russomething

[russomething]

no posts for a few days as i’m working back to back full days and i want to use my down time to rest eek

you can tell i had a week off when i started this account😭😭 will very much be slowing down on the stories now so please excuse me. shall try my best to get one out monday-ish💛

[russomething]

girlllll no we don’t stan that woman in this house please 🙏🏽, she follow and reposted a lot of right wing stuff and especially against muslim

oh thank you very much for making me aware of that, i had no idea!! we do indeed not stan. very much appreciate you bringing that to my attention🫡

edit: just saw that one of the people she collaborated with is a gigantic z*onist so taking this opportunity to remind everyone; free palestine.

[russomething]

STUPID CUPID → ALESSIA RUSSO

𓆩♡𓆪 pairing: alessia russo x lioness!reader 𓆩♡𓆪 blurb: you and alessia are so painfully gay for one another anyone could see it from a mile away -- except apparently the two of you. luckily cupid has a name and it's ella toone. (based on this req.) 𓆩♡𓆪 word count: 2.4k 𓆩♡𓆪 genre: fluff, humour

There’s something deeply unfair about Alessia Russo existing in the same postcode as you, let alone on the same training pitch.

You’d convinced yourself it was fine, manageable. You could deal with the fact your teammate was the kind of beautiful that made strangers double-take on the street, the kind of gorgeous that didn’t even look like it was trying. You could handle that… at least in theory.

Training next to her every day, though? Seeing her laugh and being close enough to count the little silver flecks in her irises when the sun hit just right? That was another story entirely. Alessia Russo had you waxing poetic as if you were Shakespeare on each and every regular day.

It was always the little things. To name one of many examples, the way her hair caught the sunlight when she jogged out of the tunnel, or that easy laugh that carried across the pitch. Even the way she’d bite the inside of her cheek when she was focused, or chew her lip while listening to the coaches. None of it should mean anything, but of course it did. You were human, and a human who was head over heels in love with England’s star striker at that.

Not that you were ever going to say anything.

The two of you got on fine, great even, but you kept yourself firmly in the safe zone. Pure professionalism.. No lingering glances, no unnecessary conversations, and definitely no blurting out that you thought she was the prettiest thing to ever grace god’s green earth. 

The problem was Alessia didn’t exactly make it easy to ignore that bubbling in your chest. It was always simple, only a wave from across the pitch when you arrived late or a spare bib handed over with a grin – that one time during stretches when she pressed your knee down with her palm and you had to spend the rest of the day pretending your pulse wasn’t still rattling from the contact. She had no idea she was even doing it, but it caught you off guard every single time. 

Today was no different.

The sun was out, the mood was good, and Alessia was practically glowing. Sleeves rolled up over her forearms, chatting with Ella like she wasn’t singlehandedly ruining your ability to function.

You aimed for a quick escape after training.

No luck.

“Good session, you looked sharp,” Alessia said, stopping you in the corridor with that warm, unblinking eye contact you had no defence against.

You muttered something that might have been words, you couldn’t entirely swear to it, and made a beeline for the changing room. Ella’s knowing look followed you the whole way in.

The rest of the week wasn’t much better.

There was the water bottle incident(™), Alessia offering hers after yours ran out, your fingers brushing and holding just a little too long. The ice bath, thigh pressed against thigh under freezing water. That late-night in the hotel lobby, just the two of you, when you had every opportunity to say something real and instead had told the striker you liked her boots.

Every time, the moment slipped away.

Every time, you convinced yourself you’d imagined the way she was looking at you.

And every time, Ella was there, watching with that I’m about to interfere expression that you didn’t trust in the slightest.

–

Game night at England camp was supposed to be casual. Just a way to unwind after training, sitting cross-legged on beanbags and cushions in the players’ lounge with snacks your nutritionists wouldn’t approve of scattered across the table.

It was not supposed to turn into an all-out war over Uno.

Lotte is half-standing in her seat, brandishing a +4 like she’s about to duel Niamh for control of the deck. Niamh is calling her a cheat - loudly and repeatedly - and Ella is providing a running commentary from the corner as if this is live sport. Esme and Maya are her compelled audience, laughing at every anecdote and slamming their hands on the table in amusement. 

You’re sitting on the floor opposite Alessia. That should be fine, normal. But she’s leaning back on her hands with her legs stretched out, and every time she draws a card she glances up at you through her lashes like she’s checking for a reaction.

You try to focus on your hand, but when she catches your eye and grins, slow, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, your brain empties completely..

“You’ve got something,” she says suddenly, gesturing to her cheek.

You swipe at your face, confused. “What?”

“Other side.” She leans in, close enough that you catch the faint smell of her shampoo, and her fingers brush against your jaw as she wipes away what must be a crumb from the biscuits someone demolished earlier.

The room is still full of shouting, but you hear nothing except the loud, traitorous thud of your heartbeat.

“Thanks,” you manage, even if it comes out a little quieter than intended.

Alessia just smiles, casual as anything as if she hasn’t just caused you an aneurysm, and goes back to her cards.

Ella is not subtle about watching you from her perch on the arm of the sofa, if the pause in her running commentary is anything to go by.

The game drags on in chaos, but every time you play a card, Alessia’s foot finds yours under the table. It sits there like she doesn’t even know she’s touching you. There’s no wash of recognition across her face, so maybe she really hasn’t noticed. She probably thinks it's a table leg, or one of the other girls. Probably wondering Why is this object shaking so bad? as you battle your body to stay still. 

At one point, you both reach for the snack bowl at the same time. Her fingers brush over yours, and instead of pulling away, she picks up a crisp, holds it out to you, and says “For you.”

You take it, trying not to let anyone notice the way your hands are shaking.

If the others clock it, no one says anything. Except Ella, who catches your eye and mouths oh my God. Because of course she knows. You can’t get anything past Ella Toone, apparently even a secret crush on her best friend. Especially that, you suppose. 

By the time the game ends (Lotte declaring herself champion while Niamh demands a rematch), you’re not even sure you remember the rules. You’ve spent the last hour hopelessly, irretrievably, and very obviously panicking over Alessia’s existence.

And judging by the little smirk she throws over her shoulder as she heads to grab more drinks, she knows it.

–

The grand plan was put into action on that Thursday.

The morning session had been light, just tactics and recovery work, meaning everyone was in decent spirits. You were in even better spirits because you’d managed to make it through the day without any Alessia-induced cardiac emergencies. A couple of smiles, a playful nudge here and there, but nothing that made your stomach stage an Olympics level gymnastics routine.

Unfortunately, Ella had once again been watching you.

She’d been watching you all week.

So when she caught you and Alessia lingering in the corridor after lunch, Alessia holding the door for you like some sort of unfairly hot Victorian gentleman, Ella pounced.

“Hey, Y/N,” she called, voice bright and full of menace you should have noticed. “Can you just help me grab something real quick?”

You followed, because you’re a fool. And Alessia followed you, because she apparently cannot hear your name without appearing at your side like a tall, blonde summoning spell.

The “something” was, allegedly, in the far corner of the training ground’s storage room. Which was already suspicious enough. Before you could ask questions, Ella had waved you both in.

The door clicked shut.

You turned, far too slowly, and saw her through the narrow glass panel, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “SORT IT OUT!” she shouted, then made a show of locking the door. There was a beat of stunned silence, then Ella’s voice again, louder this time “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE BOTH GAY, JUST GET ON WITH IT!”

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Alessia, infuriatingly, was smiling. “She’s subtle,” she said, leaning back against the wall.

“She’s insane,” you muttered, jiggling the handle to confirm what you already knew, that it wasn’t budging and you were indeed stuck.

From the other side came another yell. “I’M NOT LETTING YOU OUT UNTIL SOMEONE SNOGS, SO CHOP CHOP!”

You shut your eyes, fighting the urge to scream. “She’s actually lost it.”

Alessia’s voice was quieter now, but still teasing. “Think she might be onto something, though.”

Your head snapped towards her. “Um. Sorry?”

Her gaze stayed on you, warm and just a little dangerous. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t–”

“You have,” she said simply, like it was fact. “Every time I talk to you, you look like you’re either going to bolt or… I don’t know… pass out.”

Your arms crossed, more to hide your clammy hands than out of any real defiance. “That’s not– it’s not–”

“If you don’t want me to talk to you,” she said softly, “you can just say so.”

You hated the way that made your chest ache. You never wanted her to feel that way about you, like you were purposefully choosing not to see her. Of course, that was what was going on, but you hadn’t wanted her to realise. “That’s not it.”

Her brows lifted. “No?”

The silence after that was heavy. The room was small, just endless shelves of cones and stacks of bibs. It smelled faintly of turf and detergent, not the most romantic setting, but with her standing this close you could hardly bring yourself to care. You could hear the muffled shouts from outside of those still in training, but in herehere, it was like everything had narrowed down to her.

You, Alessia, and the sound of your own pulse.

And Ella, apparently.

“I CAN HEAR THE SEXUAL TENSION FROM HERE, PLEASE JUST KISS AND PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY.”

You groaned into your hands. Alessia laughed, bright and joyous, and when you looked up she was watching you like she was figuring something out.

