CONSEQUENCES → LEAH WILLIAMSON
𓆩♡𓆪 pairing: leah williamson x chelsea!reader 𓆩♡𓆪 blurb: as a striker, playing against your girlfriend in defence would always be a possibility. no matter how much you loved each other, you still gave it your all on the field. this meant there was always possibility for someone to get hurt. now that you wouldn't immediately forgive. 𓆩♡𓆪 word count: 4.4k 𓆩♡𓆪 genre: angst, hurt/some comfort 𓆩♡𓆪 warnings: descriptions of injury, mentions of blood, lots of cursing, author loves mixing past and present tense
When you and Leah had first started dating, you had never been forced to go up against one another except for the occasional training drill. You had, of course, both played for Arsenal at the time.
Then, in the summer transfer window, you had boldly accepted an offer from Chelsea. It was a shock to the whole sporting world, you jumping from one London club to another, but your teammates understood. Chelsea had simply made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, and their consecutive wins in the league certainly added appeal.
The truth was, your regular physiotherapist had moved to the club the year before, and after being hit with a string of muscular injuries in the prior season, Chelsea knew that was incentive enough to get you to move. Add the significantly increased fee they were willing to pay, and the promise of a starting spot, and you couldn’t turn the offer down.
You’d played in all three opening games so far, including the Champions League group stage against Real Madrid, and the signing was proving to be the best decision either of you had made.
This was your first real challenge.
The tension in the tunnel could be cut with a knife before the game. It’s always like this when teams from similar areas go up against one another, but the competition of this year's league only served to add to the atmosphere in the enclosed space.
Up ahead you could see your girlfriend’s ponytail moving side to side as she stretched out her neck. She hadn’t spoken to you yet, but you didn’t blame her.
This was your first time playing against your old club. Moreover, this was the first time you were playing against Leah. Not only that, but in your position, you were guaranteed to be up against her more often than not. Mentality was so important here.
For the next ninety minutes, she wasn’t your all-loving girlfriend.
She was an opponent. And you’d treat each other as such.
The walk out began, the team captains leading you out of the tunnel and into the Emirates. It was an all too familiar sight to you; it felt weird to be on the opposing side.
You pushed your shoulders back and straightened up, falling into stride and lining up on the pitch. Lucy’s shoulder bumped yours, and whilst the right back didn’t pass you more than a quick glance, you knew that was an offer of support. She was experienced enough in moving around, she knew what it was like to face a crowd you once called home.
It didn’t take long for you to make an impact, either. You’re not sure whether it feels good or not. It’s only four minutes in when you capitalise on a defensive mistake during a set piece, sending the ball flying into the back of the net. Millie and Sjoeke are there immediately, smiling and clapping you on the back, but you don’t offer much more than a high five in return. It would have felt wrong to celebrate a goal anyway, let alone one from Arsenal’s shortcomings.
You walk away from the goal where the players in red are sluggishly following. Chancing a look behind you, you meet Leah’s eye for the first time. There’s a subtlety to the way that she moves her head that suggests some form of congratulations, but it’s weak willed. Her mind is far too focused on sorting the weaknesses in her team’s formation, that is clear from her expression.
There’s a change after that, even if just for a moment. Arsenal dominated possession, and whilst they didn’t do too much with it for the time being, it becomes enough to frustrate your own team. Lucy and Wieke go in on some particularly heavy challenges where they’re lucky the ref is being lenient for the first half, and soon the Arsenal team are quick to join in. Katie McCabe particularly seems determined not to let anyone else pass down the right hand side.
Unfortunately for your old team, the possession play isn’t successful when it draws their defenders too deep, Sandy making the most of it and slotting in a goal of her own.
You celebrate this one with the team, although you’re unable to keep your attention off of Leah. You can tell the opening twenty minutes has frustrated her, and the way she’s rallying her fellow defenders says you should expect a shift in tone once more. Still, you know that tightness in her shoulders; the shift of her weight from foot to foot that tells you she’s growing more irritated by the minute.
