A🌹

It gave both of you someone to call whenever you were in the same city.

But then it became something more. You found yourself sending her pictures of your cat, then you began taking pictures of books you were reading, telling her how much a particular sentence reminded you of her.

You were drunk when you confessed your feelings, but it was okay because Leah was drunker. You had sex, but neither of you could remember it. The only thing both of you could remember was the aching headache you woke up with the next day, and how, since then, you both just...became a thing.

There wasn't any big declaration, you were just dating. It grew naturally.

Same thing with how Leah proposed two years later. You were on one of your rare breaks together. It was a sunny day on a beach in Greece, and Leah casually asked if you'd like to be called Williamson. 

You said yes. A week later, you signed the papers.

It was easy. it always was when it came to Leah. She wasn't dramatic; she was honest, straightforward. You were, too. That's why you guys matched.

Your relationship was intense yet steady. No unnecessary drama, no pointless arguments.

But oh, it was so much different when it came to how you two were on the pitch.

You were both captains-Leah for the Lionesses, you for your country.

When the game started, you shook hands, shared a smile, and then turned your backs to each other. Williamson and Williamson.

The media loved how it absolutely didn't seem like you two even knew each other when you were on the pitch. Both of you were absolutely ruthless, only one goal in mind: score goals and keep clean sheets.

The green of the pitch didn't match the red of love. 

They were supposed to be separate things. They shouldn't mix with each other.

..

It was a heated game. 

You were losing. 

Ninety minutes were up, and the referee added three minutes of stoppage time. 

You weren't very nice when you were playing, and you were worse when you were losing.

You were running, ball at your feet, only two or three players in your way to the goal. You were ready to take a long shot when Leah rushed past you, ready to put herself in your path.

You ran faster, ball on your left foot as your right one slipped past her calf. She fell. You didn't mean to, but her body was in the way, so you stumbled awkwardly, almost hitting her knee.

The knee. The one she tore her ACL on years ago.

You obviously didn't mean it. You would never purposely hurt anyone badly, let alone Leah, but it happened. You almost stepped on it.

The referee blew the whistle, and you took a step back, ready to help Leah to her feet again. But then Leah got up, her brows furrowed, the veins on her neck showing.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" she said, getting closer. She looked mad–very mad–which made you angry as well. 

Did she think you seriously did that on purpose?

"Oh, it seems like we have a Williamson vs Williamson situation right now," came the commentator's voice over the stadium speakers.

"Oh come on, I clearly didn't mean it," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Yes, you fucking did," she said, pointing a finger at you. Her chest was puffed out as if she were trying to make herself look taller.

 It worked.

"Don't be such a baby. It's a fucking game, it happens," you said.

"Fuck you–”

Greenwood showed up, you didn't see her coming. She was holding Leah's face and telling her to back off. You kept your ground, looking Leah straight in the eyes. Fuck her if she thought you would seriously do that on purpose.

"Fuck you," you echoed back to her. Then you turned your back on her as the referee got in the middle of it.

"Give me my fucking last name back!" she shouted, looking at the back of your jersey.

"You can keep it, idiot!" you called back over your shoulder.

..

You snapped your hair tie in half as you walked to the locker room. Your teammates were patting your back, telling you that the team would come back stronger next time, which you agreed with–you couldn't not do it. You were the captain.

You were the last one in the showers.

 You needed the hot water running down your neck, dripping down your back. It was a domestic game for you, so you didn't need to go back with the rest of the team on the bus. Instead, you could stay as long as you wanted in the locker room and just go home after.

You hated to lose. It was one of the worst feelings ever. It was friendly, but whatever, it still felt sore. You were replaying everything that went wrong in the game: every pass you did wrong, the times you were too slow.

You clenched your fists, your fingers digging into your palms. Your nails hurt your skin, they would have drawn blood if your nails were longer.

You screamed when you felt cold hands against your body, but then her shampoo scent hit your nostrils. Leah.

She kept her hands on your naked hips, pulling your body against her clothed one. "Keep it, idiot? Really?" she murmured in your ear.

You smirked, letting yourself be pulled into her. "You were the one who asked for your name back."

"Mm," she hummed, kissing your neck. "I didn't mean it, though."

"It seemed like you did," you said. "You were coming at me, your face was all red."

"You know my knee is a sensitive topic," she said, her fingers trailing down, closer and closer to where you needed them most, your cunt was wet already, ready for her.