You’d never been more aware of your own breathing. It was too loud, too fast, and far too obvious. 

Alessia was still leaning against the wall like she wasn’t trapped in here with a teammate who, at this point, might actually combust from sheer tension. Her arms folded loosely over her chest, the corner of her mouth twitching every so often, like she was holding back a smile she didn’t want you to see.

You tried for casual. Failed miserably. “So… uh… how’s your–”

Alessia actually snorted at that. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Small talk,” she said, grinning now. “We’re locked in a broom cupboard, Y/N. You don’t need to ask me about my day.”

Your laugh came out too high-pitched to be safe. “Well, what do you suggest we do instead?”

From outside, Ella’s voice cut in before Alessia could answer “I suggest you two stop pretending you haven’t been eyeing each other like you’re a Champions League trophy”

You made a strangled noise and buried your face in your hands. “I swear to God, when I get out of here–”

“She’s not wrong,” Alessia said.

Now that shut you up faster than you ever thought possible. “Sorry?”

Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I’m just saying… you do look at me sometimes. And I–” she hesitated, eyes flicking away for a second before locking back onto yours “--I look at you.”

Your brain went blank. “Oh.”

“Oh,” she repeated, and this time it was almost a challenge.

You shook your head too quickly. “That’s– that doesn’t– I don’t–I just… look… sometimes. You know… I’m impressed–”

“Y/N,” she said, tone suddenly firmer, “you’re rambling.”

“I’m not–”

“You are,” she cut in, stepping forward just enough to make the space between you feel electric. “And you’re doing that thing where you talk so much I forget what I was going to say.”

“I am not–”

And then she kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t testing the waters. It was decisive, sure, and just the right side of desperate - like she’d been holding herself back for weeks and had finally decided she was done. Her hand came up to the side of your jaw, not rough but firm enough to keep you there, her mouth moving against yours like she had no intention of stopping any time soon.

It turned out kissing Alessia Russo was exactly as brain-melting as you’d imagined.

She tasted faintly of peppermint gum, her lips soft but insistent. Her fingers curved against your jaw like she’d decided you weren’t going anywhere until she was done. You didn’t even try to stop her, didn’t want to. Every time she tilted her head, the kiss deepened, and your knees became that little bit weaker.

She made a small noise against your mouth, frustration or relief you couldn’t tell, and you felt it all the way to your toes. Somewhere in the haze, your hands had found her waist, and now you were holding her like letting go wasn’t an option.

From outside, Ella’s voice piped up again “Oi, why’ve you gone quiet in there? Have someone passed out–”

The door clicked open mid-sentence.

You and Alessia jolted apart, but not far enough. Your lips were still dangerously close, your breathing ragged, and Ella’s eyes went wide before her face broke into a full-blown, I-knew-it grin.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You could feel the heat flooding your face, but Alessia — to her credit — just leaned back against the wall, one arm still draped loosely around your waist like she wasn’t ashamed in the slightest.

Ella, meanwhile, was already halfway down the corridor, shouting to whoever would listen “THEY’RE SNOGGING! THEY’RE SNOGGING!”

You dropped your forehead to Alessia’s shoulder with a groan. “I thought that was what she wanted..?”

She laughed softly, squeezing your side. “Yeah but now she has to make sure we never live this down. Everyone will know in less than 30 seconds.

You couldn’t help but laugh, because honestly? With her still that close, her thumb brushing over your hip like it was the most natural thing in the world, you weren’t sure you cared.

a/n: such a fun req. thank you anon🫶

will try to get through a few more req. so i can open them again! apologies its taking so long i work full time eek. i hope you enjoyed this though! i hd a lot of fun writing it

[russomething]

Hi Aura, how are you? Since requests are open, I was having this idea in my head where Alessia and R don't know how to express their feelings, and our lovely Tooney helps them a little (I guess it would be fun to read about it) Thank you.

hi lovely anon!!! i am doing okay thank you, a little bit stressed with how busy i am right now but i also thrive in chaos aha. i hope you are doing alright <3

this was SUCH a fun idea, thank you so much!💛 i hope you enjoy what i whipped up -- you can find it here

[russomething]

I love your latest lucy fic!! So well written. Are you going to do a part two? I hope the answer is yes 😭💗

AWWWW thank you anon!!!! i'm so glad you enjoyed -- it was written very much on a whim during my lunch break. thank you for reading🥹

re: a possible part 2 -- maybe somewhere down the line! i would love to, but i have a bunch of requests and stuff to get through so it would probably be a little while in the future hehe💛

[russomething]

COACH CHAOS → LUCY BRONZE

𓆩♡𓆪 pairing: lucy bronze x reader 𓆩♡𓆪 blurb: you're forced to step in for your friend coaching the local u-8s football team, but you don't know a thing about the sport. lucky for you, there's someone there who does. 𓆩♡𓆪 word count: 2.9k 𓆩♡𓆪 genre: fluff, humour, author self indulgently gay panicking over lucy

You’re not sure which part of the text you’re meant to focus on: the part where your best friend has volunteered you to cover her job, or the part where she casually mentions she’s currently in active labour.

Your phone buzzes again before you can even respond.

Megs (10:12 AM): water broke lol xx Megs (10:12 AM): told them you’ll cover for me. will owe u forever. gtg, literally pushing a human out rn

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard as you aimlessly fish for the right words. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think this must be a test of your friendship, like, would you drop everything on a Saturday morning to stand in a muddy park and coach an under-8s football team when your tactical knowledge begins and ends with “don’t use your hands”? Apparently, the answer is yes, because twenty minutes later you’re standing on the sideline with a borrowed whistle around your neck and a clipboard that you’re ninety-nine percent sure is just for show.

The pitch stretches out in front of you like an unknown land, and suddenly you feel like you’re back at school looking at algebra for the first time. It’s probably exacerbated by the eleven children in oversized jerseys chasing each other in uncoordinated circles. The parents’ section is a blur of takeaway coffees and camp chairs, all of them glancing at you like you’re the substitute teacher who’s already lost the lesson plan. Which you suppose you sort of…are?

You clear your throat and attempt a smile. “Hi! So… Megs couldn’t make it today, she–”

“She’s what?” a dad calls out far too quickly, his sunglasses catching the sun. You’re a nice person, so you don’t yell at him, but if you were less you may have thrown a punch there and then. 

“In labour,” you blurt. “As in – right now. As in – please don’t text her about corner kicks because she’s a little busy.” You direct that towards the group of women closest to you, all of who pulled their phones out the second you said labour.

There’s a ripple of excited murmurs, but somehow at the same time that particular kind of silence where people are wondering how long they’re going to be stuck with you in charge. You’re just about to admit you have no idea what you’re doing when someone at the back of the group calls “Lucy could help!”

Heads turn. There’s a chorus of Yeah, let Lucy do it, Lucy’s here, She’ll know what to do, and a woman from the back of the crowd is pushed forward through a series of outstretched arms. 

It’s unfair, really, is your first thought. That someone could be that hot. The sun catches her just enough to make the edges of her hair in it’s bun glow, a loose strand brushing her cheek. She’s wearing a beige-brown jacket over a white shirt of some sort, simple black jeans being the pairing and you have the overwhelming urge to send her away just for making such a simple outfit look so good. 

You’re fairly certain it’s a tank top, too. You can’t exactly stare too long at that area, but god you’re sure you can see the edge of the sleeve. Why would Megs willingly put you through this? You’ve only just met this woman and you’re going to die. 

Lucy’s smile is polite and somehow a little shy despite the way every parent here seems to recognise her instantly. 

“Hi,” she says, voice low and warm, offering a hand like you’re meeting in a boardroom instead of a park full of screaming kids. “I’m Lucy.”

You take it before you can think, and it’s the kind of handshake that’s firm but not overconfident, her palm warm against yours. You’re hyper-aware of the fact that her eyes – green? You’re not entirely sure, far too scared to look at her for too long – are fixed on you, waiting for a response.

“Oh. Hi. I’m Y/N.” What you wanted to say was Jesus fuck your voice is hot, but that didn’t feel appropriate, so instead you settle for a pathetic  “Should probably warn you now, I’m not a football person,” with a vague gesture in the direction of the field. 

Her mouth tilts like she’s fighting a smile, her voice seeminging even lower now if that was possible. “That’s alright. I am.”

You blink a few times, then nod, because what else do you do when someone looks like that and says things in that voice? Calm down, Y/N, you think to yourself. You don’t even know if she’s gay.And or single. She’s at a kids soccer match. One of these delightful tiny crazy people could be her kid, and the tall man who pushed her forward may well be her husband. The parents seem satisfied with the new arrangement for coaching, some even smirking at each other, and you’re left wondering what exactly you’ve agreed to as Lucy steps onto the field, calling for the kids to gather.

Freddie barrels over first, grinning up at her. You know him fairly well through visiting a few practices whenever Megs and you have plans afterwards. He’s a sweet boy, if a little energetic. He proves that now with the way he collides into Lucy's shins. “Auntie Luce! Are you gonna play with us?”

Auntie. Auntie. Oh. 

Oh.