Arsenal recover as fast as they can, slipping back into a focus on possession that you do not miss. It makes it difficult, though, to create changes. It gets to you as well after a while, unable to get the ball where you want it. They aren’t posing a threat, but they’re certainly thwarting your chances at adding to the goal difference.
You make a run for it not too long after play restarts, on the receiving end of a ball from LJ. The ball falls perfectly to your feet, and you’d have a clean shot had it not been for the body slamming into yours before you could take it. You tug yourself up with a grunt, not wasting time screaming for a foul the referee clearly isn’t going to give, and look to the source of the collision. Leah simply shrugs, brushes herself off and runs away.
For the first and only time, seeing her so deeply in her element drives a wedge of annoyance into you.
After every threat is cleared, you see Leah clap her fellow defenders, rallying them the troops to attention. You have to force yourself to take a deep breath. Seeing her in that mode, knowing she’s the one stopping you from getting where you want to be… it drives you crazy. You can feel the frustration building, and you’re forced to push it down with a gentle reminder of your life outside of this match.
As you wait for the ball to be thrown back into play you think of Leah in a more domestic situation. You think back to your summer together, the adventures you had been on. More importantly you think back on the way she had kissed you one summer night on a walk through Kensington Gardens; the way the sunset had lit the edges of her hair in a gentle glow, or how she’d held your waist with her hand in a way that spoke of more love than she could ever verbally express.
Reminding yourself of that Leah was the only way to drive away a scream of exasperation.
An Arsenal shot on goal in the thirty-third minute may have spoken of tides changing, but when the resounding block is passed out to the right and down the side, Chelsea are back on the attack.
You’re sprinting into position faster than you thought possible. You’re confident that Lotte was playing you onside when you made your run, and so you keep going. The ball is passed, landing just in front of you once again – you just have to take a few more steps to reach it…
You hit the floor before you actually feel the pain.
You barely have time to react, only saving yourself from whacking your head against the grass in the final second.
You’d felt the contact, not to an extreme extent, but you had felt someone’s spikes hit the back of your leg.
Boos echo throughout the stadium as you lay on your stomach, everyone screaming for you to get up, and so you caved. Using the last of your adrenaline from the fall, you dug your toes into the ground and pushed–
And that was when you felt it. The hot, searing pain in your ankle. It was muscular–of course. You knew what that felt like, had dealt with far too many pulls and strains in your career. This was no different.
When you shifted, the jolt to your ankle made your vision blurry for a second.
The moment you noticed it, you could feel it. The throbbing. You couldn’t bring yourself to think about the swelling that had begun below the sock, or what it would do to your game.
Your teammates had noticed by now and were rushing over. You weren’t one to go down easy for starters, but once Sjoeke came closer and saw something concerning enough to send everyone into a panic. You hadn’t even noticed the blood on your arm. There were clear spike marks there bleeding freely. You had been so focused on your ankle when you fell that you hadn’t noticed the person stumble onto your arm. How you had missed the tearing of flesh you would never know.
Your teammate flagged down the medics, who you were sure would sprint here quicker than ever. It didn’t matter to you in that moment though, for a lift of your head told of your worst fears.
The referee was reacting to the foul by presenting a yellow card.
To Leah.
You watched, astounded as she pleaded her case with the referee. She didn’t realise what she had done, clearly. Or at least you hoped.
By the time she looked your way, you were turning your head, needing to focus on breathing through the pain. The medic team were there by now, gentle hands shifting your arm as they addressed the more pressing issue. You heard a small yelp of disgust from one of your teammates; probably Sandy, she had never been good with blood. Then the stinging began, whatever disinfectant they were pouring on your wound seemingly soaking straight to your core. You couldn’t help the scream that left your mouth involuntarily.
That sound drew movement. Someone was appearing over your head in red socks. You didn’t look up. They were being pushed away from you just as quickly as they had arrived, anyway. You heard it, though, using the sounds around the stadium to distract from the pain.
