Lover Girl | Leah Williamson x Spolied!Reader
synopsis: you might be spending valentines day alone
warnings: a veryyyyy spoiled girl <///3
Picking at your nails, perfectly filed into almond-shaped, and painted in your favourite sheer blush pink colour, you frown. You hate the sight of your cuticles growing in. Looks like you are due for an appointment soon. You mentally remind yourself to give your favourite salon a call.
Your girlfriend sighs over the phone. The screen blurs for a moment before you hear shuffling, sheets rustling. She was probably making herself comfortable in bed. The sight annoys you. Your girlfriend should be getting ready for bed beside you, in your shared bed, slipping into sheets made for two.
Soon her face pops back up on the screen. Her back was propped up against the headboard, and she’s turned on the lamp beside the bed letting you see her face a little clearer.
The sight also annoys you.
Her stupid face should be right beside you. Not in some hotel room, not a whole plane ride away.
“Quit frowning, baby” Leah breaks the brief silence. You don’t say anything, the frown on your face deepening, your eyebrows furrowing. “You’ll get wrinkles”
You relax your face immediately.
“But you promised, Lee” You whine, thumping at the empty space on the bed beside you. “You said we’ll be spending Valentines Day together”
“I know, princess” She chides, her voice gentle. “but it’s a bit mental out here— almost all the flights at the airport are delayed”
You don’t relent. “So rent a private charter then”
Your girlfriend chuckles, low and throaty, even though you don’t find anything funny right now. She rubs a hand over her face. “Baby, private jets have to follow the no-fly rules too”
You roll your eyes, audibly huffing at the absurdity of the situation. Did Mother Nature seriously expect you— YOU— the epitome of a lover girl, to spend Valentines day alone?!
Valentines Day was one of your favourite holidays. Top 3, actually. For a a girl whose heart beats in soft, rhythmic thumps; your world is bathed soft candlelights, scattered rose petals, and heart-shaped everything— you were the embodiment of romance. You believe in love like others believe in the stars.
And, oh, the way you give love—it’s like generosity flows from an endless river of affection. You love hosting intimate dinners with Leah’s teammates, and cosy brunches with close friends, complete with your Ginori 1735 Oriente Italiano pink porcelain tableware imported from Italy. You love writing handwritten notes, sealed with a pearly pink wax and kissed with a custom wax seal stamp with your signature.
When you love, you love deeply.
And that’s why it pains Leah to not be with you on one of your favourite days of the year.
“I’m sorry, baby” Your girlfriend croons over the phone, the shitty signal of the hotel room only making the distance between you more obvious. “I’ll make it up to you next year, okay?”
She continues, “We’ll take a week-long trip so we can spend Valentines Day on a beach somewhere …."
You hum in response, nodding—albeit reluctantly. You heard what she was saying but you were still sad. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that the weather was so bad that it made for unfavourable flying conditions. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that she was currently stuck in a hotel room, instead of at home with you.
But that didn’t mean you had to like it.
She tries to lighten the mood. “You still didn’t tell me how your day went. Did you—“
You cut her off. “Actually, Lee, I’m a bit tired. I think I might head to bed”
Now it was her turn to frown, her brow furrowing as she absorbed your dismissal. The screen flickered slightly, casting a soft glow on her face, but her expression was anything but relaxed. Her lips tightened, eyes narrowed in thought. Her fingers absently ran through her hair, her posture stiff. She bit her lip, clearly processing, before she cleared her throat.
“Oh. okay, baby” She looked like she wanted to say something else, her mouth opening once before she closes it abruptly. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure you must be tired”
You rarely ended your FaceTime calls together early. If anything, you could probably count the number of times you had ended your calls early before the usual, drawn-out goodbyes on one hand. Tonight was getting added to that tally. The usual warmth in the conversation had faded, replaced by a quiet tension. You found yourself glancing at the clock, then back at her face on the screen, unsure of how to fill the growing silence.