Lucy laughs, crouching down to high-five him. “We’ll see. But first, warm-up. Go on, get the others.”

You stand there like an awkward scarecrow while the entire team obediently flocks to her. The transformation is immediate –  where there was once disorganisation, there’s suddenly some kind of order, the kids lining up like she’s magnetic.

She glances back at you, eyes dancing. “Coming?”

You swallow, resisting the urge to say something mortifying like anywhere you want. Instead, you follow, trying not to look like someone who’s just been completely derailed by a possible tank top and a smile.

Lucy doesn’t even need to raise her voice. Somehow, with just a clap and a “Let’s go,” the kids fall into motion like she’s the Pied Piper of mini footballers. You trail a few steps behind, still wondering how the hell you’re supposed to be coaching when your entire coaching experience consists of having once googled “how long is a football match” during a pub quiz.

“Alright, we’ll start with stretches,” she says, smiling at the team like she’s known them forever. You swear her voice gets warmer when she’s talking to kids. “Arms up, big reach–good, now touch your toes.”

You try to blend into the background but instantly fail because Lucy glances over and grins. “You too.”

“I’m just supervising!” you protest, but she raises an eyebrow in a maddening, teasing kind of way, and you find yourself awkwardly trying to touch your toes while half the parents are watching with concern in your direction at your concerning display of athleticism.

The warm-up somehow morphs into passing drills. Lucy’s explaining proper footwork while you hover at the side like an unpaid extra. One of the boys mis-kicks and the ball rolls to you. 

To your horror, every single child looks at you expectantly.

You panic and punt it as hard as you can. It sails past Lucy, past the line of cones, and directly into the back of a parent’s folding chair.

Lucy’s mouth curves into something concerningly close to laughter. “Strong kick.”

“Thank you,” you say, trying to sound dignified despite wanting the ground to swallow you whole.

By the time the match starts, you’ve resigned yourself to doing what you do best: making noise and hoping it looks like encouragement. You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Lucy on the sideline, hyper-aware of her presence. Every time she steps closer to shout instructions, you swear you can feel the faintest brush of her arm against yours.

“Go on guys!” she calls.

“Yes! Go… football!” you yell immediately after, not even sure what’s happening on the pitch.

Lucy glances sideways, clearly biting back a smile. “Football?”

“I’m supporting,” you mutter. “It’s called morale.”

A kid from the opposing team takes a shot that sails nowhere near the goal, and before your brain catches up, you’re clapping. “Nice try!”

Lucy tilts her head at you. “You know that was the other team, right?”

You freeze, then shrug. “Sportsmanship?”

She laughs, an actual laugh this time, and it sends your heart rate into what you’re pretty sure is a medically concerning zone. Your watch actually beeps to alert you to a raised heartrate. 

You’re going to die right here. And your cause of death will be being gay. 

Every movement she makes pulls at your attention. The way she crouches to yell instructions to the kids, the way she pushes her sleeves up past her elbows like it’s the most casual thing in the world. You’re convinced she’s not even aware of it, which somehow makes it worse.

The game rolls on in a blur of shouting children, clapping parents, and your increasingly unhinged commentary. At one point, you yell “THAT’S IT, BUDDY!” so loudly at a random child that Lucy leans over, still watching the pitch, and murmurs, “I think you just scared him.”

“Good,” you whisper back. “Fear makes them run faster.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and you have to look back at the field immediately because if you watch her smile for another second, you’re going to forget where you are.

The match has been going for what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes. You’ve clapped so much your hands sting, shouted so many vaguely supportive phrases you’re running out of words entirely, and Lucy is somehow still calm, still composed, still… distracting. 

You’re watching one of the younger kids try to intercept the ball when inspiration strikes. Or rather, desperation dressed up as inspiration.

You lean towards Lucy. “Okay, hear me out: Operation Chaos.”

She glances at you without taking her eyes off the pitch. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“It’s very strategic,” you insist. “Everyone just runs in different directions at once so the other team has no idea who actually has the ball.”

“That’s not strategy, that’s…,” she says, but there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“Chaos. Exactly.” You cup your hands and bellow, “TEAM! CHAOS FORMATION!”

To your utter delight, and Lucy’s quiet horror, the kids immediately obey. Freddie takes off towards the corner flag, two others sprint in the opposite direction, someone starts running backwards, and somehow in the middle of it all, your smallest midfielder dribbles right past three confused defenders and into open space.

Lucy laughs again, head tipping back for a second before she jogs a few steps down the line to yell, “Go on! Take the shot!”

The ball hits the back of the net. Parents cheer as the kids swarm your tiny goalscorer. You raise your arms like a victorious general.

Lucy returns to stand beside you, shaking her head. “I cannot believe that worked.”

You grin. “Told you. Controlled chaos.”

Her eyes linger on you for a beat longer than they need to, like she’s still processing the fact you just won a point through sheer absurdity. And maybe she is, but then the ball’s back in play and she’s focused again.

She doesn’t even take her eyes off of the pitch when she rids herself of her jacket, and oh god, you are going to die.

It is a tank top. And not only that, but Lucy is apparently ripped. In fact, ‘ripped’ would be an understatement. 

She tosses her jacket behind her without once taking her eyes off of the ball, and the small action makes her biceps flex in a way that sends a shiver straight to your– spine. Yup. This is it. This is where it ends, right here on the football pitch. You’re so glad Megs is bringing a new life into the world, because you are two seconds away from noping the fuck out. 

It takes more effort than you have ever experienced to pull your eyes away from Lucy’s arms and back onto the field. 

For a few minutes, you manage to stand in companionable noise, shouting parents, thudding feet or the occasional whistle from the official, until Lucy leans just close enough for you to hear her over the din.

“So,” she says, still watching the pitch, “how exactly did you end up friends with a kids’ football coach if you’re this clueless?”

You smirk, glancing at her from the corner of your eye. “Megs was originally friends with my ex-girlfriend. When we broke up, Megs picked me.”

There’s the smallest pause. You see it, the slow flicker of realisation, the almost imperceptible shift in her expression. Her shoulders relax a fraction, her smile takes on something just a touch warmer and more deliberate that seems to relax you also. 

“Well,” she says lightly, “good taste clearly runs in her social circle.”

You’re pretty sure you imagine the way her gaze skims down you before returning to the pitch, but your pulse is doing that uncomfortable, too-fast thing again, so maybe you don’t imagine it at all.

Another near-miss from the opposing team has you clapping in the wrong direction once more. Lucy has taken a step closer, you don’t know when. You only realise when the hairs of her shoulder brush against your own, and then that deliciously low voice is speaking again at a level that’s definitely not meant for the kids.

“You’re dangerously close to being the most entertaining part of this match,” she says, and you can hear the smile in it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Dangerously?”

Her lips twitch, and there’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “Very.”

And oh my god. You haven’t imagined it. She is definitely flirting. Either that or your social skills have become so poor in the last months of your dry spell that you can no longer pick up on basic cues. But no… no, you’re fairly certain she’s flirting. 

Whether you can survive it is a whole other question.

You try to think of something clever, but then Freddie’s charging down the wing again and you end up screaming “CHAOS, FREDDIE, CHAOS!” so loudly that Lucy actually doubles over laughing.

The whistle blows for full time not long after. Your team has somehow scraped a victory, mostly thanks to baffling the other side into submission. The kids pile around you and Lucy for high-fives, parents are packing up chairs, and you’re still buzzing from the rush of it – or maybe from the way Lucy keeps catching your eye with that same new, knowing smile.

The chaos of the match trickles away slowly. The cheers fade and the line of chairs is long gone, kids scatter towards parents with juice boxes in hand. You’re left holding a stray shin pad, standing in the middle of the field while Lucy gathers up stray cones like it’s second nature.

“You’ve got a real gift,” she says without looking up, voice warm with amusement. 

You glance over. She took her hair down at some point, but you can’t afford to dwell on that or you won’t make it out of here alive. “For what? Sport?”

Her head tilts, hair tipping over her shoulder “Chaos. Definitely chaos.”

“It’s my natural coaching style. Very cutting-edge.” You grin back, tossing the shin pad into a bag and making a mental note to hand it onto whoever is covering for Megs during her arranged maternity leave. 

Lucy steps closer, the bag slung over one shoulder now. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t have the same polite edge from earlier. It’s slower and much, much more deliberate, like she’s testing the edges of something. “Dangerous style, that. Could get you in trouble.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Trouble with who?”

She meets your gaze fully then, hazel eyes catching the last of the afternoon light. “Me.”

The air shifts enough to make you suddenly hyper-aware of how close she is. From here, you can see her eyes are definitely green. There’s a line of sun-caused freckles on her shoulders too, how had you missed those? Were you really that busy staring at her arms?

You clear your throat, forcing a smirk that seems to falter in confidence. “So you’re saying I need… what? Private coaching?”

Lucy’s lips curve. “Maybe.” There’s a long enough pause for your heart to trip over itself before she adds, “You up for a proper football lesson?”

Something in you snaps, and there’s a boldness that wasn’t there before. You match her tone, leaning in just enough. “Does that come with dinner?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Only if you promise not to cheer for the other team this time.”

