wwhitemoth

[wwhitemoth]

a sweet and tender hooligan

leah williamson x reader

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

words: 3545

content warnings: recreational drug usage

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

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

You’re so bored. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see her.

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

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

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

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

“I like your dad’s music.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She would!” 

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

You wince. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“How was she supposed to know–”

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

“You like Alex.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s a defender, isn’t she?” 

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

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

You sip the whiskey again, just to punish yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if sensing your attention, she glances over.

Your eyes meet. 

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

The whiskey finally hits your bloodstream. 

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

“No, she’s not.” 

“She is.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She winces. “That.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He missed out.” 

She doesn’t understand the weight of that statement. 

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

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

“They’re a bit angsty.” 

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know how sports work.” 

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

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

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

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

“Are you calling me ignorant?” 

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

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

[wwhitemoth]

I can’t be the only person losing their mind over the interview with Pere??

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Laughing at misogynistic and sexist jokes about players that you coach?! What a spineless human.

He should not be around a woman’s team if that is the downright filthy way in which he views them.

Yes he never verbally say anything but he was in the conversation and laughed at the jokes so he is complicit.

I actually hate male coaches in the women’s game and I’m not even joking one bit.

[wwhitemoth]

Kisses 💋💋

[wwhitemoth]

oh to be the underdogs that no one thought would win to beating the best team in the world - our club

[wwhitemoth]

❤️❤️❤️❤️ champions of europe.

[wwhitemoth]

CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINALISTS!

[wwhitemoth]

if you’d have told me after that first loss under Jonas in 2024 we’d be going up against barcelona in the fucking champions league FINAL and beating Lyon in their own backyard? yeah i’d have slapped you right across the face

GOD BLESS THE RENEÉSSANCE

[wwhitemoth]

Banned - Leah Williamson x Hockey player! reader

Summary: Leah is banned from the penalty box area for loving too much

Word count: 1k

..

From the first whistle, Leah had been tense. 

Not because she didn’t trust Y/n–no, she knew her girlfriend was basically a human tank on skates–but because apparently every player on the other team had signed a blood oath to piss her off.

The ref missed a trip. 

Then a cross-check.

Then someone hooked Y/n’s stick and smirked.

Leah stood up. down. Stood up again. Bit the sleeve of her hoodie. 

She hated it. She hated being the one watching; that’s why she preferred it when she was the one on a game, when she was the one playing football.

Football was good, comforting. It was on grass on the ground, not on fucking ice. Football had rules about being too physical, and hockey’s rules were elaborated so the game could be physical.

Even if hockey thrived on their players practically hitting each other, Y/n still was able to get a penalty for being too aggressive. 

Not one penalty though.

Penalty three came.

Then four.

When penalty five came, Leah couldn’t control herself.

She shot up from her seat, hands slamming onto the glass with a force that made a couple of fans in the stands jump. 

The man beside her flinched. A child three rows down started crying.

“What bloody hell was that, ref?” she shouted, her voice carrying across the arena. “You couldn't see that? Are you blind or just bought off?”

The crowd fell silent, some eyes turning toward her in shock. Leah wasn’t done. “Maybe next time, put on glasses before you ruin someone's game, huh? That was utter bollocks!”

The security guard was already making his way down the aisle.

He appeared at her side with a walkie-talkie and a scowl, muttering something about “unsportsmanlike encouragement” and “escalating the situation.” 

Leah blinked at him like he was truly offending her.

 “I’m literally sitting in a chair and clapping, mate”, she protested.

“You’re shouting obscenities,” he corrected.

“Supportively!”

He gestured toward the exit. “Let’s go, ma’am.”

Leah blinked at the security guard, an incredulous smile pulling at her lips. “You do realise she’s my girlfriend, right? Y/n? Number fourteen?”

The guard paused, giving Leah a puzzled look, then glanced toward the rink where Y/n was glaring from the penalty box.

“Right, okay,” the guard said slowly, taking in the situation. “That explains a lot. But you still gotta go.”

Leah scoffed, grabbing her coat.

“This is outrageous,” she muttered, shuffling past the snack stands. “I didn’t even say anything that bad.”

Leah had never been banned from anything in her life. Not a match. Not a pub. Not a library. Not even a group chat. She had played football as a defender, one of the most aggressive positions in football, and never got a single red card. 