You hated doing this to her, so you gave her this one thing. With a tight-lipped smile that barely reaches your eyes, you mumble a quiet “Night. I love you”
She mirrors your expression, although you can see the regret swimming in her eyes. Her gaze drops briefly, as if she’s trying to avoid the weight of what’s unsaid. “Goodnight. I love you. Call me tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“We’ll see. Maybe the storm will ruin that too”
Her mouth drops open at your unexpected sass. You were rarely mouthy, always so pliant and have to go along with the flow of things. “Oi, enough with the storm—“
Throwing your phone to the empty space beside you, you huff audibly as you turn to fluff your 25 momme mulberry silk pillow.
You ignore your phone, the glaring, physical reminder that your girlfriend is thousands of miles away. Burying your head under one of your pillows, you will yourself to sleep. Maybe it would hurt less if you stopped thinking about how you will be spending tomorrow lover-less and alone.
You awoke slowly, the rays of morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains. Shifting beneath the covers, your body was still wrapped in warmth, but a strange heaviness settled on your chest. Blinking your eyes open, you let them adjust to the morning light.
Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you hope for a message, a call, something—a sweet "Happy Valentine’s" from her.
Your heart sinks just a little, and you slide it closer, hoping it will come to life, but it doesn’t.
She was probably still asleep. London was five hours ahead anyway.
The bed beside you is empty, untouched. The space where she should be feels painfully cold. You sit up slowly, the soft sheets slipping away from your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touch the cool marble floor until you slip your feet into your favourite shearling slippers. Standing, you moving across the room with graceful steps, but slightly sluggish in movement. The softness of your pale pink lace nightgown, vintage Dior piece, swirl around your legs as you walk. There was no rush, no excitement.
You walk toward the window, parting the curtains with delicate fingers, letting the morning light fill the room. You glance out at the London streets below, alive with the usual bustle. The city may be awake, but you feel like you’re in another world entirely—one that’s quieter, lonelier.
Your gaze drifts to the gifts on the coffee table— her favourite Lindt chocolates, a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, a new watch gift wrapped in the familiar red and gold signature packaging, and a handwritten card filled with love. None of it feels as special without her. The love you’d hoped would fill the day feels miles away, even though she’s only a flight away.
You turn away from the window, and sit back on the bed. The silk sheets cool against your skin as you sink into them. You had spent weeks preparing for today—perfectly arranging the flowers that filled the flat with the soft scent of roses, every corner was filled with heart-shaped balloons and seasonal candles made special for the occasion. You had even bought a new dress for the holiday: a velvet dress in the deepest shade of rose, paired with diamond earrings that costed a pretty penny.
Leah’s pennies, of course.
Your mind wandered back to the night when you had last seen her off at the private airport lounge, waving goodbye as your girlfriend boarded the plane. "I’ll be back soon, baby," she'd promised, her voice soft and sincere.
Clearly that was not the case, you thought bitterly as you moved to start your day.
You went through the motions of the day, trying to fill the empty spaces with something—anything—that will take your mind off the feeling that lingers. Luckily, you were able book a last minute slot with your personal pilates instructor, so you slip into your workout clothes, a soft pink set that hugs your body. The fabric feels cool against your skin as you pull your hair into a neat ponytail, eyes still tired from a restless night. You’ve done this a thousand times before, but today it feels different. It’s like you’re moving through a haze, your body here but your mind somewhere else.
The Pilates studio is bright, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the sleek décor. The instructor’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room as she guides everyone into position, but it doesn’t quite reach you. Your movements are precise, but they’re mechanical, lacking the usual grace. You can’t focus, can’t clear your mind the way you usually do.
Instead, you think of her.
You push through the hour, sweating through each movement, but it’s more about distracting yourself than anything else. The deep stretches and controlled movements don’t offer the release they usually do, and by the time the session ends, you’re not sure if you’ve achieved anything. You gather your things—your expensive water bottle, the soft towel—and head out, the cool air hitting your skin as you walk back to your car.
The day drags on, the clock ticking slowly. You scroll through your phone, checking it periodically in hopes of some update from Leah, but the hours pass with no word. You think about calling her, about filling the silence with her voice, but you resist. You don’t want to seem needy, don’t want to burden her with how much you’re missing her today.