“Guess you’ll have to keep me in line,” you say, and it’s meant to sound like a joke, but her smile deepens in a way that tells you she heard it exactly how you meant it.

For a second, neither of you moves, the quiet around you filled only with the sound of Freddie shouting for “Auntie Luce” from the car park. She glances in that direction, then back at you. Her phone is in your hands before you know it, and you’re praying to every god in the heavens above that you entered your number correctly. 

“Lesson and dinner,” she says, like it’s already decided. “I’ll text you.”

And then she’s walking away, still wearing that smile, leaving you in the middle of the pitch feeling like you’ve just survived a natural disaster made up of screaming children and one deviously charming assistant coach. Maybe football is fun.

a/n: hello hello. i hope this is okay and not too cringey LMAO. i am very tired, and do not have the energy to edit it as i just got home from work and i think i'm having a migraine so i am going to go lay down :( but i hope you are all okay!!!! as always: live laugh lucy bronze

[russomething]

i literally got over 15 requests in one day that is CRAZY y'all are so creative !!!! had to pause them for now. i promise i will get through these so i can reopen asap but please be patient with me <3

i have something i wrote based on a personal idea coming out tomorrow for bronzey, and then trying to work on two alessia requests simultaneously. i shall try my best to get as many out as quickly as possible !

thank you for all the love, i really really really appreciate it🫶

in the meantime it is nearly midnight in good ol' south africa and some of us have work at 6am (me, i'm the some of us) so i am going to go watch some ona batlle videos and then crash tf out. i love chatting to you all so feel free to pop in and say hi and i shall return the sentiments as soon as i am on my lunch break most likely xxx

ps. if anyone is From or has visited south africa and has any places i HAVE to visit, please shoot recommendations my way as i haven't really left durban yet

[russomething]

lucy bronze ! lucy bronze ! lucy bronze !

(im obsessed w your writing omg 🤩🥰)

the ! only ! woman ! ever ! who i may or may not have something fun coming out for tomorrow watch this space

(thank u sm u get a kiss mwah)

[russomething]

thank you soooo much for writing it , i absolutely LOVE IT !!! really hope you’ll write again for them 🤞🏽🫶🏽

AW anon im so glad!!! i might in the future as i have sooo many ideas about lil snippets for them, genuinely loved that relationship dynamic — thank you for bringing it to me🫶🫶🫶

[russomething]

SOUTHPAW → ALESSIA RUSSO

𓆩♡𓆪 pairing: alessia russo x street fighter!reader 𓆩♡𓆪 blurb: alessia doesn’t think her neighbour likes her much. that’s until she realises why — said neighbour is hiding a much more brutal secret. so why does alessia find herself so intrigued by the dangerous woman next door? (based on this req.) 𓆩♡𓆪 word count: 8k 𓆩♡𓆪 genre: neighbours to lovers, hurt/comfort 𓆩♡𓆪 warnings: mentions of alcohol, descriptions of injury/blood, one reference to parent passing away, overuse of y/n

Alessia had noticed her before she ever properly met her. That was the way with neighbours, there were some you fell into easy conversation with in the lift, whilst others gave nothing more than a polite nod in the hallway whenever you bumped into one another. Y/N was firmly in the second category.

The first time they crossed paths, Alessia had been juggling a takeaway coffee and her kitbag, hair still damp from training. She’d smiled, said “hi” in the easy way she always did, expecting at least a murmured hello back. Instead, she got a quick nod; the sort that acknowledged she’d spoken but didn’t invite anything else. Y/N’s eyes met hers for the briefest second before she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

It became a sort of pattern. Passing on the stairs, meeting at the postboxes in the mailroom. Sometimes Alessia would be on her way out, and Y/N would be heading in, keys already in hand, no pause to chat. It was never particularly a rude dismissal, just contained. Punctuated. 

Alessia only knew her name was Y/N from collecting her mail once when the woman hadn’t appeared for days. There was a growing pile of envelopes in her locker to the point that the mailman had started putting them on the table. Alessia hadn’t seen her in days, so she did the neighbourly thing and took them up to the apartment. She’d slipped them under Y/N’s door one by one, but made sure to glance at the label before she had finished. That was one thing at least: a name to attach to the neighbour who kept herself at arm’s length.

She thought that would be the end of it until she saw Y/N again, this time behind the bar at the Crown & Anchor. Alessia had gone in with a couple of Arsenal girls after a home match, laughter and post-game adrenaline spilling out of them as they ordered drinks, and there she was. Here at work she had her hair pulled back, sleeves rolled, and she moved with a kind of unhurried efficiency no matter how busy it got. When she passed Alessia her pint, she gave the same polite nod as always, then turned away without a flicker of recognition.

From then on, Alessia couldn’t help but notice her more. Maybe it was because she now knew where to look. Maybe it was because she was looking. She started clocking little things, like the way Y/N never stayed in one place behind the bar for long, how she didn’t laugh at customers’ jokes unless they were actually funny, and even then, only a little.

Sometimes Alessia would swing by the pub on her way home, telling herself it was because the girls were there, but finding her eyes drifting toward the bar all the same. If Y/N saw her, Alessia would give the smallest of smiles, maybe a soft “evening”. It wasn’t unfriendly, but it was never enough to draw more than a nod and mumbled greeting from her neighbour.

And then there were the late nights. Alessia had a habit of falling asleep on the sofa with the TV still on,usually exhausted from training,  only to wake to the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. They were always steady and unhurried, but far too late for someone coming back from a normal bar shift. She’d hear the faint click of Y/N’s door closing, and then nothing until the next afternoon.

That was the thing about Y/N. She was quiet, but she left these traces. Little fragments that didn’t add up. Alessia didn’t know what she did outside of the bar, or why she always seemed to be coming home when the rest of the world was asleep, but she found herself wondering anyway.

It had been one of those training days that left Alessia pleasantly tired rather than wrung out, the kind where the atmosphere was good, everyone in high spirits, and the winter air clung to you in a way that made a pint afterwards seem not only deserved but necessary. The decision to head to The Crown & Anchor had been made with casual ease, a few voices in the changing room before it snowballed into nearly half the squad showing up.

The pub was already alive when they got there. Warm light poured from brass sconces onto wooden walls scarred by decades of use, the low hum of conversation cut through by the occasional burst of laughter from a corner table. The place smelled like crisps and spilled ale, a comforting sort of heaviness that seemed to sink into your clothes the longer you stayed. 

But it was familiar. And for people like Alessia, familiarity was a comfort they would never turn down.

She slumped into the back of the booth that was free, scrunching up her nose as her teammates penned her in. Leah took everyone's orders as she usually did for the first round, and she managed to strike up polite conversation with the person behind the bar.

An extra surprise when Leah’s shoulder moved to one side and Alessia could see that said person was Y/N. 

Beth clocked it too, leaning forward so she could see. She had been around Alessia's place recently when the other woman had been making her way home, so she was vaguely familiar with the bartender’s features. “That’s your neighbour, isn’t it?”

Alessia tried for neutral. “Yeah.”

Katie grinned, the expression far too knowing. “She’s hot. You live next to that and you’ve not said anything?”

Alessia rolled her eyes, though it felt like it came out too quick, too defensive. “She works here. That’s all.” She busied herself straightening the drinks menu, pretending not to feel the little current of heat crawl up her neck.

The first round vanished faster than it had arrived, and a clatter of empty glasses gave her an excuse to escape.

“I’ll get the next one,” she said, sliding out of the booth before anyone else could offer.

The bar was busy, three-deep with regulars jostling for space, but Alessia barely noticed the crush of bodies when she caught sight of Y/N behind the counter. Her hair was pulled back, a few loose strands catching the amber glow from the overhead lights. The black shirt she wore was rolled at the sleeves, the line of her forearms flexing as she poured a pint with an ease that came from muscle memory. She didn’t rush, in typical style. Even with the steady press of orders, her movements stayed clean and efficient, every clink of glass against the tap deliberate.

From this close, Alessia could see something different. There was a faint, fresh-looking cut slicing through the edge of Y/N’s eyebrow. It wasn’t jagged or clumsy, but surprisingly neat in how it was scoured into her skin; the sort of mark that suggested impact rather than accident. Alessia’s eyes lingered longer than they should have before she caught herself.

Y/N turned just then, expression unreadable but not unfriendly. “Evening.”

Alessia swallowed, giving the order for the table. Y/N nodded once, already reaching for bottles and glasses without the aid of a notepad. Alessia stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to look casual and failing entirely.

Her eyes flicked back to the booth, where Beth and Katie were whispering animatedly, Katie’s grin wide enough to split her face. Alessia shot them a look - half plea, half glare - before turning back.

Y/N slid the last pint across the counter, foam settling at the rim. “Anything else?”

Alessia shook her head, fumbling with her card. “No. That’s… no. Thanks.”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth twitched as she took payment, not quite a smile, before she moved on to the next customer. Alessia gathered the drinks, careful not to spill, and wove her way back through the crowd.

The warmth of the pub seemed louder somehow, but in the back of her mind, the image stuck: dark hair caught in amber light, steady hands, and that thin, deliberate line through an eyebrow she couldn’t stop wondering about.