"My wife telling me to give her name back is also a sensitive topic," you breathed as she filled you, slowly, teasingly.

"Your wife is a bit hotheaded," Leah whispered, quickening the pace of her fingers and taking your skin of your neck between her teeth.

"Guess that's a Williamson trait, then," you said, moving your hips against her fingers.

"Kind of is, yeah," she said, her breath hot against your ear. "But you know what else is a Williamson trait?"

"What?" you managed to ask, your voice catching as she found exactly the right spot. She always did, and she knew it.

"We don't stay mad at each other for long." She held your jaw so you were looking at her. "Especially not over something that happened on the pitch."

You lifted your head up, brushing your lips against her cheek. "We always fight when we play against each other…we’re idiots.

"Completely idiots," she agreed, pressing her forehead against yours. She was getting wet, the water dripping down on her as you dripped down her finger with your own wetness. "But we're married–can't forget that."

"We’re married idiots who happen to be really good at football.” You moaned as she added a third finger. This woman was gonna be the death of you. 

Her and her stupid fingers–and knee.

"Speak for yourself. I'm the one who won today," she teased, her lips found your neck again, sucking it, and leaving a mark. Leah loved to mark you up.

"Don't push it, Williamson," you warned, but you were suddenly quiet when Leah’s thumb found you clit, massaging it sweetly. “Fuck–more.”

“Yeah?” Leah said, a smirk growing on her face. “Gonna make you cum right here, make you remember why you have that name on your back, why you’re mine.”

And Leah did exactly that. In the steam and heat of the shower, you were just two people who loved each other as much as you loved winning and competing.

Well, some days more than others.

..

a/n: i hope you gus enjoyed it!! <3

But Alexia didn’t laugh. She just frowned, holding the car door open and watching as Y/n  all but melted into the seat, her face pinching when her body shifted.

“Mi amor…” Alexia leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “You okay?”

“It hurts,” Y/n mumbled, head tipped back against the headrest.

"I'll put Clara in," Alexia whispered, as if the baby might wake from just the words. 

Alexia gently took the baby from Y/n’s arms and walked to the back seat, where the car seat awaited. “Alright, baby girl. Let's do this.”

Clara, of course, didn’t respond. She was completely knocked out, mouth slightly open, little fists curled by her ears.

The tiniest snore escaped her, and Alexia froze, awe and panic hitting her all at once.

“Okay,” she whispered again, more to herself this time. “Okay.”

She bent down, trying to gently manoeuvre Clara into the car seat, but every buckle looked suspicious. One looked like it would strangle her. Another looked like it would crush her ribs. 

Were these designed by engineers or villains? 

”Ale…” Y/n ’s voice was soft, a little slurred. “Do you need help?”

Alexia straightened up immediately, back rigid, almost offended. 

“No! I mean. No, amor. I’ve got it.” She said, “Of course. I'm a mom. Moms know this.”

She turned back to the car seat, staring at the buckles like they might arrange themselves out of respect.

Por favour... she thought. Let me put my daughter in a seat without traumatising all of us.

And then–miraculously–it clicked.

Literally.

The buckle snapped into place, snug and perfect and safe. Clara didn’t even flinch.

Alexia stared at her handiwork for a second, then blinked up at Y/n, wide-eyed. “I did it.”

Y/n gave her the softest smile, eyelids drooping.

“Told you. Mom of the year already.”

Alexia beamed, shutting the door carefully and whispering, “Gracias,” like the baby might bless her in her sleep.

Alexia slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with exaggerated care. 

She adjusted the mirror like she was preparing for a rally race, then turned the engine on with a low purr.

And then… nothing.

She just sat there.

Hands on the wheel. Eyes locked on the rearview mirror.

Clara, visible only in the reflection, was still sound asleep, tiny chest rising and falling like the gentlest tide.

Her cheeks were pink and soft, lips parted in the most peaceful little O.

Y/n  cracked one eye open from the passenger seat. “Ale.”

Alexia didn’t move.

“Bebé. Please drive. I need a shower. Like a real one. Standing up. With hot water and dignity.”

Alexia flinched a little, glancing over. “Sí, sí, of course. Sorry. I’m just–”

She looked back at the mirror.

“She’s just... she's so small. What if someone hits us? What if I hit someone? What if the sun is too bright on her eyes?”

Y/n  blinked. “Her eyes are closed, she’s literally sleeping.”