Yet here she was, kicked out of the best spot to cheer on her girlfriend, which was near the penalty box and the closest to the ice.

Which was ridiculous.

Sure, she might’ve mouthed off to the ref after Y/n ’s fifth penalty. And okay, maybe her choice of words wasn’t exactly… family-friendly. 

But it wasn’t her fault! She was passionate. Supportive. Loud. 

A good girlfriend.

By the time Leah climbed into Y/n’s car, the ref’s blown calls still rang in her ears. Neither spoke as Y/n backed out of the arena lot, the engine’s hum a steady backdrop to the tension hanging between them.

Y/n gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles went white. Leah sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed.

Leah sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed.

“You didn’t have to yell that loud,” Y/n  muttered without looking at her.

“I was defending you,” Leah said grumpily. 

“I was already in the box. What’s yelling again gonna do?”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Maybe make them rethink their life choices.”

“They banned you from the box area!”

“They said I was a distraction to the player currently serving her penalty,” she snapped. 

“Which you were,” Y/n said. “Really? Saying that the referee was paid?”

“I know you aren’t the calmest player but it's humanly impossible to be sent to the box five fucking time in twenty minutes–They were after you.”

“They banned you from the box area for three games.”

“I know!”

“And they gave me a warning because you were constantly making heart hands at me after you walked away, because it was distracting the refs!”

“You looked like you were gonna commit a felony! I was trying to calm you down, mate!”

“Well. Didn’t work.” Y/n said, eyebrows furrowing. 

Another long silence.

“I miss the penalty box,” Leah muttered.

Y/n glanced at her. “What, you want to sit in it?”

“I want to watch you there,” Leah said softly. “All… hot and heavy.”

“Leah, control yourself.”

“Says the girl who slammed her stick into the glass and screamed, ‘I’ll see you in hell, 46!’”

“She speared me in the ribs!”

“I’m not saying it was wrong, I’m just saying you let your emotions get the best of you, too.”

Y/n turned to her properly now, jaw finally relaxing. “You’re mad because you got kicked out for loving me too aggressively.”

“I am,” Leah said, deadpan. “And I’d do it again.”

Y/n’s lips twitched into a grin. “You’re so down bad.”

Leah reached out, lacing their fingers together. “You’re lucky I’m into violent women.”

“And you’re lucky I’m into British football captains.”

At last, a genuine smile broke across Y/n’s face.

Leah reached over, laced their fingers together as she drove, and let out a breath.

Still grumpy. But holding hands.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a 24-hour McDonald’s. It was tradition at this point to have anger fries.

Y/n leaned over to speak into the drive-thru speaker. “Hi, can I get–”

“I’m ordering,” Leah cut in. “You’ve been busy screaming at people all night.”

“Says the woman who yelled at a security guard for ‘silencing a queer voice.’” Y/n said teasingly. 

“It’s lesbian visibility week!”

..

Feedback is very much appreciated!

[wwhitemoth]

🩵🤍🩷

[wwhitemoth]

Moth from Silent Hill 2

[wwhitemoth]

it really is crazy how quickly people were willing to just let chatgpt do everything for them. i have never even tried it. brother i don't even know if it's just a website you go to or what. i do not know where chatgpt actually lives, because i can decide my own grocery list.

[wwhitemoth]

Reason To Stay

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 558

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s been hours. 

You’re tired and spent but your brain just won’t stop buzzing. 

It’s been hours and you’re still here. 

Why are you still here?

It’s cold but also hot at the same time. You’re not wearing much, not wearing anything at all actually, but the body beside you burns like a furnace. 

You’re left staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell you got here. 

The night started off like most others. 

A pretty smile tempting you to do something you really shouldn’t. It didn’t matter that she was your teammate. It didn’t matter that this was a stupid idea. 

You let Leah drag you into a cab headed for her home and it was instinctive, the way you let her take you to bed. The way you let her take you apart. The way you take her apart.

But staying over, that’s something you’ve never done.

You’ve always felt like there was something wrong with you. No one ever wanted you long enough for you to stay. Person or club, it never mattered. The girls you saw always found reasons to walk away. The clubs you played for never held onto you longer than you originally signed on for. 

So you never stayed. 

Nights out were just nights out. 

Clubs were just clubs. 

You left and left and left until it was almost part of your identity. 

England was supposed to be a new beginning. It was supposed to be a fresh start. But here you are again, falling into old habits like a drug addict to a needle.