Alessia set the tray of pints down on the table with a precision that earned her a raised brow from Katie, like she’d just delivered a crown jewel instead of a round for the squad. She straightened, rolling her shoulders as if the short walk back through the crowded pub hadn’t been the most awkward thirty seconds of her week.

Katie was the first to reach for her drink, but her eyes stayed fixed on Alessia’s face. “What was that?” she asked, tone deceptively casual. “You two don’t talk?”

Alessia blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

Beth leaned in, her pint already halfway to her lips. “Think she spoke to Leah more than you, and you live next door to her.”

“Brutal, that.” Leah agreed, raising her glass in an easy toast before taking a sip that spelled of a club captain looking forward to a few days off. 

Alessia lifted her own pint, more for something to do with her hands than actual thirst. “Maybe she’s just busy. It’s a packed night. Not everyone wants to stop and chat while they’re working. You’d murder someone if they tried to perk up a casual chat about the weather mid match, McCabe.”

That drew a round of laughter from the table, loud enough to blend into the rest of the voices and low hum of music that filled the pub. Alessia forced a small laugh of her own, but her eyes drifted almost involuntarily back towards the bar.

Y/N was there, head bent slightly as she poured a pint, her expression unreadable even from this distance. The overhead lights caught on the faint line above her eyebrow, and Alessia felt that same restless curiosity prick at her again.

She turned back to the group, letting their conversation wash over her in half-heard fragments. But the image lingered.

Neighbour or not, there was more to Y/N than she was letting anyone see.

–

Alessia lay sprawled on her back, staring into the dim slice of ceiling visible between the edges of her blinds.

Sleep had been impossible lately. Training always left her tired, and it was that kind of tired that sank deep into her muscles, but her mind had been a stubborn thing these past few weeks. It didn’t matter how many hours she’d put in on the pitch or in the gym; she’d crawl into bed at night and still find herself wired despite the aching bones, running over the same loops until the clock ticked mercilessly toward morning.

She’d tried all her usual tricks tonight. Warm shower, a quick stretch with a herbal tea she didn’t even like the taste of. She even read some dull book a sports therapist had recommended to her at some time or another. At one point, she’d thrown her duvet halfway off in frustration, convinced that maybe the heat was the problem, only to pull it back up two minutes later when the air felt too sharp on her skin. She’d checked her phone, then told herself to stop checking her phone. She’d even rolled onto her stomach, cheek against the cool pillowcase, and told herself she wasn’t allowed to open her eyes again until it was light.

That lasted all of twenty minutes. 

She turned her head to glance at the clock on her bedside table - 2:47 a.m. Those little lights actually teased her, seeming to dance across the clock the longer she stared.

Her brain was full of football again, images of training floating through. Everything from how that one pass to Beth had been too slow, or how she’d been caught on her heels in that final small-sided game. Of the Champions League match in a week and a half. Close enough to feel the weight of it, far enough that the anticipation had time to fester. She thought about their likely starting eleven, about how their group stage opponents might set up, about the press schedule she still needed to confirm for Thursday. Somewhere under all that was a quieter ache: the private pressure she always put on herself to be more, better, sharper. It was exhausting.

The rest of the building was silent in a way that made her hyper-aware of every small sound. Normally, there were other hints of life in the block, anything from a neighbour’s TV murmuring through the wall, to simple footsteps on the floor above. Sometimes the building simply felt alive with anticipation, even if the sounds weren’t explicit, they were burned into the air of a shared apartment block. Even a nice building like this had an atmosphere about it.

She had just rolled onto her side, pulling the duvet tighter around herself, determined to finally switch her brain off when she heard it.

It was a muffled bang. Not loud enough to be alarming, but enough to break through the heavy quiet.

Alessia’s eyes opened again, but this time she tried to listen..

There was nothing, so for a moment she wondered if it had just been the building settling, or the pipes. She shut her eyes again.

Another sound. This one was softer, like something shifting against a wall, but it was clear that it was more than the building making this noise. 

Perhaps against her better judgement, Alessia's bare feet hit the cool floor and she padded slowly toward the door. She was almost there when she heard the next clatter of metal hitting the carpet. And then, clear as day, a low and breathless “Fuck.”

Now that had definitely come from the corridor.

Carefully, she pressed one eye to the peephole. The curved glass distorted the view, but she could still make out the outline of someone leaning against the door next to hers, head bowed, one hand pressed to the frame for balance. 

The shape was familiarly her neighbour back from another late night adventure. Alessia should have known.

This time however, Alessia could tell something wasn’t right. Even through the warped lens her shoulders seemed slumped and her movements sluggish. She was groping for something on the floor - her keys, Alessia realised. And then Y/N shifted just enough for the light to catch her face and the breath to stick in Alessia’s throat.

Before she could second-guess herself, Alessia turned the lock and opened her door. The moment it opened, everything sharpened.

Y/N was indeed leaning her weight into the wood of her own doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her head was tipped slightly forward, shadow hiding the worst of her face at first, but the light overhead was unforgiving.

It caught the mess at her eyebrow first. Not just a little split like the week before, but the skin was pulled and swollen around the cut, the blood half-dried in jagged edges. It had run down to her cheek in a thin line, cutting through the pale skin like a scar that had appeared far too fast. Below it, there was a flush that didn’t belong; an angry bloom of an impact, purpling at the edges.

Her breathing was uneven. It wasn’t exactly uneven, but it was definitely off - a fraction too shallow, as though each inhale had to be managed. And her other hand, the one not wrapped around her keys, was tucked close to her side with it’s palm flattened against her ribs.

Alessia’s first thought was that she was hurt there, badly enough to guard it without thinking. The second thought hit harder: she was bleeding, she was alone, and she was pretending like none of it mattered.

“Y/N?” Alessia’s voice came out low, careful, the way she might speak to someone balancing on a ledge.

Slowly, Y/N lifted her head.

The shadows moved enough to show the rest. Another mark along her jaw, faint but fresh, like a scrape against rough concrete. Dirt on the cuff of her sleeve. Her hair was mussed in a way that definitely wasn’t sleep, strands sticking damply to her temple. And if Alessia though hard enough she’d realise her neighbour smelled faintly of the night, cold and metallic, with the underlying copper tang of blood.

“What happened?” Alessia asked, slower than usual as she trod carefully out into the hallway.

“Nothing.” The word was clipped.

“It’s not nothing,” Alessia said before she could stop herself.

Y/N’s gaze flickered, not in anger, but in the way of someone measuring how much they could give away. Then her chin dropped a fraction, closing that thought firmly away in the back of her mind once again. “I’m fine.”

It was meant to be final, Alessia could see the steel in her posture, But her hand twitched once against her ribs in a betraying movement.

“You’re–” Alessia started, then stopped, unsure what came next. Bleeding? Hurt? In trouble? The words felt useless in the face of whatever this was.

Y/N crouched slowly, too slowly, to this time successfully pick up the keys she’d dropped. Alessia’s breath caught at the sight. Even that small movement made her shoulders tighten, made her exhale through clenched teeth. The metal chimed softly in her grasp.

She straightened in careful increments, like every vertebra had to be accounted for. Alessia noticed then that one of her knuckles was raw, the skin split open in a way that spoke of contact, not accident.

For a heartbeat, Alessia thought about reaching out – steadying her, asking her to sit, something. But there was a set to Y/N’s jaw that told her the offer would be met with the same closed-off no she’d given at the door.

Without another word, Y/N slid the key into the lock. Her fingers were steady.

Alessia took half a step forward anyway, drawn in by something between worry and stubbornness. “You should–”

The door opened.

“Goodnight, Alessia.”

It was the first time she’d ever said her name, Alessia wasn’t even entirely certain she had known it.

Then Y/N was inside, the door closing soft and certain, leaving Alessia barefoot in the corridor with the image of blood on pale skin lodged behind her eyes.

It took her a while before she could go back inside. 

–

It was easier not to see her after that. 

At least, that’s what Alessia told herself. The quiet decision to steer well clear had been made somewhere in the days after the hallway, and since then she’d honed it into a skill. If she stepped into the mailroom and caught the shape of Y/N’s shoulders in her peripheral vision, she was already pivoting out before the other woman could look up. No awkward nods, no forced conversation, no reminder that Alessia had stood in her doorway that night, close enough to count the flecks of blood on her skin.

It wasn’t exactly fear that caused the drawback. More like a dull awareness that Y/N didn’t want her, or anyone for that matter, there. And if she wanted to keep whatever fragile, neighbourly truce they had, Alessia figured it was better to leave the whole thing untouched.

Still, avoidance wasn’t the same as blindness. Every now and then, she’d cross paths by accident. The lift doors would slide open unexpectedly to reveal Y/N stepping out, hood up and head low, with one side of her lip split and still healing. Or they’d pass in the corridor and Alessia’s eyes would catch on the dark bloom of a bruise fading across the ridge of her forearm. She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen them before - all of those little markers that something wasn’t quite right.

It became impossible not to notice them whenever she did bump into the woman. The small limp that only showed itself when Y/N thought no one was watching, or the stiffness in her shoulders when she reached for her doorknob. The days she came home late, moving with that strange, slow care like every step had been measured.

