GPCWSL

For three months, you and Leah had been quietly orbiting each other — secret smiles in hallways, subtle hand brushes that went unnoticed, secret kisses behind the sport sheds, some alone time at each of your places and late-night talks where love felt like a whispered thing meant only for two hearts to hear.

It wasn’t that either of you were ashamed — it was just… private. Or more so, not ready yet. The world didn’t need to know yet. Your teammates didn’t need to know yet, your families didn’t need to know yet. And you especially not the relentless noise of social media. It was yours and Leah’s. Always.

Until it wasn’t.

-

Training had been brutal that morning. Rénne Slegers was testing defensive drills, to which Lotte Wubben-Moy was dominating. Corners coming in rapid fire, which had all the defenders on track. Like this very last corner Rénne told you to do. When the ball whipped toward the near post, you sprinted — last second, last line — and threw your body into it.

You cleared it. Like always.

Although, your leg, your leg didn’t clear the post that was coming speeding fast.

The crack, the scream, the impact on the post was eerily loud enough for everyone to at least turn to the scene. To see the absolutely horror.

Katie McCabe was one of the first to notice your leg. “Y/N?! Shit, shit, shit, shit! Katie’s clear broad Irish voice cuts through the air. To which made more players and staff thud towards you.

You couldn’t move. Even if you did, you wouldn’t dare to. The agony pain flaring like fire under your skin, spreading, burning. It was too much. You screamed.

-

Meanwhile, Leah Williamson, the love of your last 3 months was oblivious to what was happening. As she was ‘taking a break to rest her old cranky bones’ in her own words. In the changing rooms, the one mirror in the far back, Leah flexing. “Need to work more on these bad boys.” Leah grunts as she flexes again.

After… a while, Leah finally comes out of the locker room. Her water bottle in hand as she takes a sip. She sees a few staff members rushing down the corridor. Some swearing, others are calm but shows horror on their faces.

Leah stops one staff, Emma Perkins. “Emma, what the fuck is happening?” Emma eyes dart to Leah. “It’s bad, Leah. Y/n—she went for a clearance, her leg hit the post… they’ve taken her to hospital.”

Leah didn’t even hear the rest. Her girlfriend, in pain, leg possibly broken. Her stomach dropped, everything inside her freezing before instinct took over.

She ran.

The fastest she ran ever. She had to. To get to her. To Y/n.

-

By the time she reached the hospital (with insane driving she knows she will pay as she ran a few red lights) she’d ditched her training jacket halfway to the car. Her chest ached from how hard she’d been breathing, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was you.

Katie, Caitlin Foord, Alessia Russo, and Kim Little were already in the waiting area when she arrived — shocked when Leah appeared, hair messy, cheeks flushed.

“How— how did you even get here that fast?” Katie asked, brow furrowing.

Leah barely heard her. “Ran red lights. Where is she?”

“They took her straight to surgery,” Kim said softly. “Compound fracture. But she’s stable.”

“I’m sorry, you ran red lights? Plural? As in more than one-?” Alessia gasps out.

Leah ignores her, as she sinks into a chair, elbows on her knees, hands clasped tight as she stared at the white tiles on the floor. She’d always been composed, calm — but not tonight. Tonight, her heart, her body felt like it was breaking apart piece by piece. Like with max in stranger things the two watched last night.

-

Two hours later, with Katie heading out to grab them some food. To which Leah thanks her on. She definitely wouldn’t have eaten.

The doctor came out with a tired smile. Leah sat up in an instant. “Surgery went well. She’s in recovery now. You can see her in a few minutes.”

Leah nearly collapsed from the relief that hit her chest. Leah stood up, the others following. The doctor stopped them.

“Though, I must warn you. We had or give her some medication. Pain killers. She will be loopy.” The doctor says. The others nod their head. Katie mumbling says ‘we’ve seen her drunk drunk, might not be a difference.’

-

When you finally woke up, you were a mess of tangled wires, soft beeping sounds, and the heavy fog of painkillers. Leah sat by your bedside, trying to keep herself together, while Alessia handed over a cup of coffee to Katie.

“Hey, superstar,” Leah murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “You scared the life out of me.”

You blinked groggily, eyes squinting as you recognized her. “Leeeah,” you drawled, a sloppy grin forming.

Leah chuckled quietly, heart breaking a little at how loopy you were. “Yeah, it’s me, I’m here.” Leah smiled. “So is Caitlin, Katie, Alessia and Kim.”

That was when Alessia piped up, “She looks good, all things considered.

Everyone nodded, the tension slowly melting into relief. They started talking among themselves — Katie cracking jokes, Caitlin quietly holding her hand — until your voice cut through the room again.