At home, you head straight for the bathroom. The day has already stretched on too long, and the silence is starting to feel suffocating. You run the water, the steam filling the air. The hot water cascade over you. It feels nice, but it doesn’t wash away the ache in your chest. When you step out, you slide into the plush bathrobe that’s always waiting for you—lavender-scented and soft as a cloud.
You settle in front of your vanity and slip into your facial routine. First, the cleansing balm, then a serum, and a moisturiser after. The jade roller comes next, the cool stone soothing your tired face as you massage it in gentle upward strokes. The mask you apply next is made with organic, rare ingredients that promise to lift and brighten.You need some of that desperately right now. Allowing it to sit on your face for the recommended fifteen minutes, you flip through a copy of Vogue to pass the time, but the words blur in front of you.
Reaching for your phone again, you stare at it as if willing it to light up, but there’s still nothing.
When you wash the mask off, your skin feels fresher but your mood remains unchanged. You slip into a soft cashmere robe next, pale pink and muted. You stand in front of your closet, looking at the endless rows of pieces, each one precisely selected to be part of your personal collection.
Then, your eyes catch it: the dress.
The one you had received weeks ago, the one you’d been imagining yourself in all day. A stunning Valentino piece in a deep, rich red. The kind of red that demands attention. The silk catches the light in a way that makes it shimmer like liquid.
It’s a dress made for a night to remember, and for the person wearing it to be remembered.
But today, it feels out of place. Today, it feels like a contradiction. You stand there, staring at it for a long moment, your fingers hovering just inches from the fabric.
Pierpaolo Piccioli. Valentino SS25. A one-of-a-kind piece.
You wonder if it’s just a waste to just leave it on a hanger. There’s no dinner reservation with your love tonight, no laughter shared over wine, no promises whispered under the dim glow of candlelight. It feels absurd to even consider wearing something so special when the one person who deserves to see you in this dress is not here.
However, you had paid a lot for this dress, to have it tailored for you and the occasion, and it feels like a travesty to not put it on at least.
You can’t help but reach for the dress.
Forget it. You put it on.
Your fingers trail over the lace again as you slip it on, the silk gliding against your skin. When you saw the model strut the runway in it, immediately you turned and whispered to your personal show consultant to schedule a meeting with the designer. It was a couture piece tailored to your measurements, every single curve, ensuring a perfect fit.
Pausing, you take a long look at yourself—and the dress—and think, Why waste such a pretty dress?
The dress clings to your body like it was meant for another life, another version of today—a version where she’s by your side, laughing, holding you close, making everything feel right. Instead, the silk and lace feel like an echo of something that could have been. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, twisting, watching how the fabric flows. You run your hands over, smoothing the fabric, appreciating the way it glimmers and glows in the mirror.
With an affirmative nod at yourself, you decide to leave it on for the rest of the day. Maybe it’ll help you feel better, maybe it won’t. But you owe it to the dress—and to yourself—not to let the day slip by without at least trying to make the best of it.
The clock ticks, loud and constant, each second passing like the breeze in the wind. The city continues to hum with life—couples holding hands, flowers being delivered, the world celebrating love. But here you are, dressed up and alone, gazing at the lone bouquet of flowers sitting on your vanity table.
The silence in the room is almost too loud.
A soft sound. A familiar sound. A key turning in the door.
Dashing out of the closet, you run like you never ran before. You can’t breathe. Impossible.
You fly down the stairs, barely able to stop yourself as you skid to a halt by the hallway, the door swinging open just in time.
You step toward the door, your pulse racing. Your fingers tremble as you grip the back of the sofa next to you, barely able to believe what you’re seeing.
She’s standing there, suitcase in hand, eyes wide with disbelief—and then, when she sees you, her expression softens.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Leah's home. She’s here.
“I thought I’d missed it,” she says softly, stepping inside, her voice full of apology, but also relief. “I... I didn’t think I’d be back in time.”