Alessia learned to build excuses the same way she built training schedules; ahead of time, precise and airtight. If Beth texted to say the girls were meeting at the pub after training, she’d already be halfway through a reply about an early physio session or a sponsor dinner she couldn’t miss. No one questioned it; they were all busy, they all understood schedules. No one knew she was just trying to make the chances of bumping into Y/N drop to zero.

Once again, it  wasn’t that she was scared to see her. It was that every time she pictured Y/N behind the bar, expression unreadable and acting like that night had never happened, something in Alessia’s chest pulled tight. And so she stuck to her self-made detour routes, slipping out of the building a few minutes earlier or later than usual, lingering in the gym after training instead of heading home.

Avoidance, she was learning, took commitment. And she was very, very committed.

–

The knock woke her like a jolt.

Not the polite, testing sort of tap you’d give a neighbour. This was a sharp, uneven rattle against the door, each thud loud in the kind of silence that only existed at two in the morning. Alessia blinked into the darkness, her brain struggling to match the sound to something harmless - the wind again? that pesky loose pipe? - but it came again, this time far more deliberate. 

Her phone said 2:17am.

She sat up slowly, her heart ticking faster than it should for something as simple as answering the door. Bare feet once again found the cool edge of the rug as she padded across her flat.

The peephole was an exercise in hesitation. Her hand hovered above the frame for a beat too long before she finally leaned in.

Of course. 

Leaning against the doorframe, shoulders slouched, one hand clamped around a wad of dark cloth pressed to her forehead stood (or rather wobbled) Y/N. Her hood was up again, shadowing most of her face, but even in the yellow light of the corridor Alessia could make out the tension in her jaw.

Without thinking, she undid the lock.

The door swung open to the sight of her neighbour’s eyes flicking up briefly, acknowledgement minimal but enough. The other woman didn’t step forward, didn’t offer an explanation… she just stood there.

“Do you have any plasters?” Was all she said eventually.

The question was so ordinary it took Alessia a second to catch up. Her gaze flicked from Y/N’s face to the hand holding the cloth and back again.

“Uh–yeah, I–yeah.” She shifted, stepping aside automatically whilst her brain struggled to catch up. “Do you… want to come in?”

A beat. Then, with a kind of resigned reluctance, Y/N crossed the threshold.

Alessia shut the door behind her, now aware of how quiet the flat was. The hum of the fridge seemed almost loud in the stillness. She hovered awkwardly as Y/N stood in the middle of her kitchen like she wasn’t entirely sure if she was welcome, the dark fabric still pressed to her head.

“You can sit, you know.” Alessia gestured to the stool by the breakfast bar before moving to rummage through a drawer. The first aid kit was exactly where she’d left it, under a jumble of takeaway menus and batteries.

When she turned back, Y/N was lowering herself onto the stool, one hand gripping the edge of the counter for balance. The hood had slipped enough to show more of her face, the harsh line of a fresh cut on her cheekbone, the faintest sheen of sweat on her temple.

Up close, Alessia could see the frayed edges of the cloth in her hands that looked like a ripped shirt hastily repurposed, and the slow drip of blood that still seeped around it.

Alessia popped the latch on the kit, pulling out a handful of antiseptic wipes and a box of plasters. “What happened?” she asked, careful to keep her tone light, almost casual to match Y/N’s own reaction.

“Doesn’t matter.”

The dismissal wasn’t sharp, but final. The kind of reply that made it clear there wasn’t going to be a follow-up explanation, no matter how gently it was asked.

Alessia didn’t push. She simply slid the wipes across the counter, watching as Y/N swapped the cloth for them, hissing quietly when the antiseptic touched skin. 

The small white wrapper of the plaster crinkled as Alessia set it down. She caught herself watching the way Y/N’s hands moved with a practiced precision and had to look away before she blurted something stupid.

“Sorry for intruding,” Y/N said after a moment, her voice low. “Just figured you’d have a first aid kit. Considering you’re in sports.”

Alessia’s brow lifted before she could stop herself. “Oh, so you do know me?”

Something like a ghost of a smile passed over Y/N’s mouth, there and gone in a blink. She didn’t answer. Just focused on peeling the backing off the plaster with steady, practised fingers.

Alessia leaned on the counter, watching her in silence for a moment. She didn’t miss the way Y/N’s hands trembled ever so slightly when she tried to line the plaster over the cut without a mirror. The stubborn set of her shoulders was almost comical, like she’d rather bleed out than let someone else get close enough to help.

Alessia was fed up of that attitude.

“Here.” The footballer reached out before she thought better of it, her fingers brushing the edge of the makeshift cloth. “You’re putting it too far down. It’s not covering–”

“I’ve got it.” It wasn’t rude, just determined. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Alessia muttered, glancing at the plaster half-hanging over the cut. “You’re doing a great job bleeding all over my counter.”

That earned her a sharp look, but Y/N didn’t rise to it. She just went back to pressing the plaster into place.

Alessia exhaled slowly, counting to three in her head before she tried again. “Let me do it. You can’t see what you’re doing properly, and–”

“I said I’ve got it.” This time there was more bite to it. A steel edge that hit harder because it was quiet.

Alessia’s jaw clenched. She could feel that frustrating mix of worry and irritation bubbling in her chest, and it only got worse watching Y/N wince as she pressed too hard on the wound.

“Y/N.” She kept her voice level, almost warning. “You’re literally holding your skin together with one hand and trying not to pass out. Just–”

“I’m fine.”

It was the third time she’d cut her off, and something in Alessia snapped.

“Will you just sit the fuck down and let me take care of you,” she burst out, voice sharper than she’d meant it to be, “or are you too proud to admit you need help?!”

The words hit the air like a crack of lightning.

Y/N froze. No retort or immediate comeback, just stillness. Her head was tilted slightly like she was deciding whether to stand up and walk out, but when her eyes found Alessia’s, there was no armour there for the first time. Just exhaustion.

Without a word, she relaxed back onto the stool.

Alessia didn’t give herself time to overthink it. She stepped in close, plucking the plaster gently from Y/N’s fingers and tossing the mangled one into the bin. She grabbed a fresh antiseptic wipe, tearing it open and working with careful precision.

Neither of them spoke as she cleaned the cut. Alessia noticed the faint pulse at Y/N’s temple, the way her eyes flickered shut for half a second when the cool wipe grazed the swelling.

“You’re lucky,” Alessia murmured eventually, voice softer now. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Y/N gave the smallest shrug, gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder.

When the plaster was finally in place, Alessia stepped back, her hands lingering at the edge of the counter. She expected another wall of silence. Maybe even another dismissive “thanks.”

Instead, Y/N’s voice came low. Almost swallowed by the quiet.“…Sorry.”

Alessia hadn’t expected an apology, so she found herself asking. “For what?”

A pause. Then, “For being… like that.”

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

Alessia didn’t reply straight away. Simply stood there for a moment, before she turned away to tidy up. The silence stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but heavy in the way neither of them seemed to know how to break it.

She tossed the used wrappers into the bin, rinsed her hands, and dried them slowly. When she finally turned back, she didn’t say anything. Just pulled open the cupboard under the sink, grabbed a spare pack of antiseptic wipes and a small roll of bandages, and set them down on the counter in front of Y/N.

A quiet offering. A wordless I get it.

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to hers for a fraction of a second, something unreadable there, before she nodded once and slipped the supplies into her jacket pocket.

When Y/N was gone and the telltale sound of her neighbour’s door closing reached the apartment, Alessia would tell herself that the strange feeling in her chest was just from an unexpected encounter. 

–

The shift didn’t happen overnight. Alessia didn’t expect it to.

But something was different now. Subtle things. Little changes that she might’ve missed if she hadn’t been looking - and she was definitely looking.

The first time they passed in the mailroom after that night, Y/N still gave her the usual nod. Same as always. Only this time it was punctuated with the faintest smile. Quick, almost shy, like Y/N wasn’t even sure she meant to do it. But it was there.

After that, it became something of a pattern. The nod was always there, still quiet and restrained, but it was softer now,more like an acknowledgement instead of a reflex.And She didn’t know why, but it made Alessia feel included. Even if it was only in this small, unspoken way.

She started going back to the pub with the girls again. At first out of convenience, for sometimes it was just easier to say yes than to invent another excuse, but then she realised she wasn’t avoiding it anymore. Wasn’t avoiding her.

The first time she walked in after weeks of staying away, Y/N clocked her from behind the bar. That same quick smile flickered across her face before she lifted a hand in a small wave, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t come over, didn’t say anything, didn’t treat Alessia any differently than the other customers. But still… it was something.

It kept happening. The wave when Alessia arrived. A brief moment of eye contact when she left. A subtle pause in the chaos of clinking glasses and shouts for another round, just long enough for Y/N to lean on the bar and check if she wanted anything else.

They still didn’t talk in public. Not properly. But there was a shift. A sense that maybe, just maybe, Y/N wasn’t keeping her entirely on the outside anymore. And for reasons she didn’t quite care to analyse, Alessia found herself holding onto those small changes like they meant more than they should.