“Hey, Leah,” you said, eyes glassy but focused right on her. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Leah’s head snapped toward you so fast it almost gave her whiplash. “Y/N—” she hissed, her voice sharp and panicked.

“Kiss me!” you tried again, giggling now, reaching out clumsily.

The entire room went silent.

Alessia blinked. “Wait… what?”

Katie leaned forward, brows raised, but a slight hint of ‘I knew it’. “Leah, what is she talking about?”

Leah’s mind raced. “Nothing, nothing — she’s not herself, the meds—”

But you weren’t stopping. “No, I’m your girlfriend, you idiot… kiss me!”

You pouted dramatically, arms crossed like a child denied a treat.

Leah closed her eyes, muttering under her breath, “For fuke’s sake.”

The room exploded.

Katie laughed, as she yells “I fucking knew it!” Alessia’s jaw dropped, “no way, all this time?” Caitlin was trying to hide her grin while trying to calm her girlfriend, and Kim — calm, composed Kim — just pinched the bridge of her nose like a patient mother.

Leah’s cheeks turned crimson. “Okay, alright, fine, yes, we’re together, can everyone please stop looking at me like that?”

You, meanwhile, beamed proudly from your hospital bed. “Told you,” you slurred, eyes fluttering.

And just before drifting off again, you whispered softly, “Love you, Leah.”

Leah’s heart melted completely. She leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and murmured, “Love you too, trouble.”

The secret was out.

-

You meet Leah Williamson at a party, of all places. It’s not really your scene, but your friends dragged you along, promising that it wouldn’t be terrible. So far, you’ve been stuck in a corner nursing a drink, watching as people dance and talk, their laughter ringing through the air. You’re contemplating sneaking out when you feel a presence beside you.

“Not much of a party person?” a voice asks, smooth and teasing.

You turn your head and nearly choke on your drink. Leah Williamson is standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket, a smirk playing on her lips. She’s effortlessly cool, the kind of person who doesn’t need to try to own a room—she just does.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you say, trying to sound casual.

Leah shrugs. “I make exceptions.” Her gaze flickers over you, and for a second, you think you might be imagining the way she looks at you—like she’s assessing something, deciding something.

You’ve heard the rumors, of course. Leah Williamson, England’s golden girl, Arsenal’s captain—she’s got a reputation. Not just for being a phenomenal footballer, but for being a girl kisser. It’s practically legendary.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, tilting her head.

You shake your head, a little embarrassed. “Nothing.”

Leah grins. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what?”

She steps closer, just enough that you can smell her perfume, something clean and sharp. “About the fact that I only kiss girls.”

Your breath catches. “Is that true?”

Instead of answering, she just raises an eyebrow. The challenge is clear. If you want to know, you’re going to have to find out for yourself.

The air between you is thick with tension. Your heart pounds as she lifts a hand, her fingers brushing against your jaw. “I don’t bite,” she murmurs, voice barely audible over the music.

You swallow hard. “No?”

Leah’s lips quirk into a smirk. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

And then she kisses you.

It’s not hesitant or uncertain—no, Leah Williamson kisses like she means it, like she’s done it a thousand times before and still enjoys every second. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt into her without thinking.

When she pulls back, her blue eyes are locked onto yours, searching. You’re breathless, dazed, and she looks far too pleased with herself.

“Believe me now?” she asks.

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I do.”

Leah grins, her fingers still resting on your hip. “Good.”

-

You’re back with your friends now, trying to focus on their conversation, but it’s impossible. Not when you can feel Leah Williamson’s gaze on you from across the room.

You steal a glance in her direction, and sure enough, she’s watching you. She’s sitting with a group of her teammates—Lotte Wubben-Moy, Katie McCabe, and Beth Mead—but it’s clear that, despite whatever conversation they’re having, Leah’s attention is elsewhere. On you.

Beth notices first. She follows Leah’s gaze and smirks. “Oi, who’s that?”

Leah doesn’t look away. “No one.”

Katie scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’ve barely said a word since we sat down. You’re usually the one talking our ears off.”

Lotte leans in, grinning. “So? Who’s the girl?”

Leah finally drags her eyes away from you and levels them with her teammates. “Just someone I met.”

Beth raises an eyebrow. “Met, or kissed?”

Leah exhales through her nose, shaking her head, but Katie’s eyes widen with realization. “You did, didn’t you?” She laughs, nudging Leah’s shoulder. “Fucking hell, Williamson. You’ve been sitting here staring at her like a lovesick puppy.”

“I have not,” Leah protests, but her face betrays her—just the slightest hint of color rising in her cheeks.

“Oh, you so have,” Lotte says, grinning. “It’s actually a bit embarrassing.”