There’s a sigh beside you and it’s instinctive the way you stiffen. It’s quiet, nothing but the sounds of soft snores and the occasional sniffle from the body next to you, but you still freeze all the same. 

You hold your breath when you feel a slight dip in the bed, Leah starting to stir. 

There’s movement and then--

An arm slings around your waist. 

It’s so authoritative. So confident. It finds its way across your body like it’s always belonged there.

It feels…

Wrong. Suffocating. You want to jump out of your skin.

There’s a scream building in your throat. A cry for what, you’re not quite sure. For freedom from this place? For help out of your own head?

There’s a quiet mumble, hot breath against your neck. Leah somehow pulls herself closer to you, like she’s trying to melt into your skin. 

It should feel uncomfortable. It should feel suffocating. It should feel like you need to get out of here.

It should feel like all the things you know it should feel like. 

It doesn’t. 

Leah feels solid against you. She feels so there, so grounding. 

You find yourself relaxing into her grip.

It’s like she can sense your resolve slipping away, her face subconsciously nuzzling in closer, arms wrapping tighter around you.

You let out a shuddery breath. 

Something shatters inside as you loosen your muscles, letting her breaths lull you deeper and deeper into a quiet surrender. 

The call of sleep is tempting. 

You’re no longer cold, Leah’s warmth more than enough to keep you comfortable in her arms.

Your eyes get heavier and heavier and you find yourself having one last thought before you let yourself go under. 

Maybe just this once it wouldn’t be so bad to stay. 

[wwhitemoth]

my shaylaaaas 🥺❤️

welcome back baby goat ❤️🤍

[wwhitemoth]

americans pleeease. please kill elon musk 🙏🙏🥺😔😩🙏 americans! please. Please !!! kill elon musk. don't you remember gun.. ? bang bang ? your favorite game..? Americans... please. 😔🙏 have you forgotten your local deity, captain america: kill nazis??? americans !! I know you can do it 🥺🙏 please americans..

[wwhitemoth]

SERENA WILLIAMS during Kendrick Lamar’s Halftime Show at Super Bowl LIX

[wwhitemoth]

Fancy a Drive (Leah Williamson x F1!Reader)

Part 3 Part 2 here

Leah

Where are you?

Are you still coming?

You’d eventually got to leave the hospital and go home. Your mum and dad had taken you back to their house for a few days, before begrudgingly allowing you to go back to your own house.

The doctor had asked you to avoid screens, so you were behind in your TV shows, you hadn’t seen the latest movies and you’d barely looked at your phone. Your head had been spinning since you got home so your typical day just consisted of lying in complete darkness and sleeping. Your mum and dad had both tried with food, but you couldn’t force yourself to eat.

It wasn’t until you finished a full cheese toastie that your mum let you go home.

“That was nice mum, you should make them more often” you mumbled as you put your plate in the dishwasher.

“I’ll make you one whenever you want my darling” she smiled, but you could see her eyes with glistening over with tears. “Are you sure you want to go home? You know you can stay here for as long as you like” she added, eyes and fingers scanning over the padded cut on your eyebrow. The doctor had told her to that she needed to get you to avoid looking through your phone and digging for answers. Too much too fast wouldn’t be good for you.

“I’m fine” you nodded. “I’ll need to get back training soon” you said, feeling a bit more alive and reaching for an orange from the fruit bowl.

“Training?” Your mum frowned, watching as you struggled to peel the orange.

“Yeah?” You replied, feeling her take the fruit from you and start to peel it for you. “I have to go back to work”

“Owen told you that you don’t need to rush it” she reminded you.

“Owen?” You asked.

“Owen? Your manager?” She sighed.

“Oh yeah, yeah” you hummed, taking the orange back, now fully peeled. “I’m fine mum, thanks” you groaned again, rolling your eyes at her.

“Have you spoken to any of your friends?” She hummed. “What about that nice girl? Leah?” She smiled as she turned away to load the washing into the machine, shoving away your hand when you tried to help.

Leah? Who the hell was - oh wait the hot blonde girl from the hospital.

“Uh, no” you shook your head. “We haven’t spoken, but I just haven’t been on my phone really” you added with a small shrug.

“You should talk to her” your mum encouraged.