“Just back off, alright?” It was Lucy’s voice, clearly the teammate who had urged the intruder away. She was forever wildly defensive of her teammates, and as another recent signing, it made sense that she’d have your back.
The opposing player clearly shoved Lucy, not too harshly, but there was a telltale sign of the right back stumbling. You knew what that meant.
“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry–”
“She said back off, Williamson,” It was Sandy this time, the Frenchwoman small but adamant in her words.
You didn’t move, not until the medics twisted you into a seating position. They got to work wrapping the wound on your arm and then moving to compress your ankle, which you this time watched with feigned interest to distract from the scene developing around you. The referee was clearly trying to get it under control, but the insistent shouts told that it was getting out of hand.
You kept your gaze fixed on the bandage being wrapped tightly over ice on your foot. You couldn’t look anywhere else. Especially not at Leah. If you met her eye right now, you just might burst into tears of anger.
It wasn’t her fault, not strictly. It was an accident, a late time challenge which you had been on the bad end of. Things like this happened all the time in football, and it was part of the risk when playing against one another.
It didn’t change the fact that right now, you fucking hated her.
The anger would dissipate in time, you knew that, but right now it was simmering at the surface in a way that threatened to overflow if not left to cool.
Medical hands were finishing their duties quickly, the duo from the Chelsea staff helping you to your feet. Various teammates were checking if you were alright, fussing over you before you began to limp off pitch, and they all received the same shrug of acknowledgement.
No one reached out, recognising that even the smallest of contact may break you.
Except for one person.
You knew how Leah’s hands felt when they touched your skin, you knew her body inside out. Before she had even fully wrapped her fingers around your forearm you were tugging away. Her face was sympathetic when you turned, but you didn’t care, not right now.
“Y/N, I didn’t mean–”
“Fuck off, Leah.” You snapped, and you saw the dejection cross her face. She understood, though, and she shrunk back onto the pitch looking smaller than ever before.
Not bothering to watch her retreat, you simply continued your sulk back to the bench. The tight bandage around your calf made it complicated to walk, but it didn’t stop you from using your good leg to kick at one of the red benches in the dugout. It nearly terrified Erin half to death, but you didn’t apologise yet. You would say sorry later, when you had calmed down. For now all you could see was red.
When the half time whistle rang out, you were the first down the tunnel. An Arsenal goal had come just before the break, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your brain was still consumed with thoughts about your ankle, and the dressing room away from prying cameras in the stadium called your name.
The team joined and you all went through the motions, until it was time to make your way back out. You straggled behind, and when it came time for you to walk back to the dugout, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to move.
You’d get in trouble for it with the association, but for once you threw caution to the wind and sat back down on the dressing room bench. It was peaceful here; quiet enough that you could finally let the tears slip from your eyes.
What you were crying over you weren’t quite certain.
You cried and cried until your eyes were as red as the marks on your arm, and the final whistle was being blown out on the pitch. You weren’t sure of the score, didn’t even bother to ask when everyone returned to the dressing room. You didn’t move much. Everyone simply moved around you, showering and preparing to go home.
As the match was against Arsenal, most weren’t taking the team bus and arranging their own way home. You were included in that. Initially at least: now you weren’t sure.
Your original plan was to go home with Leah, spend the night at her apartment discussing the future and your love.
You weren’t entirely sure you could face her. Not yet.
Your phone buzzed on the bench next to you. The notification was from Millie. She was being a good captain as usual, telling you to get home safely. You didn’t read the rest of the message.
The phone screen went dark before you could linger on the lockscreen image, but it was imprinted in your brain anyway. Leah’s lips on your cheek, a photo you had taken on a whim during a family barbecue had become your favourite image. The way both of your eyes sparkled, the way you laughed amongst family and friends… that was how your relationship truly was.
Not sitting in the away dressing room crying in frustration.
With a sigh you pushed yourself up, finally bringing yourself to leave the room. Your ankle ached with every step, a solemn icepack no longer doing anything for the swelling. You knew it would be tight in the morning, but that was exactly why you’d be at the physio's office before the day had even broken.