Leah rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she steals another glance at you. And just as she does, you look up, meeting her gaze. A slow smile spreads across your lips, and Leah feels something tighten in her chest.

Beth whistles. “Oh, you’re in trouble.”

Leah shakes her head, draining the last of her drink before standing. “I’m getting another drink.”

“Sure you are,” Katie teases. “Not at all going to see your mystery girl.”

Leah ignores them, but she doesn’t deny it either. Instead, she makes her way across the room—back to you.

-

You see Leah making her way toward you before your friends do. The confidence in her stride, the way her eyes are locked onto you like you’re the only person in the room—it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your friend nudges your arm. “Okay, who’s the blonde? She’s been looking at you all night.”

You swallow, pretending to be unaffected. “No one.”

But before they can press you for more, Leah’s there, standing in front of you, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Hey.”

Your friends fall silent, exchanging glances. Leah Williamson—England captain, Arsenal’s star—just casually walked up to you at this party, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

You raise an eyebrow. “Hey yourself.”

Leah tilts her head toward the drinks table. “Come with me?”

You hesitate, aware of your friends watching, but Leah extends a hand slightly—she’s not touching you, but she’s offering. And it’s hard to say no when she looks at you like that.

You don’t take her hand, but you follow her, leaving your friends whispering behind you.

At the drinks table, Leah pours herself a drink, then leans in just enough that her voice is only for you. “They’re staring.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching your friends blatantly watching. “They think you’re flirting with me.”

Leah takes a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving yours. “I am flirting with you.”

Your breath catches. “Oh.”

She smirks. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You roll your eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “Do you say that to every girl you kiss at parties?”

Leah hums, pretending to think about it. “Nope. Just you.”

You shake your head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “And what happens now?”

Leah studies you for a moment, then leans in, her lips brushing your ear. “That depends… are you going to let me kiss you again?”

Your heart is pounding, and you hate how easy it is for her to make you feel like this—like you’re standing on the edge of something thrilling, something dangerous.

So, instead of answering, you grab the front of her jacket and pull her in, pressing your lips to hers.

Leah doesn’t hesitate. She kisses you like she’s been waiting for it, like she knew this was inevitable. Her hands find your waist, pulling you against her, and the whole party fades into the background.

When you finally break apart, breathless, Leah grins down at you. “Guess that answers that.”

Leah’s thumb brushes over your waist, her breath still warm against your lips. She studies you for a second, her blue eyes flickering with something unreadable before she leans in again—closer this time, her lips hovering just near your ear.

“If you wanna go somewhere private…” Her voice is low, teasing. “Bathroom’s free.”

Your stomach flips at the suggestion. The confidence in her tone, the way she says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like she already knows your answer.

You pull back slightly, meeting her gaze. “You do this often?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious.

Leah smirks, tilting her head. “Would it be a problem if I did?”

You hesitate, your fingers still curled into the fabric of her jacket. You don’t know what it is about her—maybe it’s the way she looks at you, like she already knows exactly how this night is going to end, or maybe it’s the fact that you want to find out what it’s like to be the only girl she’s thinking about.

You exhale, your pulse racing. “Lead the way, then.”

Leah’s smirk deepens, and without another word, she takes your hand, her grip firm but not forceful, guiding you through the party. People are too wrapped up in their own conversations, their own drinks, their own nights to notice the way she pulls you through the crowd.

-

When you reach the bathroom, Leah pushes the door open, glancing back at you one last time—checking, making sure. And when you step inside without hesitation, she follows, locking the door behind her.

The second you’re alone, she’s on you. One hand on your waist, the other pressing against the door beside your head, caging you in without feeling overbearing. She kisses you like she’s been holding back all night, like she’s finally letting herself have what she wants.

You don’t know how long you’re in there—minutes, maybe longer. All you know is the press of her lips, the heat of her touch, the way she murmurs your name against your skin like she’s memorizing it.

Eventually, Leah pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours. “You good?” she murmurs, her voice softer now, more intimate.

You nod, a little breathless. “Yeah. You?”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “Better than good.”

And when she kisses you again, slower this time, you realize that Leah Williamson might be a girl kisser—but tonight, she’s only kissing you.

Leah kisses you like she means it—like she’s not thinking about anything else, like right now, you’re the only thing in her world. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it, in the way her hands grip your waist, the way her lips move against yours, the way she tilts her head just right, deepening the kiss until you feel it everywhere.

But then it hits you.

You don’t want this to just be some drunken party moment, something Leah forgets about as soon as she steps back into the crowd. You don’t want to be just another girl she kissed in the heat of the moment before moving on like it never happened.

The realization bubbles up inside you so fast that it spills out before you can stop it.