"I know!" Alexia hissed in a whisper-yell. “But what if it…blinds her?”

Y/n let out a tiny, tired laugh. “The sun won’t blind her, you tinted the window, because of this, now please, drive.”

“Okay, I’m driving the car,” Alexia said, putting it in gear.

The car inched forward like it was made of glass.

A few minutes later, they were still crawling through the hospital parking lot.

Alexia was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror every three seconds.

“You’re going ten kilometres an hour.”

“It’s a safe ten kilometres.”

“At this rate, Clara will be old enough to drive herself home.”

Alexia exhaled through her nose, tense. “I just... she's so little. And you’re in pain. I-I’m scared.”

Y/n  reached out, hand landing gently on Alexia’s thigh. “You're doing great, mamá.”

Alexia swallowed. Hard. Her jaw tightened.

Then, under her breath, she whispered, “I know this is not the moment because you just gave birth, but I think I’m gonna cry.”

Y/n smiled, eyes already closing again.

“That’s okay. I might too. But please cry at home. In the shower. After me.”

They finally pulled into the driveway, after forty minutes–the hospital was 15 minutes away from their house.

The sun was dipping low and casting a soft orange over the house, especially over the tree house Alexia had already built for Clara.

Before the car had even fully stopped, Y/n was reaching for the handle, ready to launch herself toward the promise of a real shower and clean clothes.

But Alexia practically lunged across the car. “NO! Let me–wait, don’t move!”

Y/n froze. “Alexia–”

“I’ll open the door. Just–just wait, mi amor, por favor.”

“You’re not defusing a bomb, calm down.”

Alexia was already out the door, hurrying around the car like a mom on a mission. She flung open the passenger side with a triumphant look.

"There," she said, slightly breathless. "Now you may exit."

"Thank you," Y/n  deadpanned, dragging herself out with an exaggerated wince.

Before Alexia could stop her again, Y/n  made a beeline for the back seat, reaching for the three bags they had packed.

“No! No, no, no!” Alexia’s voice went up a full octave. “You can’t carry anything heavy, remember? You had a human being ripped out of you yesterday.”

Y/n turned, halfway holding a diaper bag. “Okay, so you plan to carry three bags and our 26-hour-old daughter?”

Alexia straightened her shoulders, clearly insulted by the doubt. “Yes. Obviously.”

Y/n was now standing at the doorstep, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, watching as Alexia approached with the determination of someone carrying the fragilest thing in the world.

Over one shoulder, she had the hospital bag and the diaper bag.

In the crook of her opposite arm, baby Clara was swaddled and sleeping, completely unbothered.

Dangling off two fingers was a small tote with Y/n ’s essentials.

Y/n opens the door wordlessly, stepping aside.

Alexia entered slowly, carefully, like every step might trigger a booby trap.

Her face glistening, jaw clenched, eyes darting between the bags and Clara.

“Mi amor,” Y/n finally said, watching her wife set everything down in a precise, strategic order. “Are you sweating or crying?”

Alexia exhaled. "Both."

“You could’ve just asked me to carry one bag.”

“No,” Alexia said, straightening up with the wild eyes of someone who's been through enough. “You gave birth. You earned this.”

Y/n blinked. “…The right to not carry a bag?”

“The right to not do anything for the rest of your life if you don’t want to.”

Y/n huffed a laugh as Alexia gently shifted Clara into her arms.

Alexia’s whole body relaxes the second their baby is safe against her chest. She pressed a soft kiss to Clara’s head, then to Y/n’s temple.

The house is finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels sacred, like no one dares breathe too loudly in case baby Clara wakes up and decides to use her lungs.

Y/n was slouched on the sofa, the baby tucked under her shirt and latched, nursing quietly.

Exhaustion hung heavy in her posture, the weight of new motherhood evident in the way her body sagged and her voice softened when she spoke.

Alexia crouched down in front of her.

“How’s it going? Still hurt?” Alexia asked, her voice full of concern.

“Yes... I feel like she’s not latching properly,” Y/n murmured, her eyes half-lidded as she looked down at the tiny baby nursing in her arms.

Alexia hesitated, then suggested, “We could always try formula–”

“No.” Y/n’s voice was sharp, a little defensive. “I’m breastfeeding. No formula.”

“There’s no shame in it if it’s hurting you, Y/n,” Alexia countered, her tone soft but insistent.

Y/n looked down at their baby, who had an incredible amount of hair already, a soft shade of brunette that looked just like Alexia's.