It was a Thursday night, a midweek lull where the pub was busy enough to hum but quiet enough for conversations to stretch lazily across the room. Alessia had come in with just Beth this time, the others off doing their own thing.

Y/N was behind the bar with that familiarly frustrating, unhurried efficiency in every movement. Alessia swore she could spot her from a mile off now. It wasn’t just the way she moved, it was the air she carried, steady and a little dangerous if you didn’t know where you stood.

When they caught eyes, the nod and smile came as expected. Alessia gave a small wave back before leaning on the bar to order their drinks.

It was during Beth’s trip to the loo that it happened.

A guy at the far end of the bar,  red-faced, loud, already swaying on his stool, said something to Y/N. Alessia didn’t catch the words, but she saw the way Y/N’s jaw tightened, the slow exhale through her nose before she reached for the guy’s half empty glass.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

The man said something else, leaning too far over the counter, and Alessia felt her own stomach turn. She didn’t know why it made her so tense because she knew, without a doubt, that Y/N could handle herself. But there was something about watching her do it in real time that made her pulse jump.

“Alright, mate, that’s enough,” Y/N said finally, her voice low but cutting. No room for argument.

The man took a look at her, scoffed and said something to his friend. Then, he leant over the counter between two beer pumps to reach for something (probably his glass). Y/N had seemingly known it would happen before it even did, because with one swift move she was swiping the glass away and pushing his hand back where it had come from. It wasn’t rough enough to cause a scene or get her in trouble, but it was enough to warn the drunk man to back off. 

The guy grumbled something under his breath, but he sat back. Y/N moved on without missing a beat, but when she came back down the bar to check on Alessia’s drink, she paused.

“You alright?” Alessia asked before she could stop herself.

Y/N glanced at her, and for the briefest moment, there was something there other than annoyance or dismissal. Maybe surprise. Like she wasn’t used to people asking.

“I’m fine,” she said, almost automatic. Then, after a second: “Thanks.”

The word caught Alessia off guard. She’d heard Y/N speak so little outside of clipped, functional exchanges that hearing gratitude felt significant.

Beth returned, and the moment broke. Y/N slid their next drinks over with the barest curve of her mouth and moved on to the next order.

As they left later that night, Alessia swore she saw her watching from behind the bar.

It was subtle, so subtle that Alessia might’ve imagined it - but when Y/N caught her looking, she didn’t look away. Not right away.

​​By the time they’d left the pub, the night had tipped over into something bigger. Beth had suggested heading into the city, and with two days off ahead of them, there wasn’t much stopping Alessia from agreeing. One Uber, a neon-lit club, and a blur of bad decisions later, it was 2:03 a.m. when she stumbled out of the taxi in front of her building.

The air was cold enough to make her eyes sting, her hair smelling faintly of spilt cider and whatever cheap perfume someone had sprayed too close to her in the bathroom queue. The streets were quiet, save for the low hum of a car engine somewhere far off, and she made her way up the front steps with the slow, deliberate care of someone who didn’t want their upstairs neighbours to know they’d been out.

When she rounded the corner of her floor, she stopped dead.

Y/N was sitting on the floor, right outside Alessia’s door.

She was slouched against the wall, legs stretched out, one arm resting limply across her stomach. The other was bent, a hand holding yet another a bloodied cloth against her cheek. Her hoodie, dark enough that any stains were hidden, hung open over a t-shirt that had seen better days.

“Y/N?” Alessia’s voice came out softer than she expected. Not because she wanted it to be, but because anything louder might have shattered the fragile stillness of the hallway.

Y/N’s eyes lifted to her, slow, like it took effort. No smile or nod, just a tired acknowledgement before she looked away. 

For a second, Alessia just stood there. She didn’t know why she was hesitating; maybe because she could still smell the club on her skin, still feel the bass of the music in her bones, and this was such a violent contrast.

But then she saw the shallow rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, the small tremor in her fingers as they gripped the cloth tighter, and her body moved before her brain caught up.

“Come on,” she said, unlocking her door.

Y/N didn’t argue, didn’t speak at all in fact. She just got to her feet slowly, wincing as she pushed off from the wall, and followed Alessia inside.

The warmth of the apartment hit them instantly, and Alessia flicked on the low kitchen light so it wouldn’t be too harsh. Y/N stayed standing by the counter, as though unsure of her place here despite the familiar scene. Alessia noticed the faint tang of antiseptic from whatever quick fix Y/N had already tried, but it clearly hadn’t worked considering the state she was still in. 

“Sit,” Alessia said, motioning to one of the stools. She didn’t mean for it to sound so firm, but it came out that way.

To her surprise, Y/N did without any resistance this time.

Alessia pulled her first aid kit out once again and set it on the counter. For a moment, she just stood there, looking at the way the dim light caught on the dried flecks of blood at Y/N’s temple, the shallow cuts along her knuckles, the way her breathing wasn’t quite steady.

She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she pulled out antiseptic wipes and fresh gauze. “I’ll be gentle,” she said quietly, stepping closer.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to hers, and for the first time all night, Alessia saw something in her expression crack enough to show the exhaustion underneath.

Neither of them spoke after that. Alessia cleaned the cut in careful, deliberate motions, wary of aggravating the wound. The only sounds were the crinkle of packaging and the soft clink of medical supplies against the counter.

When she was done, she stepped back, her hands still tingling from the nearness of it all. “You should be fine,” she murmured. “Just…um, keep it clean.”

She stepped back, but her eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have before she forced herself to move, to give herself something to do. The antiseptic wipes went into their packet. Gauze folded neatly back into its box. The quiet rustle of packaging filled the small kitchen, each sound somehow louder than it needed to be. She dropped the bloodied tissues into the bin, the soft thud of the lid snapping shut echoing in the stillness.

Normally, Y/N would be halfway out the door by now, gone before Alessia could even remember what words to say.

But she wasn’t moving.

She was still on the stool, elbows resting on her knees, fingers loosely interlaced. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, like she was studying the grain in the wood, but Alessia caught it - the occasional flick of her eyes upward, just enough to check where Alessia was, to see if she was watching.

Alessia didn’t speak. She just tucked the last of the kit away in the cupboard, shutting the door a little softer than usual. She turned to lean against the counter, drying her hands on a tea towel, letting the silence stretch out and breathe.

When it came, the voice was so low Alessia almost thought she’d imagined it.

“…I’m a street fighter.”

Alessia froze. The words didn’t just land, they settled, heavy and deliberate between them. “You’re… what?” Her voice was careful.

Y/N still didn’t look at her. “Was supposed to be a boxer. That was the plan. I had a coach, had fights lined up. It was all I wanted to do.” A pause. “Then my mum got sick. I stopped training to look after her.”

Her voice stayed flat, but the edges were frayed just enough for Alessia to hear the strain underneath.

“She died before I could get back in the ring. By then, I was already behind. No sponsors or money. Just debt.” Y/N rolled one shoulder, the movement small, like she was trying to make it seem less than it was. “A friend said I could make quick cash doing underground fights. No questions asked.”

Alessia’s grip on the tea towel tightened, fabric twisting in her hands.

“At first it was one or two fights. Enough to cover rent. Then it was every week. Turns out I was good at it. Built a name for myself.” She let out a short, humourless huff. “Now people come looking for me. Can’t really walk away when half the city’s betting on you.”

Alessia swallowed. “That’s why–” she gestured faintly toward the split skin at Y/N’s brow, the bruising at her jaw “--this keeps happening.”

“That’s why.” Y/N said simply, and this time she did meet her eyes.

Alessia felt a tiny jolt, the way the air seemed to thicken between them. She should have looked away, but she didn’t..

She hadn’t even realised she’d stepped closer until she was within arm’s reach, the air between them not  providing much of a barrier. Y/N didn’t back away.

The seconds dragged, stretching long enough that Alessia was sure she could hear her own heartbeat. The confession was still hanging there, heavy in the air, but neither of them seemed ready to break it.

When Y/N finally shifted, it wasn’t to leave. She stayed seated, head tilted just slightly with her gaze locked on Alessia’s. Like she was trying to figure out what she’d do next.

Y/N’s gaze wasn’t fixed on anything in particular. It flicked between the counter, the floor, the faint curve of Alessia’s shoulder, like she was letting the silence do the work. Alessia didn’t remember stepping nearer, but now she could feel the heat radiating off her neighbour, could smell the faint mix of soap and rain that clung to her hoodie. The air felt heavy, dense, as if moving too quickly might break it.

Alessia’s chest rose and fell in time with Y/N’s, though she wasn’t aware she was matching her until the rhythm synced. Every second stretched thin, stretched taut, until the weight of it pressed down in her bones.

Y/N’s hand moved first. No warning, no shift in expression — just a steady lift, fingers brushing lightly at the hem of Alessia’s sweatshirt before they hooked in, testing the fabric between her knuckles. The tug was small, but enough to erase what little distance there was.

Alessia didn’t breathe.

Then Y/N’s other hand came up, slow and certain, curling around the back of Alessia’s neck. Her palm was warm, thumb resting just under the hinge of her jaw.