“I barely know her” you mumbled as she shot you a sympathetic look. She knew your injury was serious, but surely Leah had to be the girl you’d told her you’d been talking to, and had just started to really like. The only hints you’d given to your mum was that she was a footballer and she was English, so when the English footballer was sat crying in the seat outside your hospital room, she kind of figured.

“That’s okay” your mum nodded, remembering she was told not to push you to try and think about anything.

You didn’t really know, but your memory was coming and going, like the way somedays you remembered Owen, and somedays you didn’t. Your mum was barely sleeping at night, afraid you’d wake up tomorrow and not know who she was, or who your dad was. She couldn’t bare the thought of it.

“I’ll drive you home, if you want to go get ready” your dad said, coming into the kitchen and looking straight towards you.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks dad” you smiled, heading out of the kitchen and back upstairs to start getting ready and packing away your clothes.

“She’ll be alright, love” he sighed as your mum shook her head, staring out the kitchen window to the view of the back garden.

“I’m terrified” she admitted. “I don’t want her alone, with us out of sight and then what? Out of mind? What if she wakes up one day and thinks she has nobody?”

“It’s not going to happen” he reassured her, resting his hand on her forearm.

“Dad” you called from upstairs. “I need help” you said.

“What is it love?” He shouted, walking out of the kitchen to get to the bottom of the staircase.

“I can’t-” you mumbled, struggling to pick up the suitcase.

“Leave it there baby girl, I’ll get it for you” he smiled, coming upstairs and taking it out of your hands. Usually a suitcase wouldn’t bother you, but being a bit weak and dizzy right now really had you struggling to do anything for yourself.

He’d eventually moved your things into the boot of his car and then you came down with just your phone and your hoodie in hand.

“Here darling, I made you one of the drive” your mum smiled, handing you yet another cheese toastie.

“What is it?” You asked.

“A cheese toastie, your fav- remember?” She sniffled as she looked at you, still holding the toasted sandwich in her hand.

“I’m not really a fan of those, I’ll ask dad does he want it” you smiled, taking it out of her hands. “Thanks for having me over mum, I’ll text you when I get home” you said, pulling her into a hug before leaving. Your mum thankfully held in her tears until you’d closed the front door.

Your dad lifted your suitcase upstairs before giving you a tight hug and leaving again. He was always a man of very few words, even in the best of times, but he turned to you and said, “You should call that Leah girl, let her know how you are” before he left.

So, you took his advice, a little later in the day when you’d unpacked, had a shower and made some food. The phone rang about five times before you heard a slight rustling sound and then a voice.

“Hey” Leah said into the phone, a little taken aback you’d called.

“Hi, it’s Y/n” you replied.

“I have caller ID” Leah joked, which made you laugh. More things you knew about Leah now was that she had your number saved in her phone, much like you had hers, and she was funny.

“Right” you nodded. “I guess I was just calling to let you know I was okay? I don’t know if that was something we would do?”

“I’ve been worried about you” Leah admitted, even though she knew you’d find that weird because you thought you didn’t know her at all.

You found that weird, because you didn’t know this girl at all. But clearly there was some form of friendship there because she worried about you and your parents both knew who she was. You wondered how long you’d been friends for.

“You don’t need to worry” you said after a little while. “I’m as good as new” you smiled, although she couldn’t see it and you didn’t mean it.

“Well” Leah began. “That’s good” she tried to etch a smile onto her face, but it just wouldn’t come. “Are you still with your parents?”

“I just got home today” you nodded. “Would you-” you stuttered.

“Would I?” Leah encouraged.

“Would you maybe want to come over?” You asked, very quickly.

“Now?” Leah giggled.

“Just whenever” you shrugged.

“Okay, I’ll come over whenever” she smirked as you chuckled. “And when I come over, do you need anything?”

“I haven’t been here in a bit” you said, opening the bare fridge. “Maybe just some bread and milk”

-

It was a little while later when Leah turned up to your house with a shopping bag full of groceries. You realised that you never gave her directions, so you made the safe assumption that she’d been to your house before.

“I just got you a few bits” she smiled as she came into the house and placed the bag on the ground. You found it weird that she did that, until she put both arms around you and pulled you against her. Clearly this was a natural thing for you both, so you just held her, silently, for a couple of minutes.

It was a strange hug, because it felt so natural and comfortable to be hugging this person who was practically unknown to you.