Her heart ached. “It’s important for her,” she said quietly.

Alexia nodded, understanding the desire to give their baby the best. But her concern didn’t waver.

“It’s important for her to have a mom who isn’t in pain, too.”

Y/n met her gaze, a warning tone creeping into her voice. “Alexia…”

Sighing, Y/n kissed her forehead gently, the exhaustion making her movements slow.

“What if we call a midwife? Someone who specialises in this?”

Y/n looked up at Alexia, a hint of unease in her eyes. “I don’t want someone coming here. She needs time to build her immune system.”

Y/n shifted a little, wincing as the baby continued to nurse, her tiny hands gripping the fabric of Y/n’s shirt. 

She could feel the pain in her body, but there was also something soothing about the way their daughter was close to her, the connection that came with breastfeeding.

Yet, the discomfort still lingered, and she couldn’t ignore it.

Alexia watched her carefully, noticing the tension in Y/n’s shoulders. She hated seeing her in pain, especially when she was trying so hard.

Alexia reached out, her voice soft but filled with concern.

“Amor,” she started, hesitating for a moment, “maybe we can try pumping? That way, she still gets the milk, and you’re not in so much pain.”

Y/n stiffened for a second, the idea swirling in her mind.

She looked down at their daughter, her heart aching at the thought of not breastfeeding in the way she had envisioned.

 “I... I don’t know, Alexia,” she said, voice quiet but heavy. “I just wanted to feel this connection with her, you know? I wanted to do this... like this.”

Alexia’s heart clenched. She understood. 

She had seen how important this moment was to Y/n, the desire to have that bond, that closeness.

But she also knew that Y/n’s well-being mattered too.

“I know, amor,” Alexia said softly, her voice tinged with regret. 

“I’m sorry it’s been harder than we thought. But you don’t have to keep pushing through the pain just to feel that connection. You’ll still be connected to her, yeah?” Alexia continued.

“I’ll think about it,” Y/n whispered, glancing at Alexia, her eyes filled with exhaustion and a little bit of vulnerability. “I just... I just wanted to do it right.”

Alexia let Y/n and Clara have their moment while she went around the house to give it a quick clean.

When Y/n’s water broke two days ago, they hadn’t exactly cared about keeping the house tidy.

Thankfully, Clara’s nursery and the little set-up they had created in their bedroom for the first month of Clara’s life were done, so Alexia only had to worry about vacuuming and laundry.

When she was done upstairs, she went to the kitchen and did the dishes.

When she passed through the living room, she couldn't help but smile at the way Y/n was talking to Clara about how excited she was for the baby girl to meet all the different animals in the world.

After the kitchen was sparkling, Alexia made her way to the sofa again.

She sat on Y/n’s side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and bringing her closer. Clara was all done; now she was just sleeping against her mom.

“Want me to go set up your shower?” Alexia asked, kissing Y/n’s cheek while gently rubbing Clara’s cheek.

Y/n hummed sleepily. “Make it hot, but not so hot I pass out.”

“Sí, mi vida. I got you,” Alexia nodded.

Upstairs, Alexia moved with mechanical precision again. 

She tested the water temperature five times– slightly warm, but not too warm. 

Postpartum rules, she remembered the nurse telling her. She lays out the softest towel they own. Then a robe. Then that pair of Y/n ’s favourite loose cotton boxers

Alexia hesitated before grabbing the postpartum diaper.

Y/n hated them. Declared them a war crime while the midwife made her wear one in order for them to check out. 

But Alexia laid one on the edge of the counter anyway, right next to the perineal spray and the cooling cream. 

She even placed a tiny bar of lavender soap and some wipes down the counter, just to make sure she had everything she needed.

Alexia made her way downstairs and paused in the doorway, heart twisting at the sight.

Y/n was still on the sofa, head tilted back, eyes closed. Clara was curled against her chest, as if she hadn’t moved since Alexia looked at her 5 minutes earlier.

One of Y/n’s hands was cupping Clara’s tiny bottom protectively. The other is slack on the sofa cushion.

Alexia swallowed. Then crossed the room, leaning down to kiss Y/n’s forehead.

“Okay, mamá,” she whispered. “Time to go get your shower. Your dignity. Whatever’s left of your spine.”

Y/n didn’t open her eyes. “You sure you got her?”

Alexia takes Clara as carefully as if she were made of glass “I carried three bags and a whole newborn earlier. I’ve got her.”

