if I never play like I used to ever again?”

“You don’t ever need to worry about that because you will. The Leah Williamson I know never gives up.”

She chuckles but more fear settles in her heart. Leah looks up at you at the very island she’s sitting at right now.

“I’m scared,” she admits sheepishly, looking defeated and terrified. You cup her face and wipe the tear stains off her face.

“You will get through this Leah and I will be there every step of the way.”

“You won’t leave? They always leave.”

“I would never. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back to you before you kiss her, her mind willing itself to get better. If not for her, for you.

Zach Bryan’s voice fills the room softly, the lyrics of ‘Tourniquet’ “take care of the blood that your love runs through” remind you of why you packed up a roast and stopped at the shops for a bag of frozen smileys. It reminds you of all the nights you massaged her leg when it was feeling tight. It reminds you of all the nights when you sat beside her and held her close while she cried at another delay in her recovery. It reminds you of all the nights you spent awake with her when she couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

Was it worth it? Yes.

Would you do it all over again? Yes.

Leah breaks down when her eyes meet yours. The smell of your perfume and your musk flood her senses with all the reasons why she was in love with you all those years. Deep down inside she knew she still felt that way and hoped that you did too.

Leah cries. The pain of losing, hurting her hamstring just as she’s called to the England squad for the first time since her ACL, and the overwhelming sense of disappointment burst the moment you held her in your arms again. It was home and it was safe. Leah clung onto your hoodie and made a right mess on the front but you didn’t care. Leah needed you and you wished you could take away her pain.

“I just wasn’t me out there today and that cost us the game,” Leah muttered after calming herself down and her hiccups stopped.

“Today wasn’t just your fault, honey,” you cooed, taking the hair tie out of Leah’s hair and combing your fingers through her blonde locks. She rested her head against your stomach and closed her eyes, zeroing in on your touch.

“I let the team down,” she countered, pulling you closer to her.

“It just wasn’t anyone’s day today, my love,” you cupped her face and wiped more of the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. You leaned in a little and were a bit unsure, but feeling her nudge herself towards you gave you the approval you sought.  

Her lips felt familiar against yours.

Salty.

Warm.

Recognizable.

Home.

She chased your lips and melted into them, gripping your wet hoodie like her life depended on it or that you would vanish if she let go, even for a second.

“I’m sorry I treated you the way I did, you don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve someone willing to love you for you, Leah,” you reassure her and seal it with a kiss, walking away from her to chuck the roast back in the oven to warm up for a bit and her smileys into the air fryer for a little reheating.

Zach’s voice fills the blanks when you look at her blue eyes, her features blow you away every time you look at her. You bled your whole soul into things you can't control; in a world you'll never satisfy brings Leah back to reality. The game today was good. It didn’t go their way from the beginning with those wretched socks and their delayed start but they gave it their all. It was a lesson to be learned and one to look back on when the team had lost its spark.

Leah scoffs down half the roast and convinces you to throw a couple more smiley into the air fryer for her to drown in your delicious gravy. You put a fresh toothbrush next to hers in her bathroom and have a glass of warm milk on your bedside waiting for you like you like.

“You remembered,” you tell her as she hands you a ratty jersey for you to sleep in. You throw it on and inhale her delicate scent, your heart filling with warmth and ease.

“I still set it out sometimes you know, especially after you left.”

“You’ll have to try and remember again now, I think,” you tease, and she stands in front of you. You sip on your milk and she kisses the foam mustache off your lips.

“I’ll never forget, my love. Ever.”