“Thanks” you eventually mumbled out, “For the shopping” you added, still not letting her out of your hold, and she made no attempts to move either. Leah really thought that maybe if she just stayed here that eventually everything would come back to you, but she was just kidding herself.

“Do you want something to eat?” She asked and for a moment you kind of forgot it was you that had invited her over, and not the opposite way around. So, you nodded, and she worked her way into your kitchen with the bag of groceries and got straight to work. “Do you want to go find something on TV to watch?” She smiled, and again, you nodded.

You stuck on Sky Sports News and just let it play on a low volume in the background while you waited for - for fuck sake. Wait, I got it- Leah to come back in.

“I didn’t really know what to put on” you shrugged as you watched the blonde come back in with two plates in her hand.

“I’m happy with that” Leah nodded, handing you the plate as you both sat down. You bit into the heavenly sandwich and let out a moan.

“This is unbelievable” you stated as Leah smiled at you. “Cheese toasties are my favourite, my mum used to make me them all the time when-” you stopped yourself when you made eye contact with Leah. “I’ve probably told you this before, have I?”

“No, no” Leah shook her head. “Please keep going” she added. So you explained your love for cheese toasties to the girl for the second time, and she was just hoping it would end like the first time she made you a toasted cheese sandwich.

You could tell by the girl’s eyes that there was something she wanted to say, or do. You don’t know why she was looking at you like she wanted you to kiss her when all you were talking about was a cheese toastie. Maybe it was to say thank you?

You weren’t in the right headspace to guess why she wanted you to kiss her, but you realised you should just do it anyway. Only, as you were just about to lean in, your name made you both flick your attention to the TV.

“Good news today as we’ve had confirmation that F1 driver Y/n Y/l/n is recovering well from the latest crash just over a week ago”

And there it was, a green car that apparently you were inside of speeding and hurtling towards a wall, live on TV for people to watch over and over again. You winced at the impact of the car hitting the wall and the way the cars continued to race around the track. You looked at Leah, trying to get her to confirm with some type of noise or look that this was really what had happened, but she was busying herself trying to find the remote to turn it off.

“As Y/n was whisked away to hospital, our correspondent on the track caught up with England women’s captain, Leah Williamson, who could only watch on in horror”

You watched as the camera flicked over to the trackside correspondent who began to pester Leah over and over about how she felt. She had a few girls around her on the video, again, all of them looked familiar but you couldn’t put names to any of them. Leah was crying really hard on the TV and you were staring at it wondering why they continued to film her.

“Where is the fucking remote?” Leah snapped as you picked it up from beside you and flicked the station.

“You were there?” You asked, placing the plate down on the coffee table.

“I go to a lot of your races” she hummed, trying not to get upset you couldn’t remember anything that happened in your pit room before you went to race. But there was that look again. You needed time to digest what you’d just seen, so you couldn’t just kiss her out of nowhere right now.

“Right” you nodded, not sure what else to say. “Do you want to watch a movie?” You suggested.

“Sure” Leah smiled, just happy even after watching that video that you wanted her to stay longer. “You pick something” she said as she got up to put both plates in the kitchen.

“Now hear me out” you began as Leah giggled, handing you a pack of jellies- wait you really liked these particular ones. They were definitely your favourite jellies. “Thanks” you grinned as she sat down.

“I’m hearing you out” she said, getting you back on track.

“Right, so, I know it’s not Christmas but I’ve never seen The Holiday before and one of my mates said it was her favourite movie. Like not even her favourite Christmas movie, her favourite movie, and she constantly gives me shit for never seeing it” you explained. You remembered.

“You’ve still never seen The Holiday?” Leah moaned, trying to just get anything out of her mouth.

“Not you too” you rolled your eyes. Just her, actually.

“Press play” Leah said as you did what was instructed.

Leah was nice, you could see why you’d be friends with someone like her.

-

Over the next while, Leah was in your house a lot. You were doing your own cooking, as well as hers, but she was keeping the place nice and tidy for you.

Owen had spoken to you again about not rushing back to training, and you took his advice, eventually. Now you had a hot blonde to distract you, you didn’t really know why you were so keen to do anything other than be with Leah.

It was usually Leah coming to you, or you just going to the nice little café that was right by your house. But tonight, you’d arranged to go for dinner a little closer to Leah’s house. She told you she’d meet you there and you were going to drive. You hadn’t been to Leah’s house yet, you think? But you were hoping you’d end up there tonight.