Y/n cracked an eye open. “You also sweat-cried through the driveway..

Alexia, already walking away with Clara nestled in her arms, paused and shot a glance over her shoulder.

“Shower, mi amor,” she said with a grin, her tone light and amused.

Y/n groaned softly, pushing herself up from the sofa.

Her body was still sore from everything–postpartum fatigue, the lingering aches of labour–and every movement felt like a chore. 

She muttered under her breath, “I swear, if this is what motherhood is, I’m gonna need a nap every five minutes.”

Alexia paused, turning back to look at Y/n with a soft smile.

“I know it’s tough right now, but I promise you a shower will make it better.”

Y/n tried to shift her weight to stand. Her muscles screamed in protest, and it took every ounce of energy she had just to push herself upright.

Alexia glanced as she heard the sound of Y/n struggling, her expression changing into something more tender.

“Need help?” she asked, already halfway across the room, Clara secure in her arms.

Y/n gave her a look–a mix of exhaustion and sheer stubbornness–that clearly said: Obviously.

Alexia’s smile widened as she walked over, carefully positioning Clara in one arm and reaching out with her free hand to steady Y/n.

“Come on, let’s get you to the shower, yeah? You deserve a break.”

Y/n leaned into her touch, her body grateful for the support, but still managing to roll her eyes a little.

“This isn’t what I imagined when you promised me ‘helping hands,’” she muttered.

"Clara," Y/n muttered through gritted teeth as they went upstairs. “Your mother is doing everything for us right now. Please, at the very least, remain unconscious."

Clara stirred in her sleep, and Alexia kissed her hair. “She’s listening. She’s very polite.”

They make it to the bathroom. Y/n leaned against the doorframe, trying not to cry from the sheer effort of movement.

“Okay,” she said, breathlessly. “Shower time. Thank you.”

Y/n started to close the door, but then Alexia gasped, her hand flying to the door to stop it from shutting.

“Amor, we never close the door!”

Y/n shot her a look over her shoulder.

“Alexia. The next time you have a child tear your vagina open, you can choose your own boundaries. Right now? I need one, please.”

“But–”

“I’m not asking you to sleep in the guest room," Y/n cutted in dryly, sliding the door shut with one hand. “I just need a ten-minute break from being touched, stared at, or milked.”

The door shut gently in Alexia’s mildly offended face.

Alexia stares at it for a second.

Clara moved in her arms again, she yawned softly, then opened her eyes– wide and hazel, just like Alexia’s.

They stared at each other.

“Hi,” Alexia whispers.

Clara blinked.

“Okay, seems like mamá needs her time,” Alexia said, slowly pacing backwards down the hall. “So… it’s just us now.”

Clara didn’t respond. She just stared. With full intensity. Like she’s trying to figure out what Alexia’s whole deal is.

Alexia swallowed. “Hm. I don’t really… know what to do with you yet. We’ve known each other for less than two days, you see.”

Clara blinks again. Still staring.

Alexia nods solemnly. “Same.”

..

Alexia didn’t go far. In fact, she didn't go anywhere.

She paced back and forth in front of the bathroom door. Baby Clara tucked snug against her chest, her tiny nose brushing against Alexia’s collarbone.

The bathroom door remained shut.

Alexia leaned against the wall. She looked down.

Clara’s still wide awake.

And staring.

Again.

“You're so quiet,’ Alexia whispered, brow furrowing. “I thought babies were supposed to cry.”

Clara blinked. Her tiny mouth moved a little. But no sound.

Alexia tilted her head. “Okay, this is weird. I feel like you're judging me.”

“Seriously. You’ve been out of the womb for—" she checks her watch, "twenty-eight hours, and you already have an opinion? About me?"

The baby squinted slightly, like she was trying to focus on Alexia, or like she was trying to psychically assess if Alexia was competent enough to be trusted with her life.

Alexia straightened, suddenly defensive. “Hey. I’m not a stranger, you know. I talked to you every night since we found out you were in mamá’s belly.”

Clara said nothing. Just slowly, judgmentally blinking.

“I sang to you,” Alexia continued, her voice rising slightly. “I read you books. I put my phone speaker on her stomach like this so you would  know my voice! Don’t look at me like I just showed up today, okay?”

The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink.

Alexia lowers her voice immediately. "Okay, okay, okay. Inside voice. Inside voice, mamí’s gonna get her show now, I think she wants quiet."