“I don’t—” You break away slightly, your hands still gripping the front of her jacket. “I don’t wanna be just some girl you made out with and left.”

Leah freezes. Her breath is still warm against your lips, but her expression shifts—like she wasn’t expecting that, like no one’s ever said it to her before.

She swallows, her hands still resting on your waist. “That what you think this is?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

Her eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, she looks… unsure. Not because she doesn’t know what she wants—but because she’s realizing you’re not like the others.

She exhales, her fingers tightening slightly on your waist. “I don’t do this if I don’t mean it,” she murmurs. “And I don’t kiss people just to forget about them.”

Your heart stutters. “No?”

Leah shakes her head, her blue eyes locked onto yours. “No.”

She pauses, then smirks—just a little, but there’s something softer in it now. “You wanna get out of here?”

Your stomach flips. “And go where?”

Leah shrugs. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can actually talk to you without—” She gestures vaguely to the music blasting outside the bathroom door. “This.”

You hesitate for only a second before nodding.

Leah grins, lacing her fingers through yours. “Come on, then.”

And as she leads you out of the party, out into the cool night air, you realize something else—maybe Leah Williamson is a girl kisser, but tonight, she’s choosing to stay.

-

Leah’s flat is exactly what you’d expect—minimalist but cozy, with framed football shirts on the walls and a few pairs of boots kicked off near the door. It smells faintly of something warm and familiar, like coffee and the faint trace of her perfume.

The second she shuts the door behind you, Leah turns to you, that signature smirk playing at her lips. “So,” she murmurs, stepping closer, “where were we?”

Her hands find your waist, her lips ghosting over yours, but just as she moves in to kiss you, you pull back slightly, placing a hand on her chest. “Hold on.”

Leah stills, blinking at you. “What?”

You bite back a grin at the way she looks—genuinely confused, like it’s never occurred to her that someone might stop her from kissing them.

“You really don’t get told ‘wait’ very often, do you?” you tease.

She huffs a quiet laugh, tilting her head. “Not usually, no.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

Leah raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright then. What’s on your mind?”

You take a breath, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t wanna rush into something without knowing where we stand.”

Leah watches you for a moment, then nods, stepping back just slightly to give you space. “Okay. Talk to me.”

You cross your arms, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I like you, Leah.”

A small smile tugs at her lips, like she already knew that but wanted to hear you say it. “I like you too.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I mean—I don’t wanna just be some hookup. I don’t wanna be the girl you kissed at a party and then moved on from. I don’t work like that.”

Leah’s expression softens. She reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “I get it. And for the record, I wasn’t planning on this being a one-time thing.”

Your heart stumbles. “No?”

She shakes her head, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “No. I was actually hoping…” She trails off, looking almost shy for the first time tonight.

You tilt your head, teasing. “Hoping what?”

Leah chuckles, running a hand through her hair before meeting your gaze again. “Hoping you’d let me take you on a date.”

You blink. “A date?”

She smirks. “Yeah, you know—dinner, drinks, an activity that isn’t making out in my bathroom?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Sounds fake.”

Leah grins. “I swear it’s real. And I’d really like to take you on one.”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “Hmm. I don’t know… you do have a bit of a reputation, Leah Williamson.”

She leans in slightly, squeezing your hand again. “And what if I told you I only wanna be a girl kisser for you?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her. Because damn it—Leah Williamson might be cocky, but she’s also sincere, and that’s what’s dangerous.

You exhale, shaking your head with a smile. “Fine. One date.”

Leah grins, victorious. “One date,” she repeats. “And if you’re lucky, I might even let you kiss me at the end of it.”

You laugh, tugging her down by the collar of her jacket. “Oh, I think I’ll be the one deciding that.”

-

You’ve always known that Caitlin would be there for you, no matter what. Through the highs and the lows, the wins and the losses, she’s been the one constant in your life. And tonight, as you sit on your apartment balcony, staring out at the London skyline, you realize just how much that means.

Your phone buzzes beside you, and without looking, you know it’s her. Caitlin always seems to know when you need her most.

Fourd: You home?

You: Yeah.

Fourd: On my way.

You don’t question it. That’s just how she is.

-

Fifteen minutes later, she’s standing in your doorway, her dark hair still damp from a shower, dressed in sweats and one of her oversized hoodies. She doesn’t say anything at first, just steps inside and pulls you into a tight hug. And just like that, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

“I knew something was up,” she murmurs into your hair. “Talk to me.”

You let out a slow breath, sinking into her warmth. “I don’t even know where to start.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her dark eyes soft. “Then start anywhere.”

So you do. You tell her about the stress at work, the way everything has been piling up, the doubt creeping in. You tell her about feeling like you have to do everything on your own. And she listens—really listens—the way she always does.