You’d spent a long time getting ready, longer than usual for just going out with a friend. But you liked Leah, and Leah liked you. She cared about you, she cried for you when the car crashed. She looked after you when you got home from the hospital and she was there in the hospital.

You typed out a message to let Leah know you were on the way, and you placed your phone down beside you, vowing to hit send when you’d pulled out of the drive way. Only, as you looked at the dashboard and the steering wheel, you couldn’t figure it out.

How does this thing turn on? Keys, right? But where do they go? How does it move? What the hell is that thing? What do the pedals mean?

That’s when you started crying, and punching the steering wheel of your car. You did this for a living, you drove for a living, and right now you didn’t even know where to put the keys in to turn it on. You never messaged Leah, but she messaged you.

Leah

Where are you?

Are you still coming?

You weren’t sure what you were meant to say to her. You also couldn’t stand her up, so you got on a train and headed towards the direction of the restaurant, without responding to her. When you eventually got off the train, you’d seen another message come though.

Leah

I’m going home.

Your feet took you straight to Leah’s house and your fist pounded on the door.

“Y/n?” Leah said in shock when her door opened to see you stood there.

“Let me explain” you muffled out, wiping tears from your eyes. She presumed you were going to explain how the hell you got yourself to her house without directions, but instead you said, “I got in the car and I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to turn it on, I just kept crying. I know I’m so late, but if you want to go to the restaurant we can” you stuttered.

“How did you get here?” Leah asked.

“I got the train” you replied.

“No” Leah shook her head. “How did you get here?” She repeated, and you now realised she meant her house.

“I don’t know” you said. “I must have remembered?”

“You remembered” Leah smiled and pulled you by your shirt into the house. “Kiss me” Leah panted as she shut the door and pushed you against it.

“You want to kiss me?” You asked in a state of shock.

“I know they told me not to remind you of anything, but I’m crazy about you, Y/n” Leah said, and that really confused you. “I was late to your race, but I wanted to tell you that I was starting to fall for you”

“Leah” you tried to stop her, because your head was currently trying to run all of back way too quickly.

“It was me that loved The Holiday” she continued. “You kissed me in that kitchen for the first time and I knew that I wanted to never kiss anybody else”

“Please stop” you sighed, shutting your eyes and squeezing them tight to try and get your brain to stop spinning.

“I can’t keep pretending that we’re just getting to know each other and you not remembering any of this isn’t killing me” she cried. “So kiss me” she added, almost like she thought if you did that all your memories would come flooding back to you.

You took a breath before you smashed your lips against hers. You have no idea why only one thing came to you as you kissed her.

“Smiley faces” you blurted out.

“What?” Leah chuckled, still holding your face.

“You love them” you said, with a smile.

“I do love them” she giggled, kissing you again.

“Do you want some?” You asked.

“Yes please” she nodded. “So, anything else come back to you?” She mumbled on the walk to the kitchen.

“Not really” you shook your head. “I’m sorry that I can’t remember a lot”

“I’m sorry I pushed you, that was wrong” Leah sighed.

“That’s okay” you smiled, helping her sit on the counter as you got the smiley faces from the freezer and put them on a tray.

“There’s no rush to remember every thing” she added as you shoved the tray in the oven.

You looked at the girl’s scar on her knee and subconsciously traced over it with your finger. “Your knee” you said.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt anymore” she said, shooing your hand away but you kept it firmly on her knee.

It clicked.

“You done your ACL” you stated. “You came to my races with Aston Martin and I fucking hated you”

“Yes, keep going” Leah said, running her hand up your arm.

“The guy in my pit, I heard him talking to you through the headset and I stopped it”

“You stopped it” Leah nodded in confirmation.

“I wanted to kiss you in my hotel room and you left. But we did kiss, we kissed right here and I ran because I was terrified”

“And I was a bitch” Leah giggled.

“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never meant to stop thinking about you, I’ll never stop thinking about you again” you rushed out before kissing her hard as her legs wrapped around your waist and your hands landed on her thighs. “I love you, I wanted to tell you that before I left that day. But I love you, Leah”

“I love you too” Leah smiled, squeezing your cheeks as she brought you in for another kiss.

“Will you go out with me?” You asked.

“Hm, that depends” she teased.

“On?” You frowned.

“Have you seen Love Actually yet?”

[wwhitemoth]

what a monster our Marty 😮‍💨