Alexia rocked on her heels. Clara stared. Still no crying. No nothing.

“I thought this would be harder,” Alexia whispered. "You’re supposed to scream, right? Be mad? Hungry? That’s what they told me in the classes. But you’re just…”

She exhaled. Her voice gets soft. “You’re just... here. With me, being all calm.” 

Clara blinked.

Then, just once–barely even a movement–her tiny hand shifted. It was not much. But it felt like something.

Alexia grinned

“Okay. I forgive you for judging me. But only because you’re extremely cute.”

When Clara started to fight sleep, Alexia went to their room and gently laid Clara on her bassinet beside their bed, watching as her daughter’s tiny chest rose and fell, her soft breath filling the room. 

The baby’s little hands curl, grasping at the air, and Alexia can't help but stare at her with awe and love, so much love.

Alexia quietly walked back into the hallway, settling against the doorframe with a sigh.

Her mind was still swirling already–how to balance it all, how to care for Y/n, while also caring for Clara, how to... do this.

Then, Y/n ’s voice called from the bathroom, a soft, exhausted whisper. “Ale?”

Alexia didn't hesitate. She knocked gently. “What is it, baby? Do you want me to come in?”

There’s a long pause, and then Y/n ’s voice cracked, just enough to send a sharp pang through Alexia’s chest. “I... I can’t.”

Alexia’s heart races. She pushed the door open slightly. Y/n stood there, the image of postpartum exhaustion. 

Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wet and glassy, lips pursed into the most heartbreaking pout Alexia has ever seen.

Her body was a patchwork of vulnerability: her belly still soft and swollen, the evidence of the intense labour still visible.

Her eyes flickered down to the pants she was struggling to pull on, the ‘mom’ diaper visible beneath. 

It was raw and real. Alexia just wanted to wrap Y/n in a bubble.

“I can’t dress myself, Alexia," Y/n muttered, a hint of stubbornness breaking through her, but there’s no masking the sadness in her voice.

Alexia steps closer, her hand reaching out but not quite touching. “I’ll help then, sí?”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffled, her shoulders shaking just slightly.

“My whole body hurts.” Her voice cracked as she wiped her eyes, the pain on her face. “I have a life to take care of. I’m leaking, and I have to wear a diaper, Alexia!”

The tears fell freely, as if everything from the last hours had suddenly caught up to her. 

The overwhelming, relentless pain. The vulnerability. The immense responsibility.

Alexia felt a lump form in her throat, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words, watching the woman she loves break down in front of her.

She didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to make it better.

So, instead, Alexia took a small step forward, her arms wrapping gently around Y/n, careful not to press too hard against her sore body.

She hugged her softly.

“Shh,” Alexia whispers, her voice soothing and steady. “It’s okay. I’m right here, mi amor, you can cry,”

Y/n’s sobs were soft but pained as she sank into Alexia’s embrace. “I’m so tired and we’ve just got her home, I-I’m just scared. It’s too much.”

Alexia pressed her cheek to Y/n ’s temple, kissing the top of her head. 

“It is too much, we have a daughter now. You went through labour. It’s a lot to take in, but things will settle, and your body will heal. We just need to be patient, okay?’

Alexia gently guided Y/n into the bedroom, her hands careful as she helped her dress.

She took her time with the soft, soothing motions, her fingers brushing lightly over Y/n’s skin. There’s no rush, no urgency.

When Alexia moved to the bedside table, she retrieved the cream. 

She was preparing for this, had had it ready for days, but she had never imagined applying it like this.

She rubbed the lotion over Y/n’s belly–gentle strokes that linger just a little longer than necessary, like a silent promise that she was there, always.

Y/n ’s breath hitched, the warmth of the cream mixing with Alexia’s touch. It was soothing.

“I’ve got you, bebé”, Alexia whispered, her voice low and soft as she helped Y/n pull the pyjama top over her head. “We’re in this together.”

Y/n ’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, letting the care wash over her, letting herself just breathe in the safety of the moment.

When they finally settled into the bed, Y/n lay back, her body aching, but not so much after the shower. She turned her gaze toward the little bassinet by the bed. 

Clara was peacefully asleep, her tiny hands curled by her face, her chest rising and falling with each soft breath.

Y/n ’s hand drifted to her cheek, the sensation of Clara’s presence more grounding than anything else.

Alexia noticed the way Y/n ’s gaze softened. She stepped closer. “She’s the most beautiful baby ever.”