When you finally trail off, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering against your cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to burden you.”

Caitlin scoffs, a small smile playing at her lips. “Burden me? Love, you could call me at three in the morning, and I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

You feel your throat tighten at her words, at the unwavering certainty in her voice. “Why?” you whisper.

She tilts her head, as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

Your breath catches, and she just smiles, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “You can count on me. Always.”

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning into her touch. “I love you too.”

Caitlin grins. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here. You need fresh air.”

She laces her fingers with yours, tugging you toward the door, and for the first time in days, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’re not carrying everything alone.

And with Caitlin by your side, you know you never will be.

The 2024 January morning was bitingly cold, the kind that made the tips of your ears burn as soon as you stepped out of your car. You pulled your coat tighter, exhaled, and looked up at the training facility that now—somehow—felt like both the unknown and your future.

You’d signed for Arsenal just days ago, and now it was finally time for your first training session. Your heart beat faster than it should’ve, a mix of excitement and nerves tangling in your chest. You’d already met most of the squad during your signing day tour… most, but not all.

As you pushed open the door to the changing room, you were greeted by a chorus of laughter and chatter in varying accents. Heads turned, a few faces lighting up in recognition. Katie McCabe gave you a cheeky wave, and Leah Williamson tossed you a smile from the mirror. You smiled back, offering a soft “Morning.”

You navigated your way through, duffel bag in hand, trying not to look too lost.

“Hey—Y/N, right?”

You turned to see a brunette/blonde ish figure approaching you with a warm smile. Laia Codina.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you said, relieved someone recognised you.

“Laia,” she introduced herself anyway, her Spanish accent melodic. “I don’t think we met last time.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on, I’ll show you your spot.”

She led you over to a cubicle tucked between Alessia Russo’s—who was currently mid-conversation with Beth Mead—and Beth herself, who gave you a wink and a “Welcome to the madhouse.”

You chuckled nervously. “Thanks.”

“You’ll survive,” Laia grinned, setting her kit bag down nearby. “Stick with me.”

You smiled, genuinely. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

-

You were already grateful for Laia by the time you stepped onto the pitch. The cold was still biting, but the adrenaline coursing through your system dulled it somewhat. The drills began quickly, and you were paired up with Laia for most of them.

It was almost startling how easy it felt. Her energy was relaxed but focused, her instructions clear, her banter effortless.

“Don’t let me down, roomie,” she teased, nudging you with her shoulder before a short-passing drill.

“We don’t even share a room,” you laughed.

“Yet,” she said with mock-seriousness. “Preseason tour? I call dibs.”

You burst out laughing, nearly missing the pass she sent your way.

“Focus, eh!” she grinned.

As the session went on, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt. The little things—her high-fives, her jokes about the freezing weather, even her exaggerated groan when you accidentally nutmegged her in a tight-space drill—made the session feel more like a kickabout with a friend than a first day at a new club.

-

Back in the changing rooms. The laughter gets lost as Laia strikes up a conversation.

“So,” Laia said as she tugged off her boots, “not bad for a first day, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, grinning. “You made it easy.”

“That’s what teammates are for.”

You looked around the room—at Beth, now bickering playfully with Alessia, at the buzz of energy after a good session—and finally felt something settle in your chest.

Belonging.

“Thanks, Laia. Seriously.”

She shrugged like it was nothing. “Just don’t forget me when you’re winning us the league.”

You grinned. “Only if you promise not to yell at me every time I forget to track back.”

Laia smirked. “Deal. But no promises on matchdays.”

You were sitting on the couch, casually flipping through your phone, when Alessia came into the room. Her usual, cheerful smile was on her face as she walked over to you, ready to greet you with one of her sweet, affectionate nicknames, but this time, you decided to play a little prank.

“Hey, Alessia,” you said, not even looking up from your phone.

Her smile faltered, just slightly, but she didn’t say anything. It was rare that you called her by her full name, usually sticking to “baby” or “darling,” so the sudden shift in tone caught her off guard.

“Alessia, are you hungry?” you asked, still not looking at her.

She blinked, a confused frown tugging at the corner of her lips, but still, she didn’t respond right away. You could see her standing there, waiting for something more, but you were resolute in your silence.

You continued scrolling, pretending not to notice how her shoulders slumped, or the way her gaze lingered on you, her face softening into a pout. She didn’t say anything, but you could see the gears turning in her head. She was wondering what was going on, why you were acting distant.

“Do you want anything to eat? Or maybe some coffee?” she asked gently, her voice betraying a hint of concern.

You didn’t answer. You simply shook your head and turned your gaze back to your phone, giving her no attention. The silence between you both felt heavier now.