The door to the dressing room swung open as you pushed yourself through, someone jumping back.
Looking up, you were met with your girlfriend’s eyes. Apologetic. Worried. A fraction still heated from the match.
Maturity was usually a strong suit of yours, but not right now. You turned, barely acknowledging her approach in favour of making your way through the building. It wasn’t much of a breakaway, your ankle making it hard to walk at your regular pace, and Leah kept time with you easily. She at least had the common sense to walk over your shoulder and not by your side.
“You have to talk to me if you want me to apologise.” Leah spoke, voice sympathetic but with a cold edge you knew was in self defense.
You kept silent, walking through the corridors you were still so familiar with. You turned a corner, perhaps a tad too fast, tugging on your ankle, but even the wince of pain didn’t make you stop. You could practically hear the restraint it took for Leah to invade your personal space. Normally by now when you were in a mood she would have grabbed you by the arm and forced you to be a grown up. She knew she’d be a fool to do that now.
When it was clear you weren’t about to dignify her with a response, Leah huffed out a breath. It tickled your neck and alerted you to just how close she was to you, and yet you didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around.
You walked straight out into the staff and player car park. It was thinning out now, only the cars of the administration being left, for most of the players had gone home an hour ago.
It was as you turned down a row in hunt of your own car that Leah’s hand finally gripped your wrist to stop you in your tracks.
“What’s the plan here, Y/N?” Shouted wasn’t quite the right word for it, but her voice was definitely louder than before “Gonna fuck your foot up more by driving yourself home? Great idea, the medics will be so happy!”
“Oh so now you’re worried about my foot?!” You all but scream, anger finally bubbling over in a less than pretty way.
Leah’s eyes flashed with a bitterness you hadn’t seen before. “Are you serious right now?! You think I haven’t been worried this entire fucking time?!”
“You didn’t look too worried when you slammed into me, Leah!”
“I was making a challenge–”
“You barrelled into me!” you shout, voice echoing around the car park. “You weren’t making a challenge, you were flying in like a goddamn idiot, and now look at me!” You throw out your arms, gesturing to your wrapped ankle, your bloodstained sleeve. You can’t stop the fury shaking your voice. “You know what I’ve been through with injuries. You know how fragile I’ve been. And you still–What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about the match!” Leah yells in return, no longer holding herself back. “I was thinking I had to win that ball or you’d score again, and we’d be fucked. You don’t get to act like you’re the only one out there trying to win!”
“Trying to win doesn’t mean taking me out, Leah!”
“Oh my god, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she fires back. “Do you really think I’d do that on purpose?!”
“I don’t know what to think anymore!” you shout, and it comes out more broken than you intended. “Because you didn’t even stop. You just ran off like it was any other fucking tackle!”
“I didn’t realise you were hurt like that! I swear to god, Y/N, I didn’t know it was that bad until I turned around and saw your team waving for medics!”
You laugh; short, bitter, disbelieving. “You didn’t know?! I stayed down, Leah. I never stay down. You know that. We played on the same goddamn team, you know me.”
She stares at you, something flickering in her face; guilt, shame, maybe both. But it doesn’t soften you.
“You didn’t even look at me,” you continue, voice quieter now but more dangerous. “Not until the ref showed you that card. And then you gave a shit.”
Leah recoils like you slapped her. “That’s not fair.”
“No?” you say, closing the gap the smallest amount. “You’re right. You know what’s not fair? That I trusted you to protect me even if we were on opposite teams. And instead you’re the reason I’m out again.”
Her chest rises and falls fast, lips parted like she’s about to argue. Instead, she deflates slightly.
“You were running in space,” she repeats, but her voice is less certain now. “You were going to score. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Well, congratulations,” you snap. “Intentions don’t mean a damn thing when I can’t even walk properly.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Your heart’s still hammering in your chest, and Leah’s eyes are glossy now. She’s not crying, not yet, but blinking too fast like she might any moment. She rubs a hand over her face and looks away.
For a moment, neither of you speak. You’re too focused on letting your breathing even out to process a continuation.