Alessia swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”

Y/N’s mouth curved - not a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Testing a theory.”

And then she pulled her down.

The kiss was anything other than tentative. It was a collision - a hot, bruising press of mouths that made Alessia gasp into it before she could think. Y/N took advantage immediately, tilting her head and sliding her tongue past Alessia’s lips like she’d been planning it for weeks.

It was messy, teeth clashing once and the faint sound of a low, frustrated noise caught in Y/N’s throat. Alessia’s fingers fisted in the front of her hoodie, dragging her closer until their chests pressed together, until there wasn’t an inch of air between them.

Y/N’s hand tightened at the back of her neck, holding her there, deepening the kiss until Alessia felt it all the way down her spine. The rhythm was unhurried but intense, every stroke of Y/N’s mouth against hers deliberate, claiming. She kissed like she wanted to memorise the taste, like she meant to leave Alessia thinking about it for days.

Alessia’s other hand slid to Y/N’s jaw, thumb brushing over her cheekbone as she matched her, kiss for kiss, until they were both breathing hard through their noses. Y/N shifted forward on the stool, knees encircling Alessia’s thighs in an angle that forced her even closer.

The faint copper taste  of blood from the split in Y/N’s lip mingled with the taste of her was sharp and addictive. Alessia chased it, deepened it, let herself get lost in the heat and the pressure and the way Y/N’s mouth moved like she had no intention of letting her go.

By the time they broke apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they had to. Their lips stayed close, though, both of them flushed and dazed.

Y/N’s thumb traced a slow line along her jaw, eyes locked on hers like she wasn’t ready to let the moment end. Alessia couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could still feel the phantom press of Y/N’s mouth against hers, could still taste her.

And in the silence, the air between them didn’t cool. It thickened. Like something had broken wide open, and neither of them had any intention of closing it again.

Alessia’s breath came quick and shallow, every inhale still tasting of Y/N. Her pulse thundered in her ears, matching the faint ache at the back of her neck where Y/N’s fingers still rested. They weren’t tight, but they were firm enough to say she wasn’t ready to let go.

Y/N’s eyes were dark in the low light, fixed on her like she was still mid-calculation. Alessia couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t decide if she looked smug, or thoughtful, or both.

The silence hummed.

Alessia swallowed, forcing a breath past her lips. Her voice came out low, a little unsteady. “So… was your theory correct?”

Y/N’s mouth curved with a slow, satisfcatory danger. “Oh, yeah.” Her thumb brushed along the side of Alessia’s throat, light enough to make her shiver. “Better than I expected, actually.”

The words hung there, heat curling between them.

Alessia didn’t have time to come up with a reply got Y/N’s fingers flexed at her neck, tugging her just that fraction closer again.

Her gaze dropped to Y/N’s mouth. The smallest pause, the barest flicker of hesitation. And then–

They fell into it all over again.

The kiss was immediate, no preamble this time, just heat and the same sharp rush of being pulled under. Alessia leaned into it without thinking, hands finding Y/N’s hips, anchoring herself there like she’d been doing it for years. Y/N hummed against her lips, low and approving, and deepened it until the rest of the world blurred out.

It didn’t matter who broke it first. It didn’t matter what came next.

All Alessia knew was that the theory wasn’t just correct - it was dangerous.

She loved it. 

a/n: ANON I HOPE THIS IS OKAY!!! Sorry i had to mix some bits up but it was getting Long (i have a penchant for the waffle) and i just wanted to get it out hehehe. SUCH a fun req and i already know i may revisit this duo at some point in the future bc i am kind of obsessed with sexy street fighter charming our lessi… UGH. anon ur mind!!!!! (/pos).  have a few requests to get through and a few ideas on the brain <3 may take me a lil while to get through as i’m back at work now (boooo (kidding i work with sharks (i love sharks))). BUT!!!! follow along, come chat to me, lets hang <<33 i’ll be online even when i cant write as much! i wanna make pals!! have paused req. for the time being whilst i sort out the 10 i already have so shall try to open them back up asap :D

[russomething]

i was thinking something like this :

alessia and r are neighbors, r is 23. Alessia is very interested in her , they meet lot of time in the building and in the pub where r work where alessia and the team goes , but they never talked ecc , alessia always says hi to her but r does only a little nod, she always silent , serious and looks quite intimidating with having always a cut or bruise on her face . One night, very late , alessia couldn’t sleep so she was awake when she heard a loud sound outside the door and when she goes outside finds r trying to open her door but can’t cause she’s holding her side in pain and her face is half covered with blood and concerned goes to help her and bring her in her apartment. At first since she doesn’t know her and trust her r is trying to saying that everything is fine (although she doesn’t tell her how she got hurt, she does some fighting during the night to earn more money) alessia can see she’s hurting and help her medicate and convince her to sleep on her couch. After that they start to slowly get close until becoming friends and trusting each other,alessia learns that although r looks “scary” and cold she’s actually a cute, cuddly, kind and lovely person but she’s just protecting herself since she doesn’t trust people and has been through a lot, they always together either outside or in their apartment . While r knows she’s in love with her even tho she keeps her feelings for herself alessia is slowly finding out especially cause she never liked girl so she’s in for a shock . When she finally realizes she understandably scared and panicked she pull away from r , start ignoring and ecc. After coming to herself she does everything in her power to gain r trust again and show her she didn’t want to hurt her , they eventually end up to confess their feelings and get together 🥹

hi lovely anon!!! you are SO creative oh my gosh this was such a cool idea! hope you don’t mind that i had to shift a few things about as it was getting quite long so the ending had to go in a different direction as it was already at 7.5k words eeek! i may revisit that duo later in the future though as i Love this couple dynamic! tysm for submitting, i really hope you still like it! you can find it here

[russomething]

REQUESTS → GUIDELINES

REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY PAUSED

WHO I WILL WRITE FOR

i am super happy to write for any player of your choosing (women’s teams), as long as they are over the age of 21

note that there are definitely players i know more about! these are any england/spain nt players, or anyone who plays for chelsea/barcelona. other requested players make take longer as i want to research them to make sure i know them before writing :)

WHAT I WILL WRITE

written one shots and social media aus

angst, fluff, humour and all sorts of genres

one shots based on songs! (i love a song req. always feel free to send these in)

WHAT I WON’T WRITE

smut (i am happy to write ‘suggestive’ content, but i will not write full blown smut scenes due to personal preference!)

anything involving child abuse or domestic violence

anything involving self harm, eating disorders or suicidal ideation

anything that involves homophobia in any sense, even ‘comfort’ fics that mention such occasions. my account is a safe space for all and even if it’s in a ‘plot relevant way’ i do not and will not write about things such as this (or any other types of bigotry) as i want everyone to feel safe on my page

NOTES

i do only write for female reader! i’m sorry if this upsets people, but as i am a woman who is wlw i do not feel comfortable writing from a male perspective!

on a similar note — pls remember i am a human being who simply loves writing, but i also have personal boundaries <3

alessia russo req. are met with extra kisses from me

happy requesting! to request → go to the ‘what’s on your mind’ message section of my page to send in an ask!

the statement at the top of this post will declare my current request status, please be respectful of this!

OPEN = open to all and any req for the foreseeable future

PAUSED = will reopen in under a week! simply to allow me to catch up!

CLOSED = undetermined opening date

[russomething]

𓆩♡𓆪 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NAME: aurora  WHAT YOU CAN CALL ME: rory, aura – or just aurora PRONOUNS: she/they AGE: 24 FROM: born in france, raised in england LIVES IN: south africa LANGUAGES: english, french, very bad mandarin (i understand it but am not confident speaking it)   TATTOOS/PIERCINGS?: 5 piercings (ears, nose, tongue + nipples), 20 tattoos

LIKES: animals, women👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩, heavy metal, ningning from aespa DISLIKES: men👎 FUN FACT: i work in marine conservation so i am around animals all the time which is funky, but i am also TERRIFIED of coral. like i find the stuff too freaky to think about. makes for a fun job...

MY FOOTBALL TEAM: leeds united, lille osc, barcelona HOW DID I GET THOSE FOOTBALL TEAMS?: through my dad & grandad! / who the family had always supported FAVOURITE PLAYERS: alessia russo, ona batlle & raphinha HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN INTO FOOTBALL?: since i was a kid! my dad was a HUGE football fan, as was my grandad! FAVOURITE FOOTBALLING MEMORY?: being back in my hometown when the french mens nt won the world cup in 2018 and the celebrations <3

[russomething]

fave woso writer just liked my lessi fic

[russomething]

Oh I need more angst from you specifically less I angst 🤏🤏🤏

oh i have some ideas lined up👀👀👀 powering through my work weekend so i can get back to destroying myself emotionally with fanfiction

[russomething]

may i send you a request for alessia??🥹

OF COURSE YOU MAY!!! i am forever happy to write for my girl hehehe

[russomething]

ur niamh fic was so so good - even if it made me teary eyed - you gotta give us some fluff to balance it out - love ur stuff

THANK YOU SMMM i love being semi emotionally destructive sometimes (im a sucker for a bit of angst or bittersweetness) but i promise there’s more fluff/humour in the tank