Alessia took a step back, her eyes shifting between you and the ground. She could feel the subtle sting of worry creeping up. Maybe she did something wrong. She was sure of it now. You must be mad at her for some reason. You hadn’t called her “baby” or “darling” in what felt like an eternity, and the thought of upsetting you made her stomach twist.

“Sweetheart, if you’re upset, you know you can talk to me, right?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Still, no answer came from you, and Alessia’s heart dropped. She stood there for a long moment, unsure of what to do next. She didn’t want to press you further, but the thought of you being upset was gnawing at her.

But then, as you glanced up at her, your heart almost stopped. Alessia stood there, looking down at you with big, slightly teary eyes, her lower lip trembling, a pout that was hard to ignore. She was so vulnerable in that moment, and it broke your heart.

She must have felt so hurt, thinking you were angry with her. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Less,” you started softly, voice full of regret.

She met your gaze, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, as her voice came out in a whisper. “Do you not love me anymore?”

Your heart shattered at the sight of her, and you rushed to her, pulling her into your arms, cradling her face in your hands.

“No, no, no, baby, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I was just messing with you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know I love you so much, right?”

She let out a soft breath, her pout slowly fading into a small smile as you wiped away a tear from her cheek.

“You promise?” she asked quietly, looking up at you, searching your eyes for any trace of dishonesty.

“I promise,” you said, leaning in to kiss her forehead softly. “You’re my baby, always.”

She smiled, a little more relaxed now, and wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. “Don’t ever do that again,” she mumbled into your chest.

You laughed, holding her even tighter, your heart full of love and guilt. “I won’t, I promise.”

-

The first time Alessia sees you, really sees you, you’re standing on a coffee table at some random house party, arms spread wide, eyes alight with reckless joy. There’s a red Solo cup in one hand, but it’s forgotten as you throw your head back, laughing at something she can’t hear.

She should be annoyed. The party is already loud, already messy, and now there’s you—center stage, unbothered, unfiltered, completely alive. But Alessia isn’t annoyed. She’s captivated.

“I love it when you just don’t care…”

That’s the first thought that crosses her mind. You don’t care. Not about the disapproving stares from people who think you’re being too much. Not about the way your friends try to tug you down, worried you’ll fall. Not about the fact that you’re drawing all the attention in the room. You just are. And for someone like Alessia—who’s spent so much of her life measured, careful, watching her every move—it’s intoxicating to watch.

She doesn’t even realize she’s been staring until you turn, catching her gaze. A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips, and suddenly Alessia feels like the room is spinning—though she hasn’t had nearly enough to drink for that.

“We don’t have to be ordinary…”

Somehow, between the shots and the laughter and the way you weave through the crowd like you own it, you end up beside her. Alessia isn’t sure if she pulled you in or if you simply appeared, but it doesn’t matter. You’re close, close enough that she can see the gleam in your eyes, the mischief there.

“You don’t drink much, do you?” you tease, nudging her with your shoulder.

Alessia shakes her head. “Not really.”

“That’s alright,” you say, grinning. “You don’t need alcohol to be fun.”

“Make our own rules…”

And just like that, you take her hand. You don’t drag her into the center of the party like she expects, don’t demand she match your wild energy. Instead, you pull her onto the back porch, where the music is muffled and the air is cool against her flushed skin.

“Needed an escape?” she asks, watching as you hop up onto the wooden railing, swinging your legs.

“Not exactly,” you say. “Just wanted to see the stars.”

Alessia follows your gaze upward. The sky is dark and endless, and for a moment, there’s just silence between you. It’s peaceful, grounding in a way the party wasn’t. She likes it.

“You don’t care what people think of you, do you?” she asks suddenly, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

You glance at her, an unreadable expression crossing your face. “I care,” you admit. “I just don’t let it stop me.”

Alessia wants to say something, wants to tell you how much she admires that about you. How she wishes she could be like that—fearless, unbothered. Instead, you hop down from the railing, stepping closer, eyes flickering over her face.

“Promise me you’ll always stay wild…”

“Come on,” you whisper. “Let’s make tonight unforgettable.”

And for once in her life, Alessia doesn’t hesitate. She takes your hand, lets you pull her into the unknown, into the chaos, into you.

The room hums with energy, a crowd of devoted fans packed tightly into the event space. After winning the Champions League, Barcelona’s signing event is overflowing. People wave jerseys, flags, posters—anything they can get Alexia Putellas to sign. Cameras flash, voices overlap, barriers strain under the weight of excitement.

Alexia sits at the center table, signing one item after another with practiced ease. Her smile never falters, but security is starting to. A small wave of pushing at the front sends a ripple through the crowd. Barriers wobble.

That’s when you step in.

Tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled sleeves of your black uniform. There’s a sharp focus in your eyes, a quiet authority in the way you move. You cut through the cluster of bodies with ease, shoulders squared, voice firm.

“Back up!”

The crowd reacts immediately. You position yourself beside the table, between Alexia and the restless fans. Every movement is controlled, deliberate. A hand up here, a quiet warning there—your presence alone calms the chaos.

Alexia turns slightly, catching sight of you for the first time. Her gaze lingers longer than expected, curiosity flickering across her features. She’s used to the usual male security team, not a woman with tattoos and a stare that could stop a stampede.

Throughout the event, her eyes keep drifting back to you. When you lean forward to adjust the barrier, she glances. When you scan the perimeter, she glances. And when a fan reaches a bit too far over the table, the way you step in—steady, protective—makes something warm flicker in her chest.

-

After hours of signing, photos, and flashes, the event finally winds down. Most of the crowd is ushered out, leaving the room quieter. You stay behind, ensuring everything is clear, standing near the doorway with arms crossed, that same focused look etched on your face.

“Hey.”

Her voice pulls your attention. Alexia stands a few steps away, still in her Barça tracksuit, cheeks slightly flushed but eyes bright.

“I wanted to thank you,” she says, walking closer. “Things got a little hectic, and you… handled it perfectly.”

Your expression doesn’t shift much—stern, composed—but a faint blush creeps up your neck. You give a small nod.

“It’s my job,” you reply simply.

Her smile widens. “Still… I’m really glad you were here.”

Her gaze drifts over your tattoos for a moment before meeting your eyes again. There’s something playful in the way she repeats your name when you give it to her, almost like she’s trying it on for size.

“Y/n,” she says softly.

“Room’s clear,” you answer, stepping aside to let her pass.

She lets out a small laugh, like she’s caught you being unintentionally endearing. “Okay. See you around, Y/n.”

As she walks away, that unmistakable smile spreads across her face—a real one, the kind she doesn’t flash for cameras. She glances back once before exiting, still smiling.

-

Leah noticed it the moment you stepped into the kitchen, after walking into her house - with your key.

She had been leaning against the counter, waiting for you like she always did when you finished work, ready with a cup of tea and a warm smile. The same smile your roommate gives you.

Leah and you started rooming together when things got a bit heavy. Leah and you have been friends for a while now, she met you during the euros final. When Leah tore her ACL, you insisted to move in with her. Leah didn’t say no. And she definitely said no when you tried to head back to your house once Leah was fully recovered.

You’re just friends. Just roommates. Just friends. Nothing more. Or, at least that’s what Leah kept saying to herself every night in bed.

The second you walked into the house, the second her eyes landed on your face, the smile, that sweet, charming smile, faded.

Your lip—split, red, still healing.

She set her mug down a little too hard, the ceramic clinking against the counter.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, her voice sharp, worried.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you walked toward her. “It’s fine, Leah. Just part of the job.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, brows furrowing. “That’s not an answer.”

You stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body. Close enough to see the way her jaw clenched as her gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, frustration clear in the set of her features.

“There was a chase,” you admitted. “Suspect wasn’t too happy about getting caught.”

Leah inhaled sharply, shaking her head as her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach out but was holding herself back.

“Don’t like it,” she muttered, the same three words she always said when she saw you hurt.

You gave her a small, tired smile. “It’s my job.”

Leah swallowed hard, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. The space that had always been comfortable, always toeing the line between friendship and something more, suddenly felt charged.

Her gaze lingered on your lips—not just because of the injury, but because of something else.

Something she wanted.

Something you wanted too.

She reached up, fingers barely ghosting over your jaw before her thumb brushed against your split lip. The touch was gentle, careful, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. You winced slightly, but neither of you moved away.

Leah’s breath hitched.

She was close—so close that if you leaned in even a fraction more, your lips would meet.

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching, waiting.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, the anticipation thick between you. Your lips parted, your body tilting instinctively toward hers

Then your phone rang.

The shrill sound shattered the moment, making you both jump.

You sighed, shutting your eyes briefly before pulling back. Leah exhaled, stepping away as you grabbed your phone from your pocket, muttering a quiet curse when you saw your partner’s name on the screen.

Leah scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her tea. “Of course.”

You sent her an apologetic look before answering. “Yeah?”

Leah didn’t listen to the conversation, too busy staring into her mug like it had personally offended her. But when you hung up, rubbing a hand over your face, she glanced at you.

“You have to go?”

You shook your head. “No. Just an update on the case.”

Leah hummed, but the tension from before was gone, replaced with something quieter. Something unsaid.

You both knew what had almost happened.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

At least, not yet.