Your eyes fill with sudden tears, the emotions that have been swirling inside you all day finally spilling over. “You’re here,” you whisper, voice trembling. You take a step closer to her, the floor cold against your bare feet but you did not care.
Leah smiles, her eyes softening as she sets her suitcase down and reaches for you. The moment her arms wrap around you, pulling you close, you felt like you could breathe again. Her warmth envelopes you, and you close your eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh pears and mimosas. You cling to her, feeling the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.
“I couldn’t let my girl celebrate Valentine’s Day alone,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like nothing could have kept her from being here with you.
You draw in a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers trembling as you reach to touch her, as if to confirm that this moment is real, that she’s really here. You look up into her eyes, still in disbelief that your girl was home.
She brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her fingers soft against your skin, and with a smile so radiant, so genuine, it lights up her whole face. She whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”
And in that moment, you realise that this—the two of you, together—is what makes this day perfect. The dress, the plans, the expectations—they all fade into the background. All that matters is that she’s here, holding you.
She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes never leaving yours, the intensity of her gaze making your heart race.
“Of course I did,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
Her words, so simple, but so full of meaning, fill the spaces inside you. You reach up, brushing your fingers gently across her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under your touch. She’s here, in your arms, and nothing else matters anymore.
You reach up on your tiptoes to kiss her, slowly at first, tentatively, as if testing the waters. The kiss deepens, slow and intimate. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you even closer, her body pressing against yours as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away. Your fingers slide through her hair, the feel of it familiar, grounding, as you kiss her deeper.
You pull back slightly, just enough to breathe, but your forehead rests against hers. Her breath is warm against your skin, and for the first time today, you feel the peace you’ve been longing for.
She smiles softly, brushing her thumb across your bottom lip. “You look incredible,” she says, her voice low and husky.
You smile, your fingers still tangled in her hair, your heart swelling with a love so deep, it fills every part of you. “Y’like it?”
“You know I do, baby” She smiles, her hands gently cupping your face as she presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for just a moment. And in that quiet, tender moment, you realise: this is what you’ve been waiting for. Not the day, or the dress, but her.
Leah leans back just enough to study your face, her eyes tracing every line as if committing it all to memory, as if she’s been waiting for this reunion just as much as you have.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Leah murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers brush over the side of your face, so gentle, so tender, like you were the most precious gold to her.
“I’ve missed you too,” you reply, your voice trembling just slightly. You can’t remember the last time you felt so full of love. You don't know why you ever doubted that your girlfriend would ever leave you alone on Valentine's Day. “I didn’t think I’d make it through today without you.”
Leah chuckles softly, the sound like music to your ears. “Well, I couldn’t let you,” she teases, her hands running down your arms, sending a thrill through your body. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Her lips curl into a smile, and you can’t help but return it. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her skin, the familiar scent that has always made you feel like you’re home.
You pull back slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. There’s something raw in her gaze, something that mirrors your own feelings.
“You’re all I’ve wanted today. All I needed was you,” you whisper, your words thick with emotion.
Your girlfriend tilts her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Whatever you want, baby. Y'know that.”
Her words settle into your heart, and in that instant, you realize how right she is. It’s not the grand gestures, the fancy plans, or the expectations of the day that make it special. It’s this—her—standing in front of you, her love wrapping around you like a blanket, making everything else fade into the background.
You kiss her again, but this time it’s different. It’s desperate, it’s hungry, and it’s everything that’s been building between you for the past week. Her lips are warm against yours, her touch possessive and tender all at once.
Leah pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air.
“I love you,” she whispers, her voice thick with raw emotion.
Your chest tightens at the words, but you smile through the tears that threaten to spill once more. “I love you, too.”
In that moment, all the pain, the distance, and the time apart melt away. It’s just the two of you now, and that’s enough.
She smiles softly, her hand resting against your cheek as she gazes into your eyes, her expression more tender than you ever thought possible. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”
happy (late) valentines day, my lovers (you). tell me if you hate it and I'll rewrite it
*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!