Leah’s jaw clicks in the silence. When she speaks again, her voice is tight, clipped. “I came here to take you home. Because you can’t walk properly. Because despite everything, I still love you enough to make sure you don’t fuck yourself up more trying to prove a point.”
You stare at her, chest heaving. That word - love - stings in this moment. Because it’s true. And you hate that it is.
You look away, your shoulders tight with unspent rage.
“Keys are in my bag,” you mutter. “You can drive.”
Leah swallows, then nods once, turning toward the car. She doesn’t say another word. And for now, neither do you.
The tense silence persists. You’re waiting for the moment it explodes.
The car is quiet. Leah keeps her eyes on the road, both hands gripped tight on the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping her together. You don’t look at her. You can’t. Every bump in the road sends a flare of discomfort through your ankle, but it’s nothing compared to the dull ache in your chest.
You feel her glance at you every now and then, flickers of guilt bleeding through the tension. Still, she doesn’t speak. Not until the city lights thin out and the stoplight turns red at a quiet intersection.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, barely louder than a whisper.
You don’t answer.
“I know that doesn’t make it better. I just… I’ve been thinking about it. About the moment. Over and over.”
Your arms stay folded across your chest as you stare out the window. The apology wasn’t unwelcome, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your skin still burned from the antiseptic, not when your ankle felt twice its size, not when the worst part of it all was that it had been her.
“I panicked. You were through on goal and I just… reacted. I didn’t stop to think. I went in like an idiot, and by the time I realised I was late, it was already done. And when I saw you lying there–” She cut herself off in the repeated defense, pressing her lips together. “I’ve never felt that sick in my life.”
You blinked slowly, your own chest tightening. You could hear the emotion rising in her throat, the way her words started to shake, just barely. Still, she kept talking, her eyes fixed forward on the road, hands still locked on the wheel.
Your voice was quieter than before when you finally spoke. “You were more concerned arguing with the ref than with me lying in the grass.”
Leah’s knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. “I didn’t see how bad it was at first. I thought you were going to pop back up like you always do. You always bounce back, and I…” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t let myself believe I’d actually hurt you. Not like that. I couldn’t.”
You let out a breath, jaw clenched. “But you did.”
“I know.” Her voice broke fully this time “And I can’t undo it. I can’t take it back or make it better.”
The car comes to a gentle stop in front of your building, and Leah cuts the engine. For a second, you think she’s going to stay composed. But when she lets go of the steering wheel, her hands fly to her face and her shoulders collapse inward. The first sob comes like a gut punch — rough, raw, almost like it pains her. She tries to stifle it, like always, never good at letting herself fall apart. But you see it unraveling anyway.
“I hurt you,” she chokes out. “I hurt you, Y/N. And that’s the one thing I never wanted to do. Not ever.”
You look at her, really look, and you can see past the guilt to the person you love. The one who, despite her screw-up, is breaking open under the weight of it. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t erase the pain in your leg or arm. But it does remind you of why this hurt so much to begin with. Because it was her. Because it’s the woman you love.
“I’m still angry,” you say carefully, voice level but quiet. “Still hurt. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get past this.”
Leah nods without looking up, wiping at her eyes uselessly. “Okay. Whatever it takes. I’ll wait.”
“I don’t know how to fix this,” she admits.
You nod. “You don’t have to fix it tonight.” A pause. Then “But you do have to come inside and help me ice this damn ankle.”
A wet laugh escapes her throat, fragile but real. You both exhale, the smallest release in the ocean of pain between you.
She nods, gently unbuckling her seatbelt. “Okay.”
You grip the door handle, biting back a groan at the ache in your foot. And when Leah comes around to your side, she doesn’t touch you. She just stands close, ready to catch you if you stumble, like she knows better now than to reach before you ask.
a/n: did i start writing this six months ago? maybe but i was never gonna post it anywhere originally so hey tumblr have this xxxx i love leah xxxx hope ur all okay (how do i run this account idk what to do i have no more ideas)