-

Later that night, you were curled up on the couch together, like always. Leah’s arm was draped around your waist, pulling you against her, her warmth seeping into you.

It was normal. This was normal.

But the way Leah kept glancing at you, the way her fingers absently traced patterns against your hip—none of it felt normal anymore.

It felt like waiting.

You turned your head slightly, catching her staring at your lip again. Her frown returned, a quiet frustration in her eyes. Before you could say anything, she reached up again, brushing her thumb over the cut like she had earlier.

You winced.

She sighed. “Don’t like it.”

You smiled softly. “Still my job.”

Leah didn’t pull away this time. Instead, she studied your face like she was memorizing every inch of it.

And then, she leaned in.

This time, there was nothing stopping her.

The kiss was soft, careful, but there was no hesitation. Just warmth, just her, just this moment you had both been waiting for. Her hand cupping your cheek now, pulling you up more, deepening the kiss. Your hands settled on her chest, to stable yourself, but to also feel.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, her breath mingling with yours.

“It’s a little embarrassing of how long I wanted to do that.” Leah mumbled, still staring at your cut, before looking up.

“Yeah. You should’ve done that a lot sooner,” you murmured, lips curving into a small smirk.

Leah let out a breathy laugh. “I know.”

You reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. “But you can now do that a lot more.”

Leah grinned, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

-

The locker room buzzed with post-match energy—shouts, laughter, the thud of boots being kicked off and the hiss of water bottles opening. Katie McCabe sat on the bench, one leg bouncing furiously as she peeled her socks off with twitchy fingers. Her eyes darted around, barely resting anywhere for long. Her thoughts didn’t either.

It wasn’t that she was nervous. They’d won, and she’d even assisted Caitlin’s goal. But her body hadn’t got the memo to stop. Her hands were drumming against her thigh now, and she was halfway through retying her ponytail for no real reason when Beth’s voice cut across the room.

“God, you can’t ever sit still, McCabe,” Beth said with a teasing laugh, nodding at Katie’s constant fidgeting. “You’ve got ants in your pants or something?”

The words weren’t harsh. Not really. Just playful. The kind of banter that got thrown around after matches all the time. But it hit Katie sideways.

She froze, her leg stilled.

The room kept spinning around her, full of motion and sound, but she suddenly felt like she was glowing under a spotlight. Her jaw tightened as she forced a smile, then grabbed her water bottle a bit too quickly and muttered, “Just got energy, s’all.”

But she was quiet the rest of the time. Her body didn’t calm, but now every bounce of her leg felt like a mistake. Every wiggle, every twist of her wrist or shuffle in her seat, felt like something she should hide.

-

Back at home, the flat was quiet. Caitlin was in the kitchen grabbing two beers, humming softly. Katie sat curled up on the couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her phone screen flickering in her hand. She was still. Almost too still.

Caitlin noticed. She always did.

“Alright, what’s up?” Caitlin asked, setting the drinks down and sitting beside her, her arm slipping easily around Katie’s waist.

“Nothing,” Katie mumbled. “Just tired.”

Caitlin tilted her head. “You’re never still when you’re tired. You’re twitchy and adorable and annoying as hell when you’re tired.”

Katie gave a weak laugh, then went quiet again.

Caitlin waited. And when Katie didn’t say anything, she gently pressed, “Was it what Beth said?”

Katie’s eyes flicked toward her, then dropped. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you go quiet,” Caitlin said softly, brushing Katie’s arm with her thumb. “Talk to me.”

Katie let out a sigh. “It just… I know I’m always moving. I know I fidget and bounce and interrupt people sometimes and I can’t help it. I’m not trying to be annoying. But when people point it out—even when they’re joking—it makes me feel like… like I should just shut it all off, y’know?”

Caitlin’s heart clenched. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Katie’s temple.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You don’t have to shut anything off. Not for anyone.”

Katie blinked a few times, fighting the tight feeling in her chest.

“I love how your brain works,” Caitlin said. “I love that you’re always buzzing. That you think in twenty directions at once and have three different ideas before I’ve finished one sentence. That you’re alive in this loud, bright way no one else is.”

Katie turned her head, meeting Caitlin’s eyes, and there was something raw in hers now.

“And I love your fidgeting,” Caitlin added with a soft grin. “Means I always know where you are in a room. You’re like… constant motion. My own little storm.”

Katie cracked a smile—small, but real. “Your storm, huh?”

“Damn right,” Caitlin said, pulling her into a hug. “And if anyone can’t handle it, they can get out of the way.”

Katie laughed against her shoulder, and this time, her leg bounced again. She didn’t try to stop it.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Always,” Caitlin replied. “Now, c’mere. Let’s put on something crap on telly and you can fidget all you want. I’ll just sit here and admire it.”