Y/n didn’t respond right away. Her eyes remain fixed on Clara, and Alexia watched her, watching her become a mother in real time. 

It was overwhelming, beautiful, and fragile all at once.

“She is,”  Y/n  finally whispered. “And it’s not just because we’re her moms. She’s actually perfect. I mean, look at that hair–she already has more than I do.”

Alexia smiled, nodding. “I’m glad she’s not a bald baby.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Why? Already planning her hairdos?”

Alexia’s grin widened. “Yes, actually. I’ve been watching videos on how to do baby hairstyles.”

Y/n stared at her, wide-eyed. “You did?”

“Yes,” Alexia replied confidently. “She’s gonna wear a lot of Barça bows, right, bebita?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Hmm, but what if she grows up to be a Madrid fan?”

Alexia’s smile immediately faltered, her eyes widening in mock horror.

“Don’t joke about that.”

Y/n grinned, enjoying the moment.

“Just saying, you never know. She could be one of those rebellious kids.”

Alexia frowned playfully. “I will disown her. You can raise her then.”

Y/n laughed, but the sound softened as she looked at Clara, her little features relaxed in sleep.

“I love you,” she murmured, her voice low, “Even if you’re talking about disowning our newborn daughter.”

Alexia’s playful frown melted into a soft smile. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/n’s forehead.

“I love you more, and I’m sure we don’t need to worry about disowning her, no daughter of mine is gonna wear Madrid colour, I’m sure we’ll manage to steer her in the right direction.”

Then, they just lay there in silence, watching Clara sleep, completely unbothered by anything other than the comfort of her little world. No football rivalries, no pressure, no expectations. 

Just a tiny, peaceful human, curled up and completely unaware of the chaos of the world.

..

Alexia stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. It was dark. She blinks, adjusting to the dim light coming through the window, and then Alexia heard a soft, desperate sound. 

A faint whimper at first, and then, unmistakably, a full-on cry.

Clara.

“Shh, mi amor,” Alexia whispered to herself, her voice barely a murmur as she carefully slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Y/n. She went to Clara’s bassinet, scooping the baby into her arms.

Clara’s cries were louder now, her little face red, her mouth open wide.

“Shh, mama got you, don’t worry,” Alexia cooed softly, her hands instinctively holding Clara close, her movements gentle as she cradled her against her chest.

Y/n stirred softly at the sound, mumbling something, but Alexia didn’t want to wake her–not yet.

She could see the exhaustion in her face, in her limp form against the pillow. 

So, with one last look at Y/n, Alexia stepped out of the room, closing the door as quietly as she could, trying to see if Clara maybe just wanted some attention.

It took only a few minutes for Clara’s cries to become more frantic, and Alexia sighed. 

She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but there was no stopping it. Gently, she nudged Y/n  awake, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Baby, it’s time for her feeding. She's hungry.”

Y/n  groggily turned, her tired eyes blinking as she processed the words.

She grumbled something, too soft for Alexia to understand, and then adjusted herself. 

Alexia helped her sit up, pulling her into a half-sitting position, propping pillows behind her for support.

Clara was immediately quiet as Y/n pulled her close, the baby nestling in, instinctively finding her place.

Alexia stood back for a moment, her heart swelling as she watched Y/n. 

When Clara finished feeding, Alexia gently took the baby back into her arms, guiding her to burp.

The little one was still so small, and Alexia’s fingers gently massaged her back as she leaned her against her shoulder. 

After a few moments, Clara let out a small, satisfying burp, and Alexia smiled, already putting Clara back to her bassinet.

And then she looked at Y/n.

Her wife was already half asleep, her shirt still off, her body tired and heavy.

She didn’t even stir when Alexia gently cleaned her breast from the milk that had dripped.

Alexia’s movements were careful, her touch reverent as she applied the soothing cream to Y/n’s chest.

She couldn’t help but smile softly as she did it—this was her Y/n.

She gently adjusted Y/n’s shirt, pulling it back down over her chest before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, mi amor,’ Alexia said softly.

The kiss lingered for a moment, and then Alexia returned to bed, slipping into the covers next to Y/n, pulling the blanket over both of them.

“I love you, my girls,” Alexia murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

..

a/n: if you read this far — first of all, ily. second of all, feel free to let me know what you thought!

i love hearing your reactions, fav lines, or just general thoughts 🫶 it really makes